14

WHAT WAS IT with him and strays?

“First a baby and now a dog.” Adam kicked a stone off the path as he strode up the sidewalk toward St. Rita’s. As if he wasn’t already irritated enough, this hound had been following him since he’d left John’s church, and no matter how many times Adam tried to chase the thing away, it stayed on his heels, a discreet enough distance away that he couldn’t do much about it.

When Adam turned down the side alley of the orphanage, the silly thing slunk in behind him, its bone-thin frame shaking. Adam scratched his beard and then peered over the back gate to make sure none of the children were around.

“I suppose it’s not fair to take my foul mood out on you. Come in for a minute, and I’ll see if Mrs. Norton has some scraps for you, but then you have to go.”

Foul didn’t begin to describe Adam’s disposition over the past few days. He’d yelled at Maggie to leave him alone, and she’d looked at him with eyes sadder than this mongrel. He knew he’d hurt her feelings, but in the long run, it had been for her own good. Any type of friendship with him could only lead to disaster, and he would do nothing to cause her harm.

The talk he’d had with John McNabb before leaving this morning had further darkened the cloud of gloom hanging over him. Adam had made the mistake of confiding in John what he’d learned about his parents’ marriage and the fact that he still couldn’t shake the bone-deep suspicion that James was not his real father.

“Why don’t you just ask your parents?” John had suggested mildly. “Better than all this crazy speculating.”

Though not happy at the prospect, Adam had been forced to agree. “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll never be at peace if I don’t find out one way or another. But I’ll need to figure out how best to approach it.” He could hardly burst into Irish Meadows hurling accusations. That would only alienate his family further.

What he needed was a logical plan of action.

A loud whine brought Adam’s thoughts careening back to the dog at his feet. “Right, scraps. Wait here.”

He mounted the back steps leading into the kitchen. Though Mrs. Norton loathed the very sight of him, Adam hoped she’d take pity on the poor dog and give it something to eat.

When he entered the room, cap in hand, ready to grovel if need be, a younger woman turned from the sink, her round, plain face breaking into a welcoming smile. The enticing aroma of baking bread met his nose, and despite having had a decent breakfast, his stomach growled.

“Hello. Is Mrs. Norton around?”

“I’m afraid she’s out on an errand. Can I help you?”

“I’m Adam, the outside caretaker, and—”

“I know who you are.” The girl winked at him. “I’m Mary, the new assistant cook.”

Adam swallowed. “Nice to meet you, Mary.” Obviously no one had filled her in on his background. “Would you happen to have any scraps or bones you don’t need? There’s a stray dog out back who’s in need of food.”

Her countenance brightened. “I’m sure we have something. Let me check.”

“I’ll be out back.” Adam hurried out the door, in case Rylan or Maggie happened along. He walked to the small shed in the yard and pulled out a pail and a bag of cement mix. While the children were out, he’d fix the cracks in the front stairs. The mangy mutt followed every step he took.

Soon the back door opened, and Mary waved at him. “I’ve put a few things in this bowl for him.”

Adam strode across the yard to take it from her. “Thank you, Mary. I hope this won’t get you on Mrs. Norton’s bad side.” He tried for a congenial smile, but his mouth refused to cooperate.

“Oh, no. Mrs. Norton won’t mind. Just bring the bowl back when he’s done.”

It took the dog only a few seconds to scarf down the table scraps, and when he was finished, Adam filled the bowl with water and let him drink his fill.

“You know, if you had a bath, you might not be bad-looking under all that filth.” Adam couldn’t help but recall the day he’d gotten out of prison and how much better he’d felt after some grooming.

He took a metal bucket from the shed and returned the bowl to the kitchen, grateful to find Mary wasn’t there at the moment. He filled the bucket with water, grabbed a bar of lye soap and a clean rag, then headed back outside. Adam half thought the dog might have disappeared after his belly had been filled, but the mutt had found a spot to lie in the shade. Adam approached with the water, and still the hound didn’t move. With stoic calm, the animal endured the cold bath and scrub of lye. Adam had just congratulated himself on a job well done and had started to douse the animal with a pail of rinse water, when the dog suddenly objected to the whole process. He bolted away, knocking the pail from Adam’s hand, soaking his boots with the remaining water.

“For the love of St. Patrick,” Adam grumbled, bending to right the pail.

The mutt bounded back, gyrating to shake the excess water from its coat. The spray drenched Adam’s face. He sputtered, wiping the deluge from his eyes and beard. He squinted at the animal, who, with its tongue lolling, seemed to be grinning at Adam.

