“Luke, we’re sorry!” Betty called after him, but he ignored her, too furious at himself for talking Patrick O’Connor into even allowing Katie to come along tonight. The man had clearly been hesitant, unwilling to break with his daughter’s confinement, but Luke had convinced him she had earned it. He swore under his breath. He had no one to blame but himself.
A wobbly giggle floated up and he glanced down, his heart softening at the look of innocence on her face as she bounced in his arms. And suddenly, he couldn’t help it – a smile pulled at his lips when she spoke, her words disrupted by every stride he took. “Ar-re . . . y-you . . . swe-aring . . . un-der . . . y-your . . . bre-ath, . . . Lu-ke Mc-Gee?”
“You bet I am. You seem to have that effect on me,” he said, breathing hard and fast.
Her sweet face bunched in a frown. “O-oh, . . . tha-at’s . . . n-not . . . g-good, . . . is it?”
He grinned. “No, ma’am, it’s not.” He slowed as he rounded the corner of Donovan Street, squinting hard to see if Patrick O’Connor’s Model T was parked against the curb.
Thank you, God!
The street was empty in front of their house, and all was dark except for their porch light. He reached their front walk, huffing like he’d just run the Boston Marathon, then butted Katie up with his knee while he opened the gate. Her soft giggle rose like a caress to his face. He glanced down and her eyes met his with a gentle smile. “Thanks, Luke,” she whispered, drawing his gaze to her mouth.
He swallowed hard, suddenly painfully aware of her body in his arms. With a nervous exhale, he propped her next to the front door.
Get her inside, McGee, and into her bed.
The thought took his mind in the wrong direction, unleashing a throb of heat so strong, shame crawled up the back of his neck. “Do you have a key?” His voice was a croak.
She tilted her head and gave him a shy smile. “Iz op-pen.”
He turned the knob, and pushed the door ajar. A small lamp in the hall cast a dim glow in the shadowed foyer. He tugged Katie from the wall and guided her in, reluctant to even enter the house. She stood there, a faint slant in her stance and a half-lidded glance that made his pulse trip. He steadied her with a hand to her arm, and then quickly fished a roll of peppermint Life Savers out of his pocket. He put the roll in her palm and closed her fingers over it.
“Katie, listen to me. You need to go upstairs right now and go to bed. But first, I want you to brush your teeth and suck on these mints as soon as you can. Do you understand? If your parents come home, just pretend you’re sleeping, all right? Because if your father sees you like this, you and I are both going to be in a lot of hot water.”
Her head bobbed slowly. “’Kay,” she whispered, and her smile made his mouth go dry.
He shot a nervous glance out the door. “Can you make it up the stairs?”
She nodded again and just stood there, swaying on her feet with arms limp at her sides. A yawn interrupted her smile as her eyes flickered closed, and the roll of Life Savers dropped to the floor with a thud. Luke groaned and snatched them up. He flicked the front door closed with his foot and swept her up in his arms like she was one of the toddlers at the orphanage.
“Come on, Katie Rose,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m putting you to bed.” He took the stairs two at a time, then stopped at the upper landing and looked both right and left. “Which way?”
Her eyes fluttered open and she waved an arm before it dropped to her side like dead weight. “Las’ door on right.”
He ducked in the bathroom on the way and helped her brush her teeth before he carted her to her bedroom, where hazy moonlight spilled through lace-curtained windows. The scent of her was more potent here – Pears soap and a hint of roses – lingering in the air to tease his senses. Not unlike the woman in his arms. He sucked in a deep breath and set her on the bed, gripping her shoulders when she started to topple.
“Katie!” He shook her firmly, his voice tense. “Wake up! Where’s your nightgown?”
Her eyes flipped open and she smiled, wagging a finger in the direction of the closet. “On th’ door.” Her arm flopped back to her side.
He snatched a long, silky gown off the back of the closet door, then tossed it into her lap. “Look, Katie, I’m leaving now, so you need to get dressed for bed, okay?”
“’Kay.” She started to fumble with the buttons of her blouse, and Luke couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He stopped, hand on the knob and head cocked to the side. “When your parents come home, you have to pretend to be asleep, do you understand?”
No answer.
“Katie! Do you understand?”
A soft, little snort was the only reply.
He turned and groaned. The little brat was flat on her back, eyes closed and nightgown puddled on her chest.
