Tears of the Moon, Page 20

  “No.” A part of her heart ripped as she backed away from him. “I have to do it myself. It would only hurt more to see us together. What was I thinking?” She shut her eyes, pressed her fingers to them. “What was I thinking?”

  “You were thinking of me. We were thinking of each other. We’ve a right to that.”

  She dropped her hands, opened her eyes. “She thinks she loves you. I should have thought of that as well. I have to go do what I can.”

  “While I stay here, doing nothing?”

  “She’s my sister,” Brenna said simply, and left.

  She ran, but Mary Kate had a good head start and longer legs. By the time Brenna caught sight of her, she was already heading down the slope to the backyard of their house, the big yellow dog hurrying behind like a rear guard.

  “Mary Kate, wait!” Brenna kicked into a sprint and caught up at the edge of the yard. “Wait now. You have to let me explain.”

  “Explain what? That you’ve been fucking Shawn Gallagher. That was clear enough by the way you waltzed into his kitchen with your hair still wet.”

  “It’s not like that.” But wasn’t that exactly how it had started? Brenna thought. Hadn’t it been just like that at the beginning?

  “The two of you must’ve had a fine laugh or two at my expense.”

  “No, not ever. I never thought—”

  “Never thought of me?” Mary Kate rounded on her, shouting so now that the dog slunk off to hide. “That’s fine, then, that makes it just fine. You go off playing whore with a man you know I have feelings for, but you didn’t give me a thought.”

  The flash came into Brenna’s eyes. A warning. “You called me that before, and I took it. You knocked me on my ass, and I took that as well. You’ve had your say. Now I’ll have mine.”

  “You can go to hell.” She gave Brenna one hard shove, spun on her heel, and marched toward the door.

  Then let out a whoosh of air when Brenna tackled her from behind. “You want to settle this with slaps and shoves, that suits me.” She grabbed a fistful of Mary Kate’s hair and had just given one good, satisfying yank when their mother threw open the door and rushed out.

  “What in sweet hell is this? Get off your sister this instant, Mary Brenna.”

  “The minute she apologizes for calling me a whore twice in one morning.”

  “Whore!” Tears of pain and rage blurred Mary Kate’s eyes, but she managed to shout it. “That makes three.”

  They rolled into a vicious tangle of arms and legs, and without a minute’s hesitation, Mollie waded in, grabbed each by whatever she could snare, and hauled them apart. And since it was like separating spitting cats, she added a cuff on the side of the head to each to keep them there.

  “It’s shamed I am, shamed of the pair of you. Now in the house, and one word before you have my leave, it’s the back of my hand for you.”

  Mary Kate got to her feet, brushed herself off, lowered her head. And when she caught Brenna’s eye mouthed “whore.” She had the dark satisfaction of watching Brenna start a swing and get another cuff for the trouble.

  “A grown woman,” Mollie muttered, herding her daughters toward the house, where Mick stood struggling to look disapproving, Alice Mae watched owlishly, and Patty stood peering over her father’s shoulder with her best I’m-above-it-all look on her face.

  “Sit!” She jabbed a finger at the table, then shot a steely look at her other daughters. “Patty, Alice Mae, I believe you have other things to do. If not, I can find plenty to occupy your time.”

  “She landed you a good one there, Brenna.” Alice Mae clucked her tongue as she studied Brenna’s cheek.

  “She won’t a second time.”

  “Quiet.” At patience’s end, Mollie snapped, “Out.” She pointed to the door.

  “Come on, Alice.” Patty laid a hand on Alice Mae’s shoulder. “There’s no point in staring at the heathens.” And the minute they’d rounded the corner, both of them hunkered down to hear what they could.

  But when Mick started to slither out the door, Mollie pinned him with a hard stare. “Oh, no, you don’t, Michael O’Toole, this baggage is as much yours as mine. Now.” She planted her hands on her hips. “What started this? Brenna?”

  “It’s a personal problem between myself and Mary Kate.” Her eyes clicked to her mother, then to her father when he moved to the pot to pour himself more tea.

  “When it’s a problem that has one sister calling another filthy names and the both of you tearing at each other like alley cats, it’s no longer personal. You may be near twenty-five years of age, Mary Brenna Catherine O’Toole, but you live under this roof, and I won’t tolerate such behavior.”

  “I’m sorry for it.” Brenna set her hands on the table, folded them, and prepared to hold her ground.

  “Mary Kate? What have you to say for yourself?”

  “That if she lives under this roof I no longer care to.”

  “That would be your choice,” Mollie said coldly now. “As all of my children are welcome here as long as they like.”

