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Joe ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the trunk of a small oak tree. He’d located the large white house easily enough. It was massive. Like his aunt indicated, you couldn’t miss it. It was also more than a little run down. Yet squinting, he could see what manner of house it must have been once. The Florida sun and rain had not been kind.
He straightened and adopted a cocky walk, without hesitation knocking on the door. His first step was to pay a visit. Of course, they might not let him in. Not that they had any known reason not to, but he’d seen the look in the preacher’s eye and the fear in Amber’s. He also saw the distrust in Michael’s wife. But he had to know where he stood, and this would decide his next move.
Michael opened the door, and Joe glanced past him into a high-ceilinged foyer. He moved his gaze up a wide, arching staircase, around the upper landing, and down the adjacent wall. He smiled broad.
Michael’s lack of a friendly hand was a distinctly bad sign, but he plunged ahead. “Michael, old friend, I was acquainting myself with the town and thought I’d drop by. Quite a house you have here.”
Michael leaned on the doorpost. “Yes. It could use some repairs though.” He spoke the words evenly without blinking.
Hard to read. What’s he thinking?
Joe inhaled. “My dear aunt tells me it belongs to the preacher, Finnegan. Wasn’t that his name?”
Michael crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“You do work for him then?”
Michael exited the house and closed the door. Planting his feed shoulder width apart, he focused on Joe’s face.
Joe resisted the urge to gulp. O’Fallen was intimidating to say the least. It’s those eyes.
“Can I help you, Joe?” No rancor, no anger sounded in Michael’s voice.
“Well, no. I mean, I don’t want anything, but it’s been so long. I thought we’d catch up.”
Michael didn’t move a muscle. “Catch up. Let’s see. I’m married, but you met my wife. I live here, but you know that because you’re standing on the porch.”
“Sarcasm becomes you,” Joe said.
A spark flared in Michael’s eye.
Walk softly, Giarello. Find safer territory.
“What’s with the singing?” he asked.
Michael sighed and shrugged. “Either my talent or the bane of my existence.”
“Come now,” Joe hooked a hand in his pocket. “I heard you. That’s something special. You can’t possibly keep it to yourself.”
“I will do whatever God wants of me with it.”
God? So, okay, I’ll bite.
“You’ve turned religious on me, Michael.”
Michael tilted his head. “I have my heart right for once. You should do the same.”
“Do the ...” Joe’s words trailed away, incredulous.
But Michael was serious. It was written all over his face.
Joe glanced at the door. “You’re alone today?” He shouldn’t ask.
“Stop it, Joe,” Michael scowled. That Joe had the nerve to turn up here wasn’t too surprising. He’d always been bold. That he thought anyone was fooled by it only showed his apprehension. “You’ve got a problem that having a string of women won’t solve.”
Joe’s swarthy skin took on a rosy glow. But just as fast as it’d risen, the glow faded and his eyes became hard. “What I do or don’t do in my spare time isn’t your concern. I’m simply here making a friendly visit to an old friend. I thought we got along well last night.”
Michael didn’t respond, but weighed his answer carefully. “Your aunt was very kind to invite us, and we enjoyed our evening. Seeing you there was a complete surprise.”
And not a welcome one for everyone.
“Joe, you need to leave her be,” he added.
Joe opened and closed his mouth. His face suffused. “I wasn’t ... I never ... I can see I’m not welcome here, and it’s a shame because I think you’d want to know what I know about her. It might change your mind.”
Michael stepped forward, forcing Joe down the steps. “Nothing will change my mind, especially not threats. Now, enjoy your stay in town, and give your aunt our thanks again.”
He waited while Joe stalked down the street before re-entering the house. When he’d closed the front door, two faces looked down at him from the landing and one from the kitchen.
“What was that about, dear?” Anne called.
Michael looked from her face to Amber’s and across to Patrick’s. “A fishing expedition,” he replied. Hopefully, he won’t be back.
He’d come back. Joe’s presence here today erased all Amber’s doubt about that. Joseph Giarello was, amongst other things, one of the most determined clients she’d ever had. He was also a good friend of the baby’s father and that scared her more than anything.
What if he said something? That nightmare permeated her, and she inhaled. Why would he? He’d seemed surprised to see her, and she’d managed to conceal the baby.
