#1 New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods brings readers two classic tales of the Devaneys…brothers torn apart in childhood, reunited by love.

Ryan’s Place

Abandoned by his parents and separated from his brothers, Ryan Devaney doesn’t believe in love. Until Maggie O’Brien storms into his Irish pub and her bright smile and tender touch have him reconsidering. The beautiful redhead warms his frozen spirit and awakens forgotten dreams—like the desire to search for his long-lost brothers. Will he dare to believe there’s a place for them in happily-ever-after?

Sean’s Reckoning

Son of a shattered family, fireman Sean Devaney knows love never lasts, so he refuses to chance it. Then he meets single mom Deanna Blackwell, who has just lost everything in a devastating fire. Despite the warning in Sean’s head, he’s drawn to protect the stunning woman and her son. Sean may be tough enough to storm burning buildings…but is he brave enough to risk building a family of his own?

Praise for the novels of Sherryl Woods

“Skillfully introducing readers to The Devaneys, Sherryl Woods scores another winner.”

—RT Book Reviews on Sean’s Reckoning

“Sherryl Woods writes emotionally satisfying novels about family, friendship and home. Truly feel-great reads!”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber

“Woods is a master heartstring puller.”

—Publishers Weekly on Seaview Inn

“Woods’s readers will eagerly anticipate her trademark small-town setting, loyal friendships, and honorable mentors as they meet new characters and reconnect with familiar ones in this heartwarming tale.”

—Booklist on Home in Carolina

“Once again, Woods, with such authenticity, weaves a tale of true love and the challenges that can knock up against that love.”

—RT Book Reviews on Beach Lane

“In this sweet, sometimes funny and often touching story, the characters are beautifully depicted, and readers…will…want to wish themselves away to Seaview Key.”

—RT Book Reviews on Seaview Inn

“Woods…is noted for appealing character-driven stories that are often infused with the flavor and fragrance of the South.”

—Library Journal

“A whimsical, sweet scenario…the digressions have their own charm, and Woods never fails to come back to the romantic point.”

—Publishers Weekly on Sweet Tea at Sunrise

Also by #1 New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods

HOME TO SEAVIEW KEY

SEAVIEW INN

TWILIGHT

A SEASIDE CHRISTMAS***

TEMPTATION

SEA GLASS ISLAND††

WIND CHIME POINT††

SAND CASTLE BAY††

WHERE AZALEAS BLOOM*

CATCHING FIREFLIES*

MIDNIGHT PROMISES*

THE SUMMER GARDEN***

AN O’BRIEN FAMILY CHRISTMAS***

BEACH LANE***

MOONLIGHT COVE***

DRIFTWOOD COTTAGE***

RETURN TO ROSE COTTAGE†

HOME AT ROSE COTTAGE†

A CHESAPEAKE SHORES CHRISTMAS***

HONEYSUCKLE SUMMER*

SWEET TEA AT SUNRISE*

HOME IN CAROLINA*

HARBOR LIGHTS***

FLOWERS ON MAIN***

THE INN AT EAGLE POINT***

WELCOME TO SERENITY*

MENDING FENCES

FEELS LIKE FAMILY*

A SLICE OF HEAVEN*

STEALING HOME*

WAKING UP IN CHARLESTON

FLIRTING WITH DISASTER

THE BACKUP PLAN

DESTINY UNLEASHED

FLAMINGO DINER

ALONG CAME TROUBLE**

ASK ANYONE**

ABOUT THAT MAN**

ANGEL MINE

AFTER TEX

*The Sweet Magnolias

**Trinity Harbor

***Chesapeake Shores

†The Rose Cottage Sisters

††Ocean Breeze

Look for more of The Devaney Brothers

MICHAEL AND PATRICK

and

DANIEL

available soon from Harlequin MIRA

The Devaney Brothers

Ryan & Sean

#1 New York Times Bestselling

Sherryl

Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear Friends,

Years ago, I heard a question on Jeopardy! about the most successful Disney movies of all time. It stated that they all had something to do with orphans. Well, who am I to argue with the Disney magic? Thus the Devaneys were born—five brothers, separated for years, thanks to a decision by desperate parents.

As each story unfolds and the brothers are reunited, more and more questions arise about why their parents allowed them to be separated. Readers have debated ever since about whether their reasons were valid or impossible to understand. As you come to know the brothers, I hope you’ll share your thoughts with me, as well. Put yourselves into the parents’ shoes and think about what you might have done under the same circumstances.

In the meantime, I’m delighted that the emotional stories of Ryan, Sean, Michael, Patrick and Daniel are coming back into print. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.

All best,

Sherryl

Table of Contents

Ryan’s Place

Sean’s Reckoning

Extract

Ryan’s Place

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

1

Ryan Devaney hated holidays. Not only were they lousy for business, but the few people who did walk into his Boston pub were usually just about as depressed as he was. The jukebox tended to blast out its most soulful tunes, which might have reduced him to tears if he hadn’t given up shedding them a long time ago. Thanksgiving, with its bittersweet memories, had always been worst of all. And this year promised to be no different.

Outside there was the scent of snow in the crisp air, and back in Ryan’s kitchen, his cook was already baking the dozens of pumpkin pies Ryan would be taking to the homeless shelter and also serving to the handful of people who showed up at the pub for a lonely meal tomorrow. Ryan had a very dim recollection of a time when both aromas would have stirred happy memories, but those days were long gone. It had been more than twenty years since he’d had anything at all for which to be thankful.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, he brought himself up short. Father Francis—the priest who evidently considered saving Ryan’s soul his personal mission—would blister him with a disapproving lecture if he ever heard him say such a thing aloud. The priest, whose church was just down the block and whose parish benefitted from Ryan’s generosity, had a very low opinion of Ryan’s tendency to wallow in self-pity around holidays.

“You have a roof over your head. You have money in your pocket and warm food in your belly,” Father Francis had chided on more than one occasion, disappointment clouding his gaze. “You have a business that prospers and customers who rely on you. You have countless others who depend on you for food and shelter, though they don’t know it. How can you say there are no blessings in your life? I’m ashamed of you, Ryan Devaney. Truly ashamed.”

As if Ryan had conjured him up just then, Father Francis slid onto an empty stool at the busy bar and gave Ryan his usual perceptive once-over. “Indulging again, I see.”

Ryan winced at the disapproving tone. “Haven’t touched a drop,” he said, knowing perfectly well that liquor was the last concern on the priest’s mind.

“Ah, Ryan, my boy, do you honestly believe you can get away with trying that one on me?”

Ryan grinned at the white-haired man, who still had a hint of Ireland in his voice. “It was worth a try. What can I get you on this chilly night?”

“Would a cup of Irish coffee be too much trouble? The wind is whipping out there, and my old bones can’t take it the way they once did.”

“For you, Father, nothing is too much trouble,” Ryan told him with total sincerity. As annoying as he sometimes found the priest, Ryan owed him his life. Father Francis had snatched him out of the depths of despair and trouble many years ago and set him on a path that had landed him here, operating his own business, rather than sitting in a jail cell. “Why aren’t you home in front of a fire?”

“I’ve been to visit the shelter. We’ve a new family in there tonight. Can you imagine anything sadder than being forced to go to a homeless shelter for the first time on Thanksgiving eve, when everyone else is fixing turkey and baking pies and preparing to count their blessings?”

Ryan gave him a sharp look. It had been Thanksgiving eve, seventeen years ago, when Father Francis had taken him to the St. Mary’s shelter, scared and hungry and totally alone. Just fifteen, Ryan had been angry at the world and had barely managed to escape being arrested for shoplifting, thanks to the priest’s influence with the local police precinct and the outraged shop owner.

“No, I can’t imagine anything sadder,” he said tersely. “As you well know. What do you want?”

Father Francis smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “Not so very much. Will you talk to them tomorrow? Your own story is an inspiration to many in the neighborhood. Hearing what you’ve accomplished under difficult circumstances will give them a reason to hope.”

“I imagine you think I can find work for at least one of them, as well,” Ryan said with a note of resignation in his voice.

There had been a time when he’d had a formal business plan for his pub, complete with goals and bottom-line projections. Taking in Father Francis’s strays had pretty much thrown that plan into chaos, but if the priest had asked him to cater a funeral in hell, he would have found some way to do it. Hopefully, this latest request would require less drastic action.

“Well?” he prodded.

“One...or both. The fact of the matter is, I understand the mother is a wonderful cook. Didn’t you tell me that you’re short-staffed in the kitchen?” Father Francis inquired innocently. Before Ryan could reply, he rushed on, “And with the holiday season coming on, you’ll be busier than ever in here as folks gather to warm up a bit after their shopping. And some of the local businesses like to use your back room for their Christmas parties, isn’t that right? Perhaps you could use another waiter, at least through New Year’s.”

Ryan cursed his loose tongue. He was going to have to remember that Father Francis was a sneaky, devious man, always looking to pair up his strays with people who casually remarked on some need or another. There had been one point when half his waitresses had been unwed mothers-to-be. For a brief time, he’d been certain his private dining room was going to wind up as a nursery, but even Father Francis had stopped short of making that request. The priest’s grudging acknowledgment that a pub was no place for infant day care suggested, however, that the thought had crossed his mind.

“Hiring an extra waiter is no problem. As for the woman, can she fix corned beef and cabbage, Irish stew, soda bread?” Ryan asked.

The priest looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Isn’t it time for a bit of a change?” He pulled the bright-green, laminated menu from its rack on the counter and pointed out the entrées that had been the same since the opening on St. Patrick’s Day eight years ago. Even the daily specials had remained constant. “It’s a bit boring, don’t you think?”

“This is an Irish pub,” Ryan reminded him dryly. “And my customers like knowing they can count on having fish and chips on Fridays and stew on Saturdays.”

“But people eventually tire of eating the same old things. Perhaps a little spice would liven things up.”

Spice? Ryan studied him warily. “What exactly can this woman cook?”

The priest’s expression brightened. “I understand her enchiladas are outstanding,” he reported enthusiastically.

Ryan frowned. “Let me get this straight. You’re asking me to hire someone to cook Mexican food in my Irish pub?”

He shuddered when he considered how his born-in-Dublin cook was likely to take to that news. Rory O’Malley was going to be slamming pots and pans around for a month, assuming he didn’t simply walk off the job. Rory, with his thick Irish brogue and a belly the size of Santa’s thanks to his fondness for ale, had a kind heart, but he could throw a tantrum better than any temperamental French chef. Because his kitchen had never run more smoothly, Ryan tried his best to stay out of Rory’s way and to do nothing to offend him.

The priest plastered an upbeat expression on his face. “Ryan’s Place will become the most talked-about restaurant in the city, a fine example of our melting pot culture.”

“Save it,” Ryan muttered, his already sour mood sinking even lower, because despite the absurdity and the threat of a rebellion in the kitchen, he was going to do as he’d been asked to do. “Send her in day after tomorrow, but she’d better be a quick learner. I am not serving tacos in this place, and that’s that. Does she at least speak English?”

“Enough,” Father Francis said.

He spoke with the kind of poker face that had Ryan groaning. “I should let you be the one to explain all this to Rory,” Ryan grumbled.

“Rory’s a fine Irish lad and a recent immigrant himself,” Father Francis declared optimistically. “I’m sure he’ll be agreeable enough when he knows all the facts. And surely he’ll see the benefit in the positive reviews likely to come his way.”

“On the off chance he doesn’t take the news as well as you’re predicting, I sincerely hope you can find your way around a kitchen, Father, because I have an apron back there with your name on it.”

“Let’s pray it doesn’t come to that,” the priest said with an uncharacteristic frown. “If it weren’t for Mrs. Malloy at the rectory and your own Rory, I’d starve.” He glanced toward the doorway, his expression suddenly brightening. “Now, my boy, just look at what the wind’s brought in. If this one isn’t a sight for sore eyes. Your good deed is already being rewarded.”

Ryan’s gaze shifted toward the doorway where, indeed, the sight that greeted him was a blessing. A woman that beautiful could improve a man’s mood in the blink of an eye. Huge eyes peered around the pub’s shadowy interior. Pale, fine skin had been stung pink by the wind. Waves of thick, auburn curls tumbled in disarray to her shoulders. Slender legs, encased in denim and high leather boots, were the inspiration for a man’s most erotic fantasies. Ryan sighed with pleasure.

“Boy, where are your manners?” Father Francis scolded. “She’s a paying customer who’s obviously new to Ryan’s Place. Go welcome her.”

Casting a sour look at the meddling old man, Ryan crossed to the other end of the crowded bar. “Can I help you, miss?”

“I doubt it,” she said grimly. “I doubt all the saints in heaven can solve this one.”

Ryan chuckled. “How about a bartender and a cranky old priest? Will we do? Or is there someone you’re supposed to be meeting here? I know most of the regulars.”

“No, I’m not meeting anyone, but I’d certainly like an introduction to someone who can fix a flat. I’ve called every garage in a ten-mile radius. Not a one of them has road service tonight. They all point out that tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, as if I didn’t know that. I have a car loaded with food, thank you very much, and given the way I hate to cook, I flatly refuse to let it all spoil while I’m stuck here. Of course, since the temperature is below freezing, I’m sure I’ll have blocks of ice by the time I finally get home.”

Ryan wisely bit back another chuckle. “Do you have a spare tire?”

The look she shot him was lethal. “Of course I have a spare. One of those cute little doughnut things. Don’t you think I tried that? I’m not totally helpless.”

“Well, then?”

“It’s flat, too. What good is the darn thing if it’s going to be flat when you need it most?”

Ryan decided not to remind her that it probably needed to be checked once in a while to avoid precisely this kind of situation. She didn’t seem to be in the mood for such obviously belated advice.

“How about this?” he suggested. “Have a seat down here by Father Francis. I’ll get you something to drink that will warm you up, and we’ll discuss the best way to go about solving your problem.”

“I don’t have time to sit around.” She regarded the priest apologetically. “No offense, Father, but I was supposed to be at my parents’ house hours ago. I’m sure they’re getting frantic.”

“Did you—”

She frowned at him and cut him off. “Before you say it, of course I’ve called. They know what’s going on, but you don’t know my parents. Until I actually walk in the door, they’ll be frantic anyway. It’s what they do. They worry. Big things, little things—it doesn’t matter. They claim their right to worry about their children came with the birth certificates.”

Ryan had a lot of trouble relating to frantic parents. His own hadn’t given two hoots about him or his brothers. When he was nine they’d dumped the three oldest boys on the state, then vanished, taking the two-year-old twins with them. If there had been an explanation for their cavalier treatment of their sons, they hadn’t bothered to share it with Ryan or his brothers.

He could still remember the last time he’d seen seven-year-old Sean, crying his eyes out as he was led away by a social worker. Michael, two years younger, had been braver by far...or perhaps at five he hadn’t really understood what was happening to them. They’d never seen each other or their parents again.

Most of the time, Ryan kept those memories securely locked away, but every once in a while they crept out to haunt him...most often around holidays. It was yet another reason to despise the occasions when anyone without family felt even more alone than usual.

“You’re closing in an hour or so, aren’t you, Ryan?” Father Francis asked, snapping him out of his dark thoughts. There was a gleam in the old man’s eyes when he added, “Perhaps you could give the young lady a lift home.”

Before Ryan could list all the reasons why that was a lousy idea, a pair of sea-green eyes latched on to him. “Could you? I know it’s an imposition. I’m sure you have your own Thanksgiving plans, but I truly am desperate.”

“What about a cab? I’d be happy to call one, and you’d be home in no time.”

“I tried,” she said. “It’s a long trip, and a lot of the drivers have gone home because of the holiday. There aren’t a lot of people out and about. Most are home with their families. Both companies I called turned me down.”

“Ryan, my boy, if ever there was a lady in distress, it would seem to be this young woman. Surely you won’t be saying no to such a simple thing,” Father Francis said.

“I’m a stranger,” Ryan pointed out. He scowled at her. “Don’t you know you should never accept a ride with a stranger?”

Father Francis chuckled. “I think she can take the word of the priest that you’re a positive gentleman. As for the rest, Ryan Devaney, this is...?” He glanced at the young woman and waited.

“Maggie O’Brien,” she said.

A beaming smile spread across the priest’s face. “Ah, a fine Irish lass, is it? Ryan, you can’t possibly think of turning down a fellow countryman.”

Ryan suspected Maggie had spent even less time in the Emerald Isle than he had on his ventures to learn the art of running a successful Irish pub. She sounded very much like a Boston native.

“I think we can probably agree that Ms. O’Brien and I are, indeed, fellow Americans,” he said wryly.

“But you carry the blood of your Irish ancestors,” the priest insisted. “And a true and loyal Irishman never forgets his roots.”

“Whatever,” Ryan replied, knowing that for the second time tonight he might as well give in to the inevitable. “Ms. O’Brien, I’ll be happy to give you a lift if you can wait till I close in an hour. In the meantime I’ll give you the keys to my car. You can transfer all that food you’re carrying to it.” He shot a pointed look at the priest. “Father Francis will be happy to help, won’t you, Father?”

