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He was anything but comfortable, the attention of the Compton’s wreathing panic through his being. Yet Michael couldn’t get Patrick’s warning out of his head or the conversation he’d had with Anne earlier this evening.
They’d been dressing for the evening. He’d complimented her on her beauty, still determined to make it up to her for his mistake, and she’d accused him of being afraid.
And so he was. Afraid of messing up once he opened his mouth. Afraid of embarrassing himself and his family.
He frowned. He’d done that handily by kissing Amber. He wouldn’t fool himself. She’d approached him; she’d begun the gesture, but he’d returned it handily enough.
Now, every time he looked at Anne his guilt returned, but not through any action of hers. She’d done what she always had. After her struggle with unforgiveness in their past, she was always quick to move on. She, more than anyone else, knew the damage of holding onto hate. But that didn’t assuage his feelings or stop him from continually kicking himself.
One song. What was the risk of singing one song? Even worse, what was the greater risk of not singing? Luk yer fear in de eye, Michael O’Fallen, his mother would say. Easy words to speak.
“Michael? Wake up,” Anne’s voice whisked in his ear.
He shook himself and noted all the faces looking his direction.
“Mrs. Compton asked if you could sing our song. You didn’t seem to hear her.”
“I’m sorry. I’d be glad to.” He took her by the hand and led her to a chair. “But I cannot sing that without looking at you.”
And while looking at you, my self-condemnation will return. Yet he owed her this, and a million songs like it.
Anne tilted her head, a smile resting on her lips.
The words slipped from O’Fallen’s lips heavenly like his aunt had said. He’d never heard anything like it. Amazing. I guess the stories were true.
Joe leaned back against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, and traced his gaze around the room. He settled on Amber’s face and followed the curve of her throat and swell of her breast.
And Michael loved his wife. That was clear. But then what female wouldn’t love a man with that voice?
Joe snorted. He had no use for a wife. Not when he could have so much fun elsewhere.
The song ended, and his aunt rushed forward, her face glowing. He chuckled. Stupid woman. She was ape over him too, and that explained this whole night—the fancy dress, the elegant dinner. She was enamored of O’Fallen.
He drew his eyes back to Amber. She stood alone off to herself, waiting while his uncle claimed the preacher’s attention. His uncle’s booming voice introduced some religious topic, and he waved his hands wildly before his face.
Joe glanced toward Michael and his wife. They’d been drawn into a conversation with his aunt. A thrill swept through him. This was his chance. He moved across the room, approaching Amber from behind. Within speaking distance he stopped.
Her scent swept into his nostrils. He had to have her. Soon. He slipped a hand on her arm. “At last, I have you alone.”
The feel of his hand, hot and callused, crawled over her skin, and she yanked her arm away. But he tightened his grasp, with his other hand, touching her thigh.
“No, Joe.” She glanced for Patrick in vain.
“Come, love,” Joe said. “I think you remember how to talk to me.”
She did remember. Too much.
He slid his palm over her hip.
“Joe, please,” she begged.
“All right,” he chuckled. “That’s better. I don’t mind begging. Tell me when we can be alone. I’ve missed you.” He pressed in tight.
She stepped back. He can’t know about the baby.
However, he moved forward, backing her into an alcove. He drew a finger over her lips. “You were a goddess.”
She twisted sideways. “No, Joe. I wasn’t. I ain’t doin’ that no more.”
He laughed. “Now, that sounds more like it. All this refinement isn’t for you.”
“I’m serious, Joe. I’m out.”
A flare lit in his eye. “I don’t think so.” He leaned over, his breath hot on her neck and slid a hand down the front of her dress.
“Please, Joe,” she gasped. “Don’t.”
“My aren’t you ripe.” He smiled, the expression oily and unctuous. “I heard a rumor about you.” He slid his hand behind her head. “I heard you took up with a certain Irishman after old Sam tossed you out.”
