Ryan's Place (11 page)

“That would be my impression,” Rory agreed. He studied her intently. “What do you intend to do about this power you have over him?”

Rather than replying, she met his gaze. “Any suggestions?”

“Now if a woman affected me the way you affect our Ryan, I wouldn’t mind if she were to make an outright pass at me,” the Irish cook said, then sighed heavily. “But sadly, Ryan is a better man than I. I think a subtler approach is called for.”

“Meaning?”

“Persistence and patience,” he recommended. “Whatever you’ve done to rattle him, do that and more of it.” An unrepentant grin suddenly crossed his face. “Ah, here is the very man in question, looking oddly unrefreshed from his nap.”

“Go to hell,” Ryan muttered as he crossed to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. Only then did he glance at Maggie. “Want some?”

“I’d love a cup,” she said, noting that Ryan’s gaze fell on Rosita as he poured the coffee. He hesitated, then gave a resigned shake of his head before handing Maggie her coffee.

“Okay,” Rory declared, “there are too many people in my kitchen. You two, out. I’ll fix you an omelette and bring it out, or would you prefer a sandwich since we’re well into afternoon now?”

“An omelette sounds lovely,” Maggie said.

“Perhaps Rosita could fix it,” Ryan suggested.

“She’s on a break,” Rory retorted emphatically.

“Come on,” Maggie encouraged before Ryan could debate the topic.

“I knew hiring that woman was a mistake the instant I saw she was pregnant,” he complained as they went to a booth. “If nothing else, Rory is gallant. I knew he’d never let her do a lick of work.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think Rosita is as frustrated as you are.”

“That doesn’t actually help. I hired her because Rory claimed to need help.”

“And now he’s satisfied. Maybe all he really needed was company.”

“I am not paying someone to sit in there and chat with him. Besides, she doesn’t know enough English to carry on a conversation.”

“Oh, I think she knows enough,” Maggie said, then captured and held his gaze. “So, Rory tells me you slept down here. Mind telling me why?”

“I sat down for a minute and fell asleep,” he said defensively. “There’s nothing more to it.”

“But why were you down here in the first place? You were as exhausted as I was. I thought you were going straight to sleep on the sofa upstairs.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“I hope it wasn’t because of me.”

He didn’t look away as she’d anticipated. Instead, he turned the challenge around.

“Now why would you have anything to do with it?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said with an offhand shrug. “Maybe because you were tempted to crawl into your bed with me.”

“Absolutely not,” he said.

Maggie laughed at the too-quick response. “Liar, but I’m going to let that pass this time.”

“How gracious of you,” he said sourly. “Did you explain to your mother that I couldn’t come to dinner?”

“She wasn’t home. I left her a message to that effect. Just to prepare you, though, don’t be surprised if she comes in here to demand an explanation.”

He frowned at that. “Can’t anyone in your family take a simple no for an answer?”

“Not usually,” she said cheerfully. “You should probably try to get used to it.”

“Why? Eventually you’ll go back to Maine, and that will be that. I’ll probably never see you or any of your family again.”

Maggie shook her head at the note of resignation in his voice. “That’s not how it works with us. Face it, Devaney, we’re here to stay.”

“What about Maine?” he asked, a faint note of desperation
in his voice. Apparently, he’d been clinging to the notion that she would be leaving after the holidays so he could let himself off the hook and never have to deal with his all-too-apparent feelings for her.

“I’ve decided not to go back,” she announced, making the decision on the spot. Whatever happened between her and Ryan, she wanted to remain in Boston. And, if she had her way, she would work right here, by his side. Eventually maybe he’d even let her get her hands on his accounting system so she could bring him into the twenty-first century.

His gaze narrowed. “Why not?”

“There’s nothing for me there,” she said.

“And here?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Ryan sighed heavily at her response, but Maggie was almost certain there was a slight flicker of relief in his eyes. It wasn’t much, but she was going to cling to that with everything she had.

A week later, with Christmas only days away, Ryan was still cursing the fact that he hadn’t done everything he could to persuade Maggie that she belonged in Maine. The only trouble would have been that he didn’t believe it. It was more and more evident to him that she belonged right here, making him laugh with her stories about her family.

Making him yearn.

Even so, he caught himself before he allowed her to weave a spell around him that couldn’t be broken. Though the invitations to join the O’Briens for dinner came almost daily, he determinedly turned down every single one. He was pretty sure he was finally getting through to Maggie that what they had now was as far as he was going to allow things to go.

Of course, just when he was feeling confident, he looked up and spotted her mother coming through the pub’s door with a determined glint in her eyes. Maggie had warned him about precisely this, but as the days had gone by, he’d put the possibility of a direct confrontation with Nell O’Brien from his mind. Now, on Christmas Eve, she was standing squarely in front of him, hands on hips and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

“I am going to pretend that you haven’t rudely turned down every single invitation Maggie’s offered,” she said, eyes flashing. “I will not allow you to say no to having Christmas dinner with us tomorrow. Father Francis is invited, as well.”

