He sat up and reached for his clothes, pulling on his trousers and sweater, not bothering with the shirt. “Leave it, Mollie.”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“What isn’t?”
“This life—this island—all of it.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I want to put it behind me. I don’t want to speak of it.”
“Until you do, you won’t be healed.”
She reminded him of Mabry. “Do you think because of what we’ve done that you’ve the right to examine every bit of my life?”
She shook her head. “It’s not what we’ve done, it’s how we feel.”
“And how is that?”
Her eyes were very bright. He knew he’d hurt her, but he wouldn’t take it back. A woman like her could know nothing of what he carried with him.
“You’re afraid to love me because of what my mother did to Patrick.”
The veins stood out like railroad tracks on the smooth plane of his neck. “It’s more than that.”
She waited, refusing to make it easy for him.
“Have you asked yourself what it is you see in me, Mollie?”
“Of course I have.”
“Have you really? Is your answer an honest one? Because I’m finding it hard to believe that a woman like you would give more than the time of day to a man like me with nothing to offer but a future on an island that’s twenty years behind the rest of the civilized world.”
“Is that how you see it?”
His jaw tightened. “That’s the way it is.”
“Apparently you’ve taken up psychology as well. What do you think I see in you?”
“It’s not me you’re seeing.”
“Who is it, then?”
“A father.”
Her mouth fell open. She nearly laughed. “Believe me, Sean. I don’t consider you to be the least bit fatherly.”
“Not for yourself, Mollie.”
A tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”
He stood and walked to the window, fists balled in his pockets. “You came here in desperate need of a father. It’s my guess that you’ve been looking for him your whole life. When he wouldn’t come to you, you decided to come to him. I’m thinking that without Danny’s three children you wouldn’t have been nearly as accommodating as you were ten minutes ago.”
Mollie recoiled as if she’d been slapped. Her eyes blazed dangerously. “You can’t really believe that.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s obvious.”
Without speaking, she found her clothes. Deliberately, unselfconsciously, she pulled on her sweater and slacks, her socks and boots. Then she shook out her hair and stood. “I’ll be leaving now,” she said without looking at him. Thank you for the—” She hesitated. “The interlude.”
“Mollie.” He reached for her.
“Don’t.” She held up her hand. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you touching me.”
“Mollie.” He was desperate now. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Pull away like this.”
“You’ve just told me what I feel for you isn’t real. I’ve had some psychology, too, Sean, enough to know that people superimpose their true feelings onto others. What you really mean is your attraction for me is nothing more than a desire to provide Kerry’s children with a mother.”
She couldn’t be serious. “That isn’t true.”
“Isn’t it? What if I wasn’t the nurturing type? Would you still be interested?”
“Any man with eyes would be interested in you, Mollie.”
“Coming from anyone else that would be a compliment.”
He could see that she was close to tears. “From me as well,” he said gently.
Her voice cracked. “I don’t understand you. What just happened here?”
He closed his eyes. “I’m afraid of you, Mollie Tìerney. You’ve turned my life upside down. I don’t know what I want.”
She laughed bitterly. “When you do, let me know.”
With that she was gone. He should have stopped her. When had he ever known anyone like her in his bleak, empirical world, a woman joyful enough to dance in the rain, who poured elegance when she walked, an imprint indelibly carved on his brain, gold-brown hair, eyes like blue smoke, a mouth—
His jaw clamped. He turned back to the kitchen with its sink full of unwashed dishes and a table cluttered with correspondence he couldn’t have finished if he had a staff of twelve. This was his world. For the moment, Galway and Dublin, culture and civilization were beyond him. He’d accepted it. If not giddy with his lot, he’d been satisfied, until Mollie Tierney walked into his life.
CHAPTER 18
Mollie was angry, with a cold, quiet outrage that settled like a ball of ice in her stomach numbing all other emotions. She smiled mechanically, taught her students, answered their questions, and corrected their papers, negotiating her way through the last days of the school term on automatic pilot. Only with her nieces and nephew did she allow a glimmer of her natural warmth to shine through. She pushed all thoughts of Sean O’Malley and their humiliating evening together from her mind. Later, much later, when the incident wasn’t so raw, when she could look at it rationally, she would take it out, dust it off, and figure out how she’d ended up in this condition.
Mollie was a realist. She saw no point in hedging or avoiding the truth. She loved Sean O’Malley, all of him, the difficult, inflexible, irritating parts of him. And because of her mother, he was afraid to love her back. It was so simple and so disastrous. Mollie wasn’t skilled at manipulation. Either Sean wanted her or he didn’t. She wouldn’t try to win him over. Instinct told her he wasn’t a man easily convinced. But more than that, she wanted no part of coercing a man to love her.
The day before the holidays had been an exhausting one, finishing up the term, organizing the play the children had rehearsed for their parents, supervising the Christmas party, and distributing the monogrammed pencils and candy canes she’d found in Galway City.