  “Even whores?”

  “Mind your tongue, girl.” Mick stepped forward. “You want to slap and wrestle, that’s one thing. But you’ll speak with respect to your mother, and you won’t use language like that about your sister.”

  “Let her deny it.”

  “Mary Kate.” Brenna’s voice was little more than a whisper, and more plea than warning.

  Though Mary Kate’s lips trembled, she couldn’t fight off the rage. “Let her deny she spent the night in Shawn Gallagher’s bed.”

  The teacup cracked as Mick fumbled and knocked it on the edge of the counter. All Brenna could do was close her eyes as shame and sorrow washed through her.

  “I won’t deny it. I won’t deny I’ve been there before, and that every time I have, I went freely. I’m sorry that it hurt you.” She got shakily to her feet. “But it doesn’t make me a whore to care for him. And you know if you make me choose between you, I’ll let him go.”

  It took all the courage she had left to turn and face her parents. The understanding in her mother’s eyes might have been a balm if not for the shock in her father’s. “I’m sorry for this, all of this. I’m sorry I haven’t been honest with you. I can’t talk about it anymore now. I just can’t.”

  She hurried out, would have rushed right past her sisters, but Patty reached out. “It’s all right, darling.” She murmured it, giving Brenna a hard hug.

  That broke her, set free the tears that were burning in her throat and the back of her eyes. Blinded by them, she rushed upstairs.

  In the kitchen, Mollie kept her eyes on her younger daughter. Her heart was aching for both her girls, but comfort and discipline would have to be meted out separately.

  The only sound now was Mary Kate’s ragged breathing. Holding the silence a moment longer, Mollie slipped into the chair Brenna had deserted.

  No one noticed when Mick walked out the back door.

  “I know what it is to have feelings for someone,” Mollie began quietly. “To see them as the brightest light, as the one who’ll answer all the questions and fill all the holes, whether you’re twenty or forty. I’m not doubting what you have in your heart, Katie.”

  “I love him.” Defiance, still her only shield, edged her voice, but a single tear spilled over and slid down her cheek. “She knew.”

  “It’s a hard thing to have those feelings for someone who doesn’t have them for you.”

  “He might have, but she threw herself at him.”

  “Katie, darling.”

  There were many things she could have said. The man’s too old for you, this was infatuation and would pass, you’ll fall in love half a dozen times before it matters and takes a firm hold inside you. Instead, she took Mary Kate’s hand.

  “Shawn looked at Brenna,” she said gently. “And has looked for a long time. And she at him. Neither of them is the careless sort who looks to hurt another. You know that.”

  “They
didn’t care about me.”

  “They had their eyes on each other, and for a time they didn’t see you.”

  It was worse, a hundred times worse, to be looked at with sympathy and still be made to feel like a fool. “You make it sound like it’s all right, them having at each other that way.”

  Oh, a fine and shaky line, Mollie thought. “I’m not speaking of that, as that’s between Brenna and her conscience and her heart. It’s not for you to judge her, Mary Kate, nor for me. We cast no stones in this house.”

  Tears came faster now, and with them resentment. “You’re taking her side in this, then.”

  “You’re wrong, as I have two daughters hurt now and I love each in equal measure. If there’s sides to be taken, Brenna’s just taken yours. You’ve no way of knowing what her feelings are for Shawn or how deep they run, but she’ll turn away from him for you. Is that what you want, Mary Kate? Would that soothe your heart and your pride?”

  The turmoil inside her swallowed her up. Laying her head on the table, she wept like a child.

  There was no choice for a man, for a father, but to deal with such matters. Mick would have preferred having his fingers broken one at a time rather than using them to knock on the door of Faerie Hill Cottage. But there was nothing else to be done.

  His daughter had given herself to a man, been taken by one, and that had shattered his comfortable illusions about his firstborn. He wasn’t a stupid man. He knew that women, young ones and old ones and those in between, had certain needs. But when it was a matter of his pride and joy, he didn’t care to have those needs shoved in his face.

  And he knew, as well as any, about the needs of a man. He might have had a deep affection for Shawn Gallagher, but that didn’t negate the fact that the bastard had put his hand on Michael O’Toole’s baby.

  So he knocked, and he was prepared to handle the matter in a straightforward and civilized way.

  When the door opened, Mick rammed his fist into Shawn’s face.

  Shawn’s head snapped back, and he took two steps for balance, but he stayed on his feet. Tougher than he looks, Mick decided, lifting his balled fists again, for that had been a fine punch if he said so himself.

  “Come on, then, defend yourself. Ya son of a bitch. I’ve come to wipe the floor with you.”