“The shelter—” Ryan began, only to have his words cut off.

“Dinner at the shelter is at noon. I checked,” she told him. “We’ll eat at five. That should give you both plenty of time to get there.” She tilted her head in a way that reminded him of Maggie. “Any questions?”

Ryan knew when he was beaten. “No, ma’am.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, thank you. Can I bring anything?”

“Just Father Francis and a pleasant attitude,” she said, then kissed his cheek. “And a small token for Maggie, perhaps. I know she has a little something for you.”

Ryan sighed. He’d already seen the perfect gift for Maggie, but he’d kept himself from buying it. He’d told himself that any present at all would carry implications of a connection he was trying not to encourage. He should have known it was another bad decision on his part, should have realized that she would have no such reticence about buying him something.

“Maureen, watch the bar,” he called to his waitress. “I have an errand to run.”

“We’re filled to overflowing and you want to run an errand?” she asked, regarding him with astonishment.

“Last-minute Christmas shopping,” he said.

A grin spread across her face. “And if I’m not mistaken, that was Maggie O’Brien’s mother who just came breezing through here. Does that mean you’re going to buy something special for Maggie?”

“You can jump to whatever conclusions you want,” he said, “as long as I can get out of here before the stores close.”

“Go,” Maureen said. “Besides, I imagine Maggie will be along any minute now to help out. Shall I tell her you’re out shopping for her?”

He scowled. “You’ll do no such thing, or your bonus for this year will turn out to be ashes and switches.”

Maureen laughed at the empty threat. “You gave me my bonus last week.”

He sighed. “Next year, then.”

As if the holidays weren’t stressful enough for him, why was it that every female he knew had suddenly decided this was the perfect season to drive him crazy?

“I
t’s a good thing you’re doing,” Father Francis assured Ryan as they drove to Maggie’s house on Christmas afternoon after a busy morning at the shelter during which Ryan had played Santa to dozens of children. “It’s about time you spent a holiday with a real family, rather than just the lost souls at the shelter or the strays who wander into the pub.”

“This from a man who is usually among those strays,” Ryan retorted.

“Only because I worry about you,” the priest responded. “And because Rory is the only man I know who can make a decent Christmas pudding.”

“Then why are you so agreeable to missing it this year?” Ryan asked.

“Because we’ve had a better offer. Christmas pudding is not the most important part of the holiday, after all.”

“Besides which, I’m sure Rory agreed to save you some,” Ryan guessed.

“Aye, that he did,” the priest agreed unrepentantly.

A few minutes later Ryan found a parking space half a block from the O’Brien home. Judging from the number of cars in front of the house and lining the driveway, there was a full house. Even though he was likely to know almost everyone there, Ryan suffered a moment of panic at the prospect of facing them. However, one look from Father Francis had him cutting the engine and climbing out.

At the door Maggie greeted them warmly, reserving a smug grin for Ryan. “They’ve been taking bets inside on whether you’d show up,” she told him. “I believe my haul should be more than twenty dollars. Mother gets the other half.”

“Do you all bet on everything?” he asked as Father Francis laughed.

“Just about,” she said, standing on tiptoe to give Ryan a slow, deliberate kiss that made his head spin.

Before he could gather his wits, Ryan heard Father Francis mutter, “About time.” Then the priest disappeared in an obvious attempt to give them some privacy.

Ryan felt Maggie’s lips curve into a slow smile against his. When he pulled away, there was amusement dancing in her eyes. “What?” he demanded crankily.

“Nothing,” she insisted. “Did you hear me say a word?”

Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction. “Keep it that way. This situation is not amusing, Maggie. I can’t seem to make myself stay away from you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. I’m the wrong man for you.”

She surveyed him so thoroughly he almost squirmed, then shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“You being wrong for me.” Her gaze lit on the small gift bag in his hand. “Is that for me?”

With a sigh, he handed it to her. A part of him wanted her to open the present right then, but a part of him dreaded it. He didn’t have a lot of practice picking out gifts, but this one had seemed so right. If she hated it, he was going to feel like an idiot.

Maggie had no such hesitations. She was pulling tissue from the bag with the excitement of a child. Her eyes lit up when she saw the small, square box. For a moment she fumbled with the lid, then impatiently handed it to him. “I’m all thumbs. You open it.”

“It’s your present,” he protested.

“Please.”

Ryan took the box, slit the tape holding it closed, then lifted the lid just enough to make opening it the rest of the way easy for her. “Okay, all yours,” he said, anxious to be rid of it. Even so, he couldn’t tear his gaze away as he awaited her reaction.

