Irish Meadows (22 page)

Rylan trudged up the stairs from the utility room in the basement of the orphanage, the metal toolbox in his hand as heavy and black as his soul. He'd lied to Colleen this morning, told her he had something to take care of at the church, so he wouldn't have to endure the torturous train ride in with her.

How could he face her, knowing how he felt about her, and not have her guess the inappropriate nature of his affections? He needed time to school his thoughts, and his emotions, before being alone with her again. He needed time for God to change his heart and return him to the feelings of friendship he'd started with.

To make matters worse, today he'd have to break the news of Delia's adoption and tell Colleen the girl would be leaving by the end of the week. He sighed as he reached the main level
and set the toolbox on the floor with a thud. Though Colleen would be happy for Delia, Rylan was certain she would also be devastated by the loss of the wee girl. Rylan's heart already ached with sadness at the thought of no longer seeing the tot's mischievous grin and bright eyes.

Footsteps pounding on the carpet pulled his attention down the long corridor.

“Oh, Mr. Montgomery. Thank goodness you're here.” Sister Veronica rushed up beside him, face flushed, out of breath.

“Sister, what is it?” Concern for the woman banished all thoughts of Delia for the moment.

“It's Miss O'Leary. You need to come with me.”

Alarm shot through his midsection, curdling his morning tea. “What's wrong with Miss O'Leary?” He took long strides to keep up with the petite woman's furious footsteps. “Is she ill?”

She looked over her shoulder as they climbed the stairs to the second story. “Sick at heart. She found out that Delia's been adopted.”

Rylan's stomach sank to his boots. Someone had told her before he'd had the chance. Would Sister Marguerite stoop so low just to hurt her?

“Why are we going upstairs? Isn't she with the children in the classroom?”

Her white headpiece wobbled as she shook her head. “Once she realized Delia was gone, she came up to the dormitory. I can't get her to leave.”

At the top of the stairs, Rylan reached out a hand to halt the nun's movement. “Are you telling me Delia's already gone?”

Regret shone in the nun's large eyes. “Yes. The family's plans changed, and they came yesterday to pick her up.” She nudged open the door to the girls' dormitory and pointed to the bed in the far corner.

Muffled sobs came from the figure curled in a tight ball on top of the bed. Sorrow banded Rylan's heart until the pain radi
ated out over his chest. He put one hand there to rub the ache. “Leave it with me, Sister. I'll see what I can do.”

A wave of relief passed over her features. “Thank you.”

Like a man heading to his execution, Rylan made his way across the room to the tiny bed. Colleen's back faced him, her shoulders shaking with silent weeping. What he wouldn't give to take away her pain. The last thing he ever wanted was to see her hurting like this.

Gingerly, he sat beside her on the cot and placed a tender hand on her arm. “I'm so sorry you found out this way, Colleen.”

She wrenched up to a sitting position, her eyes wild with . . . fury?

“You lying, treacherous, hateful man.” Palms fisted, she attacked him, striking his upper torso with angry blows. In her vehemence, her hair shook loose from its pins to cascade around her face and shoulders. She didn't seem to notice as she hurled further insults at him.

He accepted her wrath for a few moments, knowing he deserved it, before capturing her hands in his. “Are you finished?” His calm voice finally seemed to penetrate the haze of her anger, for she stilled and really looked at him, tears streaking her cheeks.

“How could you not tell me? I asked you about adoption and you said nothing.” The betrayal and hurt shone in her eyes, searing his heart like a brand.

“I wanted to tell you, but I wasn't at liberty to say anything. I'd given my word.”

The fight went out of her then, and she sagged toward him, as limp as the rag doll in her hand. He caught her against his chest and felt the tidal wave of emotion rise up through her body. Once again he found himself comforting her while she wept, her pain ripping through him like a hot poker. Warm tears soaked his shirtfront while he stroked the fall of auburn curls that curtained her face, murmuring soothing words.

“I . . . I didn't even get to say good-bye.”

