A Worthy Heart Page 8

  She’d decided to say nothing to Gabe and Rylan about Neill, knowing they would both overreact to the situation, and in doing so, would severely restrict Maggie’s freedom. Plus, Maggie wanted to spare Gabe the knowledge that their trip to America might have been for nothing. Not only had Neill not accepted the demise of their relationship, he’d turned around and followed her here. She still couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of his actions. Back home, Neill watched every penny he spent and funneled most of his earnings back into the family pub. How he’d come up with the money for his passage across the ocean, she had no idea. She only prayed that Neill would soon realize that Maggie had no intention of resuming their engagement and head back to Ireland. A small voice inside her, however, told her he might not be finished trying to change her mind.

  The unbidden image of Adam O’Leary intruded upon her thoughts, begging a comparison between the two men. Though not handsome in a classical way like Neill, Adam exuded a masculine ruggedness that Maggie found riveting. The hard planes of his face, shadowed by a neatly trimmed auburn beard, told of unspoken hardships—a weariness of the world, so to speak. And now she understood why. He’d endured time in prison.

  By all rights, Maggie should be repulsed by a common criminal, a man who resorted to illegal methods to achieve an end. Yet her soul ached for him. After her two encounters with him, she simply couldn’t perceive Adam as evil. Above all else, Maggie prided herself on her intuition about people, and rarely had she been mistaken. Her instincts told her that Adam O’Leary was a good man.

  As she descended the narrow staircase to the kitchen, Maggie decided she would ask Colleen more about her mysterious brother as soon as the opportunity arose.

  She found her sister-in-law at the stove, stirring a big pot. Dirty dishes on the table told Maggie that some of the family had already enjoyed the porridge Colleen was tending.

  “Am I late for breakfast?”

  Colleen turned to smile, her bright hair gathered in a roll at the nape of her neck. “Not at all. We were up early this morning. Rylan and Gabe went to check on things at the orphanage before church.” Colleen ladled oatmeal into a bowl. “There’s milk and honey on the table.”

  “Thank you. Have you eaten?”

  “I have, but I’ll join you for tea.” She carried the teapot to the table and poured two cups.

  Maggie sat and took a mouthful of oatmeal. Her stomach churned with nerves as she wondered how to broach the topic with Colleen. From all accounts, her brother was a sore subject in the family. Maggie would need to tread with caution.

  “Remember the strange man I caught watching the children at the orphanage a few days back?”

  Colleen frowned. “Yes.”

  Maggie paused. “Turns out that man was Adam.”

  Colleen’s gaze widened. “It was?”

  “Yes. I recognized him the moment I saw him in your family’s barn, although I didn’t know he was your brother.” She poured a little milk into her tea. “Now I understand the longing on his face.”

  Colleen set down her cup with a thump and bit her lower lip in an obvious attempt to contain her emotions.

  Maggie reined in her impatience at wanting to blurt out a hundred questions at once and waited while Colleen dabbed the corner of her apron to her eyes.

  “Were you and Adam close as children?”

  “Very close.” Colleen gave a wan smile. “You might say Adam and I were the black sheep of the family. Before I met Rylan, I was quite a schemer and”—she lowered her gaze to the table—“not the most scrupulous of girls. Rylan changed all that.”

  “I’m sure you weren’t as bad as you imply. Otherwise you wouldn’t have captured my brother’s heart.”

  A soft look stole over Colleen’s features. “He saw the good beneath the bad.”

  Funny that Maggie sensed the same about Adam. Wisely, she held that thought back. “And Adam?” she asked gently. “What set him on a path to prison?”

  Colleen shook her head and sighed. “Adam and Daddy never got along, and things got worse when Daddy took Gil in as his ward. Gil shared Daddy’s love of horses in a way Adam never did. Adam became . . . resentful of Daddy’s preference for Gil over him.”

  Maggie stiffened on her chair, incensed on Adam’s behalf. “How could a father favor another child over his own flesh and blood? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Colleen stirred a spoon of honey into her tea. “To be fair, Adam made it hard—always getting into trouble at school, avoiding his chores, pulling tricks on Gil and Danny.”