She gathered the gifts her students had given her—handmade Christmas ornaments, shell necklaces, soda bread, and amateur watercolor paintings—and packed them into two cardboard boxes. They were too bulky to carry home. She would ask Patrick to drive over in his pony cart and help her carry them. Mollie looked at her watch. It was late, nearly time for tea. The girls were still not well enough to entertain themselves, and her mother would need help with the evening meal.
Reluctantly she looked around the classroom, closing cupboards, sweeping the last of the crayons into a drawer, straightening the apple-shaped pencil holder on her desk. It was time to go home.
She’d managed to avoid Sean on those occasions when he brought the children in the mornings and picked them up at night. It was easier when she was teaching, but now, with two weeks at home looming ahead of her—She sighed, locked the door, and started up the path.
Emma, busy with caring for three small children with chicken pox, had no time to analyze her daughter’s mood swings other than to hope she had come to her senses and was anxious to return to her life in Newport. Christmas would soon be upon them, and Ward was flying in for the holiday.
Stirring the soup Eileen had delivered that morning, she watched through the window, waiting for Mollie to come home from school. It was after four and already dark. Surely she wouldn’t stay late on the last day before vacation.
She peered out the window. Was that someone coming up the road? Emma reached for her glasses. It was too dark to make out his features, but he was definitely a man, a stranger. He carried a duffel bag, and, from his stride, Emma knew that he was young. She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “Good evening.” She smiled. “May I help you?”
“You’re not Irish,” he said.
His accent couldn’t be mistaken. “Neither are you.”
He laughed and held out his hand. “Russ Sand
ers from Scripps Institute, San Diego, California. I’m here to help with the Transom spill.”
“Emma Reddington from Newport, California.” She released his hand and waited.
“May I come in?”
Emma hesitated. It was one thing to talk to a stranger on the front porch, but to ask him in—
“I spoke with your daughter on the phone,” he explained. “There’s a housing shortage on the island. Everything is full. They’re asking for families to rent out spare rooms.”
“Mollie agreed to rent out a room, without even asking me?” Emma was incredulous.
“Apparently so, but if it’s a problem—” His expression was troubled.
“No,” she said politely. “Of course not. Please, come in.” She led the way into the living room. “I was surprised, that’s all. I hope you’ve had the chicken pox.”
“I have.”
He grinned, and Emma’s eyes widened. “Have you met my daughter, Mr. Sanders?”
“Call me Russ. No, not yet. I called her from the tourist bureau.”
Emma smiled. “I’ll show you the spare room. It’s small. I hope you don’t mind.”
Again he smiled, and her heart flipped. Where was Mollie?
“I don’t mind small,” he said easily. “More than likely I’ll only be here to sleep.”
Emma led him to the bedroom on the south side of the cottage. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Mollie should be home soon. Tea will be ready in half an hour.”
“I’m not much of a tea drinker, Mrs. Reddington.”
She laughed. “I’m settling into old patterns. Tea is the early evening meal. We’re having roast chicken and potatoes. You’re welcome to join us.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
Emma closed the bedroom door and offered up a silent prayer of thanks. Polite, gorgeous, and straight from San Diego. She couldn’t have set up a better set of circumstances if she’d orchestrated it herself. If only he was fond of children. Mollie wouldn’t want anyone who didn’t like children.
Emma looked in on her grandchildren. Caili was recovering nicely. Dried half-circles still marked her forehead and cheeks, but her open sores were gone. Luke’s case had never been a serious one. It was Marni who had her grandmother worried. The child was having a difficult time of it. Her temperature was normal. Emma would never have allowed Patrick to bring the children in the trap if Marni had a fever. But she was unusually lethargic and slept a great deal more than a girl her age should. Her moods shifted, and her grandmother despaired of ever seeing the reasonable, even-tempered child she’d come to love.
The table was set and the chicken browned and appetizing in the roaster. There was still no word from Mollie. Emma called the children and her new guest to the table. She considered it something of a test. If Russ Sanders could eat with three red, scabby faces staring at him, he would be a likely candidate for Mollie’s affections.
She heard his steps in the hall. Luke lay in his infant seat and waved his rattle. Marni and Caili looked up expectantly. He stood for a minute in the entrance, obviously American, all six feet several inches of him. Then he smiled, and Emma relaxed.
“Hello there.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“We have chicken pox,” Caili confided.
“I can see that. How’s it going?”
The girls stared at him. He amended his question. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Marni said politely.
She did look better.
Caili spoke. “My spots are nearly gone. They went away sooner than Marni’s.”
Without asking, the American began carving the roasted chicken. “Sometimes it works that way. The younger you are, the easier you have it.”
“Really?” Marni looked up eagerly.
He nodded. “Really.”
“How long do you think it will be until I’m well?”
He finished cutting the last piece of breast meat, replaced the knife and serving fork on the platter, and looked at Marni’s face. Gently he took her chin in his hand and turned it one way and then the other. “I would say another week or so will do it.”
“How can you tell?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “There are six children in my family. We’ve all had chicken pox.”
