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August 1871, Central Florida
The house was large, far larger, in fact, than she’d expected. It seemed he’d done well since he left.
The woman unfolded the square of paper in her gloved hand and read the numbers again, scrutinizing the front of the place. An immense two-story mansion with wide columns and painted wood work, it almost defied description. She touched her hand to the wrought iron gate and inhaled. The metal, warmed from the sun, left faint black lines on her glove.
The latch squeaked, and she paused, casting furtive glances behind. Why am I being paranoid? No one knew her here, knew what she was, or what she’d done to survive.
Her boots, scuffed from her travels, clipped over the stone walkway, and her skirt caught on the untrimmed box hedges. Hastily pulling it free, she climbed the front steps and stopped. The door stared back at her.
What was on the other side? Would he recognize her? Would he send her away? Was this all a huge mistake?
Her life was all a gamble anyhow. From the time she was thirteen, she’d taken care of herself, and that had led her to what she’d become. People judged her for it now like they’d judged her for it then. Everyone except him. He was the only one who’d considered her human, the only one’d who cared.
She raised her fist to rap on the door but paused midair. Maybe she shouldn’t do this. What if he wouldn’t talk to her? She bit her lip and ran her palm over her belly. She had no choice. This time she wasn’t going back. There was another life to think of, one growing inside of her, and she wanted this one. Besides, she’d traveled a long way to see his face.
Her knock on the door sounded loud enough the entire town might hear it, and she cringed, leaping in place at the rush of air through the open door. A beautiful girl answered, her long, golden hair draped around the baby pressed to her shoulder. The baby gurgled and cooed.
“May I help you?” she asked.
A faltering smile came on the woman’s face. “I ...” The words stuck in her throat, and she gulped. “I wish to see Michael O’Fallen.”
The girl tilted her head and adjusted her grip on the baby. “I’m sorry,” she said. “He doesn’t ...”
“This was a mistake,” the woman gushed. “I’m sorry for bothering you.” She spun about and dashed for the steps.
“Please!” the girl called. “Don’t go.”
The woman stopped, her foot poised to descend, and cast a gaze over her shoulder. Now, she looked like a fool.
The girl smiled at her, a pleasant expression the woman didn’t often see. “Please,” she repeated. “I was only going to say he doesn’t take callers on Sundays. But I might can convince him.”
The woman pressed her hands in her skirt. “Thank you,” she answered primly.
The girl backed up in the doorway, ushering her into an immense foyer. A staircase with glossy, black handrails arched around the right side and upward to a broad landing. The girl led her beneath the landing over polished floors to a hallway tucked on the left. Here, she cracked a door and poked her head inside. “Michael, dear, someone’s here to see you.”
A chair from behind an immense desk squealed and a decidedly masculine figure clomped across the floor. “You’ve brought the little man?” a male voice said.
The voice whisked in the woman’s ears and upward into her brain, and a palpitation thumped in her chest. She’d know him anywhere.
The girl tossed her head and pushed the door further. “Yes, the little man,” she repeated. “But that’s not who’s here.”
His footsteps halted then, and he cleared his throat. “You know I don’t see people on Sundays.”
The baby squalled, and the girl patted him gently. “You’re getting old and crotchety,” she teased.
“Well, who is it?” he said, and he pulled open the door.
Her breath fled at the sight of him as it had every time she’d ever looked in those eyes, those beautiful green eyes. He was even more handsome than she remembered, and she hadn’t thought that possible.
He studied her and his eyes lit. They danced and twinkled as she’d seen them do many times.
She licked her lips. “Hello, Michael. It’s been a long time.”
The girl turned then, her brow creased. “Michael?” she asked.
He laid an arm around her shoulder. “Anne,” he said. “Meet Amber.”
Michael resisted the urge to stare slack-jawed at Amber, instead, deliberately pressing his lips together. She was here? Why? He gestured into the small office at a pair of leather chairs set before the desk. “Won’t you take a seat?”
