Aftershocks

CHAPTER TEN

NOON SATURDAY found Briana in a whispered conversation with her aunt while they waited for Uncle Cecil to finish a call in his study.

“Your poor uncle,” Aunt Irene whispered. “I’m seriously worried about him. Goodness knows what this fight he’s in with the mayor will do to his blood pressure.” She shot a glance over at Briana. “And his cholesterol.”

Briana could well understand that stress affected blood pressure, but cholesterol?

“He’s not sleeping well, and I hear him muttering to himself all the time. It’s not right. That mayor had no right to upset your uncle this way.”

Briana was about to explain the mayor’s rationale, when she realized she’d only upset her aunt further. Briana suspected Uncle Cecil was not a fun man to live with when he was in a temper.

So she held her peace and let her aunt rant on about how dreadful her life had been when that awful photo was first leaked to the press. She couldn’t even face going to the supermarket for days. “It wasn’t until we were almost completely out of supplies that I realized I was going to have to face the ridicule of our neighbors or starve.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt.” And she was. “It can’t have been easy.”

“No. It was terrible. Just terrible.” Her lip quivered. “Of course it was a lie. Your uncle has barely looked at another woman since we’ve been married. He’d never do a thing like…what was in that picture. They’d blanked out part of it, of course, to put it in the newspaper, but it was still just awful. And the man didn’t even look like your uncle.”

“I’m so sorry, Aunt Irene. I can’t believe anyone could hurt you and Uncle Cecil this way.”

Still, she wanted proof that Patrick was behind the awful smear campaign.

Interestingly enough, that was exactly what was on her uncle’s mind when he emerged from his study.

“You two go out on the back porch and have a nice chat,” her aunt said. “I’ve got the chicken salad all made. I’ll just fix the rest of lunch and put it out on the dining room table.” She smiled at Briana and added a conspirator’s wink. “It’s very private out back. No one will see or hear you talking to your uncle.”

Briana went through the kitchen and out to the porch. When they were sitting, glasses of lemonade in their hands, she took a moment to study Uncle Cecil. She could see why her aunt was worried about his health. His face was a mottled red, and it wasn’t from exertion or too much sun. She suspected it was from high blood pressure and stress.

“Are you all right, Uncle Cecil?” she asked softly.

“Of course I’m not all right.” He managed to smile at her. “I’m better for seeing you, though.”

She shifted in one of the deck chairs her aunt had reupholstered recently in white cotton with strawberries printed all over it. The print was cheerful, even if the atmosphere was anything but.

Uncle Cecil didn’t waste time getting to the point. “Well? What’s O’Shea up to?”

Briana felt tugged by loyalty to two men she cared for deeply. If they pulled much harder, she was going to split in two. “You know what he’s up to as well as I do, Uncle Cecil. He’s determined to access that money, and more than ninety percent of the city’s voters agree with him.”

Uncle Cecil’s cheeks deepened to an alarming hue. He was redder than the berries on the fabric. He put down his drink with a thunk and rose to glare out at his backyard. “He tried to destroy me, and that didn’t work. Now he’s trying to make a public fool out of me. But he’s not going to get away with it.”

“Uncle Cecil,” she said, in as calm and reasonable a manner as she could manage, “if the people of Courage Bay want to increase funding to the services, would it be so wrong for you to let them do it?”

He turned to her, dumbfounded.

She tried a smile. “I know you understand about money and wise investments, and you wouldn’t let anyone be foolish with taxpayers’ dollars. I’ve checked the original documents that were filed when the fund was created. You could stipulate that your yes vote is dependent upon only a certain amount being accessed, and you could demand that council appoint outside trustees to ensure the money is spent wisely.”

“I cannot believe my own niece is…is consorting with the enemy.”

Briana felt her own cheeks redden at the implied insult. “I’m not against you, Uncle Cecil. I’m on your side, but I’m also seeing how a lot of citizens feel. I think if you continue to stonewall the mayor on this, you’ll end up losing.”

“Losing again, you mean.”

“I appreciate how angry you are at the way your reputation was smeared, but the two things aren’t necessarily related,” she said. She rose and placed a hand on her uncle’s arm.