She chewed on her lip. No, Joe wouldn’t tell because he wanted her all to himself. That was his way. More than once, he’d paid someone off to make them leave her alone, and at the time, she’d found it flattering.
How pathetic that was.
How could this happen to her? How could she run this far south and bump into someone who knew so much about her? It wasn’t fair.
Plus, now it was apparent everyone else knew something had happened last night. Michael hadn’t let Joe indoors, which made her happy. But since he didn’t see her after Joe cornered her, Patrick must have told him. Michael would naturally tell Anne.
Patrick. How long had he been standing there last night, and what had he heard?
Amber hung her head. Her life was a disgrace; all this talk of God and forgiveness wouldn’t make it go away. Look at how she’d behaved, and look at how her past had come back to haunt her. There wasn’t any saving a girl like her.
She avoided Patrick’s gaze and went to her room. What would she do now? She couldn’t look at Michael anymore without remembering her sins, and now she couldn’t look at Patrick either. That dinner was a mistake, and her life was a mess.
She hadn’t entered long, however, when Patrick knocked. “Amber?”
Amber stared at the closed door. “Please, Pat, go away.” Harsh words, and Patrick deserved better.
“Amber, please ...”
“I can’t, Pat. I can’t face you.”
“No one here judges you,” he said. “Come down to lunch. I promise no one will say anything.”
She exhaled, the sound ragged. He deserved to talk to her face to face. At least, she could give him that. She opened the door wide enough to see his face. “For how long? Until some other john appears?”
Patrick held out his hand. “For however long it takes. Please, we ... I ... want you there.”
She stared at his fingers, the gentle curve of them. A preacher’s hands. Hands dedicated to prayer and compassion. She raised her gaze to his face.
“Walk with me,” he said.
Reluctantly, she gave him her hand, and he curled it in his palm, leading her down the stairs and into the kitchen. She stood nervous in the doorway, but no one seemed to notice.
Michael looked up from the afternoon newspaper. “Francis Lister’s getting married,” he said.
“Is she?” Anne replied. “What number is this four? Five?”
He peered over the edge at her and smiled. “Five, I think.”
Amber detached herself, sitting in the chair Patrick pulled out for her.
“Five?” Amber asked, her curiosity aroused. “What happened to the others?”
Patrick took a seat at her side. “Let’s see ... the first one died of dysentery. Tragic.” He shook his head. “The second and third in the war.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Both of them?”
He nodded. “Yes. She lost one and then married the other. I believe they were best friends. However, the third one died, too.”
“And the fourth?”
Patrick tapped the side of his nose. “Strange. I can’t recall.”
“So who’s this one?” Anne asked, lifting her fork.
Michael rattled the page. “Let’s see ... Name’s Robert Tidwell. Do we know a Robert Tidwell?”
They shook their heads.
Michael continued reading. “The Ladies of the Library are having a poetry reading.” He lowered the paper again. “You should go.” He directed his gaze to Anne.
She made a face. “Because I can memorize as well as I can sing. No, that sounds more like your department.”
He chuckled. “I am not a lady, so I don’t qualify.”
She shot him a look and bent over the page, stabbing a finger to an advertisement. “May celebration,” she read. “Starring the golden voice of Michael O’Fallen.”
He coughed. “Yes, well, I haven’t agreed to that.”
She cupped his chin. “But they think you have.”
“Mmm.” He met Patrick’s gaze. “And don’t you look at me like that. You and your guilt.”
“That would be your guilt,” Patrick replied.
Michael raised the newspaper and suspended it before him.
“He’s hiding,” Anne said.
Amber resisted a smile. The three of them had such a good relationship.
“What’s this?” Michael said, having returned his eyes to the page. He folded the paper into a square and spun it around, setting it before Anne. “Read that.” He waved his fingers over the paper.
Anne hissed. “How? It was only last night. He had to have done this right afterward.”
He who?
Patrick echoed her question. “He who?”
Anne glanced from him to her, and seemingly resolved, read from the news story. “Friday evening, our local resident Reverend Patrick Finnegan was seen on the arm of a woman reputed to be a woman of the night. Rumor has it she’s living in the same household.”