She nodded, and followed him into the room. He perched on the corner of the desk.
She looked more mature, more tired, than he remembered. But it had been what? A year and seven months since he’d fled New York. She’d grown her ebony hair longer, sweeping it into a coil at the nape of her neck; a small hat cocked at an angle on her head. The look suited her.
Also, the thick makeup was gone. That was an improvement. Used to tell her to shed all that. But perhaps the biggest difference ... and he closeted a laugh ... was she was clothed. He’d only ever seen her half-naked.
“You look lovely,” he finally said.
She smiled at him, her red lips parting in a soft laugh. “You mean, ‘dressed.’”
He inclined his head.
“The baby ... it’s yours?”
Anne sat back in the chair. “And the wife as well.”
Amber halted and pressed her hands in her lap. “Your wife?” She extended her hand. “Let me congratulate you.”
Anne’s gaze narrowed slightly. She made no effort to take Amber’s hand. “Congratulate?”
“Indeed. First, for getting him to be serious about a woman.”
A sly grin creased Anne’s lips, and his gut twisted. She was enjoying this.
“Second, for being perhaps the luckiest woman on the planet.” Amber met his gaze and lowered her hand. “How did you do it? Or did he seduce you?”
Anne opened her mouth to speak, but Amber continued.
“No, he didn’t seduce you. He’s too strong for that. One thing Michael O’Fallen always had in abundance was willpower.”
Laughter burst from Anne’s lips. He gave a grin.
“Oh, so you’ve learned that for yourself?” Amber said.
Anne choked back her laughter and wiped her mouth with her palm. “Gracious yes,” she replied. “Mr. Willpower.”
Michael cleared his throat. “I’m still in the room.”
But they’d bonded now, and he sighed. The only two women on the planet who knew his past and here they were in the same place.
Amber’s eyes sparkled in the light.
“Why are you here?” he asked. He winced at his tone. “I mean, you are a long way from New York. How’d you find me anyway?”
Her eyes dimmed, and she looked away.
“Amber? Are you all right?”
She sucked in a breath. “No. I mean, yes. And you were relatively easy to find.”
“No, you’re not all right?”
“Yes, I’m all right. Do I not look all right?”
You look ... But he couldn’t put his finger on what seemed wrong. “Easy to find?” he stated instead.
She crossed her ankles. “THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN VOICE, I think that was the headline. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it. There I was contemplating my future and your face appears on the page.”
“In New York?”
She inclined her head. “In New York. The Irish tenor, a recluse who closets himself in his house for days on end pouring over old manuscripts. I recall that’s what it said though that doesn’t sound like you.”
He smiled. “No?”
“No.”
The baby whimpered then, and Anne tucked him to her. In that moment, he opened his eyes.
Amber sucked in her breath. “His eyes,” she whispered. “He has your eyes.”
He smiled at her and nodded.
“Oh, I didn’t think it possible for there to be two humans with eyes like that.” Her voice emerged high-pitched and breathy. “But I should have known you’d recreate yourself.” This last bit snapped out.
He withheld a laugh. She wasn’t joking. “Amber,” he said. “Why are you here?”
Her face fell, and she focused her gaze on the floor. “I ... I’m in a spot of trouble. My life went wrong after you left. Not that I blame you. But I started thinking about what you used to say to me. You know, about living like that, and it wasn’t good for me anymore.”
She turned to Anne. “I might as well speak this to you. Your husband was the only person I’ve ever met who cared two cents for me, the only one who told me I could better myself.” She glanced at him again and back to Anne. “I will always love him, and I can’t lie about that.
She licked her lips. “I’ve gotten out. But my past, it follows me, and I haven’t anywhere else to go.”
“You’ll stay here,” Anne said.
Michael startled at her words. Stay here? Why had she said that?
She locked with his eyes. “Any woman who understands Michael O’Fallen as well as I deserves a second chance.”
Amber’s eyes moistened. “That is kind of you, but I ... I have to tell you the rest before you commit, and I understand if you cast me away.”