  “Who’s Danny?”

  A shadow of sadness dulled Colleen’s vivid blue-violet eyes, making Maggie wish she’d held her tongue.

  “Danny was our younger brother. He drowned when he was eight. His death only complicated matters, since Daddy blamed Adam for the accident.” Colleen clamped her lips together as if to hold back any further comments.

  “I’m so sorry. How did your poor mother cope with such a tragedy?”

  “She took it very hard, but Mama’s a strong woman.” Colleen sighed. “The one thing she couldn’t do, however, was fix Daddy and Adam’s relationship.”

  Maggie swirled the oatmeal in her bowl with her spoon, not quite brave enough to look at Colleen with her next question. “How did Adam end up in jail?” She hated to press the issue, but she needed to know.

  Colleen swiped at her damp cheeks and pushed away from the table, chair legs scraping. “Gambling.” The terse word echoed in the silence of the kitchen. “And associating with gangsters. Adam provided inside knowledge of Daddy’s clients and their horses to a group of thugs involved in backroom betting.” She moved to the counter and began to scrub the sink, her hands flying with hard, fast jerks.

  Gambling? It didn’t sound like such a terrible thing to Maggie. Gambling was a common activity in the pubs back home. Even some of the constables bet on a game of football or a horse race now and then.

  “I’m very sorry for all the sorrows your family has had to endure. I hope I haven’t offended you by prying.”

  “Of course not, Maggie. We’re family.” Colleen stopped scouring and wiped her hands on a towel. “Besides, I think it only fair to warn you about Adam. You should know that he’s fallen far away from the moral upbringing of his youth. I don’t know if he’ll ever be accepted back into our family again.” She smoothed a hand over her dress. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go and awaken Delia.”

  The sorrow on Colleen’s lovely face as she left the kitchen was enough to make Maggie regret bringing up the topic at all. She stirred the lumpy mess of oatmeal in her bowl, her appetite now vanished, and let out a sigh.

  Colleen had made herself quite clear on the topic of her brother. No matter how sorry Maggie felt for Adam, he was not to be trusted.

  She needed to put the man out of her thoughts for good.

  Adam mounted the steps of the stylish brownstone and knocked on the door. Nervous perspiration gathered between his shoulder blades. He tugged off his cap and waited for either his sister or Rylan to answer the door, hoping they hadn’t already left for church.

  He knocked a second time, half relieved when no one appeared, and was about to slink away when the squeak of the door stopped him.

  A small blond girl stood staring at him with frank blue eyes. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Adam O’Leary. I’m looking for Colleen . . . ah, Mrs. Montgomery.”

  She cocked her head to one side, contemplating him. “My Mama used to be Miss O’Leary. Are you related to her?”

  Adam blinked. He’d only been away for three years. How could Colleen have a daughter this age? Then he remembered the adopted child Colleen had mentioned in her letters.

  “Colleen is my sister,” he answered carefully. “Is she home?”

  “Delia, who’s at the door?” A feminine voice echoed down the corridor.

  “It’s your brother.”

  The childish simplicity of her statement struck a soft chord in Adam’s hear
t. Would Colleen allow him in, or would her Irish temper flare and leave him on the end of a good tongue-lashing?

  Colleen opened the door wider and stood staring. “Adam?”

  He attempted a smile. “Hello, Colleen. You’re looking well.” In the years since he’d seen her, she’d matured into a beautiful woman.

  “What are you doing here?” She scanned the street behind him, as if a gang of hooligans would jump out at her.

  “May I come in? I’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.”

  She hesitated, placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “It won’t take long, I promise. Then I’ll leave you in peace.”

  She gave a small sigh. “All right. Come in.”

  When he crossed the threshold, she closed the door behind them.

  “Adam, this is our daughter, Delia. Delia, this is . . . your Uncle Adam.” The slight catch in Colleen’s voice gave away the emotions she was trying to hide.

  “Hello, Delia. It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small bow to the girl, who giggled.

  “I have lots of uncles now.”

  “Delia, we’ll be leaving for church in ten minutes. Run up and change into your good dress.”

  “Yes, Mama.” The girl gave him one last look and scampered off.

