Irish Meadows (29 page)

“I don't disagree with you there.”

She twisted in her seat to face him more fully. “What if you took Gil on as a partner? If he invested his money with us, it would help offset our debts. And I think if we agree to put his name on the sign, it would be enough to satisfy him.”

Her father continued to regard her. “Have you discussed this with Gil?”

“No. I wanted to get your approval first.”

“So you don't know if he'd agree to it?”

She hesitated. “Not for sure. But it makes sense. He has everything he wants here. Why start from scratch somewhere else when what really matters is having the Whelan name on his business?”

James stroked his mustache. “So a title such as ‘Irish Meadows: O'Leary and Whelan Enterprises' might be the ticket to keeping Gil here?”

Hope swelled and soared like the rays of sun that danced through the clouds. Brianna couldn't hold back a smile. “That has a nice ring to it.”

He gave her a long look. “You really love him, don't you?”

She held his gaze, refusing to cower. Not for something this important. “Yes, I do.”

He nodded slowly. “Let me give it some thought, and I'll talk to Gil soon.” He chuckled then. “You're one smart cookie, young lady. Irish Meadows could benefit from your help, too.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek, amazed to find tears threatening. For the first time since she could remember, her father had listened to her opinion and was actually considering her idea.

God had surely answered one of her prayers.

G
IL
STRIPPED
OFF
HIS
SHIRT
,
threw it on the chair in the corner of his attic room, and flopped onto the bed. The springs groaned a noisy protest as he stretched out on the mattress. Though he was bone tired, his soul was filled with contentment after an evening with the horses. He'd taken Midnight on an all-out sprint over the pastures, letting him take the lead until they were both spent. Perhaps if Gil were lucky, he'd finally get a full night's sleep.

He'd risen up on one elbow, poised to extinguish the bedside lamp, when an urgent rap sounded on his door. Gil frowned. Who would be knocking this late? Would Brianna be so bold? No, not unless it was a matter of some urgency. He tugged his shirt back on, leaving it unbuttoned, and opened the door.

Colleen stood in the darkened hallway, wringing her hands. “I'm sorry to bother you, Gil, but I need your help.”

Concern streaked through him. “What's wrong?”

Colleen peered down the corridor, then turned back to him.
“Could we talk inside, please? It's important, and I don't want anyone to overhear us.”

He exhaled loudly, unease skittering across his shoulders. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “But we leave the door open.”

“Thank you.”

Gil pulled the wooden chair over for her, while he remained standing, hovering near the doorway. If the girl didn't seem so distraught, he'd have suspected a new plot to get his attention.

“Please sit down, Gil. I have some difficult things to say, and I don't need to crane my neck.”

Gingerly, Gil lowered himself to the edge of the bed. “What sort of things?”

She chewed the inside of her lip for several moments before she finally made eye contact. “I need you to take me to Boston.”

Gil straightened on the mattress, grappling with her request. “Boston? Whatever for?”

She gave a soft sigh. “I guess Bree hasn't told you.”

“Told me what?” Exasperation set in, mixing with his nerves at having one of the O'Leary daughters in his bedroom. He glanced at the half-opened door to make sure no shadows hovered in the hall.

Colleen fingered a fold in her skirt. “While he was here, Rylan and I”—she hesitated—“became quite close.”

“We were all fond of him. What's your point?”

Colleen twisted her hands together in her lap. “You don't understand.” She took a deep breath. “Rylan and I . . . fell in love.”

Thunderstruck, Gil bolted to his feet. He paced to one side of the small area and back, sudden realization dawning. “That's why he left so much earlier than intended.”

She nodded, eyes miserable. “He went back to the seminary to pray about what to do. It's been a month now and he hasn't answered my letters . . .” When her voice broke, she struggled
to regain her composure. “I can't keep living this way, Gil. I need to find out if he's going ahead with his plans to become a priest. Once I know his decision, I'll be able to move on with my life instead of hanging in limbo.”

Gil reclaimed his spot on the edge of the bed, trying to process the enormity of her situation. “I sympathize with your pain, Colleen. But I—”

She leaned forward and grasped his arm. “Please, Gil. I have to find out what's happening. And I can't go by myself. You're the only one I trust to take me.” Her chin quivered.

“What about Adam?”

She shook her head, auburn ringlets bobbing. “He's too busy with his new job.”

Gil lowered his head, hands over his knees, mind spinning. “Maybe next week I could manage the time off . . .”

“I can't wait that long. I have a bad feeling if I don't go now, I'll never see him again.” Tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks.

Gil groaned and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. One thing he couldn't seem to fight was a crying female. He blasted out a long sigh while mentally reviewing his schedule for the next day. “I guess I can postpone business for a day or two.” He brightened. “Maybe we can talk Bree into going with us.”

“Oh, Gil, thank you.” Colleen clutched his hand. “You're the best person I know. Besides Rylan, that is.”

Gil chuckled. “How on earth did you end up falling for a priest?”

She gave a sad smile. “I'm not sure. I think God must have a very strange sense of humor.”

He sobered. “What will you tell your mother?”

“I'll think of something before the morning. I want to leave on the earliest train, if you don't mind.” She got to her feet as she spoke and handed him back his handkerchief.

He followed suit. “Good idea. The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get back.” And then he'd only lose one day of work.

“How can I ever thank you? You have no idea how much this means to me.” She leaned forward to plant a light kiss on his cheek.

He smiled. “Lord, help me, but I can never say no to an O'Leary.”

Behind him, the door crashed into the wall. “Maybe you should learn how.”

He spun around to see Brianna in the doorway. Her eyes flashed violence, and her slender frame shook as she whirled on Colleen. “Here you are trying to seduce Gil again. I should have known your repentance was all an act. No one can change that much.”