“This man all but ruined my life and, even worse, the peace and comfort of my wife, your aunt.” He emphasized the last two words, and Briana shifted uncomfortably. “He’s not a man anyone can trust. Now, you can’t tell me that a beautiful woman like you has been working with him day after day, just the two of you alone in that office, and nothing’s happened?”

Knowing that her expression would only too clearly reveal her feelings for Patrick, Briana turned away from her uncle and walked to the other side of the porch.

“He’s done nothing improper,” she said, reminding herself that she was the one who’d begged Patrick to take her in the elevator, the one who’d talked him into firing her. Now, instead of trying to get her into bed, he’d given her a month to make up her mind about finding another job before he’d continue their private relationship. In her books, that was pretty honorable behavior.

“Maybe you’re not trying hard enough,” her uncle said from behind her.

She did turn now, knowing her eyes flashed with anger. “I promised you that I would help put things right, and I’m trying to do that and still keep my integrity.”

Her uncle shifted uncomfortably, then stooped to one of the white planters to snap a dead geranium bloom off its bright green stem. “Of course not,” he muttered. “You misunderstood me. I’m only trying to right a wrong. If we can turn the city against Mayor O’Shea, then his little publicity stunt to get the money for his old buddies at the firehouse isn’t going to work.”

“But, Uncle Cecil, this is not a personal whim on the mayor’s part. The people of Courage Bay want improved emergency response times. Lives are at stake. People are overwhelmingly in favor of accessing the municipal bond.”

“Don’t be naive, Briana. You’ve been involved in politics long enough to know people can change their minds awfully damn fast. If O’Shea were out and I was mayor, I’d run this city more efficiently, and his old buddies Egan and Zirinsky wouldn’t get their overpadded budgets past me. I’m an old hand at this and I’ve been a banker all my life. I think I know a little more about public finance than a man who’s spent most of his career sliding down a fire pole!”

“But what if he’s right, Uncle Cecil? What if more people die in this town because we don’t have the resources to prevent it. How would you feel?”

He looked at her, his blue eyes sharp with suspicion. “I’m beginning to think it’s not my feelings that are the problem, but yours.”

This time Briana was powerless to stop the heat that flooded her cheeks.

“O’Shea’s a handsome young fellow, I’ll give you that. Quite a lady’s man. All the O’Shea men are. But don’t let that Irish charm fool you. He’s a coldhearted son of a bitch, out for what he can get, and he’ll destroy anyone who gets in his way. I asked for your help because I thought I could trust you. Now I’m beginning to feel the same about you.”

“That’s funny,” she said. “I’m beginning to feel the same way about you.”

AFTER SATURDAY’S awkward lunch, where she and her uncle tried to be pleasant to each other for her aunt’s sake, Briana was looking forward to a long Sunday drive on her own.

She’d promised she’d help her uncle restore his good reputation. He wanted to do that by bringing down his rival. She much preferred finding out who’d maligned her uncle in that vicious newspaper report. Today, she hoped to get a step closer.

As she drove up the highway, she tossed around ideas on how to approach the retired officer. In the end, she decided to tell as much of the truth as she could. She’d be up front about the fact that she worked for the mayor and would explain that she was researching the old charges in hopes of exonerating the long serving councilor. With time running out before a showdown between Patrick and Cecil Thomson, Briana was determined to get to the truth.

When she reached the tidy community of small bungalows, she found the Carlton home with no trouble. As she pulled to the curb, she noted that all the drapes were drawn and the newspaper sitting on the front step.

Maybe they were out for the afternoon?

She got out of her car and headed up the path, but as she rang the front doorbell and listened to it echo, a voice said behind her, “They’re not home.”

Briana turned to find an older woman in a sun visor, plaid shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt regarding her with mild suspicion.

“Oh. I drove up from Courage Bay to see Mr. Carlton on business. Will he be home this afternoon, do you think?”

“Nope. Not till the middle of the week. They’re on a cruise for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. You want to leave a note?”

Briana smiled and shook her head. “I was hoping to talk to him in person. But it can wait. Thank you for your trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. We look out for each other in this neighborhood.”

MONDAY MORNING, Patrick handed Briana a small envelope.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s from Dylan.”

She wasn’t surprised. Dylan now contacted her every day, either by phone or by sending her a new piece of art for her bulletin board. She was falling for him almost as badly as she had fallen for his dad.