  “Come into the parlor. As you heard, we don’t have much time.”

  Sorrow threaded through Adam’s chest. There would be no warm hugs, no words of welcome from his sister. At least she’d agreed to hear him out. He could be grateful for that much.

  Adam followed her into the cozy sitting room, so different from the elegant parlor at Irish Meadows but just as appealing in its own way. They each took a seat on opposite ends of a camel-hair sofa.

  He curled his fingers over the wooden armrest. “So you have a daughter?”

  She nodded, smiling. “We adopted Delia from the orphanage. She’s very special to us.”

  “I can see that. I bet she gives you a run for your money.”

  Colleen’s lips twitched, and for a brief second, a familiar twinkle of mischief glimmered in her eyes. “That is truer than you know.”

  He laughed, but immediately sobered. “I’ll get right to the point of my visit. I came to apologize for any problems I may have caused last night. I had no idea—”

  “It’s all right, Adam. Maggie explained how she ended up with you in the barn. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “That’s kind of you to say. But truth be told, I should have sent her right back to the house. I hope she suffered no . . . repercussions?”

  “Other than Rylan’s scolding, no. Her reputation is intact.”

  “Thank goodness.” He leaned forward over his knees, urgency making him nervous. “I also came to apologize for any embarrassment my incarceration may have caused you.” He held her gaze. “More importantly, I wish to say how sorry I am for missing your wedding. I regret that more than you know.”

  Moisture formed at the corners of her eyes. “I won’t deny it cast a cloud over the day, especially for Mama.”

  “I am sorry, Colleen. For what it’s worth, I want you to know that I’ve changed, and I plan to work hard to make it up to the family.” He paused to draw a breath. “Heaven knows, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but if you feel so inclined, it would make me a very happy man.”

  The clock on the mantel ticked out the seconds. At last, Colleen nodded. “I can forgive you, Adam. But I’m not the one whose forgiveness you need.” She gave him a direct look. “That would be Daddy.”

  Adam held back a snort. “I doubt that will ever happen.”

  She surprised him by reaching over and taking his hand. “Try, Adam, please. For our family’s sake, you need to make peace.”

  A band of guilt threatened to choke Adam. If only it were that easy. But he had a strong suspicion that nothing he said or did would make any difference to James O’Leary. “I’ll do my best. But I can’t guarantee our father will listen.”

  Colleen smiled. “I’ve missed you, Adam. More than I even realized.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” He cleared his throat and rose. “Well, I’d best let you get on with your day. Thank you for hearing me out.”

  Her skirts swished as she stood. “I understand you won’t be working at Irish Meadows any longer. What will you do now?” A concerned frown marred her perfect complexion.

  “The prison chaplain is going to see if anyone in his parish would be willing to hire me.” He attempted a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a job somewhere.”

  They made their way to the narrow front entrance.

  “Wait.” Colleen put a hand on his arm to stop him. “The caretaker at the orphanage is getting on in years and can’t keep up with all the work anymore. Maybe Rylan would—”

  He squeezed her arm to stop her. “I appreciate your offer, but the last thing I want is to cause problems between you and your husband.”

  Sadness stole the shine from her eyes. Her silence told him she couldn’t dispute his words. “How will I reach you if I need to?”

  “Through Reverend John McNabb at the Shepherd of Good Hope Church. Take good care, Colleen.”

  She surprised him again when she reached out to gather him in a hug, and he had to fight to keep his emotions contained. As he stood back, his gaze moved to the hall behind them.

  Maggie stood as though frozen, her hand on the newel post of the staircase.

  Delia ran past her, tiny feet thudding on the wooden floor. “Are you coming to church with us, Uncle Adam?”

  Adam couldn’t tear his gaze from Maggie’s stricken face. “I can’t today, sweetheart. Maybe another time.”

  His stomach twisted as he forced his attention away from Maggie’s haunted eyes. What was she thinking? Did she hate him—now that she knew him to be a criminal?

  Adam shoved his cap on his head, gave Colleen a quick nod, and pushed out into the street. But no matter how fast he walked, he doubted he’d be able to banish Maggie’s look of anguish from his mind any time soon.