  “No, sir.” Shawn’s head was ringing, and he wanted badly to swivel his jaw to make sure it wasn’t broken, but he merely stood there, arms at his sides. The man was half his size and nearly twice his age. “You can plant another on me if you must, but I won’t fight you.”

  “So, you’re a coward, then.” Mick danced inside, a boxer prepping for the next round. He gave Shawn a quick rap in the chest, faked another toward his face. Reluctant admiration bloomed. The boy didn’t so much as flinch.

  “You’re standing up for your daughter. I can’t fight what I’d do myself if I were you.” But a sudden horrible thought flew into his head, and now his hands did fist. “Did you raise your hand to her over this?”

  Insult mixed with frustration. “Bloody hell, boy, never have I raised a hand to one of my girls. I leave that to their mother if they’ve a need for it.”

  “She all right, then? Would you just tell me that she’s all right?”

  “No, we took a bat to her and bashed her brains to Sunday.” With a windy sigh, Mick lowered his fists. He didn’t have the heart to use them again. But he was far from done. “You’ve some answering to do, young Gallagher.”

  Shawn nodded. “Aye. Do you want me to do it here, in the doorway, or in the kitchen over whiskey?”

  Thoughtfully, Mick rubbed his chin, measured his man. “I’ll take the whiskey.”

  Temper was still bubbling under his skin, but he followed Shawn to the back, waited while the bottle was taken from the cupboard and good Jameson’s poured into short glasses.

  “Will you sit, Mr. O’Toole?”

  “Well, you’ve manners, don’t you, at such a time.” Scowling, Mick sat, picked up his glass, and eyed Shawn over the top of it. “You’ve had your hands on my daughter.”

  “I have.”

  Mick set his teeth. His hand fisted again, braced and ready. “And what are your intentions toward my Mary Brenna?”

  “I love her, and I want to marry her.”

  Mick’s breath hissed out. He dragged one hand through his hair as he gulped down the whiskey, then held out the glass for more. “Well, why the devil didn’t you say so?”

  “Ah . . .” Gingerly, Shawn cupped his bruised jaw, moved it gently side to side. Not broken, he decided. Just battered. “It’s a bit of a dilemma.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “I haven’t brought the matter up to Brenna herself as yet. If I do, you see, she’ll determine to go the opposite way. I’ve been working at bringing the matter ’round so it seems her idea. That way, she’ll make my life hell till I agree to it.”

  Mick stared, then shaking his head, set his whiskey down. “Well, Jesus, you do know her, don’t you?”

  “I do. And I love her with all my heart. I want to spend my life with her. There’s nothing I want more. So . . .” Finished, and exhausted from it, Shawn knocked back his whiskey. “There you have it.”

  “You know how to take the wind out of a man’s sails.” Mick drank again. “I love my girls, Shawn. Each one of them’s a jewel to me. When I walked my Maureen down the aisle and gave her away, I was proud, and my heart was breaking. You’ll know how that is one day. I’ve to do the same with Patty soon. Both of them chose men I’m pleased to call son.”

  He held out his glass, waited while Shawn filled it again. “My Brenna has as good taste and sense as her sisters, if not better.”

  “Thank you for that.” Relieved, Shawn took a second glass himself. “I’m wishing she’d come ’round to that sooner rather than later, but she’s a bit of work, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “I don’t. I’m proud of it.” Mick settled in, frowned a little. “This business that’s going on between you, I don’t approve of it.” He noted Shawn was man enough to meet his eye and wise enough to keep his thoughts to himself. By God, who’d have thought Brenna would meet her match in this one? “But she’s more than of age,” Mick continued, “and so are you. My approving or not isn’t going to stop you from . . . well, I don’t want to say any more on that particular thing.”

  They drank in cautious silence.

  “Mr. O’Toole.”

  “I think, as things are coming ’round, you should call me Mick.”

  “Mick, I’m sorry about Mary Kate. I swear to you, I never—”

  Mick waved a hand before Shawn could finish. “I can’t blame you on that score. Our Katie has fancies, and a young and tender heart. I don’t like knowing it’s bruised, but there’s no blame.”

  “Brenna’ll blame herself, and she’ll step back from me. If I didn’t love her, I could let her.”

  “Time.” Mick polished off the next whiskey and thought it was a fine morning to get a bit of a drunk on. “When you get older, you come to trust in time. Not that I’m meaning you sit idle and let it pass.”

  “I’m looking for land,” Shawn said abruptly. The whiskey was starting to work in his head, and he didn’t mind a bit.

  “What’s that?”