Gritting his teeth, he tugged her up and to the edge of the bed before squatting before her, desperate to ignore the lacy camisole peeking out of her half-buttoned blouse. He swallowed hard and shook her. “Katie – you gonna put that nightgown on, or you gonna make me do it?”
She jerked awake, eyes spanning wide.
He dangled the gown under her nose. “It’s a simple question, Katie Rose. You gonna take your clothes off, or am I?”
Even in the moonlight, he could see the color rise in her cheeks, and the horror on her face made him grin.
“I’ll do it!” she said with a hoarse croak, clutching the nightgown as if she were stark naked.
“Good, then get busy.” Tugging at her shoes, he tossed them on the floor, then reached beneath the hem of her skirt to remove her stockings.
She slapped his hand with an amazing amount of force for someone so inebriated. “Are you crazy? Whad’ya doing?” She sat up ramrod straight, fury apparently the only thing that could break through her vodka stupor.
He rose to his feet and stared her down, hands cocked on his hips. He managed to wipe the smile off his face. “Saving your neck, you little brat. Now if you don’t get that nightgown on and get under those covers right now, I’ll do it for you.”
“Turn around!” she hissed. The rosy glow from Bobbie Sue’s vodka was apparently fading fast.
He rotated slowly while a smile creased his lips. Her stockings flew by, one by one, landing in a heap to the right of him before a skirt pelted at his back, obviously with a bit of temper. He grinned until lacy unmentionables sailed by and landed at his feet. Suddenly his mouth went dry.
The sheets rustled, followed by a sulky “I want my Life Savers.”
He fished the candy from his pocket and turned, bobbling the roll in his palm with a tight smile on his lips. She lay there looking like an angel, golden hair splayed across her pillow and the glow of moonlight in her cheeks. But he knew better. Her eyelids were heavy, but she still managed to sear him with a look that snapped him into the past. All of a sudden she was eleven again, and the memory of their first Life Savers encounter thickened in his throat. He crouched next to her bed and opened the roll, taking his time as he popped one in his mouth. He held another in the air, taunting her. “Mmmm . . . minty.”
She blinked, jaws clamped tight, but he didn’t miss the faint twitch of a smile. With a smug lift of his brow, he rotated the little, white circle an inch from her nose while sucking his own mint slowly, his gaze fused to hers.
“Here you go, Katie Rose,” he whispered in a husky voice, “just like when you were eleven.” He gently prodded the candy . . . slowly, deliberately . . . into her mouth. Her breathing became shallow when the pad of his thumb lingered like a caress, and he felt his own heart hammer in response. The scent of peppermint drifted in the air like a heady perfume, enticing him to taste more than the candy in his mouth. He released a halting breath, thumb still tracing the contour of her lips while a dangerous heat radiated beneath his skin. She watched him with shuttered eyes and a faint smile, and then in a jagged beat of his heart, she snapped her teeth so hard, they grazed his thumb with a sharp click.
He jerked back with a hoarse rasp, all air suspended.
The superior smile was vintage Katie O’Connor. “A bit twitchy, are we?”
He rose to his feet, nursing his thumb like she’d bitten clean through. His lips twisted. “No more than usual when you’re around, Katie Rose.”
She closed her eyes and sank back into the pillow with a contented smile, sleep settling on her features as she slowly sucked on her mint. Picking up her shoes and clothes, he tossed them in the closet, then waited for her to finish, observing the gentle shifting of those soft, full lips. Until they stilled.
“Katie . . . are you done with the mint?”
Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of sleep. Luke leaned close and squinted. He sighed. Sleep was good. But not with a Life Saver lodged in her throat. “Katie,” he whispered, “did you finish the candy?”
“Mmmm . . .” Her eyelids fluttered open before closing once again.
With a weary release of breath, he bent to pry a finger into her mouth and swiped her tongue. Reaching for his handkerchief, he pocketed the half-dissolved disk of candy that adhered to his finger, then leaned to press a gentle kiss to her cheek.
At his touch, her lips tilted into a dreamy smile. “Mmm . . . I love you, Luke McGee,” she whispered, and then rolled to her side with a soft, little snort.
He rose to his feet and stared, his heart comatose in his chest. Drawing in a deep breath, he bent to tuck the sheet tightly to her chin, finally exhaling shaky air. What he wouldn’t give to make it so. But he knew better. His lips tightened. Alcohol had a way of distorting the truth.
