A Passion Denied (17 page)

Collin strolled in at nine with a whistle on his lips and a gleam in his eye. He rolled up the sleeves of his starched, blue work shirt and reached for an apron, giving Brady a smile brighter than the sunlight streaming through the window. “And the top of the morning to you, ol’ buddy,” Collin shouted, raising his voice so Brady could hear.

Brady looked up from the noisy press, which was spitting out programs for Miss Ramona’s dance recital about as slowly as Miss Ramona was at taking a hint. The seventy-year-old dance teacher was convinced Brady was the perfect match for her granddaughter. Brady scowled and hollered back. “For you, maybe—I’ve been here since six. What kept you? Or maybe I shouldn’t ask.”

Collin chuckled and tied his apron as he sauntered into the back room. He slacked a hip against the counter and picked up one of the programs. “I suppose you’re invited to this one too?”

A tight smile appeared on Brady’s lips. “Yep. Just call me a glutton for the arts. So, I assume from the annoying grin on your face that you cleared the air with Faith?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Collin poured himself a cup of three-hour-old coffee and turned to prop against the counter, enjoying the familiar cadence of the hum and clacking of paper against platen. “You know, Brady, you may be on to something.”

Brady hiked a brow as he fed more paper into the Craftsman hand-fed press. “What are you talking about?”

“Restraint.”

Brady swiped the side of his face with the back of his hand. He now had a matched set of ink smudges on both sides of his cheeks. “What?”

“It about killed me, but I stayed away from Faith to teach her a lesson, and let’s just say it was well worth the wait.” He took a sip of his coffee and closed his eyes. “Satin nightgown, lots of perfume, and enough fire to heat a—”

Brady held up a hand. “I’m happy for you, Collin, truly, but spare me the details, please.”

Collin sighed and took another sip. “I gotta tell ya, Brady, deep down I always worried marriage might be a bit too tame for me, you know? No longer being on the prowl? But thanks to a little restraint on my part, the thrill of the hunt is alive and well in my very own bedroom. You’re a genius, ol’ buddy.”

Brady’s jaw sagged low. “You’re certifiably crazy, you know that?”

Collin stood and took another sip. “Yeah, I do. Crazy about a certain redhead who I am determined will always want me as much as I want her. Enough jawing. I need to get to work.”

“Collin?”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“You’re back on deliveries.”

Collin squinted. “That’s gonna break a lot of hearts, you know, Miss Ramona’s included. Why?”

Brady rubbed his jaw, then looked away. “Beth’s coming by for Bible study.”

“Is she now?” Collin stared for several seconds, then lifted his chin. “Ya think you can handle that? I mean you didn’t do too well with the boyfriend last night.”

Brady’s eyes met his. “Yeah, I think I can. Have to. Don’t have a choice.”

“Or you do, but you won’t take it.” Collin released a weighty breath. “Okay, ol’ buddy, but I gotta tell you it makes me nervous. Not about Lizzie ‘cause she seems to be moving forward in a relationship with Tom. I’m worried about you, my friend.”

Brady nodded and reached for a clean rag. “Don’t be. As long as I’m praying about it, I’m going to be fine. Hey, do I have ink on my face?”

Collin grinned and headed for the front room. “Yes, you do.
Always.
”

Lizzie kept her head down, walking fast to the corner of Stuart and Tremont. She stopped at the street sign and looked up, wishing her hands didn’t sweat when she was nervous. She wiped them on her green plaid skirt and sucked in a breath thick with sea air, gasoline, and the noontime staple of fish and chips. She adjusted her navy sweater over her white shirtwaist and straightened her shoulders, notebook pressed hard to her chest. She continued down Tremont through the maze of people and fixed her eyes on a small blue and white sign swaying in the breeze. McGuire and Brady Printing Company. Her lips flattened. The bane of her existence.

She stopped a store away to peek into the glass, checking her appearance for the umpteenth time. She exhaled a noisy breath. How silly! What did it matter anyway? One man thought she was beautiful, and the other didn’t care. But then friends didn’t focus on things like that, she supposed. A lesson she would have to learn. She caught a glimpse of Brady’s broad back as she entered the shop. He hefted a box, and his work shirt strained over a span of hard muscles. She sighed. A hard lesson to learn. But then he would be a good teacher, no doubt.

He turned at the sound of the bell and smiled, sending her pulse into overtime. “Hi, Brady. Can’t be working too hard. No ink on your face.”

He grinned and waved her into the back room. “It’s amazing what a little soap and water can do. How’s school?”

He was carrying on as if they’d never stopped, wiping off her chair, pulling it out, reaching for his well-worn Bible off the crowded shelf. She settled into the chair he offered and folded her hands on top of her notebook. “Good. Only one more month till it’s over, then Mr. Harvey said I could work full-time. He needs the help.”

He nodded and headed to the sink to make a fresh pot of coffee. “That’s wonderful, Beth. You drinking coffee yet? Or do you want me to make you some tea?”

She watched as he cocked a hip against the counter, filling the coffee machine with cold water. She suddenly thought of the night on the porch when that same hip had been pressed against hers. Heat whooshed into her cheeks.

He turned around and arched a brow. “You okay?”

She yanked her sweater off. “Yes, just a bit warm, I think. There’s no doubt that spring is definitely here. Coffee will be fine, thank you.”

“Yeah, it gets hot in here with all the machines.” He opened the back door to allow cool air in through the screen, then ambled back to plop into his favorite cane-back chair. “We said Psalms, right?” He didn’t look up as he flipped through his Bible.

