She risked a glance toward Connor and saw that he was studying her, sympathy in his eyes. He knew how much she’d wanted this, understood what moments like this meant to her. And yet he’d still denied her the right to claim this family as her own. Even if they’d stayed together on his terms, she’d have felt like an outsider here, no matter how welcoming everyone tried to be.
Suddenly fighting tears, she pushed back her chair, murmured an excuse, then fled the dining room.
Grabbing her coat from the hall closet, she went outside and ran across the yard, oblivious to the rain. Standing on the edge of the cliff, she studied the pounding white-caps on the normally placid bay. The tumult matched the feelings roiling inside of her.
“Heather?”
Connor, of course. She turned to find him holding her scarf, her gloves and an umbrella. It was almost enough to put a smile back on her face. Almost, but not quite.
“You should come back inside,” he said, a worried frown on his face.
She shook her head. She didn’t want to face the curious stares or the unspoken questions about what had upset her. She saw the same puzzlement on Connor’s face, even though he should have known exactly what sent her running from the house.
“Want me to drive you home?” he asked. “I can bring the baby back later.”
She regarded him gratefully. “Would you mind?”
“If that’s what you really want, I’ll be happy to take you.”
“It’s what I want,” she said at once.
“Okay, then,” he said, though he looked vaguely disappointed.
He led the way to his car, settled her inside, then turned on the heater. It was mostly a wasted effort, since they’d be at her apartment before it warmed up much. They rode in silence for the few minutes it took to reach the alley that ran behind the shops and apartments.
“I’m sorry,” he said as she was about to open the door.
She paused and met his gaze. “For?”
He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “I know how badly you wanted to be part of a big family. It must be hard to be there in the middle of mine.”
She nodded. “It just makes me think about what could have been, that’s all. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not as if you dangled some promise in front of me and then yanked it away.”
He shook his head. “But in a way, that’s exactly what I did, and I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
Heather sighed. “I know that. Sometimes things just happen. I should go inside, and you need to get back. Please apologize to everyone for me.”
“No apology necessary. I’ll see you in a couple of hours, okay? I’ll wait till after the baby has his nap before I bring him home. That way you’ll have time to get some rest, too.”
“I’ll probably go downstairs,” she said. “I need to catch up on some things in the shop.”
“You need rest more,” he said.
“Looking after me isn’t your job any longer,” she told him, trying to protect herself from the way his caring made her feel. It might be an illusion, but she felt cherished.
He shrugged. “I can’t help it. Old habits are hard to break. I’ll bring some leftovers when I come. You barely touched your meal, and you completely missed dessert. Word is it’s Gram’s apple pie. There’s none better. I’ll bring you a slice.”
She chuckled. “You’re no better than your dad, you know. You’re trying to fatten me up.”
Connor winced at the comparison, then shrugged it off. “I’m bringing the pie, and I’m going to sit right here while you eat every bite. You’ll thank me later.”
The temptation to slide over and kiss him was suddenly so overwhelming, Heather forced herself to throw open the car door and bolt without responding. Only after she was upstairs in her apartment, with the door safely locked behind her, did she release the breath she’d been holding.
Heaven help her! When an O’Brien turned on the charm and showed his soft, caring side, what mortal woman could possibly resist? And yet somehow, she knew she had to. Her future depended on it.
When Connor had seen Heather standing on the edge of the cliff with rain soaking her, he’d wanted desperately to sweep her into his arms and carry her into the house, into his bed and spend the rest of the afternoon warming her up with his body heat. He’d settled for handing her gloves and scarf to her and holding an umbrella over her head because he’d known she would allow no more. Her wary gaze had been a warning to tread carefully.
Driving away from her apartment just now, knowing she was upset and that he was responsible, had been just as hard.
But neither of those things prepared him for walking back into his house and facing down the judgmental stares of his entire family.
“Where’s Heather?” Megan asked, her expression filled with concern.
“I drove her home,” he told his mother. “She apologizes for running out. She wasn’t feeling well.”
“Feeling left out, more than likely,” Mick said, showing surprising insight for a man who was usually oblivious to subtleties.
From across the table, Abby scowled at him. “Connor, I just don’t understand why you’re being so pigheaded. Anyone can see that you love this woman.”
“I do,” he agreed readily. “It’s not enough.”
“Well, of course it’s not,” Mick said with undisguised disgust. “She had your baby. She has a right to expect you to make an honest woman of her. That’s what I expect from you, too.” He frowned at Connor. “And I don’t want to hear any more of this garbage about not believing in marriage.”
“Well, I don’t,” Connor said belligerently, turning to the rest of his family. “No offense intended to those of you who do. You get to live your lives the way you want to. Show me the same courtesy.”
“Even if your stance is costing you the woman you claim to love and your son?” Thomas asked mildly. “Everyone here just wants to see you happy. If you can tell us that you are, then God bless.”
“Well?” Mick prodded, picking up where Thomas had left off. “Let’s hear how happy you are.”