A decidedly feminine giggle sounded behind them.

“Who’s giving who a bath, I’d like to know.”

Adam snapped to attention at the voice he’d know anywhere. He glanced over to see Maggie’s gray eyes dancing with merriment. Embarrassment heated his neck as he retrieved the rag he’d intended for the dog and swiped it over his own face. Dark patches of water marred his shirt and trousers. Suddenly he found himself wishing for his former wardrobe—fine suits and shirts, silk ties, and highly polished shoes. Maybe then he could hold his head up with a measure of pride when in the company of this beautiful woman.

“Whose dog is this?” Not appearing to mind the wet fur, Maggie stroked the mutt’s head. His ropey tail beat a happy refrain on the grass.

“He’s a stray.”

“And why would you be bathing a stray? Have you nothing better to occupy your time?” With a saucy grin, Maggie tugged the towel from Adam’s hand and bent to rub the cloth over the dog’s coat.

Heat pricked the back of Adam’s neck. He directed his glare to the offending creature, who now sat, the picture of docility, basking in Maggie’s administrations.

“My, he’s a handsome lad,” she said. “Look at this lovely chestnut fur.”

Adam almost growled, ashamed to find himself steeped in jealousy over a homeless animal.

“How did he get back here? Surely he didn’t climb the gate.” Maggie straightened, pushing her hair from her face.

Adam stared at her long, dark curls. What would it feel like to run his fingers through those tresses? With effort, he pulled his gaze back to the dog, who did indeed look much better. “He followed me here and seemed hungry . . .” Adam stopped, realizing how foolish he must sound.

Maggie grinned at him. “Oh, so you fed him and gave him a bath? A sure way to get rid of him.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I felt sorry for the mutt.”

Her fingers stilled in the dog’s fur. “Which proves my point, Adam O’Leary. You’re a kind man with a big heart.”

Speechless, he could only gaze into her eyes—so honest and clear, reflecting the beauty of her soul.

She cocked her head to one side, studying him. “I think a dog will do you a world of good.”

He straightened, scowling. “I do not need a dog. I’ve no place for him where I’m staying.” He held her gaze. “Which is on a cot in a church basement.” She needed to realize the type of life he was leading.

Maggie smoothed her dress. “Well, Delia’s been wanting a dog. Perhaps I’ll speak with Rylan tonight and see what he thinks.”

“He might make a good guard dog for the orphanage.” Adam frowned. “Which reminds me—you might want to tell Rylan I’ve noticed a strange man lurking around at odd times of day.”

Maggie shivered and pulled her shawl closer around her, her eyes suddenly wary. “When?”

“Early one morning last week, and another time later in the day. Why?”

She shrugged but didn’t meet his eyes. “I may have seen him, too.”

Adam’s protective instincts roared to life. “Maggie, you need to make sure you’re not alone when you go out. The city can be dangerous.”

She raised her chin. “I’ll be fine. Now, you’ll have to excuse me. I need to let Rylan know I’m back from my walk.” She reached down for one more pat of the dog’s back. “Take care of yourself, Adam.”

“You as well, Maggie.” He stood, watching her until she disappeared into the orphanage.

Seconds later, the press of the dog’s wet nose against his hand brought Adam back to his senses. A ragged breath escaped him. He really needed to find a different place to work—somewhere he wouldn’t have to face this constant reminder of something that could never be.

The next day, when Adam returned to finish his repairs, he was surprised to find the dog sitting at the base of the stairs, tail wagging. Perhaps feeding the mutt hadn’t been the smartest idea.

“What am I to do with you?” Adam huffed in mock exasperation as he bent to rub the animal’s ears.

He took a closer look at the dog. Someone must have fed him again this morning. His eyes were clear, and the edge of hunger had disappeared. He appeared contented—happy even.

“Glad one of us has found a home.” Adam promised himself he’d see if Rylan would like a shelter built for the animal, in the event that he became a permanent fixture at the orphanage.

After mixing water with the cement powder to form a patch for the cracks, Adam returned to the front stairs with a trowel and began to layer on the mixture. A movement farther along the sidewalk caught his attention. He stiffened as he recognized the man who had been loitering around the orphanage of late.

“You there,” Adam called out. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The man hesitated for a moment, but instead of retreating, he came closer. His expensive clothing told Adam he wasn’t simply a vagrant in search of a handout, though the jagged scar on his chin gave Adam pause.

