A Passion Denied (25 page)

Standing on the threshold was the exact image of John Brady, albeit shorter hair and a decidedly bolder look in his eyes.

Collin blinked. “St. Peter’s gate, who are you?”

“Michael Brady, John’s brother.” He nodded at the gold-embossed lettering on the front window. “I take it you’re McGuire?”

Collin grinned and wiped his palms on his work apron, then hurried over and extended a hand. “Collin McGuire, Brady’s partner. I swear to heaven I’m going to box his ears but good. He never even mentioned he had a brother.”

Michael grinned and shook his hand. “Get in line, Collin. I’m here to take him on too. Haven’t heard from him in over eleven years.”

Collin folded his arms and shook his head, shocked at seeing Brady’s double right before his eyes. “A twin, imagine that. Sweet saints above, he’s got some explaining to do.”

Michael looked around. “Is he here?”

The sound of a press clanging in the next room suddenly registered. “Yeah, he is. Come on back.” He swung an arm around Michael’s shoulder and led him to the rear. The tendons in Brady’s back shifted as he fed paper into the machine. “Hey, buddy, you got company.”

Brady glanced over his shoulder, and Collin stiffened when the smile grew cold on his partner’s lips. Collin sidled over and slapped him on the back to cover his own unease. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a twin? So what if he’s better looking— that’s information I could have used. He shocked the living daylights out of me.”

Michael grinned and motioned his head toward Brady. “Him, too, apparently. It’s good to see you, John. How are you?”

A lump shifted in Brady’s throat. His eyes darkened to near-black, providing a stark contrast to the abrupt pallor of his cheeks. “What do you want, Michael?”

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” He turned back to the press, shoving too much paper into the feeder. The machine sputtered and jammed, eliciting a rare curse from Brady’s lips.

“No, but I have a lot to say to you. Lucille is dead.”

Brady flinched, and Collin watched his broad shoulders sag as if the lever on the press had gut-punched him. He rammed it to the off position. “Collin . . . can you leave us alone?”

Collin’s eyes flicked from Brady, to his brother, then back again. “Sure. I have deliveries to make. You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be back in about an hour. Need anything while I’m out?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Okay, see you later. Nice to meet you, Michael.”

“You too, Collin.”

The dead silence between the brothers was awkward as Collin hefted several boxes onto the wooden delivery cart. He shot a worried glance in Brady’s direction, but his partner only stared at the floor, fists clenched at his side. Collin exhaled and shoved the cart into the alley, then closed the door with a silent prayer.

Brady wheeled around. “I’m sorry Lucille is dead, but what’s that got to do with me?”

Michael propped against the counter and folded his arms. “A lot, John. She left us a bloomin’ fortune—Helena, you, and me.”

“I don’t want her filthy money. You two can have it all.”

Michael laughed. “Believe me, we’d like nothing better, but unfortunately, it seems our wicked stepmother tied all of our hands with a minor stipulation in her will.”

“And what would that be?”

“That before Helena and I can collect one red cent, you have to go back to Forest Hills and sign all the papers. She divided the bulk of the estate between the three of us, but she left the house to you. After she got sick, she changed, John, turned into a real religious fanatic. I think she wanted to make it up to you. Wanted you back in Forest Hills so we could be a family again.”

Brady studied his brother, shocked to realize he had no feelings toward him one way or the other. Not love. Not hate. God had healed him of bitterness toward his family a long time ago. But even so, no love remained. But then, he and Michael had never been close, not like twins were supposed to be. At least not since his father had married Lucille. She had taken an immediate affection to John, preferring his quiet and deep personality over Michael’s swaggering ways, inciting irreparable jealousy. Once inseparable, they suddenly had separate lives—Michael spending his time with friends, while John spent his with Lucille. She had fawned over him, trusted him, leaned on him for strength after their father had died, severing any closeness his brother and he might have shared.

Brady sighed and dropped into a chair. “Nothing can make up for what happened to me.”

“I know, John, and I’m sorry. I suppose I’m as much to blame as Lucille, for not speaking up, for letting her do what she did. Will you forgive me?”

“I already have, Michael, years ago.”

“Then you’ll come?”

