A Heart Revealed (58 page)

Paralysis claimed her tongue as tears stung her eyes.

With a heavy exhale, he rested his head on the back of the seat, eyes staring aimlessly out the window. “I thought I was strong enough—to be your friend and only your friend, but my thoughts tell me otherwise.” His eyelids drifted closed as his voice lowered to a bare whisper. “I actually believed that if I laid aside my physical desire, that we would be free from sin. But I can no longer deny that deep in the recesses of my mind, I wrestle with wanting you so badly, that I fear adultery in my heart.” He looked at her then, his eyes naked with regret. “I don’t want to leave you, Emma, but I love you too much to stay.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed, the loss of him almost unbearable. And yet, she’d known all along that this had been their destiny. This was the path she had chosen. The vow she had made, to God . . . and to Rory. A reedy sigh left her lips as she looked up, fingers quivering while she brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “Where will you go?”

His chest expanded and released. “I don’t know . . . I don’t really need the money right now, so maybe I’ll just donate my time to the church till I find something I like. I was offered a job awhile back . . . maybe I’ll look into that.”

Her pulse quickened. “Your old store at Kelly’s?” she asked, grateful he could return to a job he loved and the woman who loved him.

“No, I don’t think so.”

She blinked, ridges lining her brow. “But Rose said—”

He glanced up, his gaze suddenly sharp. “Rose and I are over, Emma.”

Shock congealed in her throat. “Over?” she whispered. She felt her ribs constrict. “But why would you do that?” she asked, her voice cracking with strain. “She can offer you everything. Everything you should have—your own store, a woman who loves you, a family . . .”

His voice gentled. “I’m not in love with her.”

“But you can learn!” she shouted, hysteria rising in her tone as tears welled in her eyes.

With a tender gaze, he slowly gathered her into his arms against her will, gentle strength locking her to his chest where his heart beat steady and sure. She closed her eyes at the touch of his hand stroking her hair, and she had no power over the sobs that rose in her throat.

“No, Emma, I can’t . . . because I won’t.”

“But you’re attracted to her, you told me so . . .” Her voice broke on a heave.

He kissed her hair, head resting against hers. “Yes, she stirs my body, but not my soul. When I kiss her, touch her . . . it’s your lips I’m kissing . . . your body I touch. That’s not fair to Rose, Emma, and it’s not fair to me.”

“But you’re a man who deserves to love and be loved . . .”

“And so I will be,” he whispered, grief threading his tone. “Because you and I will always love each other from afar.”

She sagged against him then, fingers clutched white on his coat. “No . . . you’re a man with needs, desires . . .” Her frail moan slowly ebbed away.

Like her dreams for him.

His chuckle held little mirth. “The way I see it, Emma, if Father Mac can do it, I can.”

“But you deserve better,” she whispered, her heart raw.

He pulled away to cup her face in his hands, and in his eyes she saw all the pain and regret she felt in her own. A sad smile shadowed his lips. “No,” he said quietly, caressing her cheek with gentle fingers. “Because if I deserved better, I would have you.” Pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, he gave her arms a quick buff. “Come on, you need to go in.” He opened his door and got out, ducking his head to flash his trademark smile. “The good news is, Mrs. Malloy . . . you get your storeroom back.” He shut his door and rounded the car, offering his hand after opening her side. He braced her shoulder on the walk to the door.

“When will you leave?” she asked, leaning on him more than she should.

“As soon as Mitch can hire someone to replace me.”

“No one can replace you,” she whispered.

He turned her to face him on the portico, the pale lamplight from brass sconces revealing his sorrow. A hint of the twinkle she loved returned to his eyes. “I know that, Emma, and you know that, but let’s not let Mitch in on it, okay? You know how he loves control.”

She attempted a smile that failed miserably.

Sean rubbed her arms, voice soft, jaw firm. “Come on, Mrs. Malloy, I know this seems pretty bleak right now, but underneath all the heartache, I suspect God’s will for both of us contains blessings we’ve only dreamed about.”

Her eyes lifted to his while her lips parted in surprise. “God’s will?” she uttered, a wisp of a smile in her tone. “Just when has God’s will become important to you, Sean O’Connor?”