Inside the envelope was a single card with space aliens on it and several lines printed in Dylan’s own hand. It took her a moment to realize what it was. “Oh, a birthday party invitation.”

“That’s right. Dylan wanted to invite you to his party.”

She glanced up at Patrick. They’d been so careful this past week to keep their distance, and though she couldn’t bring herself to discourage Dylan’s calls, she hadn’t made another trip to the O’Shea house. She hadn’t intended to until she knew the truth about the false charges against her uncle. She’d been fairly certain Patrick would give her the month he’d promised, but she hadn’t counted on his son being the one to invite her back to their home.

“Did you know about this?”

“Sure.” Patrick was noncommittal. He could love the idea or hate it-it was impossible to tell. So she asked him.

“How do you feel about this?”

“It’s Dylan’s birthday party. He can invite anyone he wants.”

Okay, he wasn’t exactly forthcoming with his feelings.

She hesitated, tapping the card against her palm. “I’m flattered that Dylan invited me, but I’m not sure it would send the right message if I-”

“Don’t tell me. I didn’t invite you. Tell Dylan.” Patrick pointed to the last line. “It says RSVP right there.” He turned and disappeared into his office.

Briana had the feeling he was disappointed she was going to turn down his son’s invitation. But she had to, didn’t she?

Later that day, when she called Dylan, he whooped with joy at the sound of her voice, and Briana knew right then that she was going to his party.

“I knew you’d come,” Dylan said enthusiastically when she accepted his invitation. I told Dad you would.”

“Really.” She paused in surprise. “Did he think I wouldn’t?”

“He said you had your own life and I shouldn’t be disappointed if you couldn’t make it. But I would have been.”

So, she’d spend Saturday afternoon at the birthday party desperately pretending she didn’t have the hots for Dylan’s father.

At least she had a good idea what to get Patrick’s son for his birthday and spent a happy hour in an arts and crafts store downtown selecting a drawing kit that was age-appropriate and yet offered him some tools and an instruction book if he wanted to learn more. She also picked up a three-volume set of The Lord of the Rings, figuring that no matter how good a movie was, it could never capture all the nuances of the original book.

While she was in the bookstore, she picked up a book for Fiona, as well, knowing that she was young enough to feel left out when Dylan got all the presents.

Since she wasn’t in the habit of buying kids birthday gifts, Briana didn’t have the right kind of wrapping paper. She found a card shop and bought paper with realistic-looking dinosaurs and a “now you are 10” card.

That was the easy part.

The tough part came Saturday afternoon when she had to decide what a thirty-two-year-old woman should wear to a ten-year-old’s birthday party.

“This is ridiculous!” she yelled to herself after she’d changed her outfit more times than a runway model for a Paris show. She finally decided on a denim skirt, leather sandals, a pale blue shirt and a white cotton sweater.

As she drove to the party, she had no idea what to expect. Her big fear was that, for all the supposed casualness of the invitation, she’d be the only adult other than Patrick, which might in some way cast her as the mother figure for the day.

Of course, she’d tried to pump Patrick for details of the party, but, being a man, he didn’t seem to catch on to the subtext of her questions the way a woman would.

When she’d asked him, “Has Dylan invited many boys?” what she really meant was, “Will I be the only woman there?”

Patrick had answered absently, signing a stack of correspondence. “I gave him a limit of ten boys.”

“Oh. Was I included in that limit?”

He glanced up, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “You’re not a boy.”

She gave up. She absolutely gave up.

Now, as she drove up to Patrick’s house, she was surprised to see a string of cars lining the driveway and parked out front.

When she climbed out of her car, she heard unmistakable sounds of adult merriment. Clearly, then, there were more than just ten boys here at the party. Oh, well, her worst fear was banished. She wasn’t being chosen as stand-in mother for the day. Dylan had simply invited her because he wanted her to be there.

Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she walked to the front door and rang the bell. She was about to ring again when a harassed-looking Patrick opened the door. Briana had anticipated feeling a little awkwardness at being in his home again, but he was so clearly frazzled that any nervousness immediately fled in the need to help him in some way.

“Do you know anything about potato salad?” he asked.