“It will be my pleasure,” the priest said, bouncing to his feet with more alacrity than he’d shown in the past ten years.

“Ms. O’Brien,” Ryan called after them as they headed for the door. “Whatever you do, don’t listen to a word he says about me.”

“I always sing your praises,” Father Francis retorted with a hint of indignation. “By the time I’ve said my piece, she’ll be thinking you were sent here by angels.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Ryan said. For some reason he had a very bad feeling about this Maggie O’Brien getting the idea, even for a second, that he was any sort of saint.

* * *

“I’m not sure Mr. Devaney is very happy about doing this,” Maggie said to Father Francis as they transferred her belongings from her car to Ryan Devaney’s. She considered leaving the things in the trunk behind, but snow was just starting to fall, the flakes fat and wet. If it kept up as predicted, it was going to make a mess of the roads in no time. There was no telling how long it might be before she’d be able to come back for the car.

“You mustn’t mind a thing he says,” the priest said. “Ryan’s a good lad, but he’s been in a bit of a rut. He works much too hard. An unexpected drive with a pretty girl is just what he needs.”

It was an interesting spin, Maggie thought, concluding that the priest was doing a bit of matchmaking. She had to wonder, though, why a man like Ryan Devaney would need anyone at all to intercede with women on his behalf. With those clear blue eyes, thick black hair and a dimple in his chin, he had the look of the kind of Irish scoundrel who’d been born to tempt females. Maggie had noticed more than one disappointed look when he’d turned his attention to her at the bar. Come to think of it, quite a few of his customers had been women, in groups and all alone. She wondered how many of them were drawn to the pub by the attractiveness and availability of its owner. Then again, there had been clusters of well-dressed young men around as well, so perhaps they’d been the lure for the women.

“Has Ryan’s Place been around a long time?” she asked Father Francis.

“It will be nine years come St. Patrick’s Day,” he told her.

Maggie was surprised. With its worn wood, gleaming brass fixtures and antique advertising signs for Irish whisky and ales, it had the look of a place that had been in business for generations.

The priest grinned at her. “Ah, I see you’re surprised. Ryan would be pleased by that. He spent six months in Ireland gathering treasures to give the pub a hint of age. When he makes up his mind to do something, there’s nothing halfway about it.” He gave her a canny look. “In my opinion, he’ll be the same way once he sets his sights on a woman.”

Despite the fact that she’d spent less than a half hour with Ryan Devaney, Maggie couldn’t deny that she was curious. “He’s never been married?”

“No, and it’s a sad thing,” the priest said. “He says he doesn’t believe in love.”

He said it with such exaggerated sorrow that Maggie almost laughed. “Now why is that?” she asked instead. “Did he have a relationship that ended badly?”

“Aye, but not like you’re thinking. It was his parents. They went off and abandoned him when he was just a wee lad.”

“How horrible,” Maggie said, instantly sympathetic, which, she suspected, was precisely the reaction the sneaky old man was going for. “He’s never been in touch with them again?”

“Never. Despite that and some troubled years, he’s grown into a fine man. You won’t find a better, more loyal friend than Ryan Devaney.”

“How long have you known him?”

“It’s been seventeen years now.”

Maggie regarded him intently. “Something tells me there’s a story there.”

“Aye, but I think I’ll let Ryan be the one to tell you in his own time.” He met her gaze. “Would you mind a bit of advice from a stranger?”

“From you, Father? Of course not.”

“Ryan’s a bit like a fine wine. He can’t be rushed, if you want the best from him.”

Maggie laughed. “Father, your advice is a bit premature. I’ve just met the man. He’s giving me a lift home—under pressure from you, I might add. I don’t think we can make too much of that.”

“Don’t be so quick to shatter an old man’s dream, or to dismiss the notion of destiny,” the priest chided. “Something tells me that destiny has played a hand in tonight’s turn of events. You could have had that flat tire anywhere, but where did it happen? Right in front of the finest Irish pub in Boston. Now, let’s go back inside, and you can have that drink Ryan promised to warm you up before the drive home.”

Maggie followed Father Francis back to the bar. Ryan’s hands were full, filling orders for last call, but Irish coffees materialized in front of them without either of them saying a word. Maggie wrapped her icy hands around the cup, grateful for the warmth.

Next to her, Father Francis had fallen silent as he sipped his own coffee. Maggie hadn’t been able to guess his age earlier, but now, with his features less animated, the lines in his face were more evident. She guessed him to be well past seventy, and at this late hour he was showing every one of those years.

Apparently, Ryan spotted the same signs of exhaustion, because the apron came off from around his waist and he nabbed one of the waitresses and murmured something to her, then handed her a set of keys.

“We can be going now. Maureen will close up here,” he said, stepping out from behind the bar. “Father, I’ll give you a ride, as well. It’s far too cold a night for you to be walking home, especially at this hour.”

“Nonsense. It’s only a couple of blocks,” the priest protested. “Since when haven’t I walked it? Have you once heard me complain? Walking is how I keep myself fit.”

“And you do more than enough of it during the day, when the wind’s not so fierce. Besides, the rectory is right on our way,” Ryan countered, even though he couldn’t possibly know in which direction they were heading to get to Maggie’s.

She immediately seized on his comment, though, to second the offer. “Father, please. I’d love to catch a glimpse of your church. Maybe I’ll come to mass there one of these days.”

The priest’s expression promptly brightened. “Now, there’s a lovely thought. St. Mary’s is a wonderful parish. We’d welcome you anytime.”

Ryan shot her a grateful look, then led the way outside. If anything, the bite of the wind had grown colder in the last half hour. Maggie shivered, despite the warmth of her coat and scarf. To her surprise, Ryan noticed.

“We’ll have you warmed up in no time,” he promised. “Once it gets going, the car’s heater is like a blast furnace.”

The promise was accompanied by a look that could have stirred a teakettle to a boil. For a man who didn’t believe in love, he certainly knew how to get a woman’s attention. A couple of sizzling glances like that and she’d be begging for air-conditioning.

“I really appreciate this,” she told him again. “I know it’s an imposition.”

“Ryan’s happy to do it,” Father Francis insisted from the backseat as they pulled to a stop in front of a brownstone town house next to a church. Lights were blazing from the downstairs windows, and smoke curled from a chimney. “I’ll say good-night now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Maggie O’Brien. St. Mary’s is right next door, as you can see. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Thanks for all your help, Father.”

“What did I do? Nothing that any Irishman wouldn’t do for a lady in distress. Happy Thanksgiving, Maggie. Be sure to count your blessings tomorrow. Ryan, you do the same.”

“Don’t I always, Father?”

“Only when I remind you, which I’m doing now.” He paused before closing the door and cast a pointed look in Maggie’s direction. “And don’t forget to count this one.”

Maggie had to bite back a chuckle at Ryan’s groan.

“Good night, Father,” Ryan said firmly.

He waited as the priest trudged slowly up the steps and went inside, then turned to Maggie. “I’m sorry. My love life has become one of Father Francis’s pet projects. He’s determined to see me settled with babies underfoot. I apologize if he made you uncomfortable.”

“I think it’s wonderful that he cares so much,” Maggie said honestly. “You’re obviously very special to him.”

“And vice versa,” Ryan admitted.

“He told me you’ve known each other for a long time,” she continued, hoping to open the door to the story that the priest had declined to share.

“A very long time,” Ryan confirmed, then looked away to concentrate on roads already slippery from the now-steady snowfall.

Or was he simply avoiding sharing something painful from his past? Maggie suspected it was the latter, but she recalled the priest’s advice about not pushing for answers. Impatient and curious by nature, she found this difficult. It went against everything in her to keep silent, but she managed to bite her tongue.

She turned away and looked out the window just as the car slowed to a stop.

“Maggie?”

She turned and met Ryan’s gaze. “Yes?” she said, a little too eagerly. Was it possible that he was going to share the story, after all? Or perhaps suggest another drink before they made the trip to her family’s home in neighboring Cambridge?

“It’s going to be a long night unless you give me some idea where I’m headed,” he said, laughter threading through his voice.

“Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry,” she said, feeling foolish. She rattled off the directions to her parents’ home, not far from Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where her mother was a professor.

Ryan nodded. “I know the area. I’ll have you there in no time. And I can arrange to have your car towed out on Friday, if you like.”

Maggie balked at the generous offer. “Absolutely not. It’s not your problem. I’ll take care of it.”

Even as the protest left her mouth, she realized that her stranded car was her only sure link to seeing Ryan Devaney again. She stole a look at him and felt her heart do an unexpected little flip. Such a reaction was not to be ignored. Not that she believed in destiny—at least the way Father Francis interpreted it—but just in case there was such a thing, she didn’t want to be too quick to spit in its eye.

2

Ryan liked a woman who knew when to keep silent. He truly admired a woman who knew better than to pry. To her credit, Maggie O’Brien was earning a lot of respect on this drive, thanks to her apparent understanding of those two points.

He’d seen the flare of curiosity in her eyes earlier. No telling what Father Francis had seen fit to share with her, but there was little doubt in his mind that the priest had done his level best to whet her interest in Ryan. A lot of women would have seized the opportunity of a long drive on a dark night to pester him with an endless barrage of personal questions, yet Maggie seemed to enjoy the silence as much as he did.

Of course, there could be too much of a good thing, he concluded finally. Any second now he was going to start filling the conversational lull with a litany of questions that had been nagging at him ever since she’d walked into the pub.

Over the years, working at Ryan’s Place, he’d managed to put aside his natural reticence in order to make the expected small talk with his customers. Few understood how difficult a task it was for him. In fact, there were those who thought he had a natural gift of the gab and many more who were sure he’d kissed the Blarney Stone during his stay in Ireland.

Outside the pub, though, he tended toward brooding silence. That was probably one reason why the handful of women customers he’d asked out over the years were so surprised to find him less than forthcoming on a date. And since he’d generally asked all the personal questions in which he had an interest during those evenings in the pub, it made him less than scintillating company. Since he had little interest in a long-term relationship, it generally worked out for the best all the way around. Few women pestered him for more than a single date. Those who took his moods as a challenge eventually tired of the game, as well.

Since Maggie O’Brien had never set foot in Ryan’s Place before, he had all his usual questions, plus a surprising million and one more personal queries on the tip of his tongue. But because asking them might give her an opening to turn the tables on him, he concluded he’d better keep his curiosity under control.

“Mind if I turn on the radio?” he asked, already reaching for the dial.

She seemed startled that he’d bothered to ask. “Of course not. Whatever you like.”

“Any preferences?”

“Jazz,” she suggested hesitantly. “Not everyone likes it, I know, but I can’t get a single jazz station where I live, and I really miss it.”

Ryan was surprised by the choice. “Now, I would have pegged you as a woman who likes oldies.”

“I do, but there’s something about a mournful sax that tears my heart up. It’s such a melancholy sound.” She regarded him worriedly. “If you hate it, though, it’s okay. Oldies will be fine.”

Ryan flipped on the radio, and sweet jazz immediately filled the car. He grinned at her. “Preset to the jazz station,” he pointed out. “It seems we have something in common, Maggie O’Brien. Wouldn’t that make Father Francis ecstatic?”

“Something tells me we shouldn’t offer him any encouragement,” she said dryly. “The man does perform weddings, after all. He’s liable to have us marching down the aisle before we even know each other.”

“Not likely,” Ryan murmured, then winced at his own harsh response to what had clearly been nothing more than a teasing remark. “Sorry. Nothing personal.”

“No offense taken,” Maggie said easily.

But Ryan noticed he’d managed to wipe the smile off her face. Once again she turned away to stare out the window, seemingly fascinated by the falling snow.

And he felt about two inches tall.

* * *

Even with the soothing sounds of her favorite jazz to distract her, Maggie couldn’t help wondering about the brooding man beside her. Time after time during her brief visit to his pub, she had seen him turn on the charm with his customers. She’d also noted the very real affection between him and the old priest and Ryan’s quick recognition of the older man’s exhaustion.

Now, however, he’d fallen into a grim silence, apparently content to let the radio fill the silence. She could as easily have been riding with an untalkative cabbie.

When she could stand it no longer, she risked a glance at him. Ever since his offhand comment about the unlikelihood of getting trapped into marrying her by the scheming Father Francis, he’d kept his gaze locked on the road as if it presented some sort of challenge. Since the sky south of town was still clear and bright with stars and there hadn’t been a patch of ice on the highway since they’d left downtown Boston, she concluded that he was trying to avoid looking at her. Maybe he feared she shared the priest’s determination to create a match between them.

Of course, it was probably for the best. From the moment she’d walked into Ryan’s Place and looked into the eyes of the owner, she’d felt a disconcerting twinge of awareness that went way beyond gratitude toward a man who’d offered, albeit reluctantly, to bail her out of a jam. Every time she’d ever gotten a twinge like that, it had landed her in trouble. She had a whole slew of regrets to prove it, though few were romantic in nature. Her impulses tended toward other areas. Some had cost her money. Some had gotten her mixed up in projects that were a waste of her time. Only one had been related to a scoundrel who’d stolen her heart.

Still, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off him. He was, after all, every girl’s fantasy of a Black Irish hunk. She noted again that his coal-black hair, worn just a bit too long, gave him a rakish, bad-boy appearance. His deep blue eyes danced with merriment, at least when he wasn’t scowling over having been outmaneuvered by Father Francis, a wily old man if ever she’d met one. There was a tiny scar at the corner of his mouth, barely visible unless one looked closely, which, of course, she had. After all, the man had a mouth that any sane woman would instantly imagine locked against her own.

Yes, indeed, Ryan Devaney was the embodiment of every woman’s fantasy, all right. A very dangerous fantasy. It would be all too easy to fall in with Father Francis’s scheming.

Ryan Devaney was also a man of contradictions. For one thing, he might have his hard edges and unyielding black moods, but she herself had seen evidence of his tender heart in the way he’d bustled the protesting priest out of the bar and into his car for a ride the few blocks to the rectory. Maggie was a sucker for a man with that particular mysterious combination.

For another thing, Ryan was a successful businessman with the soul of a poet. The rhythm of his words, when he’d lapsed for a moment into an Irish brogue to tease a customer, had been like music to Maggie’s ears. She sighed just remembering the lilting sound of his voice. She could still recall sitting on her grandfather O’Brien’s knee years ago, enthralled by his tales of the old country, told with just such a musical lilt. Listening to Ryan Devaney, even knowing that the accent was feigned, had taken her back to those happy occasions.

She’d known the man less than two hours, and she was already intrigued in a way that had her heart thumping and her thoughts whirling. She blamed at least some of her reaction on her innate curiosity. Her father was a journalist, always poking his nose into things that he considered the public’s business, long before the public even knew they cared. Her mother was a scientist and professor at MIT, a profession that managed to combine her curiosity about how the universe worked and her nurturing skills.

Inevitably, living with two people like that, Maggie had grown up with an insatiable desire to understand what made people tick. She had a trace of her father’s cynicism, a healthy dose of her mother’s reason and an intuitive ability to see beneath the surface.

Among her friends she was the one they turned to when they were trying to make sense of relationships, when a boss was giving them trouble, when a parent was making impossible demands. Maggie always had a helpful insight, if not a solution, to offer.

The only life she couldn’t seem to make sense of was her own. She was still struggling to carve out a niche for herself. She had a degree in business and in accounting, but in one of those contradictions that she seemed to like in others, she kept searching for a creative outlet that would feed her soul as well as her bank account.

Her last job certainly hadn’t offered that. She’d loved the small coastal town in Maine, which was why she’d persuaded herself that she could be happy doing bookkeeping for a small corporation. In the end, though, the early-morning strolls on the beach, the quaint shops and the friendly neighbors hadn’t compensated for the daily tedium in her job. She’d given her notice two weeks ago, on the same day she’d broken off a relationship that had been going nowhere.

Now she was the one in need of direction, but she’d given herself until after the start of the new year to figure things out. With savings in the bank, she didn’t have to rush right into another job. She was going to stay with her parents, brothers and sisters for the next few weeks, then decide if she wanted to return to Maine, where she’d been making her home for the past four years, and look for more satisfying work and a relationship that had more excitement and more promise of a future.

With all that heavy thinking awaiting her, Ryan Devaney and his contradictions offered a tempting distraction. She glanced his way again, noting that his focus on the road was no less intense.

“I’m sorry to disrupt your plans this way,” she apologized yet again, hoping to spark a conversation.

“Not a problem,” he said without looking at her.

“Most people have a lot to do around the holidays.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his delectable mouth drawing into a tight line.

“Will the pub be open tomorrow?”

“For a few hours. Some of our customers have nowhere else to spend Thanksgiving.”

She recalled what Father Francis had said about Ryan having been abandoned by his parents. Obviously, he could relate to customers who were essentially in the same fix—all alone in the world. “It’s thoughtful of you to give them a place where they’ll feel welcome.”

