Hold Me Fast (McCullough Mountain Book 7)

by Lydia Michaels

  He grunted and nodded. “This is my family’s lumberyard.”

  “You work here?” she asked, recalling what her sister knew of him.

  “Have since I’ve been a boy. My dad hasn’t been well since the war. With so many men drafted he came back to a mess of issues and needed someone to help him run things.” He glanced at her. “You don’t want to hear about this.”

  On the contrary, she was enthralled by the fact that he was speaking to her at all. “No, go on.”

  He shifted, dragging his thick forearm over the wheel and facing her. It made her feel very important. “My dad enrolled in the military when I was ten, thinking we’d win in no time and he’d return a hero—if he ever made it to combat at all. I grew up in the yard, delivering thermoses to my dad and uncles and running their lunches out to them when my mum had it ready. Soon enough they had me climbing trees and marking acres, because there was such a shortage of able men. When my dad deployed for Vietnam my uncles still let me work and as I got older the work got a little more demanding.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Aye. I love being outside and I like doing something for my family. My mother looked to me as the man of the house since I was merely a boy. I liked that too.”

  There was pride in his tone, something she respected and filed away as another appealing quality. If anything, Frank McCullough was a capable fellow—no, man. He’d been a man far before the law would label him as such, and that was beyond attractive.

  “When my father returned he was sick.”

  “Was he hurt in the war?” So many soldiers had returned home missing limbs and wearing scars.

  Frank tapped his head. “Aye. The war hurt his mind. It isn’t right for a man to spend so many years staging battles and watching death. As resilient as the human soul is, some scars are permanent. At first I thought he just needed time to acclimate himself to society again.” His head shook slowly. “But he’ll never be the same. There’s a rage inside of him too great to burn out in this lifetime.”

  “I’m sorry.” Once again she suffered her immaturity. Her inability to come up with comforting words left her with a sense of great inadequacy.

  His head tilted, setting a dark strand of hair just to the side of his sharp eyebrow. His lashes were so thick she had the urge to run her fingers over them. “You don’t have any brother’s, do you?”

  It was becoming difficult to concentrate on his words, but she desperately wanted to keep their dialogue going. “No. The O’Leahey’s are cursed with girls.” She laughed. “My poor father was bald before I was even born.”

  His smile was tight, his eyes creasing affectionately as if something she’d said pleased him. “You’re a bonny lass, Maureen O’Leahey. I think I’m rather grateful your dad had nothing but girls.”

  Her breath caught as she stared at him, unsure if she’d imagined his words or if he’d actually said them. “How old are you, Frank?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  And there it was. Lowering her gaze, she casually shifted her skirt back over her knee and folded her hands on her lap.

  Though his was clearly American, his slang reminded her so much of her mother. Words like lass and bonny were familiar and soothing, having heard them since she was a child.

  “Things have probably settled by now,” he said, turning to face the wheel again.

  Disappointment weighed heavy in her chest as the truck started and they silently drove back to town. It was foolish to think a man like Frank McCullough would take interest in a young girl like her. She’d be wise to not think of him in terms of attraction anymore.

  When they reached the pub, Colleen grinned and met them at the truck. “I was wondering where you two got off to.”

  “I didn’t want your little sister getting hassled by the police.”

  Maureen grimaced at the use of the word “little”. “Where’s Rosemarie?”

  “Inside. Cleaning up.”

  “What the bloody hell is she cleaning up for? Did the constable tell her she had to?”

  Colleen grinned. “Now, what kind of woman would she be to not help Liam straighten up their new bar?”

  “What? Caleb actually gave it to him?”

  “What choice did he have? The man was indebted to Liam for nearly fifteen grand.”

  “But the bar has to be worth far more than that,” she argued and Colleen shrugged, clearly tapped out of her knowledge on the subject.

  “There’s likely a mortgage to be paid. I’m sure Caleb’s debts are to more than just Liam Cloony.”

  Unbelievable.

  “It’s closed now if you want to go in,” Colleen said. “I’m waitin’ on Paulie. Tell him to move his arse, will ya?”

  She and Frank entered the bar, but he no longer held her hand or pressed his palm to the small of her back. He held the door for her, which she now found irritating and misleading. Their shoes crunched over broken glass.

  “Watch your step, love.” His words provoked a sigh, but she stifled the moon-eyed response she also sensed coming. This one was too charming for his own good and she was a damn fool to think it had anything to do with her.

  The place was in shambles. “I’m not sure it’s worth a cent now,” she mumbled.

  “They’ll have it clean in no time,” Frank answered.

  Paulie stood in the center of the rubble. “Did you see the way I took out that one bastard with the arms the size of tree trunks and the big barrel chest? Ah, he was no match for me—”

  “Paulie,” Frank called. “Your woman’s in the back growing impatient with waitin’ on your arse.”

  That fast, Paulie’s regaling tales of the brawl ceased and he was out the door like a well-trained pup. She shook her head at the control Colleen had over that poor man.

