The Passion of Patrick MacNeill (9 page)

BOOK: The Passion of Patrick MacNeill
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Bless her nephew. But before Kate could draw her breath in relief, Amy intervened. "Billy, did you leave the baby inside all alone?"

He squirmed. "Ma, she was fine."

"Billy." She shook her head, seemingly more disappointed than angry. "You're the oldest. You go in and get her now and bring her to Aunt Katie."

He scuffed the ground at his feet. "Yeah, okay. Be right back."

"Can I come?" Jack asked.

"Sure."

They ran into the trailer, two sets of sneakers thumping on the steps.

"Honestly." Amy turned to the other two adults. "You'd think he'd be more responsible by now. It's like some things never change."

"Yes," Patrick said dryly. "I see that."

Kate glanced at him sharply. Whether he meant to support her or not, she wouldn't tolerate him mocking her family.

He hesitated, as if searching for an inoffensive explanation. "I'm an oldest child myself."

Amy nodded, uncomprehending.

Jack banged back through the screen door and held it open for Billy. The boy trundled down the steps, precariously balancing his baby sister, her fat little legs sticking out on either side of his waist.

Rescuing her niece from Billy's slipping clasp, Kate settled the baby competently on her hip. "This is Jenny."

A girl.
The punch of yearning caught Patrick unaware.
A real cutie, too, with her mother's flyaway curls and her aunt's observant eyes.
A lifetime ago, Patrick had wanted a baby girl. The joy of Jack's arrival had eclipsed that dream. The loss of his wife had extinguished it. But seeing Kate with her sister's child in her arms, he realized that the hope still flickered deep inside.

Two sets of pink cheeks, two pairs of brown eyes, two rosy smiles…

He jammed his hands in his back pockets to keep from reaching for them both and took a step back. "Cute."

Kate, he saw, registered his withdrawal without understanding it, bristling at the imagined slight to her niece. "Don't you like babies?"

The child lurched for a fistful of her aunt's wavy hair and stuffed it in her mouth. Nine months old, he guessed. Probably crawling, and into everything. He'd missed this stage with Jack. Jack had gone from a sturdy five-month-old just sitting up to wasted muscle on a hospital cot. By the time he was able to crawl, Jack was well over a year old.

"I like
babies
fine."

"But not girls."

He smiled at the challenge in Kate's voice, letting her needling prick him from his memories, "Oh, I like girls."

"I just bet you do," Amy murmured, widening her eyes at him.

"Too bad he can't go to lunch with you and Ma," Kate said, tongue planted firmly in cheek.

She was teasing him. His body responded with instant, serious intent.

"Well, now, I know Mama wouldn't mind the company. If Patrick's free…" Amy trailed off suggestively.

Damn, she was coming on to him.

"I was joking, Amy," Kate said flatly.

"I know that, but it's not a bad idea. The kids are used to you. We'll only be gone a few hours. And I'm sure Patrick wouldn't mind taking a couple of ladies to lunch."

She couldn't be serious. He was here with Kate. He looked her way, but Kate was wearing her cool doctor's face again, the one he was learning concealed a wealth of emotion. What did she want him to do? He didn't want to be rude to her sister, but he for damn sure didn't want to spend time with Amy, either.

"I can't leave Jack," he said.

"Oh, Katie's real good with kids," Amy assured him. "Mama never could figure why she didn't have a couple of her own, instead of messing around with other people's."

Her casual dismissal of her sister's abilities and dedication stunned Patrick. He waited for Kate to protest, but the prickly lady doctor had hidden her face in the baby's neck, as if drawing comfort from the soft weight and powder smell of the child in her arms.

"Well, thank God she's taking care of mine," he said curtly. "The least I can do is
stick
around."

Amy smiled ruefully. "That's real sweet. That's more than any man has done for me. Okay, then. I guess I'll go pick up Mama. Billy, you be good, now." She hugged her baby and kissed the air by her sister's cheek. "See y'all later."

She floated to the little blue car parked in the weeds by the trailer. With a wave of her hand and a beep of her horn, she was gone.

Hell. Patrick studied Kate, wondering at her reaction to her flighty younger sister. Wondering what
his own
response should be.

She straightened her shoulders, shifting the baby to her other hip.
"Billy, why don't you take Jack inside and show him your space men.
Patrick, could you please take that bag out of the trunk for me?"

Her brisk recovery made him grin. "Yes, Doctor."

Billy balked at the trailer steps, dragging the toe of one sneaker in the dirt. "Can we go down to the creek, instead? We'll be careful," he added quickly, anticipating his aunt's caution.

Kate's gaze sought Patrick's. He warmed at the hesitancy he found there. "Is that all right with you?"

"Where is the creek?"

Kate pointed.
"Right there.
You can see it from the kitchen window."

This was part of the test flight, Patrick guessed. Could he afford to let his boy try his wings?
"How deep?"

"With all the rain we've had, it might be, oh, eight inches." So they wouldn't drown. "Anything else you should warn me about?"

Kate smiled.
"Muddy shoes?"

Patrick nodded, accepting both the information and the probability. He and his brothers had trashed more shoes than a battalion at boot camp.

"Fine.
As long as you're both careful.
Jack, stay with Billy."

Jack was pale with excitement. "‘Kay, Dad."

"And stay in front of the window where I can see you," Kate added.

"Yes, Aunt Katie," Billy said cheekily.

"And keep your bandage dry!" she called after them.