Brady rose to his feet. “No, I won’t. You and Helena will have to contest the will or find another way to get your payoff. I’m through with Forest Hills.” He glanced at the clock. “You need to leave now. I’m expecting someone.”

“Sorry, John, but I can’t. I’m here to stay until you agree to go back.”

Brady’s shoulders tensed as he glanced at the front window for some sign of Beth. “I don’t want you around, Michael. I’m warning you now—stay out of my life.”

“It’s been eleven years, John. I think we need to talk, get to know each other again.”

A sharp rasp of air crossed Brady’s lips. Michael’s gaze followed his. Brady gripped Michael’s arm and yanked him out of view just as Beth passed by the window. “So help me, God, if you breathe a word while she’s here, you’ll never get a dime.” He shoved him into the supply closet at the exact moment the bells rattled over the door.

Michael grinned. “So, you got yourself a girl, eh, John? What, you don’t want that pretty little thing to meet your long-lost brother?”

“Shut up, Michael, she’s not my girl.”

“Brady?” Beth’s voice jolted him from the front of the shop.

Sweat broke out on the back of his neck. “I’ll be right out.” He gritted his teeth. “Not one word, or so help me—”

“Say you’ll sign the papers.”

“No,” he hissed.

“Then at least let me stay at your place—so we can talk.”

“Brady? Why can’t I come back?”

“No, Beth, wait! I’ll be right out.” He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “One night.”

Michael flashed another grin before ducking back in the closet. “Nope, I need time. Enough to convince you. Give me your word, John, or I’ll blow your cover.”

“Brady?”

“All right, but then you’re gone. Do you understand?”

“John Brady!” She appeared at the door, hands on her hips and a teasing smile on her lips. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “The way you’re acting, I would think you have a woman in that closet.”

Brady spun around. He managed an off-center smile to deflect the heat crawling up the back of his neck. “Yeah, Beth, you know me so well. I stash women in my closet all the time.”

She giggled and shimmied into a chair, looking especially pretty with a soft glow in her cheeks and concern in her eyes. “Actually, I was pretty anxious to see you. You weren’t yourself on Saturday, almost depressed, it seemed, so I was hoping Mary cheered you up.”

The heat in his neck shot straight to his face. “Well, she didn’t stay long. Did she . . . mention anything?”

“No, she wasn’t in today. Mr. Harvey said she called in sick.”

“Oh. Beth?”

“Yes?”

“Can we do this another day?”

She blinked. Confusion shifted into concern. “Is something wrong? You’re not yourself, Brady. Not Saturday and not today. You’ve never canceled before, not when it comes to our Bible study.”

He tried to fake it. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just bogged down with a lot of extra work.” He took her arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

Distress darkened her eyes. All at once she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged fiercely. “Oh, Brady, something’s wrong, I can feel it. And I’m worried. What is it?”

His arms encircled her and he closed his eyes, almost forgetting about Michael. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine, I promise. Go on now and scoot. I’ll see you on Wednesday, okay?”

She stared for several seconds, then nodded and backed toward the front of the shop. She finally turned and hurried the rest of the way out, giving a tentative wave. Clattering bells brought relief as the door closed behind her.

Michael strolled from the closet. His long, low whistle burned Brady’s cheeks. “
Bible study?
With that pretty thing? You’re boggling my mind, little brother. Who’s the doll?”

“None of your business. Get out.”

“Oh no, John, you promised me a week’s lodging. Besides, we have to talk.”

“No way. I don’t want you around.”

Michael’s brow shot up. He glanced out the window in the direction Lizzie had taken. “Apparently. And I suspect one of the reasons is our little . . . what did you call her? Beth? Who actually didn’t look so little from where I was standing. You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

“Get out, Michael. Now!”

“Does she know your past?”

Brady’s hands knotted into fists as he took a step forward. “I’ll hurt you, I swear I will.”

Michael sauntered over to the door, hands deep in his pockets. “Oh no you won’t.” He turned with a faint smile. “You don’t want her to know, do you? It wouldn’t do for the man she admires to have such a sordid past, would it? Besides, a man who teaches Bible shouldn’t renege on his word. Let’s face it. You have no choice. Give me your key, John.”

Brady fought the urge to knock him down. He reached in his pocket and threw his keys across the room.