Maggie carefully unfolded the tissue in the box, then sighed. “Oh, my,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “Ryan, they’re beautiful.” She removed the antique marcasite hair clips from the box with a look of reverence. The clips were made in the shape of shamrocks, and each had a tiny emerald chip in the center that was the exact color of Maggie’s eyes. “I have to put them on.”

Ryan stood as if frozen while she moved to a mirror on the foyer wall. Once the sparkling clips were in her hair, she turned to him with a smile. “They’re perfect, the very best present anyone ever gave me. Thank you.”

Ryan didn’t know how to cope with either her gratitude or
the too-obvious love shining in her eyes. It was all too much for a man who’d rarely been the recipient of either, at least not from anyone who’d truly mattered. Panic rushed through him. Not five minutes ago he’d told her that he was wrong for her, and now, apparently, she was more convinced than ever that they were exactly right for each other. He’d never realized before that a gift could speak volumes, could even contradict words, no matter how emphatically they’d been expressed.

“Maggie, I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” he said, turning toward the door. Before he could bolt, however, she stepped in front of him.

“Do what?” she asked.

He gestured toward the rest of the house, which was crowded with O’Briens. “The family thing. I’m no good at it.”

Her gaze locked with his, unrelenting, yet tempered with understanding. “If that’s true—and I’m not saying I believe it for a minute—then it’s time you told me why. The whole story, not bits and snatches.”

Ryan sighed at her reasonable request. “Yes, I do owe you an explanation, but not today. Your family’s waiting for you in there.”

“They’re waiting for both of us,” she corrected. “There are plenty of appetizers and Dad’s eggnog. They won’t mind waiting a little longer.”

So, he thought, this was it. “Is there someplace we can talk privately?”

“My room,” she said at once.

Ryan balked as if she’d suggested going upstairs to make love. “I am not going to your room with you, in front of your entire family. Are you nuts? What will they think?”

“That we’re looking for someplace private,” she replied reasonably. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a crowd in the kitchen keeping my mom company while she cooks. There’s a crowd in the den watching football. The kids are in the rec room downstairs. And there are at least a half dozen people in the living room listening to every word we’re saying right now. Do you have a better idea?”

He latched on to her hand, grabbed a coat off the rack by the door and dragged her outside to his car. He turned the heater up full blast, then turned to look at her. Only then did he realize that he’d mistakenly grabbed a coat belonging to someone much larger. She looked lost and more delicate than ever in the folds of dark-blue wool. Her wide eyes watched him warily as if she were uncertain what sort of storm she’d unleashed.

Before he could drag her to him and kiss her the way he desperately wanted to, he forced himself to take a deep breath and tell her everything—about the way his parents had run off, about the devastating day he’d been separated from his brothers, about the roller-coaster ride he’d taken through the foster care system, about Father Francis catching him just as he’d been about to break into a neighborhood quick-mart for something to eat on a bitterly cold Thanksgiving eve.

“It wasn’t the first time I’d broken into a store, and probably wouldn’t have been the last,” he told her, his gaze unflinching. “I was a thief.”

“You were a hungry kid,” she countered, her eyes overflowing with sympathetic tears.

“Don’t excuse what I did because you feel sorry for me,” he retorted sharply, hating that she seemed so eager to overlook the truth. “And don’t you dare pity me. I didn’t deserve it then, and I certainly don’t now. I knew right from wrong.”

“You were a boy,” she insisted, still fiercely defending him. “You were obviously desperate.”

“I was old enough to know better,” he countered just as harshly. “I was just a no-good brat. Obviously, my parents knew that.” He took a deep breath, then blurted the secret guilt he’d kept hidden in his heart for so long. “It’s why they left, why I could never fit in with any of the foster families.”

Maggie stared at him in shocked disbelief. “No,” she said, flatly refusing to accept his explanation. “Whatever the reason your parents left, it wasn’t that.”

Ryan was startled by the depth of her conviction. He wished he were half as convinced that he’d had no role to play in their leaving. What else was he to think, though? He’d been the oldest. If only he’d taken on more responsibility, behaved better, perhaps things would have been different.

“I’ve asked this before, but you’ve avoided answering. Have you ever tried to find them or your brothers?” she asked, her voice suddenly gentle.

He shook his head.

“I’ve asked before, but I’ll ask it again—why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They wanted no part of me or my brothers. Why should I go crawling after them?”

“If it were me, I’d want to know why they did it,” she said simply. “I’d have to know.”

“Some things defy explanation.”

“And some things are less painful when you’re old enough to understand the truth.”

“That’s nothing more than a bunch of psychological mumbo-jumbo and you know it,” he accused. “I don’t need it.”

“Then what
do
you need from me?”