  8

  GABE WHISTLED as he polished the chrome of the motorized fire truck in the bay, satisfied that by the time he finished, the shine would be enough to blind Chief Witherspoon.

  “Hey, Irish. You can knock it off now. That spot won’t get any cleaner.” Will Spack, one of the firemen who was a few years older than Gabe, tossed a wet sponge at him. It smacked Gabe in the chest and landed in a puddle on the cement floor.

  After his second week at the fire station, Gabe knew most of the men well enough not to take offense at their jibes.

  “You’re just worried I’ll make you look bad,” he shot back.

  Jerry O’Donnell poked his head from around the side of the truck. “Got that right, Montgomery. Spack’s worried the chief will fire him and hire you instead.”

  A tiny thrill shot through Gabe’s torso. What would it be like to be a permanent firefighter here, a true member of this team that worked tirelessly to keep their city safe? The thought of his beloved mother made the image evaporate faster than the splotches of water on the cement. He could never cause her the pain of losing another son to America.

  That, as well as the unrest at home, made staying here impossible.

  “You lads hungry?” Chief Witherspoon’s booming voice rang out from the upper level, where the firemen’s quarters were situated. “There’s a pot of stew up here courtesy of Mrs. Witherspoon.”

  Jerry gave a loud whoop and charged toward the stairs.

  Gabe laughed and bent to retrieve the sponge, dumping it along with his rag into the bin against the wall. He wiped his wet hands on his trousers, already salivating in anticipation of the tasty meal.

  Then the gong of the fire alarm split the air. The entire crew froze to listen to the numbered sequence of bells, and then suddenly burst into action. Gabe stopped to watch the frenzy of activity.

  The chief pushed by him. “Don’t just stand there, Montgomery. Suit up.”

  “I’m g
oing?” Adrenaline licked through Gabe’s veins.

  “We need every man available. Looks like we’re heading to Arthur Hastings’s house.”

  Gabe pushed back a rush of concern as he moved to the hooks on the wall, where he grabbed some spare gear. “How do you know it’s the Hastingses?” He stuffed the helmet on his head, grateful he’d been wearing boots while he washed the truck.

  “Their house takes up a full city block. It has its own alarm code.” The chief jammed on his helmet. “Come on.”

  The men jumped onto the truck, and seconds later they roared out of the station, bell clanging.

  If they weren’t responding to a potential tragedy, Gabe would have been thrilled down to his boots to be riding the motorized engine for the first time. Instead, he tried to prepare for what was to come. He’d learned that the Arthur Hastings whose picture was in the fire station was indeed the father of the lovely girl he’d met at the O’Learys’ party. Anxiety churned in Gabe’s chest at the thought of her family’s home burning. He prayed she was out for the evening, nowhere near the danger.

  They rounded a sharp bend. Spack wound the siren, which wailed through the streets, causing pedestrians to jump out of the way and then turn to watch.

  Gabe clutched the side of the truck as they careened onward. As soon as they came to a stop in front of a mansion, the men leapt to the street and began to unwind the hose. Chief Witherspoon ran to the front door, where a woman in uniform stood, wringing her hands.

  “Hurry, please,” she called. “Miss Aurora is upstairs.”

  Gabe’s head snapped up from where he wrestled with the equipment.

  “Where’s her room?” Chief Witherspoon barked.

  “At the back, second story, middle room.”

  The chief shouted orders. “O’Donnell, bring the ladder around the back to the middle window. Spack, Jackson, get the hoses.”

  Gabe didn’t wait to hear more. From firsthand experience, he knew that hesitating, even for a moment, could cost someone’s life. He charged through the front door, ignoring everything else. Thick smoke drifted through the marble entry, yet Gabe found the staircase with no trouble. Taking the stairs two at a time, he mentally recited the rules of fire rescue from his training at home. He thundered past the landing until he reached the second floor and turned down the hall, counting rooms as he went. When he reached what he estimated to be the center of the building, he started opening doors. On the second try, he found a decidedly feminine room. A fit of coughing momentarily delayed him, and his eyes watered from the sting of smoke. Still, he was thankful not to find evidence of flames as he entered the room.