However, Anne shook her head. “It’s not necessary. It’s not our job to judge you, and Patrick won’t mind if you stay. He’ll only say the house is big enough.”
“Patrick?”
The door creaked open. “Patrick Finnegan.” They all turned, and a man entered, his hands laid to the side of his black slacks. “And the house is big enough.” He gave a smile.
“I’m confused,” Amber said.
He stepped further into the room, his chocolate-brown, wavy hair becoming more disheveled with his movements.
“The article was half right,” Michael replied. “I do stay closeted in here for hours on end. Never thought of myself as a recluse though. The house belongs to Patrick. He’s my employer, of sorts.”
“Oh, well then ...” She stood to her feet. “I have no right to barge in and ...”
Anne grasped her arm. “Please,” she said. “He’s already said you can stay.”
Amber paused.
“Amber,” Michael said. She faced him, her cheeks flushed. She was an extraordinarily beautiful girl. He’d always thought so. She didn’t hold Anne’s place in his heart, but he owed her. She was there the night he killed that man, and she hadn’t judged him for it. In fact, if anything she’d covered for him and saved his life. Because of her he’d come here and met Anne. That had been a long road to where he was now, but he wouldn’t trade it and go back.
“Whatever it is,” he said. “We’ll work through it. Besides, I think Anne could use the company.” Was he setting himself up with that remark? He plunged ahead. “There’s another child on the way.”
Her face changed then, her eyes seemingly fathoms deep. What was wrong with her? What brought her this far south to his doorstep?
“Another child?” she asked. She turned to Anne. “How far along are you?”
Anne smiled. “Three months.”
She laid a hand on Anne’s arm, and her final words shot down his spine into his shoes. “You have got to be the luckiest woman alive.”
The look on Anne’s face very plainly said Amber’s words had affected her as much as they had him. Her face flushed and her eyes darkened the way they did when she was troubled. She wriggled in her seat, shifting the baby from one arm to the other. Her agitation transmitted itself to their child for he let out a wail, his face screwed into a pruned shape, his fists scrabbling at the air.
The baby gave her an excuse to leave, and she stood to her feet, her blouse damp at the peaks of her breasts, and wormed her way toward the door. “I agree with you. I am blessed,” she said. “However, if I don’t go upstairs and feed young Michael, I’ll be blessed and messy.”
She exited into the hallway, but he followed at her heels, pulling her to a halt on the landing. “We need to talk,” he said.
She pursed her lips. “What is there to say? You told me about her, and I know you didn’t send for her, so I’m not upset with you.”
“But ...” But you are upset, and you have a right to be.
“But she is enamored of you. Yes, I noticed that. I can’t say I blame her.”
He winced at her sarcasm and gathered her into his arms. “You know I love you. If she’s a threat ...”
“A threat of what? I’m the one who suggested she stay.”
Yes, you did. Why? Because Anne was a good person who always did the right thing, no matter if it was to her own hurt or not.
“Michael,” she said, her lips drawn into a line. “I know who she is. God is a god of second chances. Didn’t He give us two? Or in your case, three?”
He kissed her nose. “You are too good for me.”
She always had been. From the day they met, he didn’t deserve her. He still sometimes awoke with her by his side and couldn’t believe what they shared. His gaze lingered on her face.
“But Michael ...” she began.
“What?”
She tossed her head. “Never mind. I have to feed our child.”
“No, tell me. What was it you wanted to say?” He grasped her arm.
She pulled from his grasp and leaned forward, snagging his mouth, effectively silencing his thoughts. He pressed in to her, eager, and she pulled away with a laugh. “Behave, Mr. O’Fallen.”
He gave a cock-eyed grin.
With that, she turned and clambered up the stairs.
Patrick blinked back the haze that had crept into his eyes at sight of Amber. She was so beautiful. He stared at her heart-shaped lips and blinked again. No, this wouldn’t do. He must keep his composure. But when she smiled at him, his heart fluttered. A lovesick school boy. That’s how he felt. Certainly not like a man of the cloth.
