The Last Bride in Ballymuir (40 page)

He knelt at her feet. She closed her eyes to
hold back the tears she’d just tamed.

“
I know I’m no great prize,
and it’s a world of grief I might be bringing you, but I can
promise you this—no one will ever love you more than I
do.”

She was crying now, no more
able to stop than she
could stop loving
this man. She wiped at the tears with her fingers, then tightly
clasped her hands in her lap—holding some small part of herself
together.

“
Dammit,” Michael muttered,
then patted her knee. “I’ll be right back, love.”

He stood and dug around in his bag again.
“There, now!” she heard him say triumphantly. He settled in front
of her and nudged her hands with a tissue. She took it and wiped
her eyes. Through a lingering sheen of moisture, Kylie could see
that he was still holding a small box. Her heart pushed against her
breastbone like it wanted to escape.

“
I never thought I’d have
the courage or the freedom to do this,” he said as he fumbled with
the box between his two strong—and usually steady— hands. He pried
the lid open, crumpled a tiny square of paper in one hand, and
tossed it aside.

“
Will you stay with me for
the rest of our days? Will you marry me, Kylie O’Shea?”

She had never known so many thoughts to fight
for precedence. Was this the right thing to do? What about this
Rourke person? What if she lost her job? How would they get by
until his business grew? And finally, how would she ever live if
she tossed aside this chance at happiness?

“
Kylie?”

“
Yes,” she said, pushing
back everything but this moment.

“
Yes?” The uncertainty in
his eyes battled with the
smile beginning
to tug at his mouth. “Are you saying
yes,
you’ll marry me, or yes, you just noticed that I’m still kneeling
in front of you like some kind of fool?”

“
I’m saying, yes, I’ll marry
you.” Joy whirled
through her like a cloud
of white doves. “Yes, I’ll love
you
forever.”

Michael’s hands shook as he slipped the ring
on her finger. “It fits perfectly,” he said, sounding a bit
surprised.

“
Of course it does. As do
you and I,” she added before framing his face between her hands and
settling her mouth over his. “Now do you think
that
you could possibly make love to
me?”

She took his hungry growl for a “yes.”

The sky was still a pale
wash of early light when, wrapped in her old robe, Kylie pushed
aside
the
drapes
and gazed out the window. She turned back to Michael. Totally
comfortable with his nudity in a way that made her just the tiniest
bit jealous, he lay on top of the rumpled sheets. In his hand was a
note that had been tucked beneath the door sometime during the
night.

“
It’s not like Vi to call
unless something’s happened,” he said. “And it bothers me the way
no one’s answering the phone. I keep thinking Pat or Danny might
have been fool enough to head out to the barn and tangle with the
table saw or...”

She hushed him, and came and sat beside him.
He tugged her down until she was curled into his side, her head
pillowed by his broad shoulder. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong, or Vi
would have called again. But if it’s worrying you this much,
perhaps you’d best head home.”

“
You wouldn’t be
angry?”

She stroked her hand over
his chest and felt the
tension seep out of
him. “Because you love your fam
ily? Never.
You do what you have to.”

“
I
want you to stay here,” he said, resettling her next to him
before sitting up. “I’ll order up breakfast to be delivered to the
room.” He settled a kiss on her mouth. “And I want you to promise
you’ll at least take a peek at the city.” He stood and began
riffling through his duffel bag for clothes. “And Kylie, I love
you.”

Smiling, she snuggled into the covers. “Of
course you do.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Every cock crows on his own dunghill.

—
Irish Proverb

As Michael drove past Ballymuir’s shops and
homes, he worried. The boys were bright enough to work
unsupervised, he told himself. He’d spent enough hours drilling
safety rules into them. But then came the memory of what it was
like to be nearly seventeen, all-powerful, and most assuredly
immortal. His stomach rolled. This business of caring for
youngsters wasn’t for the weak.

Michael parked the car, grabbed his duffel
bag, and dashed up Vi’s front walk. Ironic how fourteen years in
prison seemed inconsequential when compared to a few hours’ drive
agonizing over loved ones. It was time to rethink his objections to
modern inconveniences, like cellular phones.

“
Vi,” he bellowed, stepping
inside. Once in, he considered popping back out just to be sure he
was in the right place. The house was empty, and cleaner
than
he’d ever seen it.
Eerily so. There was obviously
no great
crisis afoot if his sister had found time to clean her home from
top to bottom. As he was busy wondering what had become of her
stock of half-finished projects, Roger came flying at
him.

“ ‘
Lo, guy. Miss me?”
Michael bent down and scratched the creature behind his ears; he’d
take what companionship he could, to ease the coming hours. He
leaned closer, then shook his head. Odd ... even the dog smelled
antiseptic.

When he would have made for the upstairs
shower, Roger rugged at his shoelace, trying to haul him in the
direction of the kitchen.

“
Has nobody remembered to
feed you? Come on, then.” He followed the dog, then chuckled as
Roger danced around his empty dish. “Hard to believe that Vi was
too busy cleaning.” Perhaps his flyabout sister had decided to
plunge into domesticity with the same passion she did her art. He
laughed at the thought. Not bloody likely.

Michael first checked the kitchen table for a
note—none, of course—then gave the dog food and water. Roger eyed
his kibble with utter disdain, then trotted to the refrigerator
door and gazed longingly.

“
I’ve spoiled you rotten,
haven’t I? Well, you’d best get used to poor food again, for I’ll
be moving along soon enough.”

He’d spoken with Breege a
few days ago about the
possibility of
renting her home, since she was set on moving in with her friend,
Edna. Michael’s vision of the future was clear. In that solid
farmhouse, he and Kylie would raise as many children as she wished,
and love each other to the last moment of time.