Connor remained stubbornly silent. Only the knowledge that bolting from the room would be an act of cowardice kept him in place.
“Enough,” his grandmother said. “Connor has to find his own way, the same as the rest of you have. Megan, Jess, why don’t you clear the table, and I’ll bring out the pie and ice cream.”
Relieved to have a reprieve, Connor sighed. Kevin gave him an amused look.
“You don’t actually think you’re off the hook, do you?” his big brother asked.
“I was hoping,” Connor admitted.
“Not likely,” Trace told him.
“In fact, something tells me the crowd’s just getting warmed up,” Jake added.
Sensing unity, Mick gave him a benevolent look. “You won’t win this one, Connor. Marry the woman.”
“Even if I think marriage inevitably leads to heartache?” he asked. “Even though I see proof of that every single day?” He turned to his uncle. “What about you? Back me up here. You’ve divorced twice. You know a piece of paper doesn’t guarantee anything.”
Thomas gave him a pitying look. “Being married was the happiest time of my life. I loved both of my wives. You won’t find me arguing against the potential joy of marriage. When it works, it’s worth every bit of struggle it takes to get it right.”
“And yet, here you are, with us on a Sunday afternoon,” Connor retorted.
“And I’d give anything to have it otherwise,” Thomas said. “I’d go back to either one of my wives, if they’d have me, but sadly I burned those bridges. If the opportunity arises and I find another woman to love, it won’t take me but a minute to take that walk down the aisle again.”
“Don’t say that in front of Gram,” Kevin warned. “You know how she feels about divorce because of the church. In her eyes, Dad and Mom were never divorced in the first place, so that wedding they had back on New Year’s Eve was nothing b
ut a renewal of vows. She’s probably lighting candles right and left for you after two divorces.”
Thomas grimaced. “Believe me, I’ve heard Ma’s opinion on the subject more than once. I’m just saying that when it comes to marriage, I’m a believer. People were meant to go through life with a partner at their side who loves them unconditionally.”
“Yet another triumph of hope over reality,” Connor said cynically.
Again, Thomas’s expression was filled with pity. “What do any of us have if we don’t have hope?” he asked. “Why, even at the bottom of Pandora’s box, there was hope.”
Connor glanced around the table, looking for an ally, but everyone there was nodding at Thomas’s remark. Abby grinned at him.
“You’re outnumbered, little brother. Give in gracefully.”
“Never,” he said out of habit. Let them all live their lives blinded to the pitfalls of marriage. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap. For every happy couple they could point to, even in this room, he could find another five who were miserable. If they spent even a day in his office, listening to one tale of misery and heartbreak after another, they’d be stripped of these rose-colored glasses they were wearing.
“Live in your dream world,” he told them, standing up. “I’m going upstairs to check on my son.”
“You’ll miss Gram’s pie,” Bree said, looking shocked. “You never miss Gram’s pie.”
“The peace and quiet will be worth the sacrifice,” he declared. “Just be sure there’s a slice left over for me to take to Heather later.”
A grin spread across his sister’s face, as she patted her belly. “But I can have yours, right? After all, I’m eating for two.”
Despite his sour mood, Connor chuckled. “It’s all yours, Bree, as long as Jake thinks he can roll you home after lunch.”
“I’ve got it covered,” Jake said, sliding an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “That’s why I brought along the wheelbarrow.”
Bree poked him in the ribs. “You’ll pay for that.”
Connor regarded them triumphantly. “See what I mean? A couple of ill-considered words here and there, and even the happiest marriage can teeter on the brink.”
Bree gazed up at her husband with a totally smitten expression. “I don’t think you have to worry about that with us, little brother. We’re in this for the duration.”
“Amen to that,” Jake agreed, kissing her soundly. “The occasional spat or even a poke in the ribs just livens things up.”
A grin spread across Bree’s face. “We get lively all the time.”
“Which is how she ended up pregnant,” Jake said.
Connor listened to the exchange, expecting to hear a false note, something to indicate that things weren’t as rosy as Bree and Jake would have everyone believe. Apparently they were exactly as they appeared to be, blissfully happy.
And he was happy for them. He really was, even if it put a tiny nick in his rock-solid theory. After all, every rule had its exceptions.
5
After drying off and changing her clothes, Heather went downstairs to the store just as she’d told Connor she’d planned to do. Truthfully, her motivation was less about the work that needed to be done than it was about not being in her apartment when Connor returned with little Mick. Right now that apartment was her haven, someplace with no memories whatsoever of Connor. It was exactly what she needed if she was to have her fresh start.
If Connor visited, even for a few minutes, there was a huge risk that it could change the way she felt about her new home. She’d have to grapple with images of him being there, seated, if only for moments, on her new sofa. His scent might linger in the cushions. It was hard enough to keep him out of her head as it was. That’s why she hadn’t let him past the threshold when he’d arrived unexpectedly earlier.