His mouth quirked as he tapped a finger to her nose. “Since I fell in love with the boss. God knows I need something to hang my heart on since I can’t hang it on her.”

Fingers shaking, she cradled his cheek. “Well then, Mr. O’Connor, if our heartbreak has brought you closer to him, then I consider every tear a priceless treasure.”

She felt the bristle of his beard beneath her palm when he pressed his hand over hers. “Priceless treasure,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “My thoughts exactly.” He squeezed her hand and stepped away, drawing in air as he lifted his chin. “I’ll let Charity and Mitch know, but I was thinking two weeks’ notice might work.” Several creases popped in his brow. “I know it’s probably not enough time to train someone else, but I figure the sooner I leave, the better.”

She nodded, a lump thick in her throat. “Two weeks should be fine, especially since I have no plans to replace you.”

He tucked a finger to her chin. “Hate to tell you this, Mrs. Malloy, but it’s not your call. When Mitch and Charity hear the hours you keep
with
help, there’ll be no argument, trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered, suddenly realizing she trusted nobody more.

“Likewise,” he said with that same boyish smile that had captured her heart. His fingers traced the curve of her jaw before he opened the door. “G’night, Emma. See you on Monday.”

“Good night, Sean,” she whispered, heart buckling at the sight of the man she loved walking away. Tears blurred her vision as his broad back slowly faded into the night, and with a broken cry, she flew down the brick walkway with her heart in her throat. “Sean!”

He turned at the street, and within mere seconds she launched into his arms, body heaving with the need to let him know just how much she loved him. With tears streaming her face, she kissed him with all the tenderness, all the passion, all the love that was his alone, and for one breathless moment in time, they belonged to each other. “I love you, Sean, and if I never reap another blessing from the hand of God, I will consider my life a joy because of you.”

He clutched her so tightly, they stood as a solitary figure, two hearts beating as one. He gently smoothed the tears from her face. “I will love you forever, Emma,” he whispered. “Through all the family gatherings where we chat and see each other in passing, I want you to always know—my heart belongs to you.” He pressed a final kiss to her brow. “Get some rest. Next week looks to be a backbreaker.”

Squeezing her arm, he rounded the car and opened the door, giving her a wink as he slipped inside. She watched him churn the ignition and shift before pulling away from the curb.

“A backbreaker,” she whispered, her words lost in the rumble of the Model T as it disappeared down the road. “And a heartbreaker too.” Clutching her coat, she made her way to the door as her weary sigh collided with the frigid air to become vapor, forever fading away.

Just like our friendship.

She stopped on the portico and turned, face elevated to the sky. “Thank you, God, for the touch of Sean’s love in my life, no matter how brief and no matter how painful. And I beg you,
please
—if not Rose, bring him another woman he can love.”

Turning the crystal knob of the carved oak door that Charity “just had to have,” Emma’s heart swelled with gratitude for the friend lying upstairs who would see her through. Charity O’Connor was one of the most resilient, loving, and misunderstood women she had ever had the privilege to meet, and the strength of their friendship was one of the few comforts that warmed Emma tonight. No stranger to heartbreak from a past that seemed a lifetime ago, Emma knew that with Charity by her side, she had an able ally in the difficult months ahead. With a silent bolt of the lock, Emma closed her eyes, forehead pressed to the cool of the etched glass door.
Please, Lord, heal the rift between Charity and Mitch.

Releasing another heavy sigh, she slowly unbuttoned her wrap and slung it on the ornate pewter coatrack already laden with winter gear. Turning, her breath caught in her throat.

No, please, not on her birthday
. . . Emma stared, her heart suddenly bleeding more than the sliver of light that bled beneath the study door. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she pressed a quivering hand to her chest, as if she could still the painful pounding within.
Oh, Mitch, open your eyes—your pride is robbing you of precious moments of time.

It wasn’t Emma’s habit to interfere in Charity’s marriage, not with unsolicited opinions nor advice, but something deep down rose within, compelling her to knock on the study door. She straightened her shoulders as she awaited Mitch’s response, jaw inching up. What choice did she have? People she loved were at stake.

“What?” His tone, abrupt and cool, prickled with impatience.

Emma peeked in with a timid smile. “I’m not disturbing you, I hope?”