  “For land, to buy. For Brenna. She’ll want to build her house, don’t you think?”

  Tears of sentiment gathered in Mick’s eyes. “It’s been a dream of hers to do that.”

  “I know she’s a dream to have a hand in building something from the ground up, and I’m hoping she’ll have her chance with the theater.”

  “Aye, I’ve been giving her a hand in the drawing of that.”

  “Would you see that I get it, so I can pass it on? She may not feel as easy about giving it to me now.”

  “You’ll have it tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine, then. And the theater’s an important thing, for Brenna, for us, for Ardmore. But a home— that’s more important than a place of
business.”

  “It is, and would be to her as well as to you.”

  “If you hear of something you think might suit, would you pass it on to me?”

  Mick took out his handkerchief, blew his nose. And was pleased to see Shawn fill his glass without waiting to be asked. “That I’ll do.” Eyes narrowed and a bit bright from drink, Mick peered at Shawn’s jaw. “How’s the face, then?”

  “Aches like a bitch in heat.”

  Mick laughed heartily, tapped his glass to Shawn’s. “Well, that’s something, then.”

  While Mick and Shawn bonded over Jameson’s, Mollie had her hands full. It took nearly an hour of strokes and pats and sympathy before she could tuck Mary Kate in for a nap. Her own head was feeling achy, but she pressed her fingers to her eyes to relieve some of the pressure before crossing to Brenna’s room. She reminded herself she had wanted children, and a number of them besides. She’d been blessed. She was grateful.

  And Blessed Mary, she was tired.

  Brenna was curled on the bed, eyes shut. Sitting crosslegged beside her, Alice Mae stroked Brenna’s hair. At the foot of the bed, Patty sat dabbing at her eyes.

  It was a sweet sight, all in all. Patty was a romantic and would automatically throw her heart to Brenna on this. Alice Mae, bless her, couldn’t bear to see anything or anyone in pain.

  Mollie had only to gesture for Patty and Alice Mae to get up and take their leave. “I’ll speak to Brenna alone.” She shooed them out before questions could be asked and shut the door.

  As Mollie crossed to the bed, she saw Brenna tense. “I’m sorry.” Brenna kept her eyes closed, and her voice was rough and strained. “I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.”

  “Oh, what nonsense.” Using a brisker tone than she had with Mary Kate, Mollie sat, gave Brenna’s shoulder a little shake. “Why should I? Are you thinking I’m so old that I don’t understand what feelings churn around in a woman?”

  “No, no.” Miserable, Brenna curled herself tighter, shifting so she could rest her head on her mother’s lap. “Oh, Ma, it’s all my fault. I started it. I wanted Shawn, so I went right up to him and said so. I kept at him until . . . well, he’s a man, after all.”

  “Is that all there is between you, Brenna? Just the need and the act?”

  “Yes. No.” She pressed her face into the comforting give of her mother. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Nothing matters more.”

  “I can’t be with him. I won’t see him that way anymore. If you knew how she looked at us, at me. All the hurt on her face before the anger came into it. I never thought of her.” She rolled onto her back now, stared at the ceiling. “I only thought of me and what went on inside me when I was with him. Because of it I lied to you and to Dad. How can you trust me again after this?”

  “I’m not saying the lie was right, but I knew it was a lie when you told me.” She nearly smiled when Brenna’s gaze cut to hers. “Do you think I told my own mother that I was sneaking out of the house on a warm summer night to meet Michael O’Toole so he could make my head swim with kisses?” Her eyes warmed with humor and memory. “Twenty-six years we’ve been married, and five children we brought into the world, and to this day my mother believes I lay chaste in my bed every night before my wedding.”

  With a long sigh, Brenna sat up, and wrapping her arms around Mollie, laid her head on her shoulder. “I have a need for him, Ma, and it’s so big. I thought after a bit it would quiet down, fade back and away, then we’d both get back to how things were before. But it isn’t quieting down at all. And I’ve ruined it because I didn’t say to Katie, ‘This one’s mine, so find another.’ Or whatever I could have said or done. Now I can’t go back to him.”

  “Answer me this, as honest as you can.” Mollie drew her back, studied her face. “Would Shawn have looked in Mary Kate’s direction if you hadn’t been standing between?”

  “But that’s not the—”

  “Just answer, Brenna.”

  “No.” She let out a painful breath. “But he’d never have hurt her if not for me.”

  “Mistakes were made, there’s no denying it. But Mary Kate’s as responsible for her heart and its bruising as anyone. Martyring yourself won’t change what was or what is. Have a rest,” she said, pressing her lips to Brenna’s forehead.