Reality remained a bit
cooler about the edges. He still had matters like money and Rourke
and acceptance to address. Yet, as Nan used to say, nothing a cup
of tea wouldn’t help. Or in this case, a tall glass
of whiskey. But since the boys had taken care of
that,
Michael filled the kettle with water
and set it on the burner. He was switching on the stove when he
heard the front door close.

“
Michael, that you?” Vi
called from the front room.

Well, at least he’d be to
the bottom of this mystery.
“Yeah, it’s
me.”

“
Can you come here for a
sec?”

He adjusted the flame under the kettle, then
joined his sister. She stood in front of the door, looking like
she didn’t know whether she wanted to stay or go.

Her eyes widened as she took
in the damage to his
face. So much for
thinking he looked better this morning.

“
Do I want to know what
happened?” Vi asked.

“
Not in any great
detail.”

“
Right, then. We’ll leave it
for later. What are you
doing back so
early?” As she spoke, Michael noted that her gaze flitted from his.
Unusual, from his direct, never-back-down sister. “I wasn’t
expecting you back quite yet.”

“
It might have something to
do with the message that said nothing at all slipped under my hotel
room door. Or the fact that it would be easier to raise the dead
than get you to answer your damned phone.”

“
You were worried, then?”
she asked, still leaning against the front door. The knob rattled.
She covered it with her hand.

“
Barring the door,
Vi?”

She drew a deep breath, then
sent a barrage of words his way. “Michael, Mam got here last night.
She’s come to take Pat and Danny home. We can’t
keep ‘em, you know. Anyway, I called you, hoping to
give you some warning, but...”

Another storm, Michael thought. A bucketful
of troubles on a day that he wanted to be sunny.

Weeks after the fact, Maeve had made her way
from Kilkenny. That, at least, explained the sterile house. She’d
probably spent the night putting out every last spark of
creativity.

The door shook within its frame.

“
It would be easier to hold
back tomorrow,” he said to his sister.

“
If you need time to
adjust—”

He snorted. “Adjust? I’m not the poor sod
having to go home with her. Let her in, and let’s be done with
this.”

Vi let go, then stepped aside. Michael stood
there, arms crossed over his chest, watching as his mam— one
dried-up old bird of a mother hen—prodded the twins into the
house.

Rourke had been
unrecognizable, but his mother was frozen in time. A few more
threads of iron gray in her hair, the brackets about her mouth
deeper, but for all that, essentially the same. And bearing
no
more love for him than she ever had.
Closing himself
off from the pain, Michael
turned to his brothers.

All clean and starched and sullen they were.
Only in their eyes could he see that plea, that silent “Help us,
somehow” that he had no way of answering. So he went to them and
ruffled identical heads of red hair, leaving a random wake of tufts
and waves—just enough to make their mam grind her molars.

“
You’re going home, I
hear.”

“
She’s making us,” Danny
said. Frowning, he added,
“Did Kylie hit
you with her handbag or somethin’?”

Now there was a thought far more entertaining
than the truth. “She did,” Michael said, working up a wink. “One
hell of an arm the woman’s got.”

“
Then we’ll let her take on
Mam so we can stay here,” Patrick suggested.

There was nothing Michael wanted more—with
the exception of Kylie at his side to help him lead these
nearly-men the last steps to adulthood.

“
You’ve got school to be
thinking of,” he said to his brothers, watching from the corner of
his eye as
Vi dragged Mam off to the
kitchen. He found himself
wishing for a
bigger kettle on that stove. Big enough to stew her in. “You knew
she’d be coming for you. Sooner or later, Da was bound to notice
that you’re missing. And before you ask, we’ll not be
fighting
this, or I’ll have no chance of
getting you for summer
holidays.”

“
You want us
back?”

Michael blinked at the moisture burning in
his eyes. “Want you back? Now who else do you think I want working
with me? Business’ll be too much for one pair of hands, come
summer. Of course I want you!”

He looped one arm over each set of gangly
shoulders, and drew the boys close. God, how he loved them. And
how he loved Kylie for showing him the way to these riches.

“
And if Mam gives you too
much trouble before then,” he said, “I suggest you try some more
chickens in the loo. Seemed to do the trick last time.”

Their grudging smiles were as good as Michael
knew he’d be getting. “Now let me fix you a grand supper before you
leave.”

He ushered them into the
kitchen, where Vi sat at
the table with
Mam. Since it would never occur to his
mother to comfort the boys by showing some manners, Michael
did the unthinkable.

“
Good to see you, Mam.
You’re looking well.”

“
Michael.” His name was
squashed flat as it came through her pinched lips. “Still fighting,
I see.”

He had no saving response, so he forged
ahead. “I thought I’d make a family supper, roast a chicken,” he
said, amusing himself with the mental image of Mam all trussed and
squawking. “And maybe make the boys their favorite trifle.”

“
We have to be on our way,”
she said, bracing her hands on the table as though she meant to
push off and be gone that very moment.

“
Michael’s a brilliant
cook,” Vi said in an unnaturally cheery voice. “Stay, Mam. A few
more hours won’t hurt anybody.”

“
No. We’re—”

“
We’re staying, Mam,”
Patrick interrupted. “You haven’t seen Michael in years, and now
you’re trying to leave after saying nothing more than his name.
It’s not right what you’re doing. You go, and you go alone. Right,
Dan?”

Dan planted himself in a chair. “Right.”

Their mam stood. “I’ll have
none of this disrespect.
Patrick and
Daniel, you get—”

Seeing Vi wasn’t going to be
any more help, Michael stepped in front of his mother. “Don’t do
it. Don’t make these boys turn from you.”
As you did to me,
he didn’t bother to
add aloud.