Amber shot up from the table, her chair scudding across the floor. Her eyes filled with tears. All her predictions were coming true.
Patrick reached for her. “Amber, please ...”
She retreated further. No, it was too much. First, her life was ruined, then that of these three people. Now, the entire town knew the truth. Because of her a perfectly good man’s reputation was tarnished, a wonderful human being who didn’t deserve it.
She dashed from the room and up the stairs. Rolling her clothing into a ball, she stumbled across the room to the door. She had to leave, let them return to their lives without the blot she’d become.
Patrick appeared, blocking her exit. She dashed at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Don’t stop me. I don’t belong here.” She choked out the words. Here or anywhere else.
He raised a hand toward her but stopped. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said.
“I can’t stay, Pat. I’m no good for you or for anyone.”
“You’re good for Grace.”
Grace. She loved Grace, and she was her biggest regret.
“I’ve seen what you’ve done for her. She would never have left her room except for you. Please, Amber, don’t do anything hasty.”
She gripped the doorframe. “Why do you care? I’m nobody to any of you. I am what the paper says I am.”
He laid a hand on her cheek. “I don’t care what the paper says or what people think. I ...” His gentle touch and clear gray eyes soaked into her soul.
She held her breath. What is it you wish to say to me, Patrick Finnegan?
He traced his thumb down her cheek. “I care for you ... very much. In fact, I think ...” He paused again. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”
The touch of his fingers scalded her skin, sending her pulse swishing in her ears. “You’re wrong. You feel sorry for me.” She jerked her face away.
He stood there, his hand suspended, pain crisscrossing his face. She’d hurt him, but it was for the best. With her gone, he could move on with his life.
He lowered his arm and backed up from the doorway. “Then if you must go, look Grace in the eye first and tell her you are running away, and tell her why. Tell her you can’t face your fears, yet she must face hers. Explain that to her.”
A hand gripped her heart and compressed it. Her throat closed, and crushed with the weight of her troubles, she collapsed in the floor.
He told the truth. She could never explain this to Grace. She’d made promises to be here for her, to never leave. She’d told her how proud she was of her for the small steps she’d taken. Her departure would destroy any faith Grace had gained. She couldn’t do that. But how could she stay?
Patrick knelt at her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Defeated, she leaned her head against him. “I don’t deserve you,” she said.
He stroked her cheek with warm, soft fingertips. “It isn’t about what you deserve,” he said. He tilted her chin, and she rested in his gaze. “It’s about what I desire to give. I cannot change what I feel in my heart.”
Words hung pendantly on her tongue. But what if she couldn’t change what was held in hers? What then? “I’ll ruin you,” she whispered, “and I cannot bear it.”
“You’ll ruin me if you leave,” he replied, “for I’ll never get over it.”
Michael watched Patrick’s rapid retreat, a groan emerging from his lips. What a hateful thing for Giarello to do. Why would the newspaper even print such gossip? This small town should be beyond that sort of thing.
Anne tugged his head upright, one hand placed on either side of his face. “What I want to know is what we’re going to do about it.”
We. He turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. “I knew I loved you for some reason.”
She wriggled her nose.
“I think I need to have a talk with the editor,” he said. “Maybe all this fame being pushed on me will have an advantage.”
She released his face, and he focused his thoughts. “No, better yet, I’ll see the mayor. They want me to sing in May, fine. I’ll do it. But they owe Pat an apology.”
“That sounds like the man I love,” Anne said. “Tough on the outside, but soft at heart.”
He smiled. “Don’t tell anyone. I have to maintain my masculine reputation.”
She patted his arm. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
His gaze drifted toward the kitchen doorway and the sounds coming from upstairs. “I hope ...” he began. He let his thought trail away, caution over his choice of words warring with his heart.
“You hope what?”
He glanced at her. “I don’t want to upset you.” He let the thought lie there. He’d been walking on egg shells for days now.
Anne stood to her feet and circled behind his chair, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Michael, I know you don’t want her hurt. You don’t have to tell me that.”
“But ...”
“You don’t have to do penance either,” she said. “Forget about it.”
He sighed. “Have I told you how much I love you?” He leaned his head way back to see her face, and she gazed down. Then bending over, she kissed his forehead, leaving a moist patch between his eyes.
“Never enough,” she said.