Mitch peered up from his desk, the scowl on his face diminishing considerably. “No, of course not, Emma—my door is always open to you.” He removed the wire spectacles perched on the tip of his nose and leaned back in his cordovan leather chair, splayed finger and thumb kneading both his temples. “What can I do for you?”

She opened the door wider, taking in the sea of disheveled galleys strewn across a desk where coffee cups and glasses hovered precariously close to the edge. Her eyes scanned the room that reflected the personality of the man she respected and admired—simple but warm. A massive cherrywood desk presided over a large oval rug of deep russet hue distinguished by a thin band of gold circling the edge. A set of barbells and weights rested on a table in the corner, underscoring the solid strength and resolve of the man before her. The quiet and calm of a library emanated from a formidable floor-to-ceiling bookcase beyond, where endless volumes of literature bespoke a love for the written word. Despite the elegance of the room, there was nothing ornate or complicated about Mitch Dennehy, a man who preferred his surroundings—like his life—simple, direct, and without the clutter of knickknacks or formality. Dark, rich hardwood floors reflected the glow of a crackling hearth where cedar logs spit and popped in an angry fire, infusing the room with the fresh scent of cedar and . . .

The air stilled in Emma’s throat as her pulse slowed to a crawl. Her gaze flicked to a half-empty glass of amber liquid she’d just assumed was iced tea, but the unmistakable scent of whiskey and an open bottle on the bookcase confirmed it was not. Her heart cramped in her chest.
Oh,
Mitch, no . . . not after all this time . . .

Stepping inside, Emma carefully closed the door. “I was hoping I might have a moment of your time . . .” She paused to draw in a deep swallow of air. “To talk about Charity.”

The smile on his face compressed. “If she sent you to plead her cause—”

“No,” Emma said quickly, “she didn’t, I assure you. I come of my own accord because I’m concerned about Charity, yes . . .” Her gaze flitted to the whiskey on the shelf beyond before returning. “But more so about you.”

His sideways glance followed hers to the bottle and back, and ruddy color worked its way up his neck. With a grinding of his jaw she recognized all too well, he cocked his head and picked up his glass. “Why? Because I choose the comfort of whiskey over that of my wife?” He held it aloft with a defiance she’d seen only one time before. In Dublin, before he and Charity were married—when he’d gone off the wagon following Charity’s betrayal. He emptied the glass in one hard swallow before clinking it back down with a weighty expulsion of air. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice fatigued. “Go to bed, Emma, this is not a habit I plan to continue, so there’s no need for alarm. Just enjoying a gift from Marjorie Hennessey for a job well done.” His eyelids lifted half-mast while his lips twisted in scorn. “Of course, that was
before
my wife humiliated me in front of my superiors, peers, and subordinates.”

Emma silently moved to one of two leather club chairs that flanked the front of his desk, and studied the man that Marjorie Hennessey—and scores of other women from his past—had attempted to possess. But only one had succeeded, and Emma knew from the shadows beneath blue eyes spidered with red and a hard-sculpted face now marked by fatigue, that Charity possessed him still. Perching on the edge of her seat, Emma leaned forward, her eyes soft with compassion. “Mitch, Charity is sick about what she did—”

“Yeah? Well, that makes two of us. Only my nausea grows every day in the workplace where I’m branded a fool.”

Emma’s gaze met his over the fold of her hands, voice gentle. “Along with your pride?”

Blood gorged his cheeks and he shot up, slanting forward with a tic in his jaw. “Look, Emma, I respect you more than most, but if you think I’m going to let you walk in here and—”

“Tell you the truth?” she said quietly, her words halting him midair.

He jerked around and fisted the whiskey, sloshing more into his glass before he slammed the bottle back down. “What do you want from me, Emma? Blood?”

“No, Mitch,” she whispered, “just sorrow over a sin that’s robbing you blind.”

He blinked, the glass of whiskey halfway to his mouth. His throat shifted and he looked away, slowly placing the glass on the desk. His fury seemed to dissipate as he lowered into his chair, sagging back with a hand to his eyes. “For a quiet and gentle soul, you sure pack a punch.”

The semblance of a smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. “Only when I see someone I love make the same mistakes I did.”