“It’s a business decision,” he said, dismissing the idea that there was any sentiment involved.

“Your own family doesn’t mind?” she asked, deliberately feigning ignorance and broaching the touchy subject in the hope that he would open up and fill in the blanks left by Father Francis’s sketchy explanation.

“No,” he said tightly.

“Tell me about them,” she prodded.

He glanced at her then. “There’s nothing to tell.”

There was a bleak note in his voice she doubted he realized was there. “Oh?” she said. “Every family has a story.”

His frown deepened. “Ms. O’Brien, I offered you a lift home. I didn’t offer to provide the entertainment. If you need some noise, turn up the radio.”

Maggie hesitated at the sharp tone, but even an armchair psychologist understood that defensiveness was often a cover for a deep-seated need to talk. She wondered if Ryan Devaney had ever talked about whatever he was trying so determinedly to keep from her. Maybe he told his secrets to Father Francis from the shadows of the confessional, or maybe the priest was simply better at prying them loose.

“Sometimes it’s easier to tell things to a stranger than it is to a friend,” she observed lightly.

“And sometimes there’s nothing to tell,” he repeated.

Though she already knew at least some of the answers, she decided to try getting them directly from the source. “Are you married?” she began.

“No.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No.”

“What about the rest of your family?”

He slammed on the brakes and turned to glower at her. “I have no family,” he said tightly. “None at all. Are you satisfied, Ms. O’Brien?”

Satisfied? Far from it, she thought as she gazed into eyes burning with anger. If anything, she was more intrigued than ever. Now, however, was probably not the best time to tell Ryan that. Maybe tomorrow, after she’d persuaded him to stay and spend Thanksgiving with her family, maybe then he’d be mellow enough to explain what had happened years ago to tear his world apart and why he claimed to have no family at all, when the truth was slightly different. They might not be in his life, but they were more than likely out there somewhere.

Even without all the answers, Maggie was filled with sympathy. Because with two parents, three sisters and two brothers, a couple of dozen aunts, uncles and cousins—all of them boisterous, impossible, difficult and undeniably wonderful—she couldn’t imagine anyone having no one at all to call family.

* * *

Ryan caught the little flicker of dismay in Maggie’s eyes when he’d announced that he had no family to speak of. He was pretty sure he’d seen something else, as well, a faint glint of determination.

Maybe that was why he wasn’t the least bit surprised when she invited him to stay over once they reached her family’s large house off Kendall Square.

“It’s nearly two in the morning,” she told him. “You must be exhausted. Please stay. I’m sure there’s an overflow crowd here tonight, but there’s bound to be a couch or something free. If worse comes to worst, I know there are sleeping bags in the attic. I can set you up with one of those.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to late nights. I’ll be fine,” he insisted as he began unloading bags from his trunk. Since she and Father Francis had loaded the car, it was the first time he’d realized that she must have half her worldly possessions with her. He regarded her wryly. “You planning on a long visit?”

“Till after New Year’s,” she said.

“What about your job? You do have one, I imagine.”

“I’m between jobs,” she said.

“Fired?” he asked, pulling out the familiar note of sympathy he used when his customers hit a similar rough patch.

“Nope. I quit a very good job as an accountant for a corporation. I’m hoping to find something that’s more creatively satisfying.”

“Such as?”

She shrugged. “I wish I knew,” she said, then added with a note of total optimism, “but I’ll figure it out.”

“Ever considered psychology?” Ryan asked. “You’ve got the probing-question thing down pretty well.”

“I can’t be too good,” she retorted. “You didn’t answer most of them.”

“So what sort of career do you think you’d find creatively satisfying?” he continued. “Are there any options on the table?”

She grinned. “Trying to turn things around on me, Mr. Devaney?”

He laughed. “Every bartender has a bit of the psychologist in him. The difference is, we just ask questions and listen. We don’t dole out advice. Now let’s get this stuff inside before we both freeze to death.”

“We’ll go around back,” she said, leading the way. “A lot of this needs to wind up in the kitchen, anyway.”

He noted that there was a light on in one of the front windows, as well as another in the kitchen, beaming out a welcome for the latecomer. A little tug of envy spread through him even before a tall woman with a face only barely more lined than Maggie’s threw open the kitchen door and held out her arms.

“There you are,” she said, enveloping Maggie in a fierce hug. “I’ve been so worried.”

“Mom, I called less than forty minutes ago to let you know I was on my way,” Maggie reminded her, amusement threading through her voice. “I’m actually about ten minutes earlier than I predicted.”

“Which means you must have been speeding, young man,” the woman chastised, turning to Ryan with a twinkle in eyes as bright and as green as her daughter’s. “I’m Nell O’Brien. And you must be Mr. Devaney. It was kind of you to bring Maggie to us, even if you did exceed the speed limit getting her here.”

“No, ma’am, I can assure you there was no speeding involved,” he responded seriously. “I had it on cruise control the whole time.”

She laughed at that. “But set at what speed?”

Ryan met her gaze. “You’re not a cop, are you?” he teased, liking her at once. She reminded him of... He bit back a sigh. Best not to go there. He’d stopped thinking about his mother on the day she’d abandoned him. Or at least he’d tried to.

“No, but I’ve had a lot of experience at intimidating young men,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “I have four daughters and two sons, all of whom need to have someone in firm control.”

Ryan couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “If Maggie here is any indication, I imagine that’s true.”

“Hey,” Maggie protested. “I was the dutiful oldest daughter.”

“When it suited you,” her mother concurred. “Now get in here, both of you. I have coffee made, but if you’d prefer something else, I can fix it in no time.”

“Nothing for me,” Ryan said, already backing toward the door. The warmth of this big, cheerful kitchen, the teasing between mother and daughter—these were exactly the kind of things he tried to avoid. They brought up too many painful memories. “I need to be getting back to home.”

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. O’Brien said. “It’s much too late to be on the road, Mr. Devaney. You must be exhausted. I’ll make up the couch in the den. And before you try arguing with me, remember that I’m older and wiser and I will not be ignored.”

“If you’re not a cop, you must be a general,” Ryan said.

“Just a woman who knows what’s best,” Nell countered with a serene smile. “You two stay in here and have something to drink and a snack. I’ll go on up to bed after I’m done in the den. Your father will want to know you arrived safely, Maggie. Besides, I have to be up at dawn to cook that bird.” She winked at Maggie. “Your father bought a huge one that’s probably not going to fit in the oven, which means I’ll have to surgically dissect the thing, then patch it back together after it’s cooked so he won’t know.”

Ryan saw his chance for escape coming right after Mrs. O’Brien disappeared for the night, but one look at Maggie had him hesitating.

“Don’t even think about,” she said, her gaze locked with his.

“Think about what?” he asked vaguely, his thoughts scrambling.

“Sneaking away in the dead of night.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Because tomorrow’s going to be a busy day as it is. I don’t want to have to spend a chunk of it hunting you down and dragging you back here.”

“So this is purely selfish on your part,” he said, taking a step closer to the dangerous fire in her eyes. There was something about her—an exuberance, a warmth—that made him want to take risks he normally avoided.

“It is,” she said, her gaze unflinching.

“Maggie, I did you a small favor. You don’t owe me anything. Besides, I have plans for tomorrow, and the day starts early. I really do need to be getting back.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes then. “You have plans?”

He was vaguely insulted by her obvious shock. “I’m not totally hopeless and alone.”

She blinked and backed up a step. “Yes, of course. I should have realized,” she said, clearly embarrassed.

Ryan should have let her go on thinking that those plans involved another woman, which was clearly the conclusion she’d reached. That would have been the smart, safe way to go. Instead, he found himself explaining.

“I’m taking food to the homeless shelter run by St. Mary’s. Everything has to be set up by noon, which means an early start. And, as we discussed in the car, the pub opens at four for the regulars who don’t have anyplace else to go. Not to mention that tonight’s paperwork didn’t get done, nor were the receipts counted.”

She nodded and something that might have been relief flashed across her face. “What a wonderful thing to do,” she said, apparently seizing on the planned meal for the homeless. “Can you use some help at the shelter?”

Help was always in short supply, but Ryan hesitated. It would be better to stop things here and now with this woman who had the determination of a pit bull and who seemed eager and able to slip past all his defenses.

“Of course you can,” she said, without waiting for his reply. “We’ll be at the shelter by ten.”

“‘We’?”

“My family, except for Mom, of course. She’ll need to stay here with that humongous bird, but everyone else will want to pitch in. It works out perfectly. I’ll have one of my brothers bring along a spare for my car, too.”

Ryan searched desperately for a subtle way to change her mind. “Shouldn’t your family be pitching in around here?”

“Mom refuses to let anyone else into the kitchen. She says we just get in the way. Besides, I brought a lot of food tonight that only needs to go in the oven. Everyone else will bring dishes, too. She really has only the turkey to contend with.” Maggie regarded him intently. “Don’t even think of turning me down. I owe you.”

“You don’t,” he repeated, even though he knew he was wasting his breath.

Besides, one part of him—a very big part—was suddenly looking forward to Thanksgiving in a way that he hadn’t since he was eight years old. That was the last holiday his family had spent together. By Christmas that year, he’d been with a foster family, and he’d had no idea at all where his parents or his brothers were.

And nothing in his life had been the same since.

3

“Late night last night?” Rory inquired as he and Ryan loaded food into a van to take it to the homeless shelter. “You look a wee bit under the weather.”

Ryan scowled at his cook’s apparent amusement. “I did a favor for Father Francis. It kept me out until after 3:00 a.m.”

“And did this favor happen to involve a lovely redheaded lass?”

Ryan gave him a sour look.

“I thought so. Why is it that Father Francis never thinks of me when a beauty like that comes along?” Rory lamented.

“Perhaps because he’s well aware of your tendency to break the heart of any woman you go out with,” Ryan told him. “You’ve earned a bit of a reputation in your time among us, Rory, me lad.”

“Undeserved, every word of it,” Rory insisted.

“Then why do I have a steady stream of women at the bar crying into their beers over you?”

“I can’t help it if I’m a babe magnet,” the cook said with a perfectly straight face.

The irony was that despite his round shape and fiery temperament, forty-year-old Rory attracted more than his share of women. Ryan suspected it had something to do with his clever way with words and his genuine appreciation of the fair sex. Rory’s problem was that he appreciated a few too many females at one time. The drama of the breakups frequently spilled from the kitchen into the pub. Oddly enough, even after the blowups, the women kept coming around. Rory treated each and every one of them with the same cheerful affection.

“I can hardly wait for you to fall head-over-heels in love,” Ryan told him. “I truly hope the woman makes you jump through hoops, so I can sit on the sidelines and enjoy the entertainment.”

“I feel the same where you’re concerned,” Rory responded. He regarded Ryan with a speculative look. “So, has this redheaded angel of Father Francis’s well and truly caught your eye? Or am I free to pursue her next time she stops in?”

“Stay away from Maggie,” Ryan retorted, unable to keep a fiercely possessive note out of his voice. He swore to himself that he was only thinking of Maggie’s heart, not his own.

Rory grinned. “So, that’s the way of it? Father Francis will be pleased to know that his clever machinations have worked at last. Can it be that our Ryan has finally found a woman who can hold his interest beyond a one-night stand?”

Ryan scowled at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. I barely know the woman.”

“Has there ever been an Irishman born who doesn’t believe that a lightning bolt can strike at any time? Love doesn’t always require years of nurturing to blossom, you know.”

“Thanks for the unsolicited lesson,” Ryan said dryly.

“I have much more wisdom I could impart,” Rory claimed cheerfully. “But why should I waste it on a man who’s determined to go through life alone?”

“You know, if you don’t learn to watch your tongue, I could fire you.”

“But you won’t,” Rory said confidently. “Who would cook your authentic Irish cuisine?”

“Maybe I’ll change the menu,” Ryan said, thinking of the newest addition to his staff.

“Not bloody likely,” Rory said.

“I don’t know. I’ve got someone coming by tomorrow. Father Francis thinks she’ll do rather well.”

Rory frowned. “Another cook?”

“Yes.”

“And would this be the angelic Maggie, by any chance?” Rory inquired hopefully.

“Absolutely not.”

“Is she from Ireland, at least?”

“No.”

“Well, there you go. How good can she be?”

“I’ve heard only raves,” Ryan said honestly. “She’s supposed to be excellent, so of course I hired her sight unseen.”

“She’s not coming for an interview? You’ve already hired a woman you’ve never even met for my kitchen?” Rory demanded, clearly horrified. “I can’t have some stranger—and a woman at that—underfoot all day.”

“Why not? Will she be a distraction? Surely you can rise above your need to make a play for anything wearing skirts, especially since this one’s married. And just in case you’re tempted, you should know that her husband will be working in front.” He gave Rory a steady look. “I don’t think it will be a problem, do you? There are some lines not even you will cross.”

Rory groaned. “These are more of Father Francis’s strays, aren’t they? I suppose we will find them at the shelter today, am I right?”

Ryan saw little point in denying it. He nodded. He considered telling Rory the rest, that his new helper barely spoke English and prepared only Mexican dishes, but decided his friend had had enough of a shock for the moment. Instead, he simply reminded him that there was a replacement waiting in the wings. “So, let that be a warning to keep a civil tongue in your head. And when you meet her today, be nice.”

“When am I not kind to everyone who works at the pub?” Rory demanded indignantly.

Ryan rolled his eyes. “You don’t want me to answer that, do you?”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be nice.” He regarded Ryan curiously. “Are you going to be seeing Maggie again?”

“She says she’s going to bring her family to help out at the shelter today,” he admitted ruefully.

“Well now, isn’t that splendid? Father Francis will have yet another blessing to count on Thanksgiving.”

“Go to hell, Rory.”

To Ryan’s disgust, the big man merely laughed. As far as Ryan could see, this was not a laughing matter. He was apparently surrounded by matchmakers who were going to take a great deal of delight in seeing him squirm. And they’d both handpicked Maggie for the task of accomplishing it, quite possibly because they’d both seen what he hadn’t been willing to admit—that he was attracted to her.

* * *

The noise level in the O’Brien dining room was at an all-time high, with squealing toddlers scrambling for Maggie’s attention and her brothers fighting for the biggest share of her mother’s pancakes. It was all music to her ears, even if she couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise.

When her third attempt to interrupt the nonstop bickering fell on deaf ears, Maggie sent a beseeching look toward her mother.

“Enough!” Nell O’Brien said without even raising her voice to be heard above the din. It was her quiet, emphatic tone that caused even the littlest grandchild to fall silent. The skill had to be something she’d acquired in the classroom to control unruly college students. Clearly satisfied by the effect, she said mildly, “I think Maggie has something she’d like to say.”

“Since when does Maggie require your intervention?” Matthew asked. “Speak up, sis. You’ve never been shy about telling us to shut up before.”

“You’ve never been this noisy before, and I’m out of practice,” she retorted. “Okay, here’s the deal. I more or less promised that we’d spend this morning helping at a homeless shelter in the city.”

“Promised who?” Matthew demanded with more curiosity than resentment.

“Must be that handsome man who brought her home last night,” her sister Colleen said with a smug expression. “Mom says after meeting him last night, her heart was still all aflutter this morning. I’m sorry I missed him. Count me in, Maggie. I want to get a look at any guy who can make Mom swoon.”

“There’s definitely a man involved?” their oldest brother, John, asked. “Then we all go, am I right? We can’t have a stranger breaking our Maggie’s heart.”

“This has nothing to do with anyone breaking my heart,” Maggie said. “It’s about helping those less fortunate on Thanksgiving.”

“That may be your reason for going,” John conceded. “Mine’s less pure.”

“Mine, too,” Colleen said. “My heart hasn’t gone pitter-pat over a man in ages.”

“Thanks a lot,” her husband said, frowning at her.

Colleen grinned at him. “I meant for a man other than you, of course.”

Daniel leaned over and planted a noisy kiss on her lips. “That’s better, love.”

“What’s this about a handsome man?” Katie, the youngest O’Brien, inquired as she returned from the kitchen with a glass of orange juice. “Where? Can I meet him?”

“He’s entirely too old for you,” Maggie said.

“That’s the truth,” her father chimed in. “Our Katie’s not to even think of looking at a man until she’s at least twenty-five. She’s our baby.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m twenty-four, and I hate to break it to you, but I’m already dating and have been for some years now.”

“Dating, yes, but you’ve a full year to go before you even think of getting serious about anyone. Besides, this Ryan fellow is Maggie’s,” he said with a grin aimed at Maggie.

“He’s hardly that,” Maggie protested. “We’ve just met.”

“But you’re interested enough to be dragging us all the way to Boston on Thanksgiving,” her father said. He turned to her mother. “Nell, what do you think? Is this man worthy of our Maggie’s attention?”

With a wink in Maggie’s direction, her mother placed her hand over her heart. “If I were just a few years younger...” she began, only to be cut off by her husband.

