After the Storm (34 page)

“Yes.”

“So he did as he promised your mother and took care of you.”

With a sob, she turned her face against his chest and clutched his shirt. He gently stroked her back. He said nothing, and she was glad. False platitudes would have been painful.

She had never known that Athair had made such a promise to her mother. Each time he had suffered from a painful heartbeat, he had reassured her that he was not ready to go yet. But she had been married to Abban.… Had her father seen some streak of treachery in her husband that she had failed to notice? Athair had not wanted her to go to New York, and at the time she had been sure it was because he did not want to be alone. Maybe it had been something more.

Lifting her gaze to where Samuel was watching her with the gentle compassion she had first seen in his eyes when she told him of her trials in New York, she whispered, “When did my father die?”

He took out the letter again. “It's dated a little over a month ago.”

“Around the time I was leaving New York to come here.” She touched the paper. Had Athair somehow known she would find Samuel, a man who would reawaken her deadened heart at the end of the train journey to Haven? Her father would have liked Samuel and respected his knowledge, but most of all Athair would have appreciated how Samuel opened his house and his life to Brendan, Megan, and Lottie … and her.

“Will you tell the children?” Samuel asked, and she knew, for once, he had not guessed the course of her thoughts.

“I must.” She put the letter on the table beside the case and rubbed her hands together. “This loss isn't like with Abban. Their memories of him are sparse at best. Lottie may not remember Athair well, but the other two will.”

“Do you want me to get them?”

She almost said no, because she did not want to tell them when her cheeks were red with the stains of her tears. Then she nodded. She would not hide her grief from them. Not about this.

Samuel's taut face must have warned the children that something was amiss because they were silent as they came into the parlor. When she held out her arms to them, they ran to her. She embraced them as she told them about their grandfather's death.

Sitting next to Cailin, Samuel took Megan onto his lap and held her as she wept. Lottie wore a lost expression, and Cailin guessed her youngest was uncertain how to respond. When Samuel set the little girl on his other knee, she cuddled close to him.

Cailin looked to where Brendan had stood and saw him walk to the door opening into the back parlor. Rising, she went to him and put her arm around his shoulders. She was astonished when he shook it off.

“Brendan, I'm—”

“Don't say you're sorry!” he snapped. “You're the one who dragged us away from Grandpa and brought us to America. Then you left us after telling us Papa had died. Then they said you died, but you didn't. Now you're saying Grandpa died. What if he didn't? What if he's still alive?”

She heard Samuel draw in a sharp breath. “Brendan …” he began, his voice as rigid as his face.

Waving him to silence, Cailin knelt in front of her son and folded his hands between hers. They trembled as fiercely as his words had. “You were lied to about what had happened to me. I'm not lying to you. You believe that, don't you?”

“But you didn't die!”

“No, that was a lie. I wish I could tell you that the letter was another lie, but it isn't.” She reached up to frame his face—his face that looked so much like a youthful version of Athair's. Swallowing her sorrow, she whispered, “Brendan, you know I'd never, ever lie to you.”

“Like Papa did?”

“Your father?” she glanced at Samuel, who had come to his feet, holding each girl by the hand.

“I know what Papa did,” Brendan said. “I knew before we left New York, Mama. We saw Papa's other children come to the house. Mrs. Rafferty told us who they and the lady with them were.”

Samuel swore, but Cailin only asked, “Why didn't you tell me that you knew?”

Brendan looked at his sisters, then said, “We didn't want you to be upset, Mama.” He barely paused before he asked, “Are you going to die, too?”

“Do you mean soon?”

He nodded.

“No.” She struggled to smile. “I'll be here to tell you to pick up your clothes and eat your vegetables for many, many more years.”

He threw his arms around her.

“Tá grá agam duit
. I love you,” she whispered. She leaned her head on top of his and looked across the room to Samuel, Megan, and Lottie. “I love all of you.”