Inside the trailer, Kate plunged into activity, depositing Jenny in her playpen and pulling plastic baby bottles out from one of the cabinets. Patrick had trouble reconciling the flushed, devoted aunt bustling in the cramped kitchen with the cool, decisive doctor he'd first met. The contrast fascinated him, tempted him to explore. What had driven Kate Sinclair from the trailer park to
Jefferson
University
Hospital
?

He crossed his arms, studying her. "So how much older are you than your sister?"

Her busy hands paused briefly over the bottles. "Eons," she said. "Can you reach a can of formula out of that cabinet? I want to feed Jenny and get her down for her nap. Then I'll make lunch for the rest of us."

So they weren't going to discuss her sister, Patrick thought, contemplating her averted face. That was fine with him. As she'd been so careful to insist, they had a doctor/father-of-a-patient relationship. He didn't need the details of her personal life.

He handed her the formula and then leaned a hip against the counter. "What's in the bag?"

Running water in the sink, she barely spared him a glance.
"Groceries."

He raised an eyebrow. "You brought groceries to your sister's?"

She shrugged, not answering. She didn't need to. Suddenly, the way she lived, the plain apartment, the rattletrap car, made disturbing sense. Opening a cabinet door, he began to stack cans of tuna and tomatoes on the second shelf.

Leave it, MacNeill, he ordered himself. But in the Corps he'd been known for his willingness to tackle ticklish assignments. He tried a quick, conversational foray. "So when you two were growing up, did she steal all your boyfriends?"

Bottles rattled in the sink. "What boyfriends?"

He lowered his hand, studying her uncompromising back. "There had to have been boyfriends."

"Why?"

Nine years since she'd had a lover, Patrick thought. Surely that wasn't the pattern of her life? He remembered the frame house in
Quincy
, the girls dropping by through long, hot summers to watch the MacNeill boys mow the grass and wash the car. He could almost taste the tang of sweat, the smell of excitements as they experimented at love in the back seats of cars and under the bleachers in the high-school gym. Between chores and Holly, he'd never had the success Sean boasted of, but still…

"I just figured that sort of thing was part of growing up." Kate shook her head. Her hair slipped forward to veil her face, and he felt his groin tighten. "Not for me. I never even went to my prom."

"Too busy studying?"

"Never asked."

He felt a vague need to apologize for the inadequacies of teenage boys. "They were probably intimidated."

"Not intimidated.
Just not interested."

He tried to imagine Kate at sixteen. She'd been a brain, he figured. Con had gone for that type. She probably wore dark baggy T-shirts that couldn't disguise her developing breasts. He pictured her with plain nails and loose hair and big, serious brown eyes.

"Honey, I don't believe that for a minute."

Water splashed as she set another bottle on the drain board. "It's true. I was fat, I was ugly, I didn't know how to dress, and I talked too much."

Her vulnerability fissured his control. "Fat, huh?" He pushed away from the counter and came up behind her. "You probably matured early. You've got great curves."

He put his hands on her hips and pulled her back against him, ignoring her swift intake of breath, letting her feel just what those curves did to him. "What's a poor, dumb kid gonna do with a girl his age who's built like a woman? I'm telling you, they were intimidated."

Between his hands, she trembled. He dragged in a breath, fighting to keep his touch easy on her hips. He wanted to span her ribs with his fingers. He wanted to sneak his palms up over her round, firm breasts. Remembering the way her nipple had
risen
to his touch, his body surged.

"I still wasn't pretty," she insisted.

Tenderness swelled in him, almost crowding out desire.
Almost.
He turned her to face him, leaning her back against the sink.

"You look okay to me." He lifted one hand to play with her pretty hair, loving the way it curled around his fingers. "You've got nice hair. Nice eyes." She kept them lowered, as if his collarbone was a medical anomaly. "Did you have pimples when you were a kid?"

That brought her gaze up. "No!"

He smiled. "Nice skin." He let his palm cup her cheek, warming his hand on her blush as he continued to catalog her features. "Your nose is pretty straight. Your mouth…"

Her mouth quivered. She bit down on her lower lip to punish it, and he was undone. "Damn, you've got a sweet mouth, honey."

He bent to taste it. He used his tongue to comfort her poor lip and then to dip inside. Warmth and welcome greeted him. He traced the slick inner surface of her lip and the smooth, sharp edge of her teeth, getting to know her, learning the textures of her mouth. She pressed closer, seeking more. He widened the kiss, widened his stance, dipping deeper. She sucked on his tongue, and his blood pressure shot through the roof.

He lifted her, so the sink supported her sweet, lush backside, and found a place for
himself
between her thighs. Her breath came shallow and quick against his lips as she strained against him. Her wet hands trailed up his arms and grabbed his hair. He smelled lemon dish detergent and something sweeter, wilder, distilled from the hollows of her skin. Groaning encouragement, he thrust back into her mouth.

Her calves wrapped the back of his thighs. Her knee knocked the counter, and something clattered and fell. Jenny's bottle rolled on the floor.

Wild-eyed, Kate pushed at his chest. Patrick let her go, using his strength to gentle her, to ease her down from the edge of the sink, to support her until her legs could do the job on their own.

"I can't believe… I never meant…"

"Spit it out, honey."

Glaring, she took a deep breath and tried again. "I thought we agreed it was in Jack's best interest to keep our relationship completely professional."

She meant it, too. He raked a hand through his hair. "Yeah, we did."

Better that way, he thought.
Safer that way.
Only the bulge in his jeans and the empty feeling in his chest were telling him different.

He took a step back, hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, trying to lighten the tension between them. "I just figured maybe you could use a different perspective on your high-school years."

He admired the way she lifted her chin and attempted a smile. "Gee, thanks."

He couldn't help himself. He had to say it. "You were right about one thing, though."

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