“Nell O’Brien, shame on you, saying such a thing in front of me, the man who’s given you all these fine children, to say nothing of nearly thirty years of my life.”

“Darling, I’m old and I’m married, not dead,” she teased. “Ryan Devaney is a handsome devil. You’ll see.”

“So it’s settled? You’ll all go?” Maggie asked, not as concerned about her brothers’ declared motives as she probably should have been. They talked big, but they’d stay in line. Her father would see to it.

“Of course,” her father said. “You knew we would.” He turned to his wife. “You’ll be okay without our help for a few hours?”

“I’ll be relieved to have you all out from underfoot,” she said.

“What about the kids? You can’t be looking after all of them, as well,” her father said. He gazed around the crowded table. “Which one of you will stay to help out?”

“Garrett O’Brien, the day I can’t look after three toddlers is the day they’ll be putting me in my grave,” her mother retorted. “I raised this bunch of hellions with little or no help, didn’t I?”

“Then it’s settled,” her father announced. “We’ll be leaving in an hour. That will put us there by ten. Is that what you promised, Maggie?”

“Yes, Dad. Thanks.” She turned a narrowed gaze on her brothers. “And when you meet Ryan Devaney, I expect you to be on your best behavior. Is that understood?”

“When have we not been perfect gentlemen around your boyfriends?” Matt inquired indignantly.

“Well, there was the time we ran off that Carson fellow,” John conceded.

“He was a wuss,” Matt countered. “She was better off without him. Okay, aside from that one incident, have there been any others?”

“Just see that this isn’t one of those times when your protective instincts kick into gear,” Maggie pleaded. She shot a warning look at Katie. “And you remember what Dad said.”

A grin spread across her sister’s face. “You are staking your claim, then?” She turned to their father. “Told you I could make her admit it. That’ll be five bucks, please.”

Maggie stared at the two of them. “You already knew about Ryan and you had a bet going?”

“Well, of course we did,” Katie said. “It’s taken you practically forever to show an interest in anyone.”

“I’m picky.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I was beginning to worry that I’d have to explain to my children about their poor old aunt Maggie living all alone up in Maine in a cold and lonely spinster’s cottage.”

“I ought to make you stay home today,” Maggie declared.

“As if you could,” Katie responded. “Watching you get all starry-eyed over some man is going to be better than watching you stuffing tissues in the bodice of your prom dress.”

“Katie O’Brien, that was supposed to be our secret forever,” Maggie said, as everyone at the table hooted.

“Which just goes to prove you should never trust a kid sister,” Katie retorted.

“I’ll remember that. Just wait till you bring home the man of your dreams,” Maggie said direly.

“Now, girls, that’s enough squabbling,” their father said, ever the peacemaker. “Today’s a day to be grateful for family.”

“And I am,” Maggie said. “At least all family except my traitorous baby sister.”

Now not only did she have to worry about Ryan’s reaction to her arrival at the shelter, but which one of her family members was likely to be first to try to embarrass her.

* * *

The St. Mary’s Shelter was just down the block from the church. When Maggie and her family arrived, it was already bustling with activity. Even so, Father Francis spotted her the minute she walked in and came over with a welcoming smile.

“Ryan mentioned you might be here this morning. Thank you for spending part of your holiday with us. It’s a generous thing you’re doing.” He surveyed the group with her and beamed. “And this must be your family.”

Maggie introduced the priest to everyone, even as her gaze searched the room for some sign of Ryan. Father Francis caught her.

“You’ll find Ryan and Rory in the kitchen,” he told her with a grin. “But if I were you I’d stay out from underfoot for now. Our Rory is a bit of a tyrant. He has them on a tight time schedule. He’ll not be wanting any distractions. I believe the ladies can use some help with setting the tables.” He turned to her father and brothers. “And your help will be welcome in setting up the remaining tables and chairs. We’re expecting a large crowd today, so we’ll have to keep things moving. The first guests will arrive at noon and the last won’t be out of here much before three.”

Maggie, Colleen and Katie went to work with the other women, though Maggie was constantly on the lookout for Ryan.

“Where is he?” Katie demanded when there had been not so much as a glimpse of him for more than an hour.

“You heard Father Francis,” Maggie said. “He’s helping in the kitchen. And where is Colleen, by the way?”

“I haven’t seen her for some time now,” Katie said. “She’s probably in the kitchen where you should be. Can’t you think of some excuse to go in there? If you don’t, I will.”

“Katie O’Brien, you’ll do no such thing,” Maggie protested. “We came here to help where we’re needed, not to gawk at Ryan Devaney.”

Katie grinned. “Then you’re no sister of mine. I’d rather look at a handsome man any day than make sure the place settings are lined up properly.”

“He’ll come out of the kitchen eventually,” Maggie said. “Until then I’m not bothering him.”

“Patience won’t earn you sainthood,” Katie admonished. “And I’m not sure it’s ever done much to snag a man.”

“I am not out to snag Ryan,” Maggie insisted. “I’m just a little curious about him.”

Colleen arrived just in time to overhear her remark. “We’re all spending part of our holiday at a homeless shelter just so you can satisfy your curiosity?” she asked skeptically. “I don’t think so. We’re here because you have the hots for this guy. And since I just came from the kitchen where I got a good look at him, I have to say, way to go, Maggie!”

“You’ve been in the kitchen?” Katie demanded, looking as if she’d been cheated out of her favorite dessert. “Then I’m going.”

Maggie scowled at both of them. “Don’t make me regret asking you to come today.”

“I just want to see what he looks like,” Katie argued. “Where’s the harm in that? I’m sure Colleen didn’t go in there and create a scene.”

Just then the kitchen door swung open and Ryan emerged, bearing a huge platter of sliced turkey and followed by a large man carrying trays filled with sweet potatoes and dressing. Ryan’s hair was tousled, his blue shirt perfectly matched his eyes, and he was wearing snug jeans that hugged his narrow hips. Maggie’s mouth went dry, putting to rest any notion that she was here merely to satisfy her curiosity.

“Oh, my,” Katie murmured, then gazed at Maggie with approval. “Your taste has definitely improved while you’ve been away. Not a one of the men you’ve dragged home in the past held a candle to this one.”

Before Maggie could respond, Ryan caught sight of her. A slow smile spread across his face, but then his gaze shifted to the commotion at the shelter door, where a long line of people waited impatiently to be admitted. His expression grew troubled, and he turned to murmur a few words to the man next to him, who surveyed the long line, then nodded and hurried back to the kitchen.

Ryan walked in Maggie’s direction. Hoping to stave off an embarrassing interrogation, she escaped her sisters and went to meet him.

“I see you’re here to do your good deed,” he said.

Maggie ignored the faint edge in his voice. “I promised I would be,” she said cheerfully.

His gaze clashed with hers. “Not everyone keeps their word.”

“I do,” she said emphatically, returning his gaze with an unflinching look. “I saw you looking at the crowd a minute ago. Is there a problem?”

“The line is longer than I anticipated. I was just asking Rory if he thought we had enough food. He’s convinced we do, but he’s gone back to the pub to bring over another turkey just in case.”

“Is there anything I can do? There are some stores open today. I could make a run to pick up extra food.”

“No need. I’m sure Rory has it under control. What about your family, Maggie? Did you convince them to come today?”

“My sisters are over there,” she said, noting that Colleen and Katie were staring at them with unabashed curiosity.

Ryan grinned. “Ah, yes, I recognize one of them. She was in the kitchen earlier. I thought she seemed a bit more interested in me than in the whereabouts of the napkins she claimed to be looking for.”

“Sorry about that. Nosiness is a family trait, I’m afraid.”

“And your brothers? Are they around?”

“Along with my father,” she told him. “They’re scattered here and there. Father Francis has seen to it that none of us are idle.”

A genuine, full-wattage smile spread across his face then. “Watch out for Father Francis,” he warned. “He’ll have you all signed up for regular duty here before the day’s out, if you’re not careful. When it comes to caring for his strays, he’s totally shameless.”

“I can think of worse places to spend my time,” Maggie said.

Her answer seemed to disconcert him for some reason. He promptly mumbled an excuse and headed back to the kitchen, leaving her to stare after him.

For the rest of the afternoon, she caught only glimpses of him as he worked. He seemed to know most of the people there. He joked with the men, flirted with the women and teased the children, but there was always a hint of reserve just below the surface. Whenever he happened to catch Maggie watching him, he quickly looked away as if he feared that she might see beneath the superficial charm.

Even her brothers, usually oblivious to such things, noticed the byplay between them.

“Sis, he’s all wrong for you,” her younger brother warned. “Too many secrets. And don’t even think about making him one of your projects. I don’t think he’ll appreciate it. Something tells me your Ryan is troubled by dark moods.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” she replied.

“Unfortunately, never,” Matt said. “But this time you could be in way over your head.”

“Have you even talked to him?” she asked testily.

“You wanted us to steer clear of him,” John reminded her.

“As if my wishes ever mattered to you before,” she scoffed. “Well, if you had talked to Ryan, you would see that he’s one of the good guys. In fact, you ought to know that just from the fact that he’s here today.”

She glanced across the room to where Ryan was serving slices of pumpkin pie to a very pregnant woman and her two dark-haired children. The look on his face was impossible to interpret, but she tried nonetheless. Dismay and sorrow seemed to mingle with friendly concern. She had the sense that he was talking to this woman but seeing something else entirely, something from his own past, perhaps.

Drawn by the scene, she found an excuse to head for the kitchen, slipping in long enough to grab several pies. When she emerged, she was close enough to hear Ryan murmuring encouraging words to the woman. He seemed to be holding out the promise of a job to help her family get back on its feet. A few minutes later he slipped the husband some money and told him to make sure his wife saw a doctor.

“Come to the pub tomorrow,” he told the man. “We’ll work out your hours then.”

The man beamed at him. “Gracias, señor. Thank you. Rosita and I will be there. We are very hard workers. You’ll see. You will never have reason to regret giving us this chance.”

Ryan sighed as the man went to join his wife. Maggie stepped up behind him.

“That was very nice, what you did just then,” she said.

Ryan whirled around, almost dropping the plate he was holding. “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve been here for hours.”

He gave her a sour look. “Believe me, I’m well aware of that. I’ve had to field more than one question about the red-haired angel with the ready smile. You’ve drawn more attention around here today than the turkey.” He didn’t sound especially pleased about it. “I was referring to your popping up just now. Were you eavesdropping on a private conversation?”

“Nope, just bringing out more pies,” she said, holding up the armload she’d retrieved from the kitchen. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying. You’re hiring them?”

He shrugged as if it were nothing. “They need work. I can take on a couple of extra people at this time of year. It’s no big deal.”

“I’m sure it is to them.” Then, to avoid prolonging a topic that obviously made him uncomfortable, she asked, “I understand you’re responsible for providing all this food every year. It’s very generous of you.”

“I have a restaurant. Rory likes to cook for people who appreciate a fine meal,” he said. “Why not help out a good cause?”

Once again he’d dismissed his good deed. She probably should have been impressed by his humility, but she found it oddly worrisome, instead. “Why aren’t you comfortable accepting a compliment?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s because I don’t deserve it,” he said. “I wasn’t the one basting turkeys and pouring pumpkin custard into pie shells all night long. Rory did that, as he has ever since he came to work for me.”

“But I imagine you paid for the ingredients and for Rory’s time,” she countered.

“For the ingredients, yes, but not for Rory’s time. He knows, as I do, what it’s like to do without on a holiday. We try to make sure that at least some people don’t have to know that feeling.”

She studied him intently. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Not that it matters, but ever since I opened the pub. And that’s enough of that,” he said, closing the door on the topic. “I’m sure Father Francis is grateful to you and your family for coming to help out today.”

“It’s been...” She searched for the right word. While helping out had been rewarding, it was what she’d discovered about Ryan Devaney that had been truly important to her. “It’s been enlightening.”

His gaze narrowed at her comment. “I’m glad we’ve been able to provide a bit of entertainment for your holiday,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “Excuse me. I have things to do.”

He brushed past her, but Maggie reached for his arm. When she touched him, she felt the muscle jerk beneath her fingers. Only when he turned to face her did she speak. “You know that I did not mean that to be insulting,” she said quietly. “Who did this to you? Who made you distrust everyone the way you do?”

Ryan hesitated, his expression still angry. “It’s a long story, and today’s not the time,” he said finally, his voice tight.

Maggie’s gaze was unrelenting. “Will there be a time?”

His gaze locked with hers, and for the longest time she thought he was going to say no, but eventually he sighed heavily.

“I imagine you’ll insist on it,” he said.

Maggie laughed at the note of resignation in his voice. It wasn’t a very big opening, but it was enough. “Yes, Ryan Devaney, you can count on it.”

Because despite all the roadblocks he’d set up and all the alarms going off in her head warning her away, she was very much intrigued with everything about this man.

4

Ryan was still reeling from the fact that Rosita Gomez, the cook who barely spoke English and knew nothing about Irish food, also happened to be seven months’ pregnant. Father Francis had delicately neglected to mention that fact to Ryan when he’d been touting her for a job at the pub. Ryan could hardly wait to see Rory’s face when he found out. Thankfully, he’d been able to keep the two of them apart at the shelter yesterday. Rory had been too busy to spend much time in the dining room.

But it wouldn’t be long now. Rosita and her husband were due at the pub at two to fill out the necessary paperwork. When Ryan heard the tap on his office door, he assumed it was his two new employees. Instead, he found himself staring at Maggie O’Brien. A sigh escaped before he could stop it.

“You again,” he murmured.

“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” she said.

Ryan desperately wanted to think of an excuse to run her off, but none occurred to him.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, trying to hide his reluctance. “I have a few minutes before my next appointment. Come on in. What brings you into Boston today?”

She held up an armload of shopping bags. “The sales,” she said. “Surely you know this is one of the biggest shopping days of the year. Black Friday, when businesses expect to go from red ink to black for the year.”

“I believe I have read that somewhere,” Ryan said dryly. “An ad or two, maybe? Every TV newscast since last week?”

She laughed. “Probably so.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. Don’t tell me you happened to have another flat outside my pub because your car’s overloaded.”

“Nope. I have four brand-new tires, thanks to my brother. Matt took the car in this morning, muttering the whole time about how irresponsible I was to let the tires get into such sorry shape in the first place. It made him feel very male and very superior, so I suppose there was a blessing to be had.”

“Well—” Ryan began.

“Don’t you start. Not when I’ve coming bearing gifts.”

Ryan’s gaze narrowed. “Gifts?”

She frowned at him. “Not for you. While my sisters and I were at the sales, we saw a few things we thought Rosita might be able to use for herself and the baby. That is who you’re expecting this afternoon, right? I spoke to her briefly after you and I talked yesterday. I know she wasn’t able to bring much with her to the shelter. Wait till you see.” She poked around in the shopping bags and started pulling out baby clothes, an expression of pure delight on her face. “Aren’t these the cutest things you’ve ever seen? Look at this.” She held up a tiny little knit cap in pale yellow. “And this.” She retrieved an outfit with ducks embroidered across the front.

When she had his entire desk covered with baby clothes, she sat back. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re amazing,” Ryan blurted, then regretted it when he saw the smile that spread across her face. “I meant that Rosita is going to amazed. Why did you do it? You must have spent a fortune.”

“Everything was on sale,” she reminded him. “And we couldn’t resist.” She held up another huge bag. “There are a few maternity outfits in here for Rosita. These are new, but I have another bag in the car of Colleen’s old maternity clothes. She swears she will never need them again, but if you ask me Daniel will talk her into at least two more kids. He wants a huge family. He was an only child.”

Ryan’s head was spinning. “Colleen is the sister who was ogling me in the kitchen?”

Maggie nodded.

“And Daniel is...?”

“Her husband.”

“Was he at the shelter yesterday?”

“He was there, along with my father and both of my brothers, plus my youngest sister, Katie. My other sister lives too far away to get home for Thanksgiving, but they’ll be here for Christmas. You can’t imagine the chaos.”

Oddly enough, he could. After the twins were born, there had been five children in the Devaney house for two Christmases. Somehow his parents had always seen to it that there were gifts under the tree, even if they were secondhand toys from the thrift shop in the neighborhood. From the moment he and his brothers had crept downstairs to see if Santa had come, the house had been filled with noise and laughter.

At least that’s the way it had been for a few brief years. Then they’d all been separated, and after that, Christmas had been one more day to be endured, worse than all the other days, because he’d wondered where his brothers were and if they were happier than he was. As he’d drifted from foster home to foster home, always feeling like an outsider, he’d prayed they were.

“Ryan?” Maggie asked softly, her gaze filled with concern. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said tightly. “Everything’s fine. Why don’t you stick around and give these things to Rosita? She should be here any minute.”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to embarrass her.”

“She’ll want to thank you, I’m sure.”

“Another time. I should go before she gets here,” she insisted, already heading for the door.