It was impossible not to smile. He was adorable when he was flustered. “The basics. Why?”

“I forgot to buy it from the deli. Dylan loves potato salad. He can’t turn ten without it and I’ve got a potful of boiling potatoes on the stove, ten demons from hell destroying my house, guests in the backyard I’m ignoring and no clue what to do first.”

So the man could run a city in crisis, but a simple kids’ party was beyond him. Briana had no idea why she found that so appealing, but she did.

“I can handle the potato salad,” she said, entering the house. She handed him the presents and started pulling off her sweater. “But the ten demons from hell are your department.”

He shot her a grateful grin.

“Thanks. I owe you.”

Since she knew her way around his kitchen, she went straight in, trying to ignore the howls and yells of the boys currently stampeding through the house. Demons from hell wasn’t so far off, she decided.

The potatoes were boiling merrily in the pot. Patrick hadn’t peeled them before putting them on to cook, but she could deal with that. She opened the cutlery drawer, found a fork and pushed it into a random potato. Still hard. Good.

“How do you know where Patrick keeps his cutlery?” a sharp voice from the sliding doors leading into the backyard made her jump and almost drop the fork.

Swinging round, she saw Shannon, Patrick’s younger sister-you could never call her little-staring at her with an expression that was far from benign.

Why shouldn’t she know where Patrick kept his cutlery? There was an innocent enough explanation, but she hadn’t seen Shannon since the night she’d helped rescue Patrick and Briana from the elevator, and the same suspicious gaze was riveted on her now.

Briana noticed then that the adults she’d heard out in the yard weren’t just parents of the other boys. There were a lot of O’Sheas out on the lawn, laughing and talking. In fact, Briana realized with a stab of panic that the birthday party was as much a family gathering as a kids’ affair.

Shannon slid the door closed and came closer.

“Lucky guess,” Briana told her. “Patrick’s having potato salad angst. Since you’re obviously more familiar with his kitchen, why don’t you make the salad?” She stepped back and made a graceful gesture toward the pot.

Shannon shrugged and sent her a wry smile. “Potato salad’s not my specialty.”

“Wash your hands and grab a knife. You can be my sous-chef.”

While Shannon did just that, she said, “I’m surprised Patrick invited you.”

“Patrick didn’t invite me,” Briana assured Patrick’s nosy sister. “Dylan did.”

“Oh. He’s a nice kid. More sensitive than he looks.”

“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” Briana said, only half-teasing. “The last time I was at a ten-year-old’s birthday party, I think I wore pigtails and a Cabbage Patch doll T-shirt.”

This sally didn’t receive so much as a smidgen of a grin in return. “Why are you here?”

“I told you, Dylan invited me.”

“Yeah. But you didn’t have to say yes. You look like a woman who gets a lot of weekend invitations.”

Briana understood that Shannon was protective of her brother and her niece and nephew. She respected that, so instead of getting snippy, she was honest. Letting out a breath, she turned to lean against the kitchen counter. “I planned to say no, but it’s harder than you’d think to say no to Dylan.”

Shannon emitted a surprisingly musical laugh. “Don’t I know it. All the O’Shea men inherited the Irish charm.”

Briana nodded and turned back to recheck the potatoes. Patrick sure had charm, and it had worked on her all right. She turned off the stove burner.

“You probably think I’m being pushy and sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Shannon remarked.

Briana didn’t answer.

Behind her, Shannon snorted. “Okay, I am being pushy and sticking my nose in, but I love Patrick and Dylan and Fiona and I don’t want to see them hurt.”

“Patrick and I aren’t-”

“Save it. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I’m not stupid.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “You didn’t know Patrick when Janie was alive.”

This got Briana’s attention. She turned and gazed at Shannon. “No. I didn’t.”

Shannon ’s gaze clouded. “It broke us all up when it happened. Janie wasn’t even sick. One day, everything’s fine. Patrick’s got this perfect life. He’s married to the girl he started dating in high school. He’s got these two great kids. He’s the fire chief. Life can’t get any better. And then poof. It’s over.”

“Tell me about it,” Briana suggested gently. It was obvious this was tough on Shannon, but she was the one who’d opened the subject, and Briana really wanted to know more.

