A Passion Redeemed (15 page)

His eyes blurred as he stared in the mirror. He blinked once, and everything shifted into focus. He released a draining breath. "All right, God, I'm done. Done keeping you at arm's length. Done doing it on my own. I'm ready to give you everythingmy life, my hopes, my desires. Help me. Guide me. Show me what to do."

Forgive.

His jaw tightened and then released. Slowly, he expelled a weighted breath, like fingers being pried away and letting go. "Okay, I'll try. But not on my own. Help me."

Pray for him.

The concept was clear, but the application was as foreign as the Greek in which the apostle Matthew had penned it: love your enemies ... bless those who curse you ... pray for those who persecute you.

Mitch closed his eyes, unable to imagine ever uttering a prayer for Rigan. "I can't."

Pray.

His fists balled on the edge of the sink. Faith had once told him, when you can't pray, pray that you can. He opened his eyes to glare upward. "All right ... help me to want to pray."

His fists relaxed. The tension eased from his face. Hope overtook him like a flash flood. Mitch exhaled, aware that his hands were trembling. He looked up at the ceiling. "Dear God in heaven, where have you been all my life?"

Sucking in a deep breath, he carefully tested his mind, edging toward thoughts of Charity. A surge of heat rolled over his body like a hot summer breeze off the coast of Donegal. Mitch sobered considerably. He doused cool water on his face and reached for the razor, then put the blade to his throat. He exercised extreme caution while his lips flattened into a hard line.

Charity.

Obviously an area that still needed some work.

Bridie sauntered to the threshold of Mitch's nearly closed door and peeked in. She grinned. The poor guy looked like he'd just been poured out of the very bottle he'd drained the night before. Rumpled clothes, bleary eyes, pasty skin tinged the color of the amber liquid that, no doubt, still traveled his bloodstream. His hulk of a body sagged pathetically over his desk, elbows planted on piles of disheveled galley sheets while he cradled his head in his hands.

She tiptoed in with the utmost care, then slammed the door with a resounding bang.

Mitch's body jerked in the chair like a marionette on elastic strings. A salty word from his former vocabulary peppered the air, eliciting another grin from Bridie's lips.

"What the devil are you doing?" he growled, jumping to his feet. His hand went immediately to his head with a groan. "Blast it, Bridie, when this pain is gone, I'm going to make your life so miserable."

She strolled over and tossed her article on his desk, letting loose with a deep chuckle. "Well, you're certainly the king of miserable. Practicing on yourself, are ya?"

He lowered himself into the chair slowly, his hand grafted to his head. He massaged his forehead with his fingers, a pained expression on his face.

Bridie plopped into the chair in front of his desk and folded her hands in her lap. "So, what pushed you off the wagon this time?"

He looked up from under swollen lids. "Go pester someone else."

"Can't. You're the only one who's any fun. The only one I can get a rise out of." She adjusted the sleeve of her blouse and grinned. "The only one who hasn't gone home."

Mitch sank deeper in the chair and closed his eyes. "Leave me in peace, will ya?"

She sat up and leaned in, arms flat on his desk. Her smile shifted into serious concern. "That's what I'm trying to do, Mitch, leave you in peace instead of this wretched misery you've drunk yourself into. What did it this time? I'm guessing a woman's involved because that's the only time you go on these benders. So who is it? Charity?"

A groan trailed from his lips. "Go home, Bridie."

Bridie settled back in the chair and shimmied into a position of comfort. "Can't do it, Boss. You might as well start talking because I'm not leaving until you do." She propped her feet up on the trash can for good measure.

He managed an exasperated sigh before dropping his head back against the chair, eyes still closed. There was a half-day's growth of beard beginning to shadow his jaw. "I need a woman bad, Bridie."

Her feet fell off the can. Heat steamed her cheeks. "Well, sweet saints above, that might just be the one thing you could say to get me to go home."

Mitch's eyes, usually a clear and penetrating blue, slowly lumbered open, now glassy and spidered with red. "I mean it, Bridie. I need a wife."

Bridie swallowed the chuckle tickling her throat. "Well ... I can certainly understand how a man of your age and ... experience ... would feel the need to ... commit, but who exactly did you have in mind?"

"Kathleen."

Bridie sat up. "Kathleen?"

Mitch reached for a half-empty cup of cold coffee. "Yes, Kathleen. She's always been in love with me. You said so yourself." He opened his drawer and grappled for aspirin.

I ... I know, but, Mitch, you don't love her. You've never loved her. To be honest, you used her and broke her heart. Would you risk doing that again?"

He scowled, then popped the aspirin in his mouth and gulped the coffee, wincing as it went down. "I wouldn't hurt her this time. I'd learn to love her. She's a woman I can trust. A woman who only wants the best for me."

Bridie sighed. "Yes, but I remember the agony you put her through, gallivanting with other women while you took the best of her. And then there was the heartbreak of Faith ..."

Mitch leaned back in the chair again and slammed the drawer shut with his foot. "That was the old me. I do things by the book now. I need a woman, so I'll marry one."

Bridie twisted her lips in a wry smile. "Mmmm ... lucky Kathleen."

"Look, Bridie, I don't need your grief right now. I care about Kathleen, you know that. I'll go to my death protecting her and taking care of her. Who knows? Maybe her love will stir mine and we'll live happily ever after."

"That's nothing but a line from a fairy tale, Mitch, and you know it."