Michael caught them, midair. “Thanks. Rumpole Street, right? Guess I’ll see you at home.” He smiled and opened the door.

“Michael!”

Michael turned slowly, his smile thin on his lips. “Yeah?”

“I’m keeping a kid and his dog at my place while his gram is out of town. Name’s Cluny. Stay away from him.”

“Sure, John. That’s real nice of ya. First, teaching the Bible to a pretty little girl, then playing big brother to a lonely little kid. You’ve turned into a regular father figure, haven’t ya? Just like Pop.” He grinned and strolled out the door, leaving Brady with a sick twist in his gut.

Yeah. Just like Pop.

He slumped in the chair and put his head in his hands. Only Pop was dead, no longer haunted by his past. While he was still here . . . with a past that was alive and well.

10

Mitch stretched out on the couch and did his best to focus on the newspaper, refusing to be distracted by Charity’s good mood. She had been humming softly all evening, perky and attentive to a fault. The more she hummed, the deeper he buried himself in the news. It was their new Wednesday night tradition—she was up, he was down.

“So, what do you think?”

Mitch lowered his paper to glance at his wife, who sat on the loveseat with a mountain of knitting yarn in her lap. Runt slept at her feet, partially hidden by a pale yellow and green baby blanket piled high on his back. Charity held the blanket up and peeked around it. She chewed on her lip. “You think it needs to be bigger?”

He grunted. “It’s a baby, Charity, not an elephant. It’ll be fine.”

“I suppose so. But I just want everything to be perfect.” She laid the blanket aside and lumbered to her feet, breathless from the attempt. “Goodness, I’m tired!” She put her knitting away and waddled over to plant a kiss on his forehead. She stroked his cheek, bristly with a day’s growth of beard. “But not too. I’m going up. You coming?”

He grunted again and raised the paper so she couldn’t see the frown on his face. “I think I may just stay up and read awhile.”

The paper buckled in his lap with a loud thwack of her hand. She folded her arms over her stomach and hefted her chin. “A deal is a deal. This is Wednesday night, and you are not going to stay down here and fall asleep on the couch.”

He groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. “Come on, Charity, you’re close to seven months, and that’s too far along. I don’t care what the doctor says, I’m not comfortable with it.”

“But you promised! I acknowledged your concern for the baby and stopped harping six days a week, and all you have to do is satisfy my need for marital joy one night in seven.”

He ground his jaw and jerked the paper back up. “Forget it. I’m the head of this house, and I say no. Go to bed, little girl.”

The silence unnerved him as he stared at the paper, seeing nothing but the look of hurt on her face.

He heard something swish to the floor and jerked the paper aside. His jaw dropped. “What the devil are you doing?”

She calmly stepped out of her shift now pooled on the floor. She smiled and kicked it away. “I’ve lived up to my part of the bargain, Mr. Dennehy, and you’re going to live up to yours.” She began unbuttoning her lacy camisole.

He jumped up from the couch and grabbed her hands in his. His tone was pleading. “Charity, please, stop. You know I can’t handle this.”

She reached up and unpinned her hair, giving him a seductive smile. “I know.” She stepped up on the couch with amazing dexterity and wound her arms around his neck. “I love you, Mitch Dennehy. You’re going to make a wonderful dad.” She leaned down and kissed him full on the lips.

He groaned. “Charity, please—”

“Kiss you again? My pleasure.”

She did, more deeply this time, and the heat started to build until he knew he was dead in the water. He picked her up in his arms and laid her gently on the carpet, pitching the newspaper out of the way. He lay down beside her and held her, more in love with this woman than he ever dreamed possible. “Charity, I love you—so much.” He pulled her as close as he could and gave up, losing himself in her kiss.

“Oh!” Her body stiffened against his before she pushed him away. “Oh, God help me—”

He jumped to his knees. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?” She pushed hard against the sofa. “Mitch, help me. I’m scared!”

He bounded to his feet and picked her up, placing her on the sofa as if she would break. He swiped his shoes from the floor and shoved them on, then scooped his keys from his suit coat in the hall. She was writhing in pain, and fear heaved in his chest. He tore the quilt off the loveseat and wrapped it around her body, then snatched her dress and shoes off the floor before hoisting her up in his arms. “We’re going to the hospital—
now!
I’m not taking any chances.”