The usually tough firefighter rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Janie woke up that morning and said she wasn’t feeling well. She had a headache. So Patrick told her to stay in bed. He got the kids up and gave them their breakfast. Dylan was in first grade. Fiona was only two. Patrick dropped Dylan off at school, and to give Janie a break, he took Fiona to our mom’s for a few hours.”

Shannon shook her head. “Thank God he did. Janie died that morning. Patrick had run home to check on her and he found her on the floor. She had the phone in her hand. She must have been trying to call for help.” Her gaze sharpened on Briana. “You think he’s ever forgiven himself for leaving her that morning?”

“But she only said she had a headache.” Briana shrugged. “Most people would take a pill and not think anything of it. Why would he worry? I mean, it’s a terrible, terrible tragedy, but I don’t see how Patrick can blame himself.”

Shannon looked at her steadily for a moment. “I’m going to tell you something not very many people know. No one outside the family knows. Janie couldn’t take a pain reliever. She was pregnant.” She swallowed noisily, and Briana thought that as formidable a foe as Shannon could obviously be, she was also the kind who loved, and deeply. It was clearly painful for her to talk about her sister-in-law’s death.

“Oh, no.”

“She was only three months along, but Patrick blames himself for that, too. He was the one who wanted more kids. I don’t think Janie minded either way, but he’d come from this big loud family, and that’s what he wanted. And he ended up losing his wife, as well as the baby she carried.”

“But that wasn’t his fault!” Briana cried, moved almost to tears by the story.

“Tell him that.”

She drained the potatoes and filled the pot with cold water, letting this new information seep in. “Of course he blames himself. I guess I would in the same situation.”

“So maybe now you can see why I won’t have him hurt. I’ll tell you right now, and it’s not to minister to your vanity, but in the three years since Janie’s been gone, I’ve never seen him look at another woman the way he looks at you. And that scares me.”

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Briana said softly. And it was the truth, but not the whole truth. She’d come to Courage Bay to hurt him. To revenge her family. She felt sick inside.

“If you do, if you hurt him or those kids, I promise I will take you apart.”

This was not a promise Briana took lightly. One glance at those fierce blue eyes, and she knew she’d never want to cross Patrick’s sister.

She nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m not stupid, you know. He won’t tell me anything, but I know you two weren’t playing charades inside that elevator. He’s got it bad.” She shook her head, hair falling around her face. “Besides, you look at him the same way he looks at you.”

Briana blinked, startled. She did? She thought her feelings for Patrick were her secret, and here she was broadcasting them every time she looked his way?

Not good.

“Don’t worry,” Shannon said, relaxing once more. “I don’t think anyone but me has noticed.” She chuckled. “It was pretty hard not to notice when you came out of that elevator with your blouse hanging open and the pair of you looking like…well, I don’t think the earthquake was the only thing that made the earth move.”

“This is a very inappropriate conversation,” Briana said, trying hard not to blush. Since she knew she was going a deeper red by the second, she stuck her head over the pot and started taking out potatoes. She shoved a couple Shannon ’s way. “Here. Peel these.”

“Ow,” her companion said. “They’re hot.”

“You’re a firefighter. You’re supposed to be able to take the heat.”

“Not in the kitchen,” Shannon grumbled. But she dug in and peeled potatoes, hot or not.

The sliding door opened and a huge man entered. The way he and Shannon looked at each other, Briana didn’t have to be introduced. Obviously, this was John Forester.

“Now that’s a sight for sore eyes-you being domestic,” he teased Shannon.

She laughed and introduced John and Briana.

“What are you doing in here?” Shannon asked.

“I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. The food will be up in a minute. Go help Sean with the barbecue or something.”

With some good-natured muttering, John left and the two women went back to their potato salad.

Briana once more found herself raiding Patrick’s fridge and pantry for the ingredients she needed. There was lots of mayonnaise in the fridge, luckily, and some gourmet oil and vinegar dressing, which she threw in. No green onions, but she chopped up some celery and carrots. Patrick hadn’t boiled any eggs, so she decided to do without them. She got creative with some spices, mixed the whole thing together and found a pretty glass bowl to put the salad into. When she and Shannon were done, they had a very respectable-looking potato salad, and when they tasted it, they both approved.