The little girls ran to throw their arms around her again. She knew the danger of letting Samuel's gaze capture hers, but she could not look away. Did he know her words had been for him, too?

She could not guess, for Megan tugged on her sleeve.

“Yes?” Cailin asked.

“Can we? Can we now?” Megan's tears fell down her cheeks.

Cailin nodded, coming to her feet. As the girls grasped her hands, she said, “Samuel, we're going down to the river. Will you come with us?”

“Why are you going there?”

“When someone died,” she said, her voice catching, “we tossed flowers into the stream on the farm and watched them flow down to the sea. It's sort of a tradition in our family. Will you come with us?”

He nodded and picked up Lottie. Taking Cailin's hand, he started toward the door.

She drew her hand out of his and went to get the fiddle. Taking it and the bow, she followed Samuel out of the house. Brendan trailed after them. They paused only long enough to pick some wildflowers by the fence, then walked down the hill to the river.

Where the riverbank dropped sharply into the water, Cailin quickly twisted the flowers together in a garland. It would not hold together long, but it did not need to. She handed it to Brendan. He was the oldest, so he should have the honor. When the girls did not protest, she wanted to draw them into her arms and hold them until every hint of their pain was gone.

Picking up the fiddle, she drew the bow across the strings. A few quick turns tuned them, and she began to play. Samuel's eyes widened as her fingers flew across the strings in a lighthearted tune. First Megan, then Lottie began to clap along.

She lowered the fiddle. “Samuel, don't think I'm a horrible daughter to play such a happy song. It was my father's favorite.”

“I'm not shocked because of what you played, but how. I had no idea you could play so well.”

“Athair began teaching me when I wasn't much older than Brendan.” She touched the fine wood. “I'd intended to start teaching him on my fiddle, but—”

“You had to sell it when you got to America.”

She nodded, then turned to Brendan. “Now you should toss the flowers into the river. They'll eventually reach the sea.”

“Down the Ohio to the Mississippi,” Samuel said quietly. “Then they can drift back to Ireland.”

“Yes,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his.

“Careful,” he added as Brendan eased closer to the edge of the bluff. He shot a quick smile at Cailin. “Sorry. Habit.”

“A good one. Go ahead, Brendan.”

He held up the garland. “Good-bye, Grandpa. We'll miss you.” He flung the flowers out toward the water.

Somehow, the garland hung together as it hit the river and was swirled into the currents. The children cheered. As Brendan and Megan told their favorite stories of their grandfather and asked her to play more of the songs they remembered, Samuel squeezed her hand. She had never guessed she could be so happy and so sad at the same time.

Nineteen

As her daughters got into bed, Cailin hushed them, but they kept talking about the fair that would be starting in two days. When she blew out the light in the girls' room and went onto the landing, she was not surprised to hear soft footsteps behind her. She looked back to see Lottie climb into bed with Megan. Immediately they were giggling.

Leaving them to their mischief, for their laughter was a wondrous sound, Cailin looked in to see that Brendan was already asleep. Or pretending to be asleep, because he had agreed to go to bed early tonight so he could spend tomorrow night at the fairgrounds with his cow. That would allow him to rise early and be ready for the judging on the first day of the fair.

The everyday sights and sounds eased her grief over her father's death. Athair would not have wanted her to weep. He had always believed in celebrating every minute of life. So had she, until Abban's cruelty and then his mother's drove all joy from her. She would not allow it to be stolen again.

A light was on in the back parlor, and Cailin went to the door. Samuel was sitting at his desk, squinting as he tried to see what he was writing on a paper in front of him.

“Is it important?” she asked.

He looked up. “This letter? I want to get it in the mail, but it can wait until the end of the week. If you want some company, I can set it aside.”

“I don't want some company.” She drew the door closed behind her and walked around a crate to his desk. Lifting his glasses off his nose, she placed them carefully on top of the letter. The letters of her name tried to catch her attention, but she smiled at him. “I want you.”