“Thank you for allowing me to stay,” she said.
Her musical voice trickled in his ears.
“You’re welcome. Any friend of Michael and Anne is good with me.” He offered her a smile.
She rose to her feet, the movement accentuating sensual curves, and his gut tensed. Unquestionably, he’d seen beautiful women before. After all, he was human. And male. Nevertheless, he’d never taken any woman seriously, nor did they make him feel any particular way. He had his niece to think of. His choices ultimately affected her life and that was more important than any physical pleasure. Plus, most women didn’t want a serious type like him anyway, especially not one dedicated to God.
No, they wanted one like Michael. He smiled inwardly. He liked Michael immensely. However, their thinking processes were worlds apart. This had proved helpful in many ways, both in their work together and in their living arrangement. However, it also frustrated him at times.
“You’ve known Michael long?” Amber asked. A tendril of hair crept from the coil on her neck and down her throat.
He followed it with his gaze. “A year perhaps. Since the day he gained fame.”
She tilted her head then and the gesture elongated her neck. She smiled. “Tell me how that happened. He was always a charmer, but I can’t picture him entertaining crowds.” She wandered around the room, stopping before the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
He cleared his throat. “Well, he wasn’t exactly entertaining the crowd, just his wife.”
She ran her gloved fingers down the spine of a book. “She’s lovely,” she said. “I can’t believe he’s married, but then, it was inevitable I guess. He was always a passionate man.”
Patrick’s mind cleared. Passionate. Yes, that was an apt description, a description given by a woman obviously in love with him. She’d said so. However, he knew Michael. Michael was besotted with his wife and faithful to God and the church.
She turned then and pointed to the manuscript resting on the desk. “Gaelic. You read Gaelic?”
“So you recognize it?” he asked.
Amber pulled back the corners of her mouth. “Yes and no. I’ve seen it written and heard it spoken. There are many Irish in New York. But I’m not one of them, so any hope of reading it is beyond me.”
“Mr. O’Fallen reads it,” he said. He instantly regretted speaking Michael’s name because of the glow which appeared on her face.
“Does he? Yet another of his good qualities.” She paused. “You were saying? He entertained his wife?”
Patrick inclined his head. “Yes, he sang the song strictly to her.”
“I take it that worked?” She waved her hand toward the door. “But I can’t believe he’d have to make too big of an effort. I used to practically beg him to ...” She stopped and coughed. “Anyhow, that’s in the past.”
To what? Did he want to know? He could imagine. What he couldn’t imagine was Michael giving in, this despite how beautiful she was.
She stepped toward him, and a lingering floral scent from her skin wafted up his nose. Heady, cloying, he swam in the fragrance.
“I appreciate your doing this. I ...” she began. Her face drew long. “I can’t believe you’re being so kind to a stranger, and I mean that sincerely.”
“It’s nothing.” He heard his words, but a question arose. Was it really nothing?
His father used to tell him he was a pushover. Grow a spine, son, he’d fumed.
Entering the church came, in his father’s eyes, as the ultimate act of betrayal, the ultimate lack of “spine,” and his father never fully forgave him for it. This was part of his drive to finally interpret the book. His dad was gone, but maybe his work with the book would make up for the shortcomings he always felt. Maybe he’d then deserve to be called Gerrit Finnegan’s son.
The door reopened, Michael returning. He slouched against the doorframe.
Amber drew toward him, magnetic. “Your wife, she’s all right?” she asked.
He nodded. “She’s fine. Just feeding the baby, then we’re headed to church. Why don’t you come along?”
Her face paled. “Oh, I ... I don’t know. I’m tired. M-maybe I could rest while you go? That is, if you were serious about my staying.”
He cocked his head. “Of course, we were serious. Where are your things? I’ll fetch them and show you to a room.”
Her gaze fell. “There’s the rub,” she said. “I haven’t any.”