“I'm so sorry.” He repeated it over and over, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. The fragrant smell of her shampoo enveloped him.

Huddled in the dim corner of the room, they seemed cocooned in their own private sanctuary. He reached into his pocket to pull out his handkerchief and lifted her face to dry her tears. Devastated not only by her grief, but by his own sense of loss, his eyes grew moist as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Colleen fingered the worn toy. “She forgot Mr. Whiskers,” she whispered. “Delia can't sleep without him.” Fresh tears hovered on her lashes.

“I promise I'll find out where she is so we can send it to her.”

“You will?”

“Yes. And we can include a letter and a wee gift to remember us by.”

“I—I'd like that.”

Her lids fluttered closed. Long lashes, spiky and wet, lay against her cheeks.

“Please don't cry anymore. My heart can't take it.”

Her eyes flew open, and he stared into the pools of her soul, recognizing the stark longing on her face.

His gaze strayed to her full bottom lip, which quivered with emotion. As though drawn in by a force beyond his power, Rylan slowly lowered his mouth to hers. When their lips met, a burst of love coursed through him, as bright and charged as a surge of electricity—like nothing he'd ever felt before. As he feasted on the sweetness of her mouth, Colleen's arms came up and wound around his neck. He tightened his grip around her in a fierce wave of protectiveness. He wanted to hold her like this forever, shelter her from every pain, every disappointment in life.

The sudden sound of approaching footsteps and the hushed murmur of voices penetrated the passionate haze surrounding Rylan's brain. He jerked upright, realizing they were almost reclining on the bed, locked in an ardent embrace. Both their
reputations, as well as his career, would be ruined if they were caught. He bolted off the bed, swiping a hand across his mouth as though to erase the invisible evidence of their kiss.

Her eyes widened as she stared at him, confusion and sorrow mixing in their depths.

“Forgive me, Colleen,” he whispered, and then he raced across the room to reach the door just as Sister Veronica arrived with another nun.

“I think Miss O'Leary is feeling better now. Please excuse me. I have an emergency back at the church.”

He dashed down the hall before they could ask any questions and force him to tell yet another lie.

W
AS
I
WRONG
to leave home?

Brianna picked at the eggs on her plate as the question that had haunted her all night burned in her brain.

Over the past few days, she'd suffered from a terrible case of homesickness, spending her first Independence Day ever away from her family. She couldn't help but remember the wonderful gatherings of friends and neighbors at Irish Meadows over the years, the food, the laughter, the fun times she'd shared with Gil . . .

This year, Brianna had accompanied Aunt Fiona to the house of a colleague, and they'd shared a sedate meal with a group of professors and talked of college programs and politics.
Bored
didn't even begin to describe how Brianna had felt all afternoon. The fact that one of the men's sons had followed her around like a lost puppy only added to Brianna's discomfort. She'd cried herself to sleep that night, wondering how her family had spent the day, wishing for Mama's comforting presence.

“Brianna. There's a telephone call for you.”

Brianna looked up from her uneaten breakfast to see Aunt Fiona in the doorway, an almost apologetic look on her face.

“Is it Daddy?”

“I'm afraid so. He insists on speaking with you.”

Brianna sighed. She'd known she'd have to face her father eventually. Better to do it over the telephone than in person. She'd half expected him to arrive on Aunt Fiona's doorstep one day and haul her back home.

Brianna crossed the hall to the small study and picked up the earpiece lying on the desktop. She took in a breath and let it out, steeling herself to be strong. “Hello, Daddy.”

“Brianna.” A loud blast of air hissed through the earpiece. “This nonsense has gone on long enough. I want you home.”

Her heart gave a hiccup. Had her father just admitted to missing her?

“You've caused your mother enough grief with this little drama of yours. It's time to start acting like an adult.”

Immediately Brianna's back went up. “I'm quite happy here with Aunt Fiona.
She
doesn't tell me what to do every minute.”