"Yeah? Well maybe I want a fairy tale right about now. I'm getting pretty sick of the real thing." His mouth settled into a mulish press and he closed his eyes, this time squeezing them hard as if to shut her out.

Bridie clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she studied him through squinted eyes. The confirmed bachelor who had it all-looks, brains, talent, a comfortable living. Everything but the right woman. She folded her arms and jutted her chin. "What are you running away from, Mitch? Or should I say whom?"

His eyes flashed open and he leaned forward, jutting a massive finger into her face. "Look, Bridie, I've had just about enough of your flip responses. If I want to marry Kathleen, I'll bleedin' well marry Kathleen."

Bridie studied the flare of his nostrils and the muscle throbbing in his chiseled cheek and took a quick gamble. "Even if you're falling in love with Charity?"

His steeled jaw went white.

Bingo!

"What the devil are you talking about?" He snatched his cup off the desk and chugged the rest of the coffee.

She was smart enough not to smile. "You've been seeing her, haven't you? I tell ya, Mitch, when it comes to women, you're the front page of the Times."

He slapped the cup down on the disheveled pile of papers. Splotches of coffee splattered everywhere. "Blast it all, woman, it has nothing to do with her."

This time Bridie grinned. "So she is involved."

He jumped up from the chair and stormed to the door. In a huff, he wrenched his black woolen coat from the hook. The loop tag inside the collar snagged. Bridie heard the fabric tear and bit back a chuckle. Mitch muttered something under his breath. She was pretty sure it was another colorful word from his vocabulary of old.

She followed him out. "What is your problem? Wait, she doesn't love you, is that it? Is that why you're such a crank?"

Mitch pushed her out of the way and barreled for the door. She stayed glued to his heels, sprinting to keep up with his long legs. Spurting around him, she beat him to the double doors, flinging herself in front with arms pasted to either side to block his way. He slammed to a stop like a locomotive screeching on its rails. Any moment, she expected to see smoke billowing out of the crop of blond curls on his head. She was breathing hard. "You love her and she doesn't love you. That's it, isn't it?"

His lips were white, his eyes red, and a vein in his temple throbbed a dangerous blue. Not a good color combination. The few employees on the nightshift were gawking, but Mitch didn't seem to care. He glared at her, the fire in his eyes all but cauterizing her to the door. "Get out of my way," he said through clenched teeth.

Bridie revamped her strategy. "Mitch, I'm worried sick about you. Talk to me, please."

Not the slightest chink in his armor. "So help me, I will rip you from that door-"

"It's not good to stay bottled up like you do. Didn't you prove that last night?"

He sucked in a deep breath, then huffed it out. Some of the fight must have drifted out as well. His shoulders suddenly sagged while he scoured his face with his hands. "What do you want to know?"

"Does she love you?"

"Yes."

"And you love her?"

He turned around and slogged back to his office. She followed, closing the door behind. He dropped into his chair with a thud and stared, eyes resigned. She returned to her chair and perched on the edge, her hands cupping the edge of his desk. "You love her, don't you?"

"I don't love her, Bridie. I'm in lust with her." He sighed and snatched a pencil from his desk, staring at it as he twirled it in his fingers. He continued, his voice low. "There was a timebefore Faith-when I would have enjoyed this, toying with her affections, carefully leading her down the path where I could satisfy every urge she provoked in me. And God knows she provokes. When I'm around her, it's ... it's like . . ." He shuddered. "Like she possesses me. I lose control. I crave her lips, her body, her soul ..."

"Why is that bad? Why does that scare you if she's in love with you?"

He tossed the pencil on the desk. It ricocheted off and skittered to the floor. "Because she's no good for me. She's nothing like Faith. No faith in God, a minimal sense of right and wrong. She lies, she manipulates, she coaxes. Anything to get what she wants."

Bridie leaned forward. "You can teach her. Like Faith taught you."

He shook his head. "No, it's not just that. I don't trust her, not one golden strand on that beautiful head of hers. Every time I think of her, I get this heat, this desire. And then right on its heels slithers this cold, paralyzing fear so strong, my stomach turns."

Bridie expelled a deep breath and slumped back in the chair. "Anna really inflicted some damage, didn't she?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "Yeah. She kind of picked right up where my beloved mother left off."

"I'm sorry, Mitch." She hesitated. "But Charity may not be Anna."

"True. But you know, Bridie, I'm just a bit skittish about going down that road to find out for sure."

"So, what are you going to do? Even the best Irish whiskey won't dull the effect she obviously has on you."

"No, but she's leaving Ireland before Christmas, thank God, so I'll just have to keep my emotions in check until then."

"You weren't serious about marrying Kathleen, were you?"

He released a weighty breath. "I think I am. I'm a thirty-fiveyear-old man with needs and a conscience. A wife will do me good. And Kathleen will make one of the best."

"Don't hurt her, Mitch."

He glanced up, his gaze locking with hers. "I won't, Bridie. Once I commit to Kathleen, there will be no turning back."

"It might be wise to wait till Charity's out of the picture."

He nodded. "Yeah, I thought of that. I'll wait till Charity's just a speck on the horizon, sailing home. And then I'll court Kathleen like I should have years ago."

Bridie stood up. "You'll make her the happiest woman in the world, you know."

He nodded, a shadow of a smile lifting his lips. "Yeah. That's something, anyway."

The bell over the door jangled, delivering a blast of cold air and another shivering patron into the cozy confines of Shaw's Emporium. Emma glanced up and elbowed Charity. "Don't look now, but our favorite customer is here."