“Perhaps you can. I’m looking for a woman by the name of Maggie Montgomery.”

Adam’s stomach muscles tightened as he straightened. The distinct Irish lilt made Adam wonder if this was perhaps yet another brother. “What do you want with her?”

The brown-haired man moved closer to the stairs. “So you know her, then?”

At Adam’s side, the dog let out a low growl.

“I might. What business do you have with her?” Every warning sense in Adam’s body went on alert.

The man smiled. “I’m Neill Fitzgerald, Maggie’s fiancé.”

The trowel laden with cement slipped from Adam’s fingers and landed with a loud plop on the walkway. Surely Maggie would have mentioned a fiancé. Then again, this dandy could be lying. “She never said she was engaged.”

Fitzgerald merely laughed. “That’s Maggie for you. Would you know if she’s here? I understand her brother runs this orphanage.”

The muscles in Adam’s jaw tightened. He wished he could find a fitting excuse to lie to the man, to tell him Maggie was nowhere around. But he’d made a vow that, once he was out of prison, he would live in truth. Could he lie now, for no reason other than a vague feeling of distrust, which might have more to do with jealousy than any other rational feeling? He sighed and wiped his hands on the rag hanging from his pocket. “I’ll see if Mr. Montgomery’s in.” He pointed to the stairs. “You can wait here.”

Since staff were expected to use the rear door, Adam rounded the back of the orphanage and hoped Rylan would understand why he deemed it necessary to enter the building with Maggie inside. The children, he believed, were on an outing, and the nuns would likely be in chapel for their prayer time.

As quietly as possible, Adam made his way to Rylan’s office. He knocked once, and when there was no answer, he opened the door and peered inside. The room lay shrouded in darkness. It appeared Rylan had gone out, as well.

Adam hesitated. Should he let this man in to see Maggie? Or should he ask him to come back another day? Though Adam preferred to wait until he could speak with Rylan, Adam realized Maggie had the right to make her own decision in the matter. It was possible she might want to see this man.

He weighed his options and then reluctantly went to find her.

Seated at the piano in the common room, Maggie brought the piece she’d been playing to a close. The tune was more complicated than she’d remembered. In any event, the composition wouldn’t be suitable to teach the children. She flipped through the pages of music, hoping to find a simpler piece.

The creak of the door alerted her to someone’s presence. A flare of disappointment shot through her. Likely Mr. Smith wanted to mop the floor while everyone was out. She’d anticipated having more time to linger over the keys before the children returned.

“I’ll be out of your way in two shakes.” Maggie swiveled on the bench and froze. The sheets of music fluttered from her fingers to the floor.

Neill moved across the room toward her. “As talented as ever, I see.”

“Neill.” Maggie shot to her feet, clutching the piano for support. His bright smile did not fool her for one minute. “What are you doing here?”

When she hadn’t heard from him after that day in the park with Delia, she’d hoped he’d given up and returned home. And she’d foolishly put off telling her brothers about him.

“I’ve come for you, as I promised.” Neill moved so close she could detect the faint smell of peat moss and sea brine that still clung to the fibers of his coat. “It’s time to come home where you belong and become my wife.”

Her fingers tightened on the smooth wood. She forced herself to breathe normally. “You seem to have forgotten that you are no longer my fiancé.” She bent to retrieve the scattered sheets of music, anything to avoid looking at him.

“That’s not true. We had a spat, is all. Now it’s time to kiss and make up.”

A wave of nausea rushed up Maggie’s throat as she became aware of their surroundings and how alone they truly were. She edged across the room toward the door. “I’m sorry, Neill. But as I’ve told you numerous times, I have no intention of marrying you.”

He came toward her, his eyes twin pools of rage. “You will not reject me again.”

Cold fear welled up inside her, spurring her to escape. She whirled away from him, her feet slipping on the floor in her haste.

Neill yanked her back by the hair. Maggie cried out in pain as he twisted the strands at her scalp, bringing her face within inches of his own.

His breath puffed out over her face, the sour waft of ale repulsing her. “We can be wed right here in New York, if we have to. And have our honeymoon on the voyage home.” A near-fanatical light glowed from the depths of his eyes.

Panic crashed through her, escalating her fear so that she couldn’t breathe. In that moment, she came to understand the full scope of Neill’s obsession.

He would never give up. Never leave her in peace.

Dear Lord, help me.