Colleen went white, her mouth grim. “I will not stand here and subject myself to your false accusations.” With a swish of her skirts, Colleen swept out the open door.

Gil's emotions swung between humiliation and rage. Granted, the situation didn't look good, but Brianna should know them better than that. “You owe us both an apology.” The deadly calm of his voice should have given her warning.

Brianna's nostrils flared. “I find Colleen in your bedroom, with you half undressed, and I owe
you
an apology?”

He glanced down at his unbuttoned shirt and winced. “We were only talking.” That sounded lame even to him. “If you'll just listen for a minute, I can explain.”

He glimpsed stark pain in her eyes, before her features became shuttered. “I'm through listening to explanations.” Without waiting for a response, she stalked out the door.

The instinct to race after her filled him with adrenaline. But after two frantic steps down the hall, he forced himself to stop. It was time Brianna learned to put aside her insecurities and trust him. If she turned tail and ran every time she saw
him talking to another woman, what kind of life would they have together?

He trudged back to his room and sank onto the squeaky mattress. So much for getting a good night's sleep.

Late-afternoon shadows fell across the simple altar in the seminary chapel. Rylan sat on the first wooden pew, clutching four letters in his hand. One he'd read several times, the other three remained unopened.

Lord, what test are You putting me through now?

Rylan rose and walked to the single candle that illuminated the altar. He blew out the flame, inhaling the familiar scent of sulfur as the spirals of smoke wisped upward. The plan for his life had gone up in a similar puff of smoke, and he was at a loss as to how to get it back on track.

Despite weeks of solitary confinement filled with meditation and prayer, no solid answers had come to him. No clear-cut divine message to direct his path. He glanced at the unopened envelopes in his hand, postmarked Long Island, New York. His hand trembled, battling the desire to rip open the flap and devour every word Colleen had written. Yet reading her innermost thoughts would tear open the wound in his heart that was just beginning to heal. Rylan couldn't afford to let that happen.

The other letter, the one he'd already read, caused a spasm of grief in his chest. Rylan had always imagined having his mother in the front row at his ordination as he took his vows. But her letter said she'd been ill for several months and would be unable to make the journey. Despair simmered beneath the surface of his tightly held emotions. Just how ill was she? By the time he wrote back, would it be too late?

Slowly, Rylan made his way down the darkened aisle to the door. He paused a moment before reentering the bright world beyond the chapel's sanctuary.

Loud footsteps clicked on the tiled floor. Mrs. Burton, the housekeeper, stopped when she saw him. “There you are, Mr. Montgomery. You have a visitor.”

Rylan frowned. “Who is it?”

“Says he's your cousin. Mr. Gilbert Whelan.”

A chill raced up Rylan's spine. Why would Gil be here? Surely James hadn't taken a turn for the worse. Rylan forced a strained smile, thankful his confinement had ended the day before. “Thank you, Mrs. Burton.”

“He's in the sitting room.” She gave a grunt and bustled back to guard her post.

Please, Lord, don't let it
be more bad news. I don't think my heart
could take it.

Rylan smoothed a hand over his brown cassock, re-tied the coarse rope belt, and made his way to the visitors' lounge.

Gil turned from the fireplace as Rylan entered the room. He gave a rather nervous smile and strode forward, hand extended. “Rylan, it's good to see you.”

Surprised at the jolt of homesickness that hit him, Rylan shook Gil's hand eagerly. “Gil, this is a great surprise. What brings you to Boston?”

Gil's smile stayed bright a few moments too long. “Helping a friend with a . . . personal matter.” He darted a glance to the doorway, then back.

Rylan gestured to one of the sofas. “Please have a seat. Can I get you any refreshments?”

“No, thank you.”

Rylan eyed Gil, noting the uncomfortable way he held himself on the settee. “How is everything at home? Is Mr. O'Leary faring better?” Rylan longed to ask about Colleen but held his tongue until it could come up naturally in the conversation.

“Improving all the time. He's been up on a few walks around the room now.”

“That is good news. And how is Cousin Kathleen coping with the situation?”

“It's taken a toll on her, but she's managing—as we all are. And how are things with you?”

“Quiet, actually. I've just finished a month-long retreat.” Rylan drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, conscious of Gil's watchful gaze.

“Will you be continuing your internship somewhere else now?”

Rylan's mouth went dry. Why did it seem like Gil was grilling him for information? “My superior hasn't decided yet.” The room suddenly seemed too warm. Rylan jumped up and moved to the window to pull up the wooden sash, letting in a blast of fresh air. Turning back to Gil, Rylan searched for a topic of conversation other than Colleen and the O'Learys. “How long will you be in Boston?”

“I'll be heading back on the late train tonight.”

Relief and disappointment rushed through Rylan's system in equal measure. Though it was wonderful to see a familiar face, Gil's presence brought back painful memories of his time at Irish Meadows—memories he'd worked hard to banish from his mind.

Gil rose from the sofa, nervously brushing a thread from his coat. “Actually, Rylan, I brought you something from home. Wait here and I'll get it.”

Rylan frowned and dropped into one of the armchairs. The lad was acting as anxious as a cat in a kennel. Over what? A batch of Mrs. Harrison's oatmeal cookies?

“Hello, Rylan.”

His heart ceased pumping. The blood congealed in his veins, stiffening his limbs into a paralyzed state. Time suspended, as even the ticking of the brass clock on the mantel stilled.

He inhaled and forced his head up to see Colleen standing just inside the door—a vision in a blue gown and matching
hat. His breath caught at the magnificent sight of her. Like a man too long in the desert, he drank her in. Fading memories of her could not compare with the vibrant beauty standing before him. Her vivid violet-blue eyes watched him, filled with trepidation.