“I am still your father, and you will obey me.” His bellow caused her to pull the phone piece away from her ear.

Brianna could picture Daddy's face turning red on the other end. “I love you, Daddy, but I am not coming home.”

With shaking fingers, she hung up the earpiece and sagged onto the nearby chair. She took a few deep breaths, unable to believe she'd just defied her father that way. And she'd done it without insults, tears, or hysterics. A lightness spread through her limbs. Perhaps it wasn't so hard after all to stand up for herself. To stake a claim on her future happiness.

Her thoughts automatically turned to Gil. Could she take her bravery one step further? Could she confront Gil one more time and try to make him see reason?

Filled with newfound purpose, she pushed all doubts out of
her mind, knowing she had to try . . . or she'd regret it the rest of her life.

An hour later, dressed in one of her best gowns, Brianna approached the intimidating door to the Hastings Bank and Loan Company. She clutched her handbag tighter and pushed through the entrance. The elegant surroundings took her breath away. Still, she found it hard to picture Gil working here. Stifling her nerves, she walked up to the receptionist.

“May I speak with Mr. Whelan, please?”

The woman smiled. “Do you have an appointment?”

Brianna hesitated. The temptation to lie gripped her, but she shook her head. “No. It's a personal matter.”

The woman's eyebrows rose. “One moment and I'll see if he's free.”

Brianna fought the urge to pace the area while she waited. She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Why did it feel like everyone was staring at her?

At last, she heard footsteps and Gil appeared, a frown creasing his brow. “Brianna. Is everything all right?”

She gulped in a breath. He looked devastatingly handsome in a dark suit and matching vest. Like a real banker. “Everything's fine. Could I speak with you for a minute?”

Gil looked at the clock on the wall, then back at the receptionist, who had resumed her seat. “Mrs. Gilmore, if anyone is looking for me I'm taking a ten-minute break.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gil put a hand to Brianna's back and motioned to the door. “Let's take a walk.”

The fact that he hadn't smiled once or said he was glad to see her sent off little flares of alarm through Brianna's system. Maybe he sensed her nerves and figured something was wrong. If only she could figure out how to start this conversation . . .

They exited the bank and walked down the sidewalk. He
turned a corner, led her to a bench in front of a barber shop, and motioned her to sit down.

“What is it, Bree?” His face remained serious as he sat beside her. Something Brianna couldn't quite define hovered in his eyes.

She twisted the strap of her bag in her fingers. “I . . . I spoke to Daddy today.”

Gil went still, his back ramrod straight. She glanced at his face. The anguish there stunned her.

“So he told you?”

Confusion clouded Brianna's thinking, and all the words she'd prepared flew from her mind. “Told me what?”

Gil's gaze slid away to some spot on the ground. He ran a hand over his jaw.

She noticed the dark circles under his eyes then, and the slightly hollow look to his cheeks. “What is it, Gil?”

He seemed to pull himself back with some effort. “Never mind. First tell me what you came here for.”

It was now or never. Brianna shored her courage and wet her dry lips. “Daddy demanded I come home, but I said no. I stood up to him, Gil. And it felt good.”

The lines on his forehead eased. “That was very brave of you.” He gave a slight smile, but his expression remained sad.

“And now I'm going to do something else equally brave.” She looked him square in the eye. “I'm going to fight for you, Gil. I refuse to let Daddy dictate our lives. We need to follow our hearts, and in the end, when Daddy sees how happy we are, he'll come around. He can't stay mad at us forever.”

Pain leapt into Gil's eyes before he closed them on a groan. “Oh, Bree . . .”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “If I can be brave, you can, too, Gil. Please say you'll try.”

He jerked off the bench, away from her, and stood staring across the street, his back rigid beneath his jacket. “I'm so sorry, Bree, but it's too late.”

The cold grip of fear clutched her midsection. “What do you mean?”

When he turned toward her, his face looked haggard. “I'm engaged to Aurora. We announced it at the Independence Day party at her father's house.”

