A Passion Redeemed (63 page)

Marcy chuckled. "Well, he's not a man to mince words, that's for sure. Thank God Kathleen had the sense to see what he was too stubborn to admit." She rinsed the stained dishrag and bent to wipe up the mess. She cocked her head and glanced up. "So when are you going to put him out of his misery?"

Charity tossed the contents of the dustpan into the trash. "Not until after dinner. I'm hoping Mr. Dillon C. Harris can teach him a lesson or two about taking me for granted."

"Mama, I'm hungry-wow, what happened?" Katie barged through the door and screeched to a stop. Emma and Beth collided behind her like stacked-up railcars.

Charity turned at the sink. "Nothing, darlin'. Mitch accidentally broke Mother's bowl of cranberry sauce, that's all."

"Oooooo, so that's why his shirt is all wet and pink." Katie crossed her arms. "Well, I certainly hope you intend to punish him."

Marcy and Charity exchanged glances, prompting Marcy to chuckle. She stood to her feet and winked at Charity. "I don't think you need to worry about that."

Mitch buttered his roll with a vengeance. What was he doing here? She obviously still held a grudge-a monumental one, judging from the size of the purple blotch glued to the hairs of his chest. He shoved the roll in his mouth and glared across the table, irritated at the way this Harris character fawned over her. For pity's sake, she belonged to him, not some would-be editor with New York airs. Mitch's lips flattened into a hard line. And certainly not some would-be friend named Brady who probably had designs on the woman Mitch intended to make his wife. He just needed to convince her, get her alone so they could talk, tell her how sorry he was ...

Mitch rubbed the sticky wet spot on his shirt. Yeah, he'd seen how far he'd gotten with that. The truth was, she hated him, and he didn't blame her. What he did, how he treated her, well, he wasn't sure he could forgive it himself. He shot a furtive glance across the table where she sat, conversing with the New York dandy. He'd been so blinded by his own fear, he hadn't realized that she was the woman God had given him to love. But love her he did, enough to work at stemming his pride and controlling his temper, if that's what he needed to do. He popped the roll in his mouth. He supposed it was time. Time to change his ways, time to grow up. He swallowed hard. Time to be the man God intended him to be.

"I understand you're a department editor for a small newspaper in Ireland," Mr. Harris said, taking his eyes off Charity long enough to address Mitch with a cool gaze.

"I'd hardly call Ireland's largest press 'a small newspaper,' Mr. Harris, but yes, I am."

"Seems rather curious to transfer from a European paper to an American one, such a difficult transition, leaving family and friends."

"Not at all. I've been to Boston in the past and have wanted to return for a while now." His gaze locked on Charity. "You might say my heart is in Boston."

"How so?" Harris asked, buttering a roll of his own.

Mitch was tired of pussyfooting. "It's simple, really. Charity and I are going to be married."

Charity's fork clattered to the floor.

"Oh, my, Mitch ... ," Marcy stuttered, shooting a tentative glance at her daughter.

"Congratulations, son," Patrick boomed, reaching across the table to pump Mitch's hand. "That's great news!"

Charity jumped up to retrieve her fork. "Mother, I'll start the coffee." She bolted into the kitchen, her ire rising faster than the lump in her throat. The nerve! That man had all the romanticism of that wet stain on his shirt. How dare he just blurt it out like that, as if she had no say in the matter whatsoever?

The door creaked behind her. She spun around and singed him with a glare. "Just who do you think you are, announcing to the world that we're going to be married?"

Mitch stared her down. "Your future husband, that's who."

"Ha! And I suppose I don't have anything to say about it?"

He began to grind his jaw and took several steps forward. "You can say yes."

She moved back to lean against the sink, rankled by his attitude. "Maybe. And just maybe I'll say yes to Brady."

His cheek pulsed as he started toward her. "You'll say yes to me."

"Don't you dare think you can tell me what to do, you thickheaded bully!" She reached behind and scooped up the dishrag from the rinse water in the sink. Before he could clamp a hand on her arm, she pelted it at his face. It bounced against his rockhard cheek with a noisy splat. Dirty water slopped into his eyes before sluicing down his neck. She stared in shock.

His water-slicked face accentuated the nerve twitching in his jaw. Little plops of water dribbled on his shoe while the dishrag dangled from his shoulder, soaking his tweed Norfolk jacket.

A hand flew to her mouth as she fought the urge to laugh.

He moved in to grip her arms, ignoring the dripping rag on his coat. "Who's Brady?"

She tried to twist free. "Let me go! You're getting me wet."

He pressed her to the counter. "Answer me! Who the devil is Brady?"

"A man who treats me with a lot more respect than you ever did."

He released his hold. "Do you love him?"

She glared at him, angry at the time they'd lost, the pain he'd inflicted. "Yes."

He stared hard for several seconds. Hurt replaced the shock in his eyes. He turned away.

Her heart shot to her throat. "As a friend ... ," she whispered in a rush.

He slowly shifted to face her, one brow cocked. With a questioning gaze, he latched a thumb onto the pocket of his trousers.