“Yes, my favorite.” She bit her lip. “Brady?”

“Mmmm?”

“Thank you.”

He looked up. “For what?”

“For being my friend.”

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. “It’s my pleasure.” He hesitated while his jaw ground the slightest bit. “How’s Tom working out?”

The heat in her cheeks returned, much to her annoyance. She hefted her chin. “Good. He seems to care for me, although I don’t really know why.”

“Don’t put yourself down, Beth. You’re a beautiful woman. Is he . . . being respectful?”

She blinked.
He’d called her a woman!
She quickly opened her notebook and picked up her pen. “Yes, he is. At least, so far.”

“Good. Let’s get started.” He rested his arms on the table and began to read, the sound of his low voice like balm to her soul.

“‘Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.’”

He leaned back in his chair and released a heavy breath, his face calm. “That’s a good place to start. Delighting in the law of the Lord, day and night. Not an easy thing to do, mind you, but a good place to start. And apparently important enough for God to put it in the first paragraph of the very first psalm. I think—”

The sound of bells clanging over the front door broke their concentration, causing both to look up. Brady rose from his chair and moved toward the front room. “Can I help you?”

Beth bent forward to peek at a young woman about her own age, timidly clutching her purse in her hands. She resembled a tall Mary Pickford, with soft blond waves covering her head to just below her ears. Her face had a childlike air of innocence as she stared at Brady with wide, blue eyes.

He stepped forward with a smile. “How can I help you, miss?”

Her mouth opened as if to speak, but nothing came out for several seconds. She took a deep breath and a step forward. “I’m . . . actually looking for work and was wondering if you might have anything available.” She finally smiled, and it chased the shyness from her face. “I’m excellent at bookkeeping.”

Brady scratched the back of his head. “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am, but my partner and I do all our own bookkeeping. We’re growing, but we’re still a pretty small shop, so we don’t expect to be hiring anytime soon.”

The smile on her face faded into the lost look she’d worn before. “Certainly, I understand. Thank you.”

She turned to go, and Lizzie jumped up from her chair. “Wait! I know where they are hiring.”

The girl turned, her eyes lighting on Lizzie with a look of surprise. “Why . . . that would be wonderful, miss, thank you.”

Lizzie pushed gently past Brady to extend her hand. “My name is Lizzie O’Connor, and I work at a bookstore called Bookends over on Dormer Street. Are you familiar with it?”

The girl blinked and reached for Lizzie’s hand. She quickly shook it, then pulled hers away, allowing it to flutter to the base of her throat. “No . . . no, I’m not. My name is Mary . . . Carpenter . . . and I’m afraid I just arrived in Boston this afternoon.”

“Well, my manager, Mr. Harvey, is actually looking for someone to help with his bookkeeping. I don’t know what it pays, but—”

“That doesn’t matter right now. I just really need a job.” She sounded breathless.

Lizzie smiled and spun around. “Brady, would you mind terribly if we cut our study short today? I’d like to walk Mary over to Bookends before I head back to school.”

He smiled. “No, I don’t mind. That’s real nice of you. Mary, my name is John Brady, and we were just having Bible study in the back room. If you would ever like to join us, you’re welcome. We meet at noon on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

Mary stared, apparently speechless once again.

Lizzie took her arm and steered her to the door. “Come on, Mary, Brady probably needs to get back to the presses anyway.” She gave him a playful smirk. “There’s way too little ink on his face for a good morning’s work.”

“So help me, Patrick, if you don’t do something about Hennessy, I will.” Mitch stood over Patrick’s desk, palms flattened till his knuckles were white from the strain. There was a dangerous-looking vein throbbing along the line of his temple.

Patrick looked up at his son-in-law and had the sudden urge to take an aspirin. He sank back in his chair and released a weary breath. “So, what’s the problem this time?”

Mitch started pacing the room, all the while dragging his fingers through the short, cropped curls on his head. He had been a godsend when Patrick had hired him over a year and a half ago, hands-down the best editor he had ever seen. That is, up until three months ago when he started acting more like a caged animal than an assistant editor. Mitch stopped dead in front of Patrick’s desk and leaned in, his imposing six-foot-four frame looming like a dark shadow. “He’s worthless, Patrick, incapable of handling the most simplistic assignment. He doesn’t belong at a newspaper, and we both know it.”

Patrick opened the third drawer of his desk and reached for a bottle of aspirin. He took two and tossed them to the back of his throat, followed by a quick gulp of cold coffee. “Mitch, we’ve been over this before. He’s Hennessy’s grandson, which makes him untouchable. You just can’t fire the grandson of the owner.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

“Don’t make me pull rank on you, son. Leave Hennessy alone. Assign Logan to keep tabs on him, and you stay out of it. You hear me?”

Mitch looked away, and Patrick could see the cords of strain in his neck as he took several deep breaths. His massive shoulders finally sagged. “All right, Patrick, we’ll do it your way, but I want to go on record right now that he shouldn’t be anywhere within five hundred feet of the
Herald
.”

Patrick chuckled. “So noted.”

Mitch started to leave, and Patrick leaned forward. “Mitch?”

He stopped at the door, hand on the knob and head cocked to the side. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

“What about?” Mitch turned and gave him a one-sided smile. “Firing Hennessy?”

Patrick laughed and pointed to the chair. “No, we’re done with Hennessy. Close the door and sit down.”