“N-no,” she stuttered. “I didn’t go with no one.”
He clucked his tongue. “Yes, you did. I know because he told me. You were always a horrible liar.”
He tightened his grip. “Smart girl to escape him though. He’s a tough one.” He inclined his head toward the crowd. “Does Michael know? He doesn’t does he?”
“Joe,” she whined. “Please.”
Michael couldn’t possibly find out. Or Patrick.
“What a nice advantage I have with this secret you’re keeping,” he said. “Maybe I’ll help you keep it if you give me one night with you.”
Amber pulled her head back, her heart in her throat. “No, Joe. I’m out.”
She wiggled away from him, and a pin escaped from her hair. One coil fell and dangled down the side of her head. Any closer and he’ll know about the baby.
A sly grin crossed his lips. He jerked his chin toward those in the room. “You staying with them?”
“N-no.”
His eyes sparked. “Another lie. Yes, you are. Well, how quaint. You’re shacking up with the preacher. My, maybe he’s more of a man than I thought he was.”
Her gut simmered, and she struck at his chest. “You leave him outta this. He’s a better man than you’ll ever be.”
Unmoved by her outburst, he sniffed. “Then tell me when I can have you because I’m a desperate man.”
She straightened her skirt. “I ... I ...”
I can’t. I won’t. Not for you. Not ever.
“Amber?” Patrick called from the doorway.
“Patrick,” she gushed. Joe’s hands fell away, and she raced across the small space. “I’m ... I’m so tired. Do you think we could go?”
He glanced from her face to Joe’s, and then back. He stared at her hair. “Of course. I think Anne’s tired as well. Come with me, and we’ll excuse ourselves.”
Joe pounded his fist against the wall, a trickle of blood oozing over his knuckle. Frustration, that’s what he’d have tonight trying to sleep, endless hours of tossing and turning.
He narrowed his gaze and wandered from the alcove to a nearby window. A wagon rumbled down the street, four figures sitting upright in it. “That’s right, my love. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll change your tune, and you’ll do it soon because I’m a man with little patience.”
There had to be a way to get to her. O’Fallen. The Golden Voice. If he hadn’t heard it for himself, he wouldn’t have believed it. Well, she was staying wherever he was, so that was his first task. Find out where O’Fallen kept himself.
“Joseph, dear. I thought you’d snuck off on us,” his aunt said in his ear.
He turned about. “No, dear aunt. I was just admiring the beautiful weather.” He blotted his split knuckles on his coat.
She smiled and glanced at the night sky. “It has been nice lately, but that only means it will rain soon.”
“It was a wonderful evening. Thank you so much for inviting your friends. I was surprised to see Michael again.”
And Amber.
“Isn’t he marvelous? I wanted to surprise you. Of course, he originally said he wouldn’t sing.”
“Ah, but no one can resist you,” he teased. He kissed her cheek. “Tell me. I might want to catch up on old times with him. Where’s he staying?”
She waddled at his side into the drawing room. “With Reverend Finnegan. He does some translation work for him.”
“Strange man. Does he have a pulpit?” He’d only seen one church in town, and it bore another pastor’s name.
“Oh no. He has a sick niece. He takes care of her. It’s that big white house at the end of Cross Street.”
Joe smiled and released her arm. “I might have to visit.”
She nodded. “You should. I’m sure they’d enjoy it.” She threw her hands wide and embraced him. “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come!”
He settled onto the settee, his eyes on the mantle. So was he.
Patrick sought through the shadows for sight of Amber’s face, but she glanced away. “Amber? Are you sure you’re all right?” In his heart he knew the answer. She wasn’t all right. Something had happened in that alcove. Something that upset her.
“I’m fine.”
Her hesitation spoke volumes.
“You would tell me if you weren’t?” he asked.
She ascended the stairs, her back to him, but halted at his question. “I’m tired, Reverend.”