“Wait. Didn’t you say something about having some clothes for Rosita in the car? I’ll walk you out,” Ryan said, surprised that he wasn’t quite ready to see the last of her. She was pushy and intrusive. In fact, she promised to make a nuisance of herself. But she was also warm and generous, a real ray of sunshine. Like a cat seeking warmth on a windowsill he felt himself drawn to her, despite all of his deep-seated reservations about getting involved with anyone.

As he watched her walk to her car, he realized that one of these days he was going to have to decide which mattered more—protecting himself from her prying or accepting her into his heart.

* * *

“You weren’t in there long,” Colleen commented, after Maggie had retrieved the bag of used maternity clothes, given them to Ryan and said goodbye. She had noticed that he’d kept a careful distance between himself and the car once he’d realized that her sister was waiting for her.

“Long enough,” Maggie said, satisfied with herself. The meeting had gone precisely the way she’d hoped it would. She had stayed just long enough to remind Ryan that she intended to be a part of his life—at least for the immediate future—but had left before he’d grown weary of her. And with his reluctance so apparent, she hadn’t pressed him to say hello to Colleen. Contact with her family seemed to disturb him, either because he was fearful of getting too involved or because seeing them brought back too many painful memories of the family he’d lost.

“What did he think of all the baby things?” Colleen asked.

“I think he was dumbfounded.”

“Clever of you to find a way to plant the notion of babies in his head. Now he won’t be able to look at you without thinking about having a baby of his own.”

“Colleen, that is not what this was about,” Maggie protested. “Those baby clothes were for Rosita.”

Colleen grinned. “But isn’t it nice that they served your purposes, as well?”

“I am not scheming to plant ideas in Ryan’s head,” Maggie insisted.

“Oh, really?”

“Really!”

“Well, intended or not, I’m sure it did the trick. I imagine he’s thinking of you in a whole new way now.”

“Pregnant?” Maggie asked skeptically. “I doubt that. And don’t you think it’s a giant leap, anyway? He hasn’t even so much as asked me out on a date.”

“But you want him to,” Colleen guessed.

Maggie thought of the way she felt every time

Ryan’s blue-eyed gaze settled on her. “Yes, I want him to. He’s a very mysterious, complicated man, and you know how I enjoy unraveling a puzzle.”

“And if he doesn’t ask you out?”

Maggie shrugged. “He owns a pub. I can pretty much see him whenever I want to.”

Colleen seemed surprised by her response. “You would do that? You’d just hang around the pub until he notices you?”

“I might. It’s a great place. You should have come in with me just now. Even at this hour the jukebox was playing and there were groups of people laughing.”

“I figured three would be a crowd.”

“Well, if you had come in, you’d know what I’m talking about. I felt right at home there the second I walked in the other night. It’s not like some sleazy bar. It’s just the way Mom and Dad have always described the pubs in Ireland.”

“I can’t wait to hear what Mom and Dad are going to have to say about this. You know how Dad always warned us to steer clear of bars.”

“You’ll never meet the man of your dreams in a bar,” they both said in a chorus.

Maggie laughed. “How could I forget? But how can they object with Father Francis sitting right there most evenings? Besides, didn’t you pay attention to what I said not five seconds ago? This is a pub, not a bar—there’s a difference.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I sit in while you try explaining that to Dad,” Colleen said.

“Dad’s already well aware of the difference, so I won’t even try explaining it to him. Besides, I’ve always believed in being honest with Mom and Dad about what I’m doing, and expecting them to trust my judgment. They usually do.”

“So when are you going back? Tonight?”

Maggie shook her head. “Even I know that’s too soon. I thought I’d give Ryan a day or two to wonder what’s happened to me. I’m thinking I’ll go back the first of the week. Want to come along for a girls’ night out?”

“Something tells me Daniel would object to baby-sitting so I could go hang out with you while you try to pick up a man. If you need a chaperone, take Katie.”

Maggie thought of the way her sister had practically swooned at the sight of Ryan. “Never mind.”

Colleen shot a knowing look at her. “She’s your sister. She would never try to steal your guy.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about. Have you taken a good look at our baby sister? She’s gorgeous, something she doesn’t even realize.”

“And you think Ryan might prefer her?” Colleen asked. “Come on, Mags. He never even gave her a second glance yesterday.”

Maggie regarded her sister with surprise. “He didn’t?”

“Sweetie, he never took his eyes off you. Didn’t you know that?”

Maggie shook her head. “I had no idea. I thought maybe I was fighting an uphill battle.”

“You may be,” Colleen warned. “He doesn’t strike me as someone who wants to fall in love. He may not even believe in it.”

“That’s what Father Francis said, as a matter of fact,” Maggie admitted.

“Well then, at least you know what you’re up against. But a powerful attraction has a way of making a man take risks he never intended. It’s all a matter of patience and persistence.”

“I was blessed with one—” she thought of her total lack of patience “—but definitely not the other.”

“Then Ryan promises to be good for you in more ways than one, doesn’t he? Just keep reminding yourself—if he’s the one, then he’s worth waiting for.”

“You might have to do the reminding,” Maggie said.

Her sister chuckled. “Oh, sweetie, that will be my pleasure.”

* * *

Throughout what seemed like the longest weekend on record, Ryan’s gaze kept drifting toward the door each time it opened. He kept expecting—hoping—to see Maggie coming in with each blast of icy air. He was so obvious that there was little chance that Father Francis or Rory hadn’t taken note of him doing it, but they’d remained oddly silent.

Monday the pub was closed. That was the day Ryan usually spent running errands and catching up on paperwork, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate today. He finally gave up in disgust around four-thirty and headed out to take a brisk walk to clear his head. Maybe that would push images of Maggie out of it.

Instead, when he opened the door, he bumped straight into her. He stood there staring like an awkward teenager. “Maggie, what are you doing here?”

She swallowed hard and backed up a step. “I came by for a cup of coffee or two. I’m freezing.”

“The bar’s closed today, but I’d be happy to fix you one,” Ryan said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Closed?” she asked blankly.

He grinned. “As in not open for business,” he explained patiently. He pointed toward the carved wooden sign posted by the door, where it plainly stated that the pub was closed on Mondays.

“Oh,” she said, her cheeks flaming. “I never even looked at the sign. I just assumed, I guess, that you were open every day, but of course you’d need time off. I’ll come back another time.” She whirled around.

“Maggie?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you were freezing.”

She faced him with a defiant lift of her chin. “It’s nothing. I’ll just turn up the car heater.”

He should let her go. He certainly shouldn’t be inviting her in when there was no one around to serve as a buffer, no other customers needing his attention. Still, he found himself saying, “I wouldn’t mind having some coffee myself. I was going for a walk to clear the cobwebs out of my head, but coffee will accomplish the same thing.” Never mind that he’d already drunk gallons of it and Maggie was the only thought cluttering his brain.

She beamed at him. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Ryan wasn’t sure of anything, not when she looked at him like that. “Come on in,” he said, “before it’s as cold inside as out.”

When she was in, he closed the door and flipped the lock, then retreated behind the bar. He figured it would give him the illusion of safety, maybe keep him from reaching for her and kissing her until her cheeks flamed pink from something other than the chilly air.

When he’d fixed a fresh pot of coffee and poured two cups, he handed one to her, then took a sip of his own.

“Do you need to stay behind the bar?” she asked. “Can’t you come out here and sit next to me? Or maybe we could go to one of the booths?”

“I’m fine here,” he said. “This is where I’m used to being.”

“And we definitely wouldn’t want to drag you out of your comfort zone,” she said, her eyes sparkling with undisguised amusement.

He scowled at that. “There are reasons why people have comfort zones,” he said. “Why mess with them?”

“It’s called living,” she pointed out. She patted the bar stool next to her. “Come on, Ryan. Take a risk. We’ll save the cozy booth for another day.”

He sighed and gave in to the inevitable. He walked around the bar, but when he sat, he carefully left one stool between them. She bit back a grin.

“Oh, well, that’s progress anyway,” she teased. “No need to rush things.”

“Maggie, why are you here? It’s not as if this is the only place in town where you can get a coffee.”

“But it’s the only place where I know the owner,” she said. “By the way, since you are the owner and it’s your day off, what are you doing here?”

“Catching up on this and that,” he said evasively.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a day off to me. Have you ever heard of taking a real break?”

“To do what?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

She regarded him with blatant pity. “Whatever you want.”

“I want to catch up on all the things I don’t get to do when this place is busy,” he said defensively. “Paperwork, bookkeeping, checking supplies.”

Maggie shook her head. “Don’t you have a hobby?”

“No.”

“Something you enjoy doing to relax?” she persisted.

Uncomplicated sex relaxed him, but Ryan seriously doubted she wanted to hear about that. And today sex had been the last thing on his mind. Okay, not exactly true, he mentally corrected. Sex with Maggie had been very much on his mind, which he’d concluded was a really, really bad idea.

Even so, he couldn’t quite keep himself from giving her a blatant once-over that had her blushing.

“Not that,” she said, evidently grasping his meaning with no trouble at all.

“Too bad,” he teased. “I do find that relaxes me quite a bit.”

Her gaze locked with his. “Perhaps another time,” she said in a deliberately prim little voice.

Ryan choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What did you say?” When she started to reply, he cut her off. “Never mind. Let’s not go there.”

Now it was her turn to regard him with a knowing look. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Maggie, what do you want from me?” He couldn’t seem to prevent the helpless, bewildered note in his voice.

Her expression faltered at the direct question. “Honestly?”

He nodded.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she replied, as if she found the uncertainty as disconcerting as he did.

“Then you’re playing a risky game,” he warned.

“I know,” she agreed, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. I keep finding myself drawn here. There’s something about this place, about you...” Her voice faltered and she shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

Gazes locked, they both fell silent. Finally Maggie sighed and looked away.

“Can I ask you something?” she said eventually, still not meeting his gaze.

“Sure.”

“Father Francis told me something. He said that you don’t believe in love.”

“Father Francis has a big mouth, but he’s right. I don’t,” Ryan said grimly.

“Why?”

Rather than answering, he said, “I gather you do believe in it. Why?”

“Because I see it every single day. I see it between my parents. I’ve felt their love since the day I was born. I see it with my brothers and their wives, with Colleen and her husband. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other or for their families.”

Ryan listened, trying to put his skepticism aside. He tried to imagine being surrounded by such examples. He couldn’t. His own experience had been the exact opposite. There’d been a time when he’d thought his parents loved him and his brothers, but then they’d vanished without a trace. He’d been forced to question whether their love had ever been real.

“Have you experienced it yourself?” he asked.

“No, but I know it exists because I can feel it just by walking into a room with my family. It’s in their laughter, in the way they look at each other, in the way they touch each other. How can you dismiss that when it’s right in front of you?”

“No,” he said quietly. “It’s in front of you. I’ve never seen it.”

Because he didn’t want to get into a long, drawn-out argument over the existence of love, he deliberately stood up. “I’d better finish running those errands now.”

Maggie looked as if she might argue, but then she put down her cup and picked up her coat. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“No problem.” He jammed his hands in his pockets as he followed her to the door.

She opened the door, then hesitated. This time her gaze clashed with his in an obvious dare. “I’ll keep coming back, you know.”

An odd sense of relief stole through Ryan at her words—part warning, part promise.

“Unless you tell me to stay away,” she challenged, her gaze steady.

“Whatever,” he murmured as if the decision were of no consequence.

Her lips curved up. “I’ll take that as an invitation.”

Before he realized her intention, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“See you,” she said cheerfully, then disappeared down the block before he could gather his thoughts.

Ryan stared into the shadows of dusk, hoping for one last glimpse, but she was gone.

“That was a touching scene,” Rory said, stepping out of the shadows.

“Have you been reduced to spying to get your kicks?” Ryan asked irritably.

“Hardly. I just stopped by to see if you’d like a blind date for tonight. My date has a friend. I’ve met her. She doesn’t hold a candle to your Maggie, but I imagine she could provide a much-needed distraction.”

“I don’t think so,” Ryan said. He doubted if both Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones rolled into one could distract him tonight.

Rory grinned at him. “Which says it all, if you ask my opinion.”

“Which I did not,” Ryan said.

“Well, I’m offering it, anyway. A woman like Maggie comes along once in a man’s life, if he’s lucky. Don’t be an idiot and let her get away.”

“I don’t even know her,” Ryan argued. “Neither do you. So let’s not make too much of this.”

“Are you saying the woman doesn’t tie you in knots?”

Ryan frowned at the question. “Whether she does or she doesn’t is no concern of yours.”

“In other words, yes,” Rory interpreted. “So, get to know her. Find out if there’s anything more to these feelings. What’s the harm?”

Harm? Ryan thought. He could get what was left of his heart broken, that was the harm. Maggie’s words came back to him then.

It’s called living.

Ryan tried to balance the promise of those words against the reality of the heartbreak he’d suffered years ago and vowed never to risk again. Bottom line? There was nothing wrong with his life just the way it was. It was safe. Comfortable. There were no significant bumps, no nasty surprises.

“See you,” he said to Rory. “I’ve got things to do.”

Rory’s expression brightened. “You going after her?”

“Nope.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Better things to do.”

“What could be better than an evening with a beautiful woman?”

“A couple of games of racquetball and an ice-cold beer,” Ryan retorted.

Rory laughed. “That’s called sublimation, my friend.”

“Call it whatever you want to. It’s my idea of a great way to spend a few hours.”

“That’s only because you haven’t been on a real date with a woman who might actually matter to you in all the time I’ve known you,” Rory said.

Ryan couldn’t deny the accusation. “You live your life. Let me live mine.”

“That’s the problem, Ryan, me lad. What you’re doing’s not living, not by any man’s definition.”

Nor by Maggie’s, Ryan was forced to admit. But neither her opinion nor Rory’s mattered. His was the only one that counted, and he was perfectly content with his life.

At least he had been till a few days ago, when Maggie O’Brien had blown into the pub on a gust of wind and made it her mission to shatter his serenity. From what he could tell, she was doing a darn fine job of it, too.

5

Maggie was beginning to hate the defiantly silent phone at her parents’ house. Ryan was definitely not taking the hint. She’d all but thrown herself at him, and he was still maintaining the same aloof, distant air. Without her fairly secure ego, she might have found it humiliating.

If she’d honestly believed that he wasn’t the least bit interested in her, she might have accepted that and moved on, but she didn’t believe it. Not only did she know Colleen’s impression regarding his interest, but her own instincts on her last visit to the pub had told her he was attracted to her. She’d seen the immediate rise of heat in his eyes when he’d found her outside, the too-brief flicker of desire before he’d forced a neutral expression onto his face.

Maybe if she hadn’t quit her job, if she had a million things to do, she could have let it go, rather than obsessing about him. The truth was, though, that she was bored with all this time on her hands, and Ryan was the most fascinating element in her life at the moment. The vacation she’d been looking forward to when she’d left Maine was turning tedious. She was not used to being idle. And though she was supposed to be contemplating a future career path, all she could think about was Ryan Devaney. Maybe her personal life had been neglected for too long and needed to be dealt with before she considered her next job.

“What are you frowning about?” her mother asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Maggie at the kitchen table. “Or do I need to ask? Is this about Ryan?”

“I know it’s ridiculous,” Maggie said. “I barely even know the man, but I can’t stop thinking about him. He seems so lost and lonely.”

Her mother smiled. “Ah, yes, two traits that are guaranteed to fascinate a woman. So, when are you going to do something about it?”

“Such as?”

“Invite him here for dinner.”

“Here?” Maggie asked, unable to hide her dismay at the idea of exposing an already jittery Ryan to an inquisition from her parents.

Her mother chuckled at her reaction. “Your father and I are capable of being polite and civilized when necessary,” she teased. “Didn’t you tell me Ryan had a difficult family background? Maybe being around a normal family would be good for him.”

“You think we’re normal?” Maggie asked with obvious skepticism.

“Of course I do. A little rambunctious at times, but pretty typical. There are no major dysfunctions I can think of,” she added dryly.

“I suppose you’re right, but I don’t think Ryan would accept the invitation. Frankly, I think normal makes him uncomfortable. Besides, it’s obvious to me that he’s happiest on his own turf.”

“Meaning the pub,” her mother guessed. “Then we’ll go to him. I’d like to see this young man of yours again. How about tonight? Your father should be home early, and since it’s Friday, neither of us has to work tomorrow. It’s been ages since we’ve had a night out in Boston.”

The prospect of descending on Ryan’s Place with Nell and Garrett O’Brien in tow made Maggie decidedly uneasy, but her family was a big part of her life. She might as well find out now if Ryan could cope with that.

“Are you sure?” she asked her mother.

“Of course I’m sure. It’s a great excuse to spend the evening out with my husband. And didn’t you say there’s an Irish band at the pub on weekends? That will be lovely,” she said, then quickly amended, “as long as we can keep your father away from the microphone.”