Downstairs, she spent an hour on paperwork, opened a box of new fabric and put the bolts on display, then found herself at loose ends. She picked up the quilt she’d promised to make for Megan, another Chesapeake Shores scene, this time of the family’s home overlooking the bay. She’d worked on simplifying the design for days, using photos to get not only the images she wanted but the colors that would capture the scene. She’d assembled her fabrics and started the work during lulls in business the day before.
Though she’d made several traditional quilt patterns over the years, she found special satisfaction and creative freedom in doing this kind of folk art quilt. If Megan was right about her talent, these would distinguish her shop from any others in the immediate region.
And if she decided to do custom scenes for her customers, she could probably charge even more for them. Or she could assemble a collection of such quilts and even have a show. She could do it right here, or she could have a more formal showing next door at Megan’s increasingly respected art gallery. That could boost prices even higher, she suspected, still a bit stunned by Megan’s assessment of her quilts’ worth.
Sitting in a rocker she’d placed near the front window for better lighting, she pieced together a section of the O’Brien house with the kind of tiny, neat stitches she’d learned from her mother.
As always, any thought of Bridget Donovan filled her with nostalgia. How had they let things get so far off track? Of course it was because they’d both taken strong positions from which there was no backing down, pretty much the way she and Connor had done.
Ironically, she’d always thought herself capable of reason and compromise. Maybe, though, when something mattered so much, there was no room for compromise.
She wondered how her mother would feel if she knew that Heather had left Connor. Would she rejoice, or would she find it one more thing to criticize? There was no way to know without picking up the phone or going for a visit, and Heather simply wasn’t ready to do either. Not yet, anyway. She needed to get her feet back under her, to establish herself in her new life. Then, perhaps, she could withstand one of her mother’s pointed interrogations or her father’s disappointed looks.
A tap on the front door had her glancing up to spot Connor with their son in his arms. She put aside the quilt and let them in. Connor set little Mick down in his playpen, where he was immediately absorbed with his toys. Connor nodded toward the fabric she’d had in her lap.
“You working on something new?”
“It’s for your mother,” she said. “She admired another one of my quilts, so I’m doing something similar for her. It’s not very far along, though.”
Connor walked over and took a closer look, then turned to her with a surprised expression. “It’s our house!”
Heather grinned. “Thank goodness you recognized it. You have no idea what a relief that is.”
“It’s actually amazing. Have you done others like this? I only remember when you worked on the one that’s hanging in the window.”
“That’s a more traditional design,” she explained. “It’s the kind of quilt you’d find in a beach cottage, I think. At least that’s your mother’s theory, and I have sold several to the weekenders who have homes here. They love the old-fashioned look and feel of the cottage quilts, and they’re perfect for the old iron and brass beds so many people have found in antique shops in the area.”
“Did you make them all?” he asked. “When on earth did you find the time?”
She laughed. “Heavens, no. I’m not that fast. I’ve found several excellent Amish quilt-makers in the area, and I’ve bought quite a few quilts from them. So far I’ve resisted buying the machine-made quilts, but I may have to if I can’t keep up with demand.”
A frown knit his brow. “Can you make enough money selling quilts?”
She shrugged. “I hope so, but I’m also starting classes. Not only do I have several people signed up already, but they’ll all need supplies. And I’ve put out some flyers, so word’s getting around that I have fabric available, and a lot of women have been coming in to buy patterns and fabric for their own quilt projects.”
He hesitated, the
n said, “I suppose I have no right to say this, but I’m proud of you, Heather. Clearly you’re excited about this and have a vision to make it succeed.”
Heather was pleased by his approval. “Keep your fingers crossed that it goes well, or I’ll wind up back in a classroom.”
She was half-joking, but Connor apparently took her seriously.
“Would that be so awful? The schools around here won’t be as tough as the ones in Baltimore,” he said. “It would be a whole different experience. Don’t you have regrets about wasting your college degree?”
“Not really,” she said candidly. “I never felt about teaching the way I do when I walk in here every morning, knowing this business is mine. Connor, I doubt you can imagine what that’s like, to discover something you’re passionate about and turn it into a career. I never imagined that my love of quilting could be anything more than a hobby, yet here I am.”
He frowned. “You don’t think I understand that kind of passion? It’s exactly how I feel about law.”
Heather regarded him with skepticism. “I’m not a hundred percent certain about that.”
“Meaning?”
“To be honest, I’ve always thought you liked law as a way to get even, not as a way to ensure justice.”
He looked taken aback by the comment. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”
She saw the hurt in his eyes and regretted being so candid. “Oh, Connor, it’s not that. I love you. That’s why it’s so hard to see what you’re doing to yourself with the kind of cases you take. I know it sounds dramatic, but I almost feel as if you’re selling your soul.”
“The cases I take—and win, by the way—will get me a partnership in a very prestigious law firm, which means you and our son will never want for anything,” he responded defensively.
“I appreciate that you want to support little Mick, but we could get by on less. I’d rather have you truly happy.”
“You could ensure that if you’d just come home,” he said, then waved off the remark before she could respond. “Never mind.” He regarded her with resignation. “I know that’s not happening, not now that you’ve apparently made a new life for yourself here.”
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