“Here?”

“Why not?” With her foot, she shoved away a short stack of books. “You've got a nice carpet here, Samuel.”

“You're a brazen woman.”

She ran her fingers along his face, tipping it up to her lips. “Are you complaining?”

“I'll never complain about this.”

When she knelt on the floor and held out her hands, he dropped from the chair to sit beside her. He cupped her face and kissed her tenderly.

“Don't hesitate,” she whispered. “I'm not asking you to hold me because I want to forget about my father. I want you to hold me because I was a fool to storm away when we could have had these nights together.”

“Counting our stings?”

She laughed. “As long as we did it lying side by side.”

“I like the way you think.” He started to kiss her again, then said, “I don't want to hold you—”

“What?”

He laughed. “Let me finish. I don't want to hold you to banish another woman from my mind. I want to hold you because I was a fool to let you storm away when we could have had these nights together.” He laughed again. “To count our stings or whatever. It doesn't matter as long as you're lying by my side.”

“Is there an echo in here?” She laughed as she swept her arms up his chest to curve over his shoulders.

“Just of two people yearning for each other.” His fingers stroked her face. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“A happy one?”

“A very happy one.” He teased her ear with the tip of his tongue. When she shivered with delight, he whispered, “Sometimes, on the nights when you were with me, I'd wake up and watch you sleeping. I wanted to make sure you weren't only a dream.”

She rested her cheek against his as his arms enfolded her. “Sometimes I did the same. I burst into your life so quickly that it swept my breath away.”

“As I want to do now.”

“Here?” she teased, copying his astonishment.

He laughed huskily, his longing naked in his voice. “I hadn't planned on making love with you in my office, but,
a stór
, does it matter where we are as long as we're alone here?” Standing, he twisted a key in the lock she had not noticed.

As he walked back to her, she held up her hands to him. He took them as he knelt again beside her. Saying nothing, he reclined her back and leaned over her. He lifted her braids and slipped his finger into the plaits. His gaze held hers, promising her that they would share every pleasure, and his finger slid along a braid. It loosened, scattering her hair around her. Pulling her other braid over her, he began to undo it.

She quivered as his finger glided along her, grazing her neck and stroking her breast. When her hair drifted about her, he smoothed it away. His fingers traced a meandering path of delight along her body until they curved around her face.

“My sweet Cailin,” he whispered.

“Samuel,
a ghrá mo chroi
,” she answered as he brought her lips beneath his. She welcomed his kiss, glad he had not asked her to translate, for she was unsure how he would react to knowing she had called him the love of her heart.

Putting her arms around him, she held him to her. His hair caressed her face when his hungry lips elicited pleasure along her neck. She traced the curve of his ear, and his rapid breath seared her skin.

He impatiently loosened her gown and pulled her clothes from her and tossed them, unnoticed, beside his on the floor. When she leaned over him, she sighed with the deliciously powerful satisfaction of his skin against hers. The sensation became more splendid each time they were together and had haunted her dreams when she had not been with him.

His eyes burned with emerald desire as she ran a single finger across his lips and over his chin. The bronzed skin along his chest could not conceal his accelerating heartbeat when her fingers sought the lean line of his hips. When he writhed beneath her light touch, she bent forward to taste the fire on his lips. Her tongue stroked his mouth as lightly as her fingers moved along him, then flicked scintillating sparks on his skin, taking the same sensual journey her finger had.

Moaning her name, he tangled his hands in her hair. She explored his firm skin's warmth and a ticklish spot along his ribs, setting him to laughter amid his quick breaths. His laughter faded into a gasp when her tongue swirled along him in a wave of incredible, intimate ecstasy.

Wanting only to give him the rapture he offered her, she discovered anew how bringing her most devilish fantasies to life fueled that bewitching flame within her. The essence of his skin, the roughly silken texture of it against her mouth, the musky scent of his desire immersed her in a flood of craving.