Maggie grinned. Her father’s enthusiasm for singing was a family legend. Sadly, though, he couldn’t carry a tune, but that had never kept him silent.

“Keeping Dad away from the stage will be your job,” she told her mother. “I can’t have Ryan threatening to bar us from the premises.”

Her mother chuckled. “Yes, that would pretty much ruin your grand scheme, now wouldn’t it?”

* * *

Ryan had been lured over to the homeless shelter by a frantic call from Father Francis. When he arrived, he found the priest trying to console a heavyset African-American woman who was clutching a crying boy about ten years old. As he got closer he could see that the boy had some sort of medical problem that had left his complexion ashen and his eyes listless.

When Father Francis spotted Ryan, he gave the woman’s hand a pat, then left her to join Ryan.

“What’s the problem?” Ryan asked.

“That poor woman is beside herself, and who could blame her?” the priest said. “A few weeks ago the doctors told her that her son has a congenital heart problem that requires surgery. He also mentioned that it’s probably something he inherited from his father. Apparently, the news was so distressful for the father that he quit his job and took off, leaving them with no income and no insurance.”

Ryan felt his gut tighten with knee-jerk anger at a man who would do that to his family. He pushed the reaction aside to deal with the real crisis. “I suppose you want money for the surgery,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow. You could have told me about it tonight at the pub. Why bring me over here?”

“Because that boy needs his father,” the priest said. “He can’t go into such a risky surgery believing that his own father doesn’t care about him. Though you never faced a major illness, I’m sure you can relate to how he must be feeling.”

Unfortunately, Ryan could relate to it all too well. “You can’t expect me to find his father.”

“I do.” Father Francis regarded him with a steady look. “I think your own experience will motivate you to help. And if finding his father can’t be accomplished in a matter of days, then I want you to step in and be his friend.”

Ryan had no difficulty offering financial assistance, even in hiring a private detective to conduct a search, but involving himself emotionally in the boy’s situation was out of the question. “What’s wrong with you being his friend?” he asked testily.

“I’m a priest, and I’m an old man. It wouldn’t be the same,” Father Francis insisted. “Come. Meet the boy and his mother. You’ll need to talk to them to get the information you’ll need for the search.”

“You’re assuming I’ll go along with this,” Ryan grumbled.

“Well, of course you will,” Father Francis said without a trace of doubt. “That’s the kind of man you are. You put aside your own feelings to do what’s needed for someone else.”

Ryan was growing weary of living up to such high expectations, but he dutifully followed the priest. The woman watched their approach with a wary expression.

“Letitia Monroe, this is Ryan Devaney. He’s here to help.” Father Francis patted the boy’s hand. “And this is Lamar.”

Ryan nodded at the mother and shook the child’s icy hand. “Nice to meet you, Lamar. You, too, Mrs. Monroe.”

“You can help us find my husband?” she asked, her cheeks still damp with tears.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ryan promised. “I have some friends who are pretty good at finding people who are missing.”

She looked alarmed at his words. “Not the police,” she said urgently.

“No, not the police,” he reassured her. He hunkered down so he could look Lamar in the eyes. “You a Celtics fan?”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “They’re the greatest,” he said, his voice weak.

Ryan had to steel himself not to feel anything, not pity, not anger. “Well, once you’ve had your surgery, we’ll see about getting you tickets to a game. Would you like that?”

“Really?” Lamar whispered.

“That’s a promise. Now let me talk to your mom for a minute. Father Francis will keep you company. Just don’t play checkers with him,” he warned, then confided, “he cheats.”

“What a thing to say about your priest,” Father Francis scolded, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

Ryan spent a few minutes with Mrs. Monroe, trying to garner enough facts to pass along to a private investigator who visited the pub most evenings on his way home.

“Do you really think you can find him?” Mrs. Monroe asked. “It will mean the world to Lamar to have his daddy at his side when he has this surgery.”

“And to you, I imagine,” Ryan suggested.

“Me?” she scoffed. “I don’t care if I ever set eyes on his sorry behind again. What kind of man runs out on his family at the first sign of trouble?”

Ryan couldn’t think of any acceptable excuse for it, either, but he tried. “Father Francis said Lamar’s condition could be hereditary. Perhaps your husband simply feels guilty.”

She seemed startled by the suggestion. “You think that’s it?”

“I don’t know your husband, Mrs. Monroe. You do. But if it were me, I’d be struggling with a lot of emotions about now. Maybe you should wait till you talk to him before you give up on him.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll think about what you said. And I’m grateful for whatever you can do.”

“Let’s pray I’ll be back to you with some news in a day or two. In the meantime, you make the arrangements for Lamar’s surgery. You won’t have any problem at the hospital.”

“But they said—”

He met her gaze. “Trust me. There won’t be a problem.”

A relieved smile spread across her face. “Mr. Devaney, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“There’s no need,” he insisted, casting a look toward the boy who was giggling softly at something Father Francis had said. “Let’s just make sure Lamar is back on his feet soon. I’m looking forward to going to that ball game with him.”

Before he knew it, he was enveloped in a fierce hug.

“You’ll be in my prayers every night of my life,” she told him.

“I’d return the favor, but I think you’ll have better luck letting Father Francis do the honors,” he said wryly. “I’ve got to get back to work now, but I’ll be in touch. You can count on it.”

Ryan slipped out of the shelter before Father Francis could waylay him with some other mission of mercy. Outside, he shivered, though it was less a reaction to the temperature than to the sad plight of the Monroe family.

He was still thinking about them when he walked into the pub and headed for the bar, where Maureen had been filling in while he was gone.

“Everything okay?” she asked, regarding him with concern.

“It will be,” he said with grim determination. “Has Jack Reilly been in tonight?”

“Haven’t seen him,” she said. “But there is a familiar face in that booth by the stage.”

“Oh?” he said, puzzled by the mysterious glint of amusement in her eyes. One glance at the booth was explanation enough. Maggie was seated there with her parents. They each had the night’s fish-and-chips special and a pint of ale. He glanced at Maureen. “Cover for me a few more minutes?”

“Of course,” she said at once.

He walked across the room, greeting several regulars along the way, then paused beside Maggie. “Good evening. Welcome to Ryan’s Place,” he said, his gaze directed first at Nell O’Brien, then at her husband. He nodded at Maggie.

“Ryan, I love your pub,” Nell said with enthusiasm. “It reminds me of a place in Dublin that Garrett and I visited on our honeymoon.”

“The Swan,” Garrett said at once. He regarded his wife with a warm expression. “I believe we can credit a night there for our firstborn son.”

Nell blushed. “Garrett O’Brien, what a thing to be saying in front of a stranger.”

“Ryan’s no stranger. He’s a friend of our Maggie’s. Isn’t that right, Maggie, me girl?”

Maggie grinned at her father. “He still might prefer not to know all the intimate details of John’s conception.”

Ryan chuckled. “Actually I’m fascinated,” he said, just to keep the color high in her cheeks. “And what about Maggie’s? Is there a story behind that, as well?”

Maggie shot a warning look at her father. “If you tell it, I will never forgive you.”

“Now I really am intrigued,” Ryan said. “Make room, Maggie.” He settled in the booth beside her, thigh-to-thigh, in a way that had his blood heating. “Come on, Mr. O’Brien. Tell the story.”

Garrett O’Brien opened his mouth, then grunted, apparently when Maggie’s foot made contact with his shin. “Sorry, lad. I’ve been persuaded to keep silent. Even in today’s tell-all society, I imagine there are some things that are best kept private.”

Ryan turned to Maggie. “I suppose I’ll just have to pester you until you tell all,” he said. “Right now, though, I’d better get behind the bar before Maureen rebels.” And before he gave in to the urge to spend the entire evening right here with Maggie so close he could feel her breath on his cheek when she spoke.

“Join us again if you can spare the time,” Nell invited.

“I’ll do that,” Ryan promised, casting a last, lingering look at Maggie before striding across the room and trying to block her presence from his thoughts.

He didn’t get to keep his promise. Instead, it turned into an impossibly long night. Fridays were always busy because of the popularity of the band, but this was busier than most. It didn’t help that his new waiter was struggling a bit to keep up with the unfamiliar orders, but Ryan had to give Juan credit for trying. Still, it meant that Maureen was carrying more than her fair share of the load and that Ryan was spending extra time soothing ruffled feathers and keeping an eye out for Jack Reilly so he could ask for his help in tracking down Lamar’s father.

Suddenly Maggie was beside him. “It looks as if you could use an extra pair of hands behind the bar,” she said, already donning an apron.

He stopped filling an order for ale from the tap and stared. “What are you doing?”

“Pitching in,” she said, moving away to smile at a new arrival. She’d taken the man’s order and placed a pint of ale in front of him before Ryan could blink. She came back to him with a satisfied smile on her face. “Any objections?”

Ryan weighed uneasiness against pragmatism. Pragmatism won. “Not a one,” he said. “I can use the help.”

Just then he spotted her parents heading toward the door. They gave him a cheery wave as they exited. Gaze narrowed, he turned to Maggie. “Wasn’t that your ride home that just walked out of here?”

She grinned at him. “Not if I’m lucky,” she said, then vanished to take another order.

“Meaning what?” he said when she reappeared.

“I figure you’ll owe me,” she said. “A drive home’s not too much for a volunteer waitress to expect, is it?”

Ryan shook his head, aware that he’d just fallen into a tidy trap. “No, I suppose not, but I ought to make Rory take you.”

Her smile faltered at the suggestion, and Ryan grinned despite himself. “Not what you had in mind, hmm?”

She met his gaze evenly. “Definitely not.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to be the one, if only to see exactly where this plan of yours is headed.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” she promised.

She said it with a look that had his temperature soaring.

And a lifetime’s worth of defense mechanisms slamming into place.

* * *

Maggie figured she would owe her mother for a really long time for coming up with the idea of leaving Maggie behind to help out in the pub. Nell had overcome all of Garrett’s objections by reminding him that it would give the two of them several hours at home alone. After that, her father couldn’t leave the pub quickly enough. Years of having six children underfoot had taught him to snatch any opportunity for privacy.

Sticking around uninvited had been a risky notion. Ryan could very well have found someone else to give her a lift home, just as he’d threatened. The fact that he’d backed down and decided to take her himself was definitely a good sign. Unfortunately, she wasn’t at all convinced they were ever going to get out of the place.

It was past midnight, and the last customer had been gone for twenty minutes, but Ryan was still tallying the receipts, dragging out the process, if she wasn’t mistaken. Maggie was sitting in a booth, rubbing her aching feet. It had been a long time since she’d spent so many hours as a waitress and bartender. She’d forgotten how exhausting it could be.

Oddly enough, though, a part of her felt exhilarated. She’d made over fifty dollars in tips, which was the only money she intended to take for her efforts. More important, she had thoroughly enjoyed talking to the customers. She’d missed that kind of interaction with people in her old job. Being the senior accountant for a corporation might have carried more prestige than waiting tables, but it hadn’t been nearly as much fun.

She glanced across the room and saw that Ryan had disappeared into his office. Maybe she could hurry him along, if she went over there and looked pathetic, which wouldn’t be all that difficult given the way she was feeling.

Groaning, she stood up in her stocking feet and walked over, carrying her shoes, coat and purse. She found Ryan behind his desk, jotting figures in a ledger.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” he said without looking up. “I like to get these numbers entered at night, so the day’s cleared out and I’m ready to start fresh tomorrow.”

“You’re keeping your records in a ledger?” she asked, staring at the cumbersome book with surprise. She glanced around the office and saw no evidence of a computer.

“Sure.”

“Why aren’t you computerized? It would take less time, and you’d have everything you need at your fingertips when tax time comes around.”

“This works,” he said, dismissing the idea.

“But—”

He glanced up with a grin. “You selling computers in your spare time, too?”

“No, but this is something I know a little bit about. I could set up a system for you in no time. And I noticed tonight that if you reorganized the liquor supply, it would be easier to keep track of what’s running low.”

“Maggie, I don’t need a system. I already have one,” he explained patiently.

“An outdated one, but I suppose that’s to be expected,” she said.

He frowned at that. “Meaning?”

“You’re pretty much stuck in your ways across the board,” she said.

For a minute it seemed he might take offense, but then he grinned. “It must seem that way to you, being the kind of modern woman that you are.”

“It is that way,” she insisted, ignoring the teasing. “But I won’t push you to change tonight. I’m too exhausted to waste the energy.” She grinned back at him. “But, as they say, tomorrow is another day.”

“I’m not changing the way I do things around here,” he said emphatically.

“We’ll see,” she said blithely.

“Maggie!”

“Don’t worry about it,” she soothed. “I’ll just sit right over here, quiet as a mouse, while you finish up. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“I doubt that,” he muttered.

She settled into the easy chair in the corner of his office, curling her feet up under her. Two minutes later she was sound asleep.

* * *

Ryan compared his figures one last time, then uttered a sigh of satisfaction. The orderliness of numbers pleased him. There was nothing messy or questionable about totals written down in black and white. Emotions, however, were another matter entirely.

And speaking of emotions, what was he to do about Maggie? He glanced across the room and found her sound asleep in his easy chair. At some point during the evening, she’d scooped her hair into some sort of ponytail, but there were curls escaping now to feather against her cheeks. Her dark-green sweater had twisted and ridden up to expose a tantalizing inch-wide strip of pale-as-cream skin. His heart hammered a little harder at the sight. If only he had the right to skim a finger along that delicate band of flesh, to slide his hand beneath the sweater to cup softly rounded breasts. His throat went dry at the thought.

He swallowed hard. He had to get her out of here and safely home before he did something stupid and acted on one of these increasingly frequent impulses of his.

Crossing the room, he hunkered down beside the chair. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t seem to resist reaching out to smooth a wayward curl from her cheek, then lingering to feel the way her skin heated at his touch.

“Maggie?” he whispered, his voice suddenly husky. “Time to wake up.”

She moaned softly and stirred, but didn’t open her eyes. Ryan bit back a groan as images of her stirring just like that in his bed slammed through him. Visions of tangled sheets falling away from long, bare legs taunted him.

“Maggie,” he repeated with more urgency. “Time to go home.”

He said the latter to remind himself that home was where she belonged—her home, not his.

Another moan. Another stretch. And then a sigh as her eyes flickered open. A smile curved her lips. “Hi,” she said softly.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“I guess I fell asleep. What time is it?”

“After one. I need to get you home.”

She kept her gaze steady on him. “I could stay here. Save you the trip.”

Ryan stood up and backed away so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. “Not a good idea.”

She seemed amused by his reaction. “Surely you have a sofa I could sleep on,” she said, her expression innocent. “Where do you live, by the way?”

“Upstairs.”

“Well then, that’s a whole lot handier than driving all the way to my place.”

“Maybe so, but something tells me I don’t want to tangle with your father and your brothers, who might find the idea of you staying at my place a little premature.”

She grinned. “Premature, not out of the question?”

“Maggie.” It came out as part protest, part plea.

“I just want things to be absolutely clear between us,” she said.

“And I’ll be happy to let you know when I have them figured out,” Ryan retorted.

“You’re assuming you’re the only one who gets to have a say,” she accused lightly. “Wrong, Devaney. I’m part of this equation.”

“Didn’t you tell me that your life is in a bit of a muddle right now?” he asked. “You don’t need to add to that by getting mixed up with me.”

She rose gracefully from the chair and crossed the room until she could reach up and place a hand against his cheek. Ryan felt that touch straight through to his toes.

“What if I want to get mixed up with you?” she asked.

“Why would you want that? I’m not an easy man to be with, Maggie. I don’t let people in. I like my privacy. I like the status quo.”

She laughed. “If that was supposed to scare me off, it missed the mark. You’ve just made the game more interesting.”

“Is that all it is to you, a game? Because if that’s it, maybe we have something to talk about after all. But if it’s more you’re after—” he captured her gaze and held it “—I’m the wrong man.”

Her gaze never faltered. “I suppose time will tell about that, won’t it?”

She stood on tiptoe and touched her lips to his, a quick brush of soft heat that invited more. Too much more.

Before Ryan could stop himself, he’d dragged her back for another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. He was only dimly aware of the soft-as-satin texture of her mouth under his, of the faint taste of coffee and the heady scent of perfume. What truly captured his attention was the jolt to his system, the rush of blood and lick of fire that had him wanting more...needing more. Her body—soft and pliant—molded to his, as close as a second skin, as tempting and dangerous as anything he’d ever known.

He was on the brink of dragging her straight upstairs, not to his sofa but to his bed, when reason kicked in. Breathing hard, he backed away and dragged a shaky hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“I’m not,” she said, sounding more triumphant than shaken. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for a kiss like that.”

Warning bells went off in Ryan’s head. “It was just a kiss,” he said, regarding her uneasily.

“That’s like saying the Revolutionary War was just a little disagreement over tea.”

Despite his wariness, the analogy amused him. “There was the Boston Tea Party,” he reminded her.