She swallowed hard and crossed her arms. "Do you have any idea the torture you've put me through, Mitch Dennehy?"

His lips twisted. I went through the same torture, you know, not to mention all the months you put me through the wringer with your charm."

She sucked in a deep breath. "But six months? It took you six long months? Why didn't Mrs. Lynch tell my grandmother?"

He sighed and slacked a hip, closing his eyes to massage the bridge of his nose. "I had a lot of issues to work through, Charity. With my mother, Anna, you. After Kathleen broke the engagement, I asked Mrs. Lynch not to say anything. I needed to stew for a couple of months, pray about a few things."

"A couple of months?" She propped her hands on her hips.

He looked up with sorrow in his eyes. "I felt compelled to pray about us, to be sure I was doing the right thing." He took a deep breath. "And I didn't know. About the rape. When Mrs. Lynch mentioned it in passing a few weeks ago, I thought I was going to lose my mind." He took a step forward, his eyes glistening. "That's when I knew. Knew I wanted to be with you. To protect you, take care of you." He hung his head, and the grief was evident in his face. "Forgive me, little girl, for wounding you like I did, for ever implying you were a ..." He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze. "I was angry and desperate to push you away. I ... I didn't realize ... realize that I had been wrong all along."

"Thickheaded?"

He took a deep breath and another step. "Yes, thickheaded. Too much to see that although I'd forgiven my mother, Anna, and finally you, I had never dealt with my fear and deep lack of trust. It drove me away from you, Charity, and I was too blind to see it."

"You mean thickheaded."

He smiled and moved close, tugging her into his arms.

"Don't you dare try and sweet-talk me, Mitch Denne-"

He kissed her gently on the mouth, effectively silencing her as he intensified the kiss. He pulled away. "Yes, thickheaded, but desperately in love with an equally obstinate little girl. How are we going to make this work, Charity O'Connor? Two bullheads, but only one of us can win."

She stared, her anger momentarily doused by the heat throbbing within. She lunged to kiss him back, releasing years of pent-up passion. Mitch groaned and finished it off with a kiss that tingled all the way to her toes. She jerked away with her chest heaving. "Maybe we both can win. It would take a lot of compromise and even more prayer, but what do you think?"

He gave her a half -lidded look that made her mouth go dry, then leaned in and nestled his lips along her throat. The bloodpumped in her veins. She felt the shadow of his late-day beard, and the realization of what was happening prompted a chuckle of joy from her throat. She shivered. "I love you, Mitch Dennehy, so much that even prayer couldn't get you out of my heart. Sweet saints above, I can't wait to marry you!" Her gaze narrowed. "You are asking, aren't you?"

He grinned. "Oh, I'm asking all right. And you won't have to wait. I don't intend to."

She blinked. "But, Mitch, it takes time. We've got a wedding to plan."

He leaned in close. "Take all the time you need, little girl. Pick the church and plan the wedding, but tomorrow you'll be my wife."

"What?"

"City Hall. You and me. Married at last."

"Oh, no you don't, Dennehy, we're going to-"

He cut her off with a kiss that weakened her knees, deepening it until her bones felt like warm oatmeal. He pulled away and she sagged against the sink with a hand to her stomach. She swallowed hard. "All right," she whispered with a catch of her breath. "But the hours, they change, remember? The window might not even be open."

He pulled her close to smother her throat with kisses, then trailed his mouth to hers. "Oh, it's open," he said, his voice husky against her lips. "And you can bet I made bloomin' sure."

Acknowledgments

To Charlotte Vernaci, for her invaluable support and insight on Books 1, 2, and 3 and to the rest of the "gang," Judy Jackson, Linda Tate, and Ruth Volk for brainstorming sessions at Donohue's. Your friendship means more than you will ever know.

To the great team at Revell, thank you for your patience and support-particularly Cheryl Van Andel and Dan Thornberg for another great cover and more patience than the law allows.

To my dear friends and former co-workers Carol Ann, Tammy, Cynthia, Sandy, Anna, Betty, and Jenny for their invaluable feedback and support on all three books. I miss you guys terribly!

To my precious prayer partners and best friends, Karen, Pat, and Diane-what a touch from God you are in my life!

To my Aunt Julie, my mother-in-law Leona, and my sisters, Dee Dee, Mary, Pat, Rosie, Susie, and especially Ellie and Katie, for your continued love and support. I am blessed to call you family.

To my daughter Amy, my son Matt, and my daughter-in-law Katie-true examples of God doing abundantly, exceedingly more than I ever hoped, thought, or prayed. I love you guys!

To my husband and best friend, Keith, who gives me more joy than I ever dreamed possible in this lifetime-I would be lost without you.

And to Jesus-without you, there would be no peace, joy, or hope ... and definitely no books!

Julie Lessman is a new author who has already garnered writing acclaim, including ten Romance Writers of America awards. She resides in Missouri with her husband and their golden retriever, and has two grown children and a daughter-in-law. Her first book in the Daughters of Boston series, A Passion Most Pure, was released January 2008. You can visit Julie or contact her through her website at www.julielessman.com.

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