The air rushed from her lungs. The scenery blurred before her eyes. “But you barely know her. How could you possibly . . . ?”

“I'm sorry, Bree,” he repeated. “It happened quickly. Some . . . courtships move faster than others.”

She lurched to her feet. “What are you saying? That you're in love with her?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. He swallowed. “Yes.”

Searing pain like nothing she'd ever experienced shafted through her heart. He turned his head as though looking at her was too awful to bear. How could she have been so wrong about something? Had she deluded herself into believing what she wanted to believe?

She pulled herself up to her full height, willing her limbs to cooperate. At least now she had her answer. Once and for all. “I see. Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I wish you and Aurora every happiness.”

Before her tears could betray her, she walked quickly down the sidewalk, away from Gil and away from any ties to the past. Her future had become clear. She would follow in her aunt's footsteps—forgo any foolish notions of romance—and dedicate her life to something that would never cause her this type of agony again.

Slumped at his desk the next day, Gil rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to dislodge the grittiness that blurred his vision. After another near-sleepless night, haunted by visions of Bree's devastation, he could barely see straight.

He suppressed a groan. Had he done the right thing—lying
to Bree about his feelings for Aurora? It was the only way he could think of to convince her to give up on him once and for all. Despite her talk of bravery, Gil just couldn't betray James or risk tearing the O'Leary family apart. Bree may not realize it, but without her father's approval—something she'd been craving her entire life—she could never be truly happy.

Gil raised his coffee cup to his lips and grimaced at the cold, bitter brew left in the bottom. How many cups had he already consumed today? No matter. He'd need another if he was to get through the afternoon.

Perhaps he'd take a walk to Amsterdam Avenue and buy a coffee from the deli at the corner. The fresh air might do him as much good as the caffeine. With a swipe to the back of his chair, he grabbed his suit jacket and pushed out the wooden gate into the main area of the bank.

Arthur Hastings emerged from his office at the same time, a frown creating furrows on his brow. “Gilbert, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course, sir.” The coffee and walk would have to wait.

He followed Mr. Hastings into his office.

“Is anything wrong?” Gil took one of the guest chairs.

Arthur sat down and pushed a familiar blue folder across the desk. The anonymous loan application he'd asked Gil to examine.

“Is there a problem with the file?” Perspiration dampened the back of Gil's shirt. Had he made a grave error?

“You declined this application.” Mr. Hastings's flat tone gave away nothing.

“Yes, sir. After calculating and recalculating the figures, I didn't feel the client warranted the loan.” Gil frowned. “Did I miss something?” He was still learning the ropes. Had he overlooked an important element?

Arthur ran a hand over his mustache and sighed. “No. You made the right decision. It's the same one I have to make.”

The air in the stuffy office became even more suffocating as a sudden suspicion dawned on Gil. “This is Mr. O'Leary's application, isn't it?”

The grim look Arthur gave him told him the answer. Deflated, Gil sagged back against the chair. “This is going to crush him.”

“I know.” Arthur pushed to his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “But I cannot in good conscience approve the loan. To make an allowance for a personal acquaintance is no way to run a bank.”

Gil rubbed a hand over his jaw “Is there no other option?”

“I'm afraid not.”

Bile rose in the back of Gil's throat as a horrible thought hit him. He'd agreed to marry Aurora believing it would further Mr. O'Leary's cause, and now it appeared he'd done it all for nothing. The image of Brianna's stricken face when he'd told her of his engagement burned in his mind. The collar of his shirt choked off his air supply like a hangman's noose tightening around his neck. Gil wet his dry lips. “When will you break the news to him?”

Arthur glanced at the clock on his desk. “It's getting late. I think I'll wait until the morning. I feel it only right to tell him in person. I'll have James come in tomorrow.” Arthur exhaled loudly as he resumed his seat. “You did good work on that case, son. I'm sorry the answer couldn't have been different.”

“You and me both, sir.”