“Tip of the iceberg,” she countered. “It’s okay, though, if this was just a kiss for you. Maybe then you won’t mind doing it again.”

He heard the teasing note in her voice and decided to ignore the challenge. “Not tonight. Grab your coat and let’s get out of here.”

“Chicken,” she murmured as she passed him.

“Damn straight,” he replied without apology. Anything else and he’d be making the kind of decisions a man would only live to regret.

6

When Maggie finally crept into the house, it was nearly three in the morning. No sooner had she crossed the threshold into the kitchen, though, than the light was switched on. Maggie nearly jumped out of her skin.

“A little late, aren’t you?” Katie inquired, looking thoroughly pleased at having scared the daylights out of her big sister.

“What are you doing up?” Maggie asked irritably. “Come to think of it, what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone back to your own place.”

“Since my big sister’s visiting, I thought I’d spend some time at home,” Katie said. “Imagine my surprise when I arrived and found that no one was home. I waited for hours before Mom and Dad got here.”

Maggie thought of her parents’ delight at the prospect of going home to be alone. “I’m sure they were thrilled to find you here,” she said dryly.

Katie frowned. “Actually, they did seem a bit taken aback. What was that about?”

Maggie smothered a grin. “Just think about it, okay?” She glanced at Katie’s mug of hot chocolate. “Is there more of that?”

“There are packages in the cabinet. I zapped it in the microwave.” When Maggie shuddered, she added, “Dump enough marshmallows on the top and you can’t tell the difference.” She stood up. “Here, I’ll do it. You sit down and put your feet up. You look beat. What did you do tonight?”

“Mom and Dad didn’t tell you?”

“They made some cryptic remark about you being with Ryan.”

“That’s right. Actually, I helped out at the pub.”

Katie paused with the cup halfway into the microwave and stared. “I thought you swore you would never wait tables again after you worked out at the Cape that summer during college.”

“This was different.”

Katie grinned. “Because Ryan was there,” she guessed. “Ah, the things we do for love.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Maggie protested. She was fascinated, curious, in lust...but love? No way. She might believe in it, but she wanted to get the rest of her life in order first.

“Just halfway there?”

“Not even halfway,” Maggie insisted, though the memory of that bone-melting kiss they’d shared sent heat shimmering through her all over again. “He’s an attractive man and a decent, complicated guy. I want to get to know him.”

“In the carnal sense, I imagine,” Katie said slyly.

“Katie O’Brien, you shouldn’t say such things,” Maggie protested indignantly.

“Well, if you don’t, you’re crazy.” She handed Maggie the mug of nuked chocolate with four marshmallows jammed on top.

“Let’s drop the topic of Ryan Devaney for the moment,” Maggie said. “What about you? With everyone around, we hardly had a chance to talk over Thanksgiving. Any man in your life?”

“Not even one on the horizon,” Katie said. “It makes Dad very happy.”

“But you like your job, right? You’re happy teaching?”

Katie grinned. “I love the kids, even if Dad does think that teaching kindergarten is little more than glorified babysitting. They’re so eager to learn at that age. And the school is small enough that I can really get to know each child and figure out the best way to get through to him.”

“You’re more like Mom than any of the rest of us. You have endless patience and a real knack for making learning fun.”

“Thanks,” her sister said, clearly pleased by the praise. “But it’s going to be way too easy to wind up in a rut. Next thing I know, I’ll be forty and single and wondering what happened. It doesn’t help that most of the people I know these days are female teachers and moms.”

“Oh, please,” Maggie scoffed. “I don’t think you need to worry about that yet.”

Katie regarded her with a knowing expression. “Isn’t that what brought you home? Didn’t you wake up one day and realize that you were dissatisfied with your life?”

Maggie thought about it. “In a way, I suppose. I wasn’t meeting interesting people, and the work was boring. I wasn’t making use of half the skills I learned when I got my MBA. I needed a new challenge.”

“Like I said, you were dissatisfied. Any idea what you’ll do next? Will you go back to Maine?”

“I’ve kept the house for the time being, but I don’t know. It’s going to be hard to find the kind of work I really want.”

“Which is?”

“Something where I can make better use of my degree and my people skills.”

“Like running a pub?” Katie inquired slyly.

Maggie laughed, thinking of her earlier attempt to convince Ryan to update his accounting methods or even to reorganize his inventory. “If I decide on that, I suspect I’ll have to find someplace other than Ryan’s,” she said wryly. “He balks at the prospect of changing the least little thing.”

Katie laughed. “You’ve already tried, haven’t you? What did you do, start messing with his accounting procedures?”

“I just recommended that he consider computerizing his bookkeeping.”

“And he told you to buzz off?”

“More or less.”

“So, of course, the next time you go, you’ll take along a few sample spreadsheets and show him how simple it would be,” Katie guessed.

Maggie took the joking suggestion seriously. “Actually, not a bad idea.”

“Oh, Mags,” Katie said with a shake of her head. “Telling a man he’s doing something all wrong is not the way to win his heart. Of course, maybe you’d rather have a job than his heart.”

“Why does it have to be an either-or situation?”

“Because he’s a man,” Katie said wisely.

Maggie sighed. “He is definitely that.”

Katie regarded her speculatively. “Have you kissed him?”

At Maggie’s blush, she hooted. “You have, haven’t you? Was it great?”

“Oh, yes,” Maggie murmured. “Better than great.”

“Then forget about the man’s financial system. Concentrate on what’s important.”

“And that would be?”

“If you don’t know,” Katie said with a pitying expression, “then nothing I can say will help.”

She stood up, gave Maggie a peck on the cheek and announced, “I’m going to bed. You coming?”

Maggie shook her head. “Not just yet.”

A worried frown creased Katie’s brow. “Mags, don’t analyze this to death.”

“More advice from the woman who doesn’t have a man in her life?”

“Yes,” Katie said, her expression serious. “Take it from someone who analyzed the love of her life right out the door.”

She swept out of the room before an openmouthed Maggie could comment. This was the first Maggie had heard about her baby sister losing the man of her dreams. Had anyone in the family known? As far as Maggie knew, everyone had assumed Katie was happily playing the field, years away from wanting to settle down, just as their father preferred. Apparently, they were all wrong. None of them had even suspected that she’d met the man of her dreams, much less lost him.

Adding worry about Katie’s unexpected revelation to her already churning thoughts about Ryan’s kiss, Maggie concluded it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Since Jack Reilly hadn’t stopped by the pub on Friday night, Ryan set out to track him down first thing Saturday morning. He was actually relieved to have something to do that might keep his mind off of Maggie, at least for a couple of hours. He doubted there was anything that could banish her from his thoughts permanently, not after that kiss they’d shared.

He found the private investigator on a basketball court a few blocks away, shooting hoops with a bunch of neighborhood kids. When he spotted Ryan, he passed the ball to one of the boys and loped over to meet him.

“Thank heavens you came along. They were wearing me out,” he said, bending down to catch his breath. “Don’t know when I got to be so out of shape.”

“Too many nights on a barstool?” Ryan asked.

“I don’t think a couple of ales account for it. Probably the cigarettes.” He grabbed a towel from a bench and wiped his face. “What brings you over here? Were you looking for me?”

Ryan nodded. “I need your expertise.” He explained about Letitia Monroe and her son. “Think you can track down the father?”

“If he’s using credit cards or gotten a new job, I can probably locate him by the end of the day,” Jack said, then held up his hand when Ryan started to say something. “But if somebody really wants to get lost, there won’t be much I can do to find them.”

“I doubt he gave this enough thought to hide out for long,” Ryan said. “I think it was an impulsive decision. He probably just got scared and ran. Sooner or later he’ll have to do something for money. They didn’t have much. Now Mrs. Monroe and the kid are at the St. Mary’s shelter.”

One of the boys, taking a break to drink some water, overheard. “You talking about Lamar’s dad?”

Ryan nodded. “You know him?”

“Yeah. He used to work with my old man till he quit his job and took off.”

“Has your dad mentioned anything about where he might have gone?” Jack asked him.

The boy regarded him warily. “He ain’t in no trouble, is he?”

“Not the way you mean,” Ryan assured him.

“Then you might try checking around down by the docks. Sometimes you can pick up day work there. My dad said that’s what he told him. He said old man Monroe just needed some time to think.”

Jack gave the boy a high-five. “Thanks, Rick. I owe you.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me another lesson on that fancy computer of yours?” the boy asked hopefully.

“Meet me at my place at five. I can spend an hour or so with you then,” Jack promised.

A grin split the boy’s face. “All right!”

Jack shook his head as the gawky kid, who kept tripping over his own feet, moved back onto the basketball court. “Never seen a kid so eager to learn. I find him on my doorstep half a dozen times a week, hoping I’ll show him how to do things on the computer. He’s getting so he can do a search and turn up things I never even thought to look for. Pretty soon, he’ll be giving me lessons.”

“You think there’s anything to his suggestion about looking for Lamar’s dad down by the docks?”

“No way of telling till I go down there. I’ll go now, then stop by the pub and let you know what I find out. When’s the kid’s surgery?”

“It’s not scheduled yet, but I imagine it’ll be in the next week or two. It’s a risky procedure. The boy needs to know his father’s there for him.”

“Then we’ll find a way to make that happen,” Jack said confidently.

“You need a retainer?” Ryan asked.

“No way. This one’s on me. Just make sure there’s a cold ale waiting for me when I get there later.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

“Hey, not a problem. I can’t have the neighborhood thinking you’re the only good guy around. I need my share of those babes who are always circling around you. Hell, I’d even take one of Rory’s rejects.”

Ryan laughed. “You pick out any woman in the pub and I’ll introduce you.”

“I saw a redhead in there the night before Thanksgiving...” Jack began.

Ryan stiffened. “Except her,” he said.

Jack’s gaze narrowed. “What’s up with that? Is she married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

“No.”

A grin spread across Jack’s face. “Yours?”

Ryan hesitated, then sighed. “Could be.” Whether he wanted it that way or not.

* * *

Maggie walked into the pub shortly after three in the afternoon lugging a laptop, a portable printer and a package of paper. Rory came out of the kitchen, took one look at her and rushed over to take some of the load.

“You trying to get a hernia?” he demanded. “What is all this stuff?”

“I wanted to make a point with Ryan. Is he around?”

“He went by the shelter. He should be back soon.” He paused in the middle of the room. “Where do you want this?”

“In his office,” she said at once.

Rory shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Nobody goes in Ryan’s office without an invitation.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he says so,” Rory said simply. “And since something tells me he’s not going to be real happy to see all this fancy technological stuff, anyway, maybe you better not start off on the wrong foot by busting in there when he’s not around.”

Maggie considered the advice. “You could have a point. Set it on the end of the bar. There’s bound to be a plug nearby.”

Rory shook his head again. “If I were you, I’d pick a real dark corner.”

Maggie laughed. “The bar will do.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Hope you don’t mind if I go back in the kitchen. I want to be out of the line of fire when he gets back. Can I get you a drink or something before I go?”

“No, thanks. Besides, I worked the bar last night. If I get thirsty, I can fix something.”

A look of delight split his round face. “Taking over here, are you? That’s the girl. Poor Ryan’s head must be spinning.”

She grinned at that. “I certainly hope so.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. You need any advice from a man who knows him well, you come to me. There’s little about Ryan Devaney that I don’t know. He’s the best friend a man could have. And something tells me if a woman can win his heart, he’ll be the best husband, as well. The trick lies in the winning. You won’t do it overnight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maggie said, finding it interesting that Rory’s impression so closely mirrored Father Francis’s.

While she waited for Ryan to arrive, she set up the computer and printer, then opened her business finance program. She began filling in all the inventory categories she could think of for a pub. Satisfied that she’d hit on most of them, she looked up to find Ryan standing over her, a scowl on his face.

“What’s this?” he inquired, as if she’d brought a dangerous foreign object into his pub.

“A free demonstration,” she said cheerfully. “Come see.”

“I don’t have the time. I’ve a business to run. And I’m getting a late start as it is.”

“What I’m suggesting would make it easier,” she said.

“Can it serve drinks?”

She frowned at the mocking question. “No, but—”

“Then I’m not interested,” he said flatly. He reached for an apron and tied it around his waist, then vanished to the far end of the bar, leaving her to stare after him.

“Don’t mind Ryan,” Father Francis advised, appearing out of nowhere and sliding onto the stool next to her. “He’ll come around. After a childhood that was filled with the unexpected, he works hard to keep things steady and familiar, now that he’s grown. It takes him a while to warm up to new people and even longer to listen to new ideas.”

“And I’m pushing at the boundaries of his comfort zone,” Maggie assessed thoughtfully, considering his reaction from a fresh perspective. “Maybe I should back off.”

“Now, why would you be wanting to do such a thing?” Father Francis demanded. “Change is what keeps us all alive. Ryan does too little of it.”

“If you’re so fond of change, why don’t you invite her over to the church to meddle in your business?” Ryan inquired sourly as he plunked an Irish coffee down in front of the priest. “I imagine you have ancient systems there that could use an overhaul.”

“Perhaps I will,” Father Francis said readily. “In fact, I think I’ll see if we have the budget for it. Would you be interested, Maggie?”

Maggie was more interested in the fact that Ryan’s expression turned even darker at the priest’s acceptance of his challenge. Still, she turned to Father Francis. “I’d be happy to take a look and see if I have any suggestions,” she told him. “The consultation’s on the house. After that, we’ll see if there’s anything I can contribute, and discuss terms.”

“Well, isn’t that just perfect?” Ryan snapped, retreating to the opposite end of the bar, where he slammed a few mugs around so hard, it was amazing that they didn’t shatter.

Maggie sighed. “I’d better talk to him. I owe him an apology for pushing so hard.”

“No, child,” Father Francis said at once. “He’s the one who needs to apologize. Give him a minute. He’ll come around on his own. He knows when he’s being unreasonable, and he’s generally honest enough to admit it.”

Maggie sat back down, but the wait seemed interminable. Finally, though, Ryan approached the two of them with a look of remorse on his face. “Okay, I was out of line.” He frowned at the priest. “But you were deliberately pushing my buttons, and you know it.”

“Do I now?” Father Francis said, his expression innocent.

“Of course you do. You take great pleasure in it, which makes me wonder why I put up with you.” He turned to Maggie. “As for you, I truly am sorry. I know you were trying to be helpful. It’s just that I don’t need that kind of help. I’ve been running this place for a while now. I know how to do it. It might not be the most efficient operation, but it works for me.”

“And there couldn’t possibly be a better way?” she challenged.

He grinned. “There could be, but I’m satisfied with things as they are. When I’m not, I’ll let you know.”

Maggie knew a brick wall when she slammed into one. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

“When it comes to this particular topic, you could be in for a long wait,” he warned.

“I have the time,” she told him.

“And why is that? Shouldn’t you be starting that search for a new job?”

“Not just yet. I’m taking the next few weeks to think things through and decide what I want to do. I have an MBA that’s going to waste.”

He frowned. “Just so you don’t get it into your head that this is the place to put it to use,” he said. “You’re overqualified.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll back off,” she said, then murmured under her breath, “for now.”

He scowled. “I heard that.”

Maggie beamed at him. “Just a fair warning,” she said cheerfully as she slid off her bar stool.

“You leaving?” he asked.

She grinned at the faint disappointment in his tone. “You should be so lucky. Actually, I’m getting an apron. In case you haven’t noticed, the place is packed, and Maureen and Juan have their hands full again.”

Ryan shook his head. “A lot of people think a vacation is best spent on a beach in the Caribbean this time of year, not waiting tables in a pub.”

“I’m not one of them,” she said, grabbing an order pad and heading for a table of couples across the room.

“Bless you,” Maureen said as she passed Maggie. “I don’t know where everyone came from tonight, but they’re all tired and cranky and starving.”

“More holiday shopping,” Maggie suggested. “And it’s only going to get worse when desperation sets in.”

“Now there’s a cheerful prospect,” Maureen said, lifting her gaze heavenward. “Saints protect us from the truly desperate.”

Maggie took orders from the three couples, along with a request for the band that was just setting up. She left that and a tip with the lead guitarist, then took the dinner order in to Rory.

The cook beamed when he saw her. “You’re still in one piece, I see. Tell me, did you win Ryan over to your way of thinking?”

“Hardly. The man’s head is like a rock.”

“Aye, that it is. I’ve been wanting to experiment a bit with the menu, but all of my pleas have fallen on deaf ears,” he said, sounding resigned.

“Speaking of changes to the menu, where’s Rosita and her recipe for enchiladas?” Maggie asked.

“I sent her home,” Rory said.

Maggie regarded him indignantly. “Just like that? She needs the job.”

He frowned at her. “Did I say anything about firing her? Her ankles were swelling. And don’t you be telling Ryan, either. There’s no need for him to dock her pay. As you said yourself, she needs every bit of it to prepare for the baby.”