  Rosemarie yelled from the back. “We’ll be replacin’ those pool tables too. And this bar will be needin’ a fresh coat of lacquer. Are you listening, Liam? I won’t be moving in until this pub is right and proper, you remember that. Oh, there you are, Maureen,” she smiled. “Grab a broom in the back and start sweepin’. We’ve got lot’s to do and the mortgage is due by the fifteenth. No time to spare and every minute those doors are closed we’re losing money.”

  She stared, dumbfounded. Frank returned with two brooms and handed her one. She swept, in awe of what they were doing and what it signified. It was a lot to process.

  “Are you really going to move in with Liam, Rosemarie?” she asked quietly as she swept alongside her sister.

  She grinned. “I’m ready. I want to have babies, Maureen. Could you imagine, us having our own sweet babies someday?”

  “But you’re not married.” Their father would never allow it.

  Rosemarie’s smile was the sort that spoke of many secrets and warm affections shared between her and the man that held her heart. “Liam asked Father for his permission last month and he said we’d have his blessing if Liam could provide a home for us and find a way to make a decent living.”

  She wasn’t sure about the bar being decent, as it was won in a poker match, nor was she clear on how this amounted to a home. “Will you live with his family?”

  “No, silly. We’ll live here. There’s an apartment upstairs. It’s nothing special, but we can stay there and save for a house. Down the line, maybe you or Colleen could live there if you need to. Since we own the deed there’s no rent.”

  Part of her was jealous and thrilled for the sudden turn her sister’s life was taking, but a greater part felt left behind. It was only a matter of time before Colleen moved out of the house as well. She wanted to be happy for her sisters, but it was tricky embracing such emotions when she was terrified for herself. Her parents were not the greatest company to those that didn’t get a kick out of the nightly news Gunsmoke.

  By the time the damage was cleaned up it was dark. There was much to still be repaired, but for the most part the bar seemed a heap nicer than when she’d first seen it. Frank had disappeared sometime while s
he was cleaning and it hurt that he hadn’t said goodbye. Her disappointment was again inappropriate, for obvious reasons.

  It was getting late and Rosemarie seemed reluctant to leave when Liam was so devotedly inspecting his new enterprise. Begging for the keys, Maureen took the Falcon home alone, something she imagined doing a lot in the future.

  When she got home the house was dark, her parents each sleeping on their chairs in the den. She quietly locked the door and went to her room at the corner of the first floor. Three twin beds. What would she do with all that empty space when the time came? She didn’t want to think about it, but her mind wouldn’t let her focus on much else.

  She considered the friends she’d be graduating with in two weeks and measured their appeal in matters of amusement, suitability as a spouse, and even potential company for summer gallivanting. Did teenagers gallivant after they graduated or did summer become just another season?

  Several of her classmates were scheduled for June weddings. While they’d been planning prom, others had been picking bridesmaids and bouquets. The future was indeed daunting. The only skill beyond homemaking that Maureen possessed was an ability to type forty words per minute. She’d likely spend the next year wasting away in some dingy office with a sad excuse for a window.

  Before she fell asleep, she thought about the bluest sky her memory could conjure, comparing it in all its many facets and tones to the depths of Frank McCullough’s eyes. Though the sky could blush vibrant shades of pink and darken deeper than sapphires, she decided his eyes were the victors when it came to exquisiteness, and she wondered when she’d be able to see them again.

  Chapter Two

  “It seems I’m always saving you, Maureen O’Leahey.”

  Maureen blinked as her skin heated under the June heat. She was a liar. Her skin had been just fine in the heat until Frank McCullough pulled his truck behind her broken down Ford. Now it burned with a fiery blush that likely left her redder than a tomato. “I hit a pothole and the whole tire burst.”

  Frank swaggered close to the rim and examined the damage. “You got a spare?”

  “Maybe in the back.” She hated driving and before Rosemarie moved out this was her sister’s car.

  Frank opened the trunk. “Nope. You in a rush?”

  It had been so long since she’d seen him, yet a day didn’t go by that he didn’t cross her mind. Obsessive was an understatement.

  “I’m supposed to be at practice in five minutes.”

  “Practice?”

  “For graduation. It’s tomorrow.”

  “Congratulations.” He grinned, but his eyes told a different story. “I can get you a spare and have it fixed in no time, but if you don’t want to miss practice you better let me take you.”

  For some reason her mind automatically started calculating how many days until she became a legal adult. Too bad every time she was in his presence her mind turned to mush and simple addition became a feat even she could not manage. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” he smirked, as though he found her breathless answer amusing. “Get your purse.” She never knew what to expect from him. Though he seemed a man of few words, she hung on every one and never got disheartened in what he had to say.

  She grabbed her purse and rolled up the windows. He waited by the opened passenger door and a thrill raced up her spine at the anticipation of him again lifting her into the cab of his truck. He didn’t disappoint and this time she was prepared enough to savor the delicious grip of his hands around her waist.

  Though she hadn’t exerted herself, when the door closed she was out of breath. He climbed in beside her and she found his familiar scent pleasing in too many ways. Her chest lifted as she drew in a deep breath, attempting to commit the unique fragrance to memory. Breathless and dizzied by his nearness, she shut her eyes and silently sighed as a jolt of excitement danced through her belly.

  He drove toward the high school. “You shouldn’t be driving without a spare.”