Reverend. His heart tightened at the address. Why did she call him that? “Please, my friends call me Pat.”
She nodded stiffly. “Pat.”
Without further word, she continued up the stairs, not looking back. Michael emerged, his coat folded over his arm.
“Michael, if I might have a word with you,” he said. Michael nodded, and they moved into the office. Patrick closed the door.
“What’s up?” Michael asked, leaning against the wall.
“Joe,” Pat said. “I caught them in the alcove, and she was ... in disarray.”
Michael inhaled sharp. “Joe?”
“Yes, she was fighting him off in some way. Michael, he knew you from New York. Do you suppose ...?” Patrick’s legs gave way, and he plopped into a chair. Squeezing the sides of his head, he focused on his feet.
“She’s not all right,” he said out loud to himself. “She said she was, but she’s not. Something happened in that alcove, and I feel as if a gulf has opened between us.”
He scrubbed at his forehead. Plus, she called me Reverend. She’d never done that before.
Michael clasped a hand on his shoulder. “We can’t jump to conclusions, Pat. She’s dealing with a lot of things. It’s possible he knew her there. I can’t say for sure. He and I hung around for a while, but that was before my mama died.”
Patrick reclined in the chair.
He had to know her from the bar. Nothing else made sense.
What kind of man used a woman like that? A man without Christ. A man with no Savior.
“I will pray for her,” Patrick said. It was the most powerful thing he could do. Pray she’d find peace. Pray she’d know it didn’t matter to him what she’d done.
Michael moved to the door. “We’re all tired, Pat. Get some rest, and we’ll reassess things in the morning.”
Patrick sighed and rose to his feet.
Amber buried her face in the pillow and sobbed. That her life had come to this was too much to bear. Joe would ruin her. He’d never give up until he had what he wanted, and in the end, he’d hurt everyone here. Michael. Anne. Patrick.
Reverend Patrick Finnegan.
No wonder he was benevolent. No wonder he was loving and good. She was none of those things. She was dirty, filthy, and unworthy. She must keep away from him for his own safety. In the end, she’d only drag him down.
Amber rolled over to find Grace’s shape filling in the doorway.
“I heard you crying. Can I come in?”
Amber extended her hand, and Grace fled across the room, falling into her arms and burying her face in Amber’s chest. “Don’t cry, Amber. I love you.”
Amber gripped the girl’s slim figure, feeling her pulse race beneath her hands. “And I love you,” she said.
How simple was the love of a child. She hadn’t planned on that when coming here, yet it was the most precious thing in her life right now.
“Can I stay with you tonight?” Grace trembled in her arms.
Amber brushed her hair away from her eyes. “I’d like that.” Scooting across the bed, she tucked Grace to her side. Brave, brave child. Like herself, locked into a world of her own making, seeking a way of escape.
Perhaps she’d never find her own, but for Grace there was hope. She had so much life to live; she only needed someone to walk with her for a ways until she could see that.
“Amber? You won’t leave me. Will you?”
Amber’s heart squeezed, and she folded Grace’s hands into her own. “No, sweet one, I won’t.”
“And your baby. He’s okay? You ... you were crying.”
Amber sighed and settled into the pillow. “The baby’s fine. I just had too much on my mind.” Too much pressure. Too many problems and no solutions.
“I know what you mean. Sometimes I can’t shut off the thoughts in my head, so you know what I do?” Grace rolled on her side. “I sing. Uncle Pat said if I sing to God, He’ll come be with me. You want me to sing to you?”
Tears slipped from Amber’s eyes and fled down her cheek. She gulped. “I’d ... love that.”
Michael pulled Anne to his side and nuzzled his face in her neck. Tasting her skin, he planted a moist kiss on her throat. She grasped his hand and pulled it to her heart. His fingers wandered, and she tightened her grip.
“Aren’t you ever tired?” she asked.
He chuckled and moved his lips to her shoulder. “No.”
“Well, I am.”