He regarded her sadly. “Nothing,” he insisted, lying through his teeth. “Absolutely nothing.”

Maggie didn’t say a word, but she looked shattered. Before he realized what she intended, she was out of the car and running up the sidewalk. Ryan sat there, the open passenger door letting in the freezing air, and realized that never, not even on the day he’d been abandoned by his parents, had he felt quite so alone.

The pounding on the door to his apartment would have awakened the dead. Ryan scowled but didn’t budge from his chair. The drink he’d poured himself when he’d returned from Maggie’s was still full. Even as he’d filled the glass, he’d known the solution to his problems wasn’t alcohol. Unless he drank the whole blasted bottle it wouldn’t grant him the oblivion he sought.

“Dammit, I know you’re in there,” Rory shouted. “Open the door or I’ll have to break it down.”

Ryan sighed. He knew Rory was not only capable of such a thing but, given the heat in his voice, probably even eager to do it. He crossed the room in three long strides and threw open the door.

“What is your problem?” he demanded.

“I’m not the one with the problem,” Rory said.

“Oh?”

“Maggie called. She’s worried about you.”

“She shouldn’t be,” Ryan said.

“Then call her and tell her that.”

“I don’t think so.” As horrendous as this pain in his chest was, he knew that dragging Maggie back into his life wasn’t going to work. It was better that they end this with a clean break.

Rory noted the glass of scotch beside his chair. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I
rarely
drink. There’s a difference,” Ryan said. “And if you nose around a little more closely, you’ll see that I haven’t touched that drink, either.”

Rory gave a nod. “That’s okay, then. Want to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Interesting. Maggie didn’t say much, either.”

“How discreet of her,” Ryan said sarcastically. “It’s a pleasant change.”

Rory frowned at him then. “Maligning Maggie won’t fix whatever’s bugging you.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“Talking it out might help.”

“I am
not
discussing this, not with you, not with Maggie,” Ryan said forcefully, his gaze leveled at his friend. “Are we clear on that?”

“Whatever you say,” Rory said. “I suppose I’m expected to call her and tell her you’re still among the living?”

Ryan shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Perhaps I should drive out to console her,” Rory suggested slyly.

Ryan felt his gut tighten. “Don’t expect me to object.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Rory declared, plopping down on the sofa. “I’m not leaving here until you tell me what happened. The day you say it’s okay for me to pay a visit to Maggie is obviously the next-to-last day of the world.”

Despite his foul mood, Ryan felt his lips twitch. “It’s nothing that dire. It’s just that it’s over,” he told Rory, keeping his
tone surprisingly even. “Not that there was anything to begin with, just the promise of something.”

“And you ended it, I suppose.”

Ryan thought back over the scene outside of Maggie’s. He’d said the words that had ended it, but it was Maggie who’d walked away. There was equal blame, if he wanted to be honest about it. No, he corrected, the blame was all his. He’d done what he was so good at doing. He’d shut her out, this time with a declaration she couldn’t ignore.

“Yeah, I suppose I ended it,” he admitted.

“Why the devil would you do a lame-brained thing like that?” Rory demanded, clearly dumbstruck. “And on Christmas, too? Have you no heart at all?”

Ryan met his friend’s scowling gaze. “No,” he said evenly. “And isn’t that the point?”

“Sure, and if that’s so, then why does it appear to me that it’s not your hard head that’s suffering so tonight? It seems to me it’s your heart that’s broken,” Rory said, then headed for the door. “Think about that one, why don’t you?”

When the door clicked shut, Ryan closed his eyes against the tide of anguish and regret washing over him. He tried once again telling himself that he’d done the right thing, but being in the right was cold comfort.

The remainder of Christmas day passed in a blur for Maggie. She managed to keep a smile on her face, but she didn’t really fool anyone. She knew, because they all tiptoed around Ryan’s sudden disappearance, not a one of them asking why he’d gone. Matt quietly offered Father Francis a lift back to the city, and the priest left after giving Maggie’s hand a sympathetic squeeze. Obviously, not even he intended to try to ex
plain away Ryan’s abrupt departure. Of course, Maggie already knew the answer to that. He’d left because he couldn’t bear to spend another minute in her company…and because she’d run at the first sign of trouble.

The fact that her call to Rory had been as pointless as every other attempt to get through to Ryan only made her heartache worse. He’d called back to confirm that Ryan had gotten home, adding nothing more, not even a glimmer of hope that Ryan’s brooding state was likely to change come morning.

After several restless, sleepless nights, by the following Monday morning Maggie had convinced herself that
she
ought to search for the Devaneys if Ryan wasn’t going to do it. They were the key to this.

Downstairs, though, in the clear light of day, she knew that finding Ryan’s family wasn’t up to her. No matter how important she thought it was for Ryan to confront the past, he was the only one who could make the decision to do so.