Relieved, Maggie grinned at him. “Why, Rory, I believe the reports of your temper have been greatly exaggerated. You’re a softie.”

“Only when it comes to mothers-to-be, so don’t be getting any ideas about testing my patience,” he said. “I expect the waitstaff around here to deliver my meals to the tables while they’re still hot. Maureen’s order’s ready. You can take it.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, loading her tray with the steaming plates and heading for the door.

For the rest of the evening, there was little time for idle chitchat with anyone. As she rushed from table to table, Maggie felt Ryan’s steady gaze following her. Just before midnight he nabbed her arm and dragged her to a stool at the end of the bar.

“Sit. Maureen and Juan can handle things from here on out. Have you eaten a bite all evening?” he asked.

“No time,” she said, sighing as she kicked off her shoes.

He uttered a sound of disgust and headed for the kitchen. He came back with a plump ham and cheese sandwich and a bowl of Rory’s thick potato soup.

“I can’t eat at this hour,” she protested.

“You can and you will,” he said. “I will not be responsible for sending you home half-starved. I won’t risk Nell and Garrett’s wrath coming down on my head.”

Maggie grinned at him. “I’m a grown woman. I take responsibility for my own actions.”

“Do they know that? Aren’t these the very same parents who worry frantically if you’re so much as a few minutes late? Didn’t you tell me that yourself on the first night you came through my doors?”

“At least there’s one thing I’ve said that you listened to,” Maggie retorted.

“I hear every word out of your mouth,” Ryan countered. “I just pick and choose what to ignore.” He gestured toward the untouched sandwich. “Now when you’ve eaten that, I’ll drive you home.”

“I have my car.”

“Then I’ll follow you home. It’s too late for you to be driving around the streets of Boston all alone. And yes, I know you’re a grown woman, but you’re not a foolish one. You’ll accept my offer and be gracious about it. Otherwise, I’ll be the one worrying through the night.”

She met his gaze. “Really? You would worry if I drove home alone?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, really.”

Pleased, she relented. “Then you may follow me home, if you agree to come in for coffee when we get there. Deal?” She held out her hand.

Ryan regarded her steadily, reluctance written all over his face. Eventually, though, he clasped her hand in his. “Deal.”

It was such a silly, simple agreement, but Maggie felt as if they’d taken a giant leap forward. Now all that remained was to see how many steps backward would follow.

7

Ryan approached the O’Brien house filled with trepidation. He’d expected to find most of the lights off and the family in bed, but instead it looked as if there were a party going on. He said as much when he joined Maggie in the driveway.

“I probably shouldn’t intrude,” he told her. “It looks as if your parents are entertaining.”

“Nonsense,” she said, slipping her arm through his. “I imagine some of the family dropped by and they got to playing cards or something. You’ll be welcome. Besides, we had a deal. You can’t back out now.”

It had been a stupid deal. He’d known that when he made it. He should never have agreed to come inside this house where there was so much warmth. It made him yearn for things he’d never had.

He dreaded the prospect of going inside and getting caught up in the kind of teasing camaraderie he’d witnessed when the family had helped out at the homeless shelter. That kind of situation always made him uncomfortable. It caused him to feel more alone, more like an outsider than ever.

He sighed and looked down to find Maggie regarding him with sympathy.

“It will be okay,” she reassured him.

“I’ll stay long enough for a cup of coffee. That’s it,” he said. “That was the deal.”

“That was the deal,” she agreed, leading the way to the kitchen door.

Inside—to his surprise, given the late hour—they found bedlam. Six people were sitting around the kitchen table, poker chips piled in front of them, making enough noise for twenty.

“You cheated,” Katie accused her father, barely sparing a glance for Maggie and Ryan as they walked in.

“He most certainly did,” one of Maggie’s brothers agreed.

Garrett O’Brien rose to his feet, practically quivering with indignation. “The day my own children accuse me of cheating is a sad day, indeed.”

“Oh, sit down,” Nell ordered. “You did cheat. I saw you myself.”

Garrett—most of the fight drained out of him—turned to Ryan for support. “Can you imagine a man’s own wife saying such a thing?”

Ryan grinned, his nervousness dissipating. He could imagine Nell O’Brien saying whatever she wanted to whomever she wanted and expecting to be taken seriously. “Well now, I imagine she’s a woman who always speaks her mind,” he said cautiously, not sure exactly how welcome his opinion might be.

“And always truthfully,” Katie added. “Pull up a chair, Ryan. These guys are just about tapped out. We need deep pockets to join the game.”

Ryan felt Maggie’s gaze on him.

“Are you willing?” she asked. “Can you stay for a bit?”

Ryan weighed his reluctance against the prospect of a few good poker hands. “I can stay.”

“Bring the chairs from the dining room, then,” Garrett said. “We’ll push over to make room. Maggie, get the man a beer.”

“Coffee would be better,” Ryan said. “I have to drive back into Boston after this.”

“Nonsense,” Nell said. “Not when there’s a perfectly good guest room that’s unoccupied tonight.”

“We’ll debate that when the time comes,” Ryan said, refusing to commit to staying under this roof, especially with the tempting Maggie just down the hall.

Maggie set his coffee in front of him, then slipped onto her own chair right next to him and leaned closer to whisper, “That’s the last act of kindness you can expect from me. When it comes to poker, I play a take-no-prisoners game.”

“Listen to her,” her brother Matt said. “Our Maggie liked to stay up and play with Dad’s cronies as she was growing up. Dad allowed it because she split her winnings with him.”

Ryan laughed, regarding Maggie with new respect. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see if you’ve lost your edge, now won’t we?”

“Trust me, there are some things a woman never forgets,” she retorted, dealing the cards with quick, professional efficiency.

Ryan drew a scowl from Maggie and hoots from her family when he won the first hand. When it was his turn to deal, he made an elaborate show of allowing her to cut the cards. “For luck,” he declared.

“Thank you,” she replied, though there was an edge to her polite tone.

“I believe you misunderstood,” he said as he dealt. “The lucky cut was for my benefit.”

“Oh, my, he’s a smug one,” Garrett remarked happily.

“With good cause, I’d say,” Katie said when she threw in her hand.

Nell, John and Matt followed suit, as did John’s wife. Garrett added his cards to the pile with a muffled curse.

Ryan leveled a look into Maggie’s eyes. “It looks as if it’s just you and me.”

Her gaze never wavered. “I’ll see your bet and raise you a dollar.”

“Uh-oh, our Maggie has that glint in her eyes,” Matt said. “Watch yourself, Ryan.”

Ryan was already all too aware of the dangers he faced anytime he was around Maggie. This card game was just the tip of the iceberg. “I’ll see your raise and call you,” he said, watching her expectantly.

“You’re absolutely sure you want to do that?” she asked. “There’s still time to take it back.”

He nodded. “My bet’s on the table.”

“Okay, then.” She fanned her cards out on the table. She had a full house, jacks high.

“Very nice,” Ryan complimented her.

She smiled and reached for the pot. “I thought so.”

He placed his hand on top of hers. “Just not nice enough.” His own full house had kings high.

Maggie frowned as he scooped up the money.

Ryan leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Don’t pout. I told you luck was going to be with me.”

Matt winced. “Oh, brother. You’ve really done it now, Ryan. You’ve won and, worse, you’ve gloated about it. She’s going to be out for blood.”

Maggie gave them all a serene smile. “I am, indeed.”

Ryan thought they were joking, but to his amazement Maggie took the next four hands in a row. He regarded her with amusement. “Feeling better now?”

“Much,” she said, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“Why do I have the feeling this game has gotten personal?” Katie inquired. “I think I’ll just slip off to bed while I still have two cents to my name.”

“And I have to be getting home before my wife disowns me,” Matt chimed in.

John exchanged a look with his wife. “I guess we’re out of here, too.”

Within ten minutes, the entire room had been cleared. In the silence that followed, Ryan stared at Maggie.

“That was fun,” he said.

She seemed surprised. “Even though you lost?”

“Only because I lost to you. You take the game so seriously. Next time, though, I’ll know what to watch for. You won’t be so lucky.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means when you’re bluffing, you get this little nervous tic by the corner of your eye. Right about here,” he said, touching a finger lightly to her cheek. “And this corner of your mouth starts to tilt up into a smile, but you fight it.” He skimmed a caress along her bottom lip to emphasize the point.

Maggie swallowed hard. “Ryan, what are you doing?”

“Just explaining how you give yourself away. I’m surprised the others haven’t noticed. Then again, I doubt any of them are as fascinated with your face as I am.”

The pulse at the base of her neck jumped. “Ryan...” Her voice trailed off.

He leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. He’d been wanting to do that from the moment they’d started to play, had been so obsessed with the idea, in fact, that he’d lost his concentration in the third hand. That was why she’d won so many rounds. His mind hadn’t been on the cards at all.

“You taste so good,” he whispered against her lips. “And you smell like flowers.”

“Roses,” she said, sounding breathless. “My favorite perfume.”

Shaken by the emotions racing through him, he sat back, sucked in a ragged breath and raked his hand through his hair. “I need to get out of here.”

“Mom invited you to stay.”

“She wouldn’t have, if she’d known what was on my mind,” he said.

Maggie’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Exactly what is on your mind?”

“You,” he said, opting for total honesty. Maybe that would scare her into being wary around him. “Getting you out of those clothes so I can touch you. Making love to you for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, my,” she whispered.

He stood up. “Which is why I need to get out of here now.”

“No, don’t. Stay,” she pleaded.

“That’s a really bad idea,” he said, reaching for his coat.

He leaned down and kissed her one last time. “Good night, Maggie.”

“Good night,” she said with obvious reluctance. She stood up and walked with him to the door. “Will you call me when you get home?”

“And wake the household? I don’t think so.”

“I’ll worry if you don’t.”

He stopped and stared. She’d sounded totally sincere. “You can’t be serious,” he said, struggling with the unfamiliar sensation her words stirred in him.

“Well, of course I will. It’s late. Who knows what could happen on the road at this hour? I’ll keep the phone right beside me in the bed. I’ll pick up on the first ring. No one else will be disturbed.”

It was the first time in decades that anyone had expressed the slightest concern over his whereabouts or his safety. Ryan expected to rebel against it, but instead her plea made him feel warm deep inside. “Okay then, I’ll call,” he said eventually.

She reached up and touched his cheek. “You’re not used to anyone worrying about you, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s about to change. I’m an O’Brien and we worry about everything,” she said lightly.

“Then it’s nothing personal?” he said, hiding his disappointment.

“Oh, in your case, it’s very personal. I just don’t want you freaking out about it.”

“I don’t freak out.”

“Of course you do,” she teased. “But that’s okay. I understand. You’ll get used to me and the others in time.”

In time? Ryan wondered about that on the drive back into Boston. Would he ever get used to having someone care what happened to him? Or had his past destroyed any chance of that?

* * *

“Who called in the wee hours of the night, or was it morning?” Katie inquired sleepily as the family sat around the breakfast table before church.

“My money’s on Ryan,” Nell said. Her gaze came to rest on Maggie. “Am I right?”

“I asked him to let me know he made it home safely,” she said.

“You couldn’t persuade him to stay here?” her mother asked.

“He didn’t think it was a good idea,” Maggie said.

“Probably afraid we’d catch him sneaking into Maggie’s room,” Katie said.

“Mary Kathryn O’Brien, watch your tongue,” their father scolded. “I don’t like to hear such talk from my very own daughter.”

Katie refused to be daunted. “Only because you’re terrified it could be true and it would ruin forever your image of us as your darling girls, rather than grown-up women.”

“That’s true enough,” he said easily. “And what is wrong with a man thinking his girls behave as angels, at least until the very day they say their wedding vows?”

“Nothing,” Nell soothed. “As long as he’s prepared to admit he’s been wrong. Now let’s drop this before we end up in an argument before mass. Maggie, are you coming with us this morning?”

“I was thinking of going to a mass at St. Mary’s,” she admitted.

“You think you’ll be bumping into Ryan there?” her mother asked.

“I can always hope,” Maggie admitted candidly.

“Well, if you do, bring him back with you for Sunday dinner.”

“It takes a brave man to face this crowd two days running. I doubt I’ll have much luck convincing him, but assuming I see him, I’ll try.”

Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance. There was no sign of him at the church, but when she ran into Father Francis after mass, he was happy to tell her that Ryan could be found at the shelter. “He likes to spend some time with the children on Sunday morning. I imagine you’ll find him with Lamar Monroe this morning.”

“Lamar? He hasn’t mentioned that name,” Maggie said.

“He’s a lad Ryan’s taken an interest in. He’s having surgery later this week.”

“I see,” Maggie said, sensing there was far more to the story than Father Francis was sharing. Whatever it was, though, it was also clear she’d have to pry it out of Ryan himself.

She found him, as predicted, sitting on the edge of a cot with a young boy crowded next to him, the boy’s fascinated gaze locked on the book Ryan held. Maggie remained in the shadows watching the two of them as Ryan read the story in a voice filled with so much animation that he had the child laughing.

“He’s a wonder with my boy,” a woman said quietly as she joined Maggie. “I’m Letitia Monroe.”

“Maggie O’Brien.”

“You’re a friend of Ryan’s?”

Maggie wondered if she could legitimately make that claim. She asked herself if a few kisses added up to friendship, when it was evident that there was so much about Ryan Devaney that she didn’t know.

“I’m hoping to be,” she said finally.

Letitia Monroe grinned. “So, that’s the way of it, is it? The man is playing hard to get?”

“Try impossible,” Maggie said fervently.

“You know what they say about anything worth having,” Mrs. Monroe reminded her.

“That it’s worth waiting for.”

“That’s right.”

Watching as Ryan coaxed yet another chuckle from the obviously ill boy, Maggie realized with a sudden burst of insight that she would willingly wait for as long as it took.

He looked up then and spotted her. “Hey, Maggie,” he said, then turned and said something in an undertone to Lamar that had the boy grinning. Ryan patted a spot next to him. “Come join us. I have to finish reading this story. I can’t leave Lamar in suspense.”

“Maybe she should do the girl’s part,” Lamar said. “You sound kind of funny doing it.”

“Hey,” Ryan protested, “is that any way to treat a man who has humiliated himself to keep you entertained?”

Maggie sat down and reached for the book. “Allow me,” she said with a wink at Lamar. She finished reading the last few pages, then sighed as she read, “The end.”

“You were real good,” Lamar said, approval shining in his eyes.

“Better than me?” Ryan demanded.

Maggie rolled her eyes at the question, causing Lamar to giggle. “Tell him he was better or he’ll be grumbling all day,” Maggie advised him.

“Mr. Devaney, you were the best,” Lamar said dutifully. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, kid. I’ll see you before you go to the hospital, okay?”

“Okay,” Lamar said, his smile fading. He regarded Ryan fearfully. “You think you’re gonna be able to find my dad by then?”

“I’m working on it,” Ryan assured him. “I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he’s here with you and your mom before then.”

“Thanks. It’ll be okay if you don’t find him, though. I’m not too scared. And my mom and me will be okay, long as we have each other.”

Maggie had to bite her lip to keep from crying at the boy’s obvious attempt to appear brave.

“I know that,” Ryan told him. “But I’ll try hard, just the same.” He looked at Maggie. “You ready?”

“Sure.” Impulsively, she bent down and gave Lamar a kiss. “You take care of yourself.”

“I will. Come back sometime, okay? I wouldn’t mind hearing you read another story. My mom doesn’t always have the time, and listening is even better than reading to myself.”

“I will. I promise.”

Outside, Maggie drew in a deep breath. “How risky is this surgery of his?”

“It’s heart surgery, so there’s bound to be some risk,” Ryan said, his expression grim. “It’ll go a lot better, though, if he’s feeling optimistic.”

“Which is why you’re trying to track down his dad,” she guessed.

Ryan nodded. “He took off when he found out about the surgery. Since he quit his job, that cut off their insurance and their income. That’s how they ended up at the shelter.”

“Father Francis turns to you a lot in cases like this, doesn’t he?”

“He knows I’ll do what I can.”

“Does it make up for what happened to you?” she asked.

He frowned at the question. “What are you really asking?”

“I notice you’re eager to help Lamar find his dad. Have you ever looked for your own?”

She could see the tension in his face as his jaw tightened. “Why the hell would I want to?” he asked heatedly.

“For the same reason you’re trying to find Lamar’s father for him—because your dad broke your heart when he abandoned you.”

Ryan shrugged, clearly refusing to concede the obvious. “I got over it.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” he said emphatically, his scowl deepening. “And I don’t talk about that time in my life. Not ever.”

“Maybe you should.”

“And maybe you should mind your own damned business!”

He left her on the sidewalk staring after him, stunned by the force of his anger.

“Well, hell,” she muttered, swiping at the tears spilling down her cheeks.

She was still standing in the exact same spot, debating whether to go after him, when Ryan reappeared at the corner. She watched as he sucked in his breath, squared his shoulders and walked toward her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have bitten your head off like that.”

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