Marni sighed with relief. She picked up her fork and for the first time in days applied herself to her food.
Emma was more than pleased with Mollie’s new houseguest. Six children. A large family. Better and better. She glanced at Marni’s plate and sighed with relief. The child was actually eating. “My goodness, Marni. Why didn’t you ask me? Did you think you’d have chicken pox forever?”
Marni hung her head. Her voice was so soft Emma could barely hear it. “Some people don’t always get well. Ciara Feeney didn’t.”
Horrified, Emma forgot all about her plans for Mollie. She’d heard the tragic story of the little girl with spinal meningitis. She reached across the table and covered Marni’s hand with her own. “Ciara was different. All children recover from chicken pox,” she said firmly, not caring whether or not it was true. Her reward was Marni’s smile.
Emma looked at the clock on the wall. Where was Mollie? Before she finished her thought, she heard the front door open.
“Aunt Mollie’s home,” Caili sang. She dropped her fork and dashed out of the kitchen.
Russ chuckled. “Aunt Mollie must be very popular around here.”
Emma smiled. “The girls are fond of her.”
Marni corrected her. “We’re not fond of her, Grandma. We love her. Everyone does.” She appealed to Russ. “She’s twenty-eight.”
He looked interested. “Really?”
“And she isn’t married yet.”
His eyes twinkled. “Is that a problem?”
“Don’t you think that’s rather old to not be married?”
“That depends on your perspective. How old are you?”
“Nine.”
“I suppose for a nine-year-old, twenty-eight seems old. But I’m thirty-two and still not married. So, you see, twenty-eight doesn’t seem that old to me.”
“Will you be getting married someday?”
“Probably.”
Marni brightened. “Perhaps you’d like to marry Aunt Mollie.”
Emma laughed. “Marni, stop. Mollie doesn’t need you to recruit a husband for her. She’s perfectly capable of finding one on her own.”
“Something smells delicious. What are we having?” Mollie stood in the entrance to the kitchen with Caili beside her.
Emma watched Russ’s eyes widen in appreciation. He leaned over to whisper something into Marni’s ear. “It’s chicken,” answered Emma. “Sit down and eat before everything’s cold. Where have you been?”
“Gathering everything together.” Mollie smiled at Russ. “You must be Russ Sanders.” She extended her hand. He stood and shook it, holding it for exactly the right amount of time. “I’m Mollie Tierney.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mollie.” He waited until she sat down before taking his own seat. “I appreciate the use of your extra room.”
She reached for the chicken and potatoes. “I’m glad we could help. What will you be doing first?”
“Assessing the extent of the damage in terms of lost animals should take a few weeks. After that we’ll check the oil levels in local waters and the damage to the hatcheries.”
“How long will it take?”
“It depends on what we find. Best case, two months. Worst, a year.”
Her eyes, blue and cool, met his across the table. “I won’t be here in a year.”
He grinned. “I hope I won’t, either.”
Emma watched their interplay. He was definitely interested, but she couldn’t tell with Mollie. She had designated personal relationships as off-limits ever since she began to date seriously.
“It’s too bad you’ll miss Christmas at home.”
He shrugged. “I’m used to it. It’s been
quite a while since all six of us have managed to make it home for Christmas.”
“It must be hard on your parents.”
He laughed. “There’s always a crowd. Two or three missing children aren’t even noticed.”
Emma looked shocked. “Don’t be ridiculous. All mothers miss their children, no matter how much of a crowd there is.”
Mollie stared at her. Since coming to Ireland, her mother’s personality had completely reversed itself. The sweet, accommodating woman she’d grown up with would never have told a stranger he was ridiculous.
Russ appeared oblivious to her rudeness. “Maybe you’re right,” he said agreeably. “However, there isn’t much I can do about it.” He smiled at Emma. “Do you have other children, Mrs. Tierney?”
“Reddington,” she corrected him, “and, no, I have no other children, not anymore.”
The silence was thick and uncomfortable. Mollie broke it. “My brother died recently.”
“Oh, geez.” Russ looked around the table, at the girls, round-eyed and solemn, at Emma fighting back tears. “Listen, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Mollie assured him. “How could you have known? It’s just still rather raw.” She smiled at Caili and changed the subject. “Guess what we did at school today?”
“What?”
“We had a gift exchange. Remember the pencil boxes I bought in Galway and we wrapped to take to school?”
Caili nodded. Her eyes lit up expectantly.
“I took them to school for the party and brought back gifts for the two of you.”
Caili clapped and dropped her fork. Diving under the table, she found it and came up smiling. Emma handed her another one. “Where are they?” the child asked.
“In my room. As soon as you’re finished eating, you can open them.”
“Who would like dessert?” Emma asked.
“What is it?” Marni still had not regained her appetite.
“Red Jell-o,” replied her grandmother.
Caili spoke. “I’ll have some after my present.”
“No, thanks, Grandma.” Marni sounded tired. “Maybe later.”
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