But he persisted, sliding his lips down her arm.
“Michael,” she said.
He flipped her flat. “A bhean mo chroí.” Woman of my heart.
“You know,” she said. “It’s as if we speak a different language anymore.”
“Searc mo chléíbh a thug mé féin duit is grá trí rún.” The love of my breast I gave you, my secret devotion.
“After a while,” she continued. “You’ll be unable to speak English at all, and I will be married to a Neanderthal.”
He stuck out his lip in a pout. She flicked it with her thumb. “That hurts, huh?”
He lowered his face to hers.
“A chúl álainn tais na bhfáinní cas,
is breá 's deas do shúile
's go bhfuil mo chroí a shlad mar shníomhfaí gad.”
He kissed the corners of her mouth. “I love you.”
More than words in any language. More than breath. More than life.
“All of that Gaelic, yet for that you speak English?” she asked.
“Aye. Oi wanted ye to know what Oi said.”
She stared back at him, her face still and solemn, and the air grew thick.
She wrapped an arm about his neck. “Explain this to me, Mr. O’Fallen. Whenever you get like this you fall into Gaelic.”
“And?”
“And I want to know why. You never did that when we met, not once. Now, you do it all the time.”
“I get too full,” he said. Too full from reading the words all day long. Too full with his need for her. “And that’s what comes out. I can teach you one. Want to learn?”
The tension eased, and her mouth puckered. “You’ll teach me Gaelic?”
“Aye. One word.”
Her hands began a massage on the back of his neck, sending tingles down his spine. “Okay, smarty, teach me one word.”
He drew up one corner of his mouth. “Cat.”
Her eyebrows arose. “That’s English.”
He shook his head, laughter held behind his lips. “Gaelic.”
“Oh, you,” she laughed.
He kissed her soundly, capturing her laughter with his lips, once more begging for her forgiveness. He slid his hands over her hips and cupped her bottom. But their escalating fervor was interrupted by a distant worship tune sung by a girl.
Anne turned her head toward the bedroom door. “Michael, Grace’s voice ... it’s coming from Amber’s room.”
It was, and Patrick’s words returned to him. “Patrick found her with Joe,” he said.
Anne returned her gaze to his face. “Oh, no. Where? Did he get her alone?”
Surprised, Michael released her and slipped to her side. Leaning on one elbow, he studied her face. “Wife, what are you keeping from me?”
Her eyes snapped at the word wife. “I’m keeping things Amber has trusted me with.”
“Things?” Amber had trusted her with something? After what she’d—
He kept the thought to himself. “Don’t you think the rest of us need to know?” he asked. “Patrick’s convinced Joe was after her, and I can’t say yes or no, but it’s possible he knew her in New York, so what gives?”
The warmth of the bed settled over them, the sounds of cicadas creeping in through the walls, palm branches brushing against the side of the house.
Anne pressed her lips together tight. “He was a regular ... client.” She spoke the last word as if it was distasteful.
Michael slumped down on the bed and echoed her thought. “Oh, no.”
Grace’s singing captured the air, and for a moment, they both lay in silence and listened. Then Michael rolled over and tugged Anne to his chest. She settled her head against him.
“Joe always liked women,” he said. “What do you think he wanted from her tonight?”
“What do you think?” she said. They both knew the answer.
Neither one spoke again, and sleep dragged at Michael’s eyelids. Until Anne’s voice entered in. “What if he comes around looking for her?”
“I’ll handle it,” he mumbled.
He’d also have to talk to Patrick. Patrick’s feelings were involved, though he knew it wouldn’t change how he felt about her. Pat was too stalwart a guy for that.
Michael inhaled the scent of Anne’s hair and another thought leapt out at him. “You have any other secrets?” he asked. He was half-joking. Women were a mystery to him, Anne especially. Her answer made him squirm.
She captured his hand and wrapped it around her. “Nothing I can tell you.”