He bent to graze her cheek with his fingers one last time, then slowly lumbered to his feet. “I love you too, Katie Rose,” he whispered.
And he was stone-cold sober.
So . . . did our Mr. Priss scream all the way home?” Betty slid Katie a sideways glance, hazel eyes sparkling.
Katie shifted the box of files in her arms and shouldered
past a mailman as she and Betty hurried down Boylston Street en route to the Boston Society for the Care of Girls. Businessmen in three-piece suits swarmed around them while young women in pleated skirts and dropped-waist dresses powdered their noses or patted bobbed hair in a rush to get to work. The shrill whistle of a traffic cop and the bleating of taxi horns mingled with the puttering of autos and the laughter of little girls as they skittered alongside mothers on an outing in the city. Katie hugged the box to her chest and quickly sidestepped a young boy toting a wagonful of newspapers. The corner of her mouth shifted up. “Surprisingly, no. He was actually pretty civil, if you can believe that.”
Betty grinned and adjusted the long silk scarf draped over her left shoulder. “Or maybe you were too sloshed to notice,” she said with a wink.
“I was
not
drunk,” Katie insisted, chin notching up several degrees. Her lips pursed tight while they waited at the corner for traffic to stop. “Maybe a little tipsy, yes, but that’s all, I assure you.”
A uniformed officer blew his whistle and waved them on, and Betty chuckled, gripping a manicured hand to Katie’s arm to steer her across Tremont Street. “Tipsy enough that our boy had steam rising from that towhead of his, either from his Irish temper or just plain tuckered out from carrying you home.”
Katie cocked her head and readjusted the box in her hands, practically running to keep up with Betty’s long-legged stride. “Luke has a temper?” she asked in surprise. “Funny, I’ve never seen it before.” Unfortunately, as soon as the words left her lips, heat steamed her face at the memory of his savage kiss against the wall at BCAS, a kiss surely provoked by “temper.”
Betty’s throaty chuckle floated through the air as she shot a grin her way, and Katie desperately hoped the warmth of the summer day would explain the blush she felt in her cheeks. “Oh, he’s much better now at keeping it under wraps than he used to be, thanks to both Parker and Brady’s influence. But when he and I were kids on the streets of New York? I’ll tell you what, that boy was nothing but a short fuse looking for a hot fire.”
With a tug of her arm, Betty eased past a herd of elderly ladies on a shopping spree, then took off at a fast clip, causing Katie to gasp for air. “Hey, Galetti – my legs aren’t as long as yours, you know, and at this pace,
you
may have to carry me.”
“Sorry,” Betty said with a flash of teeth. She plucked the box from Katie’s hands and continued to maneuver through the rush-hour crowd. “I forget what a runt you are.”
She slowed her gait, and Katie tried to catch her breath as she squinted up at her friend. “So, how did you and Luke meet, anyway? You’ve never told me.”
Betty’s pace tapered off as she gave Katie a soft smile. “Oh, McGee and I go way back. He lived with his aunt in the same building as ours when I was fourteen and he was sixteen. He was a runt back then, but he sure was a wiry little thing.” A wistful look settled on her features as she stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the throng of passersby milling about. “No question about it – the boy was meant to be a lawyer. He had a true gift for defending me.” The wistful look fled with a thrust of her jaw. “Or at least he tried.”
“Defend you? From what?”
“From other street arabs like us – homeless orphans – not to mention drunken bums or gangs who taunted the rest of us for sport.” A veneer hardened her tone. “And, of course, my stepfather, who had a nasty habit of slapping me around when Mom was down for the count.”
The muscles tightened in Katie’s throat. She halted Betty’s stride with a hand to her arm. “No, he beat you? And your mother too?” Her breathing shallowed as she tried to imagine Patrick O’Connor laying a cruel hand on his wife or children. A cold shudder traveled her body at the thought, and then a rush of gratitude squeezed in her chest.
Why had she been so
lucky . . . and poor Betty had not?
She swallowed hard, her tone thick with emotion. “And nobody stopped him?”
“Nobody could stop him,” she said with acid in her tone. She continued walking. “Although heaven knows, Luke tried. Do you know that little runt actually attempted to negotiate with him? Promised to steal liquor for him if he would leave me alone.”