  “Blame Colleen. For all I know the idjit made a tire swing out of it.”

  He chuckled. “Are you excited to graduate?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  “What will you do?”

  Good question. “I don’t know. I suppose I should have an idea by now.”

  “Well, think of what you like and do that.”

  Her lips pursed. “That’s a little difficult.” Regretfully, they were already nearing the school.

  Once he parked at the field, he turned and faced her. She sensed his expectation for her to face him, but didn’t have the courage to look into those blue eyes again. “What is it you want, Maureen?” he whispered, and suddenly she felt as if he were asking about more than her choice of career.

  She shrugged, no longer caring about arriving to practice on time. “I want to be loved.”

  “Aye.”

  Slowly, with trembling courage, she faced him, wondering if Frank could somehow know loneliness as well as she. “Have you ever loved a woman?”

  He nodded. “I loved my mother, but that’s not the same as what you’re speaking of.”

  “No.” Where was his mother? He only spoke of her in past tense.

  “I think, when she passed, she took a bit of my heart.”

  Her lips parted. “I didn’t know…I thought she was alive…” her words stupidly abandoned her.

  “It’s fine. The funeral was a few months ago and I’m…coping. My father on the other hand…”

  Her hand instinctively went to his arm, her nature insisting she bring him some level of comfort. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Frank.”

  He nodded and stared at her hand. “You have pretty fingers.”

  Her heart fluttered and something deep in her belly tightened. However, when she looked at her bitten down fingernails, she self-consciously curled them into her palm. “They’re plain. I try to grow my nails, but I’m always breaking them.”

  He glanced out the windshield where many students gathered on the field as the teachers tried to assemble them in some sort of order. “Do you not love someone, Maureen? Is there not a lad you had your heart set on?”

  Her hand slid away. “No. They’re all spoken for or too childish to court a girl like me.”

  When he stayed quiet she glanced at his face and found him studying her again, a slight smile curling his full lips.

  “What is it?”

  “I’m wondering if you’re more like Rosemarie, determined and stubborn, or more like Colleen, fearless and wild.”

  “Perhaps I’m neither. Perhaps I’m just Maureen.”

  “Aye.”

  She didn’t want to be like either sister. Not to him. She wanted him to see her, the real her. Perhaps when he found the real Maureen, he could introduce them, because she was still trying to figure the girl out.

  “You better go.”

  “My car—”

  “I’ll see if I can get my hands on a spare, maybe find a tree swing with the right shape.” He laughed. “Then I’ll meet you back here.”

  “O-okay.” If he was late she could always get a ride home with someone else, but she hoped Frank was a man of his word and the only person driving her today.

  He came around the truck and opened her door. Though he didn’t pick her up, he did offer her a hand. When she took it, heat traveled up her arm and her heart raced. Licking her dry lips, she stared at the ground. He didn’t wear shoes like most men his age. On the contrary, he wore rugged boots that had been well worn with hard work.

  “I’ll be back within the hour, love. Don’t fret. We’ll fix the car.”

  Love. As the endearment met her ears a thirst took hold of her like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She wanted to kiss him, to feel his hands on her hips, in her hair, on her body. She was trembling with desire for this man and unsure how her longing had raveled so far out of control when she’d decided not to be attracted to him.

  “Maureen.”

  Winded, she looked into his eyes,
but could not manage a single word.

  “Go to practice,” he instructed, and she nodded.

  The truck pulled away as she stepped onto the field. She’d been so out of it she left her purse on the seat, which was fine. It insured she’d have to see him again.

  “Who was that?” Rhoda Greiner asked, balancing on her toes as she peered over the fence and watched Frank’s truck disappear in the distance.

  Maureen frowned. “Lean over much farther and all that tissue you so painstakingly shape your bosoms with is gonna litter the field. Put your eyes back in your head and mind your own business.”

  She wasn’t sure who was more shocked, her or all the girls now staring at her. Dear God, where had those words come from?

  Frank wasn’t hers. Rhoda had as much right to look at him as anyone else, yet the thought made her see red. She protectively wanted him to herself, knowing she didn’t hold a candle to the other girl’s beauty.

  Maureen was cursed with copper curls and more freckles than any person could count in a lifetime. Though her green eyes were pretty, they were overpowered by her fussy Irish skin, and therefore the last thing anyone noticed about her—like two pretty stars in a botched painting of sky.

  Too many times she’d wished to be exotically brunette or seductively blond. There were the Hepburn’s and the Monroe’s, among the sort of women men fancied. She was still waiting for the trend-setting redhead to shift the way of the world, but none had shown up. Apparently Lucille Ball gave redheads a comedic reputation, but Maureen was usually too shy to come up with anything funny.

  Like most girls uncomfortable in their own skin, she depended on a hardy dose of sarcasm and great sense of humor to get her through the day, but that only worked around her sisters. Other people filled her with doubt and most people assumed she was the quiet O’Leahey. She had plenty to say, but no one beside her sisters to listen, and they were leaving her.

  Practice was a necessary bore, instructing them when they should stand and when they should sit. By the time it was over and she felt like a well-trained pedigree, her anticipation to see Frank had nearly turned crippling.