“At least you’re a good cook,” Shannon said, helping herself to another scoop of potato salad, before Briana ruthlessly pulled it away and put it in the fridge.

Shannon started to wipe down the counter. “Look, I haven’t told many people this yet, but I’m thinking of moving to New York to be with John.”

“Wow. The family will miss you.”

“I know. Anyhow, I guess that’s why I was hard on you. I won’t be around to keep an eye on Patrick and the kids, so I have to get my licks in now.”

“I understand.” And she did. Family loyalty could make a person do some crazy things.

Now that Shannon had leveled with her, she seemed to loosen up around Briana, which was good. The only thing was, she didn’t want to be the great hope for Patrick’s future any more than she wanted to be the woman who brought him down with a sexual harassment charge.

Briana wanted a chance to get to know this man her body craved, who he really was, without the rest of the world looking on.

In a crowd of O’Sheas, that wasn’t likely to happen.

Surprisingly, as it turned out, Briana did get to know more about him that afternoon. She saw him with his family, relaxed in a sunny backyard with the smell of grilling burgers in the air.

They were a gregarious lot, the O’Sheas, and those she didn’t know, she soon met. Shannon made sure of it. She dragged Briana by the hand to meet her parents.

“Mom,” Shannon said, interrupting the older woman’s conversation, “this is Patrick’s new admin assistant, Briana Bliss. Briana, this is our mom, Mary.”

Mary O’Shea was as tall as her daughter. She looked about fifty, when Briana knew she had to be at least ten years older. She wasn’t a beautiful woman, but she was a striking one, with the most amazing cloud of long, white curly hair that floated around her head and shoulders in a way that was far too angelic for the expression in her twinkling hazel eyes. She looked like a woman who enjoyed a good joke and could keep her crew of men in line with no trouble at all.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mary said, and instead of shaking Briana’s hand politely, she pulled her in for a rib-crushing hug. “Patrick thinks the world of you, you know. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Thank you,” Briana said faintly, wondering if she’d bruise.

“This is Patrick’s father, my husband, Caleb,” Mary said, jabbing her husband in the belly with her elbow to get his attention.

Caleb was tall-about six foot five-and probably weighed in about three hundred pounds. Even though he was completely bald, he was a handsome man, with the same gorgeous blue eyes and thick black lashes as Patrick.

Not certain she could survive a hug if he was as enthusiastic as his wife, Briana was relieved when he shook her hand heartily with his own work-roughened hand. “Patrick’s lucky to have such a pretty little thing in his office,” the older man said with an appreciative spark in his eye.

“You are so politically correct, Dad,” Shannon said, rolling her eyes at him.

Caleb only laughed, a big booming laugh. “I know Briana’s excellent at her job, because my son told me so. Don’t see why me thinking she’s pretty is a crime.”

Briana was dazed rather than offended. At five feet ten she didn’t often get called a “pretty little thing,” but the O’Sheas all seemed to dwarf her. She decided she liked Caleb with his humorous gaze and hearty laugh, so she smiled up at him. “I’m not offended. Thank you for the compliment.”

Shannon was summoned away by John, so her father took it upon himself to introduce the rest of his clan, which included Brian O’Shea, Patrick’s grandfather, Sean O’Shea, Patrick and Shannon ’s brother, who was a smoke jumper with the fire department, and his wife, Linda.

Even though it was a family party, the O’Sheas put Briana at ease, and she was soon enjoying herself more than she’d imagined she would.

Dylan roared past with a “Hi, Briana,” giving her his soon-to-be-chick-magnet grin and racing on to the next game with his crew of equally noisy friends. He seemed delighted to see her, but no more so than he was happy to see everyone else.

Fiona also had a friend over, the younger sister of one of Dylan’s pals, and the two little girls were sitting cross-legged on a quilt under a leafy tree, playing dolls. Briana walked over and paused to watch the girls. She couldn’t believe the difference between the orderly, low-key girls’ play and the rambunctious antics of the older boys.

She didn’t want to interrupt Fiona and her friend, but couldn’t stop herself from enjoying the scene for a few minutes.

“Sugar and spice and everything nice?” a deep male voice said softly behind her.

Since her body immediately perked to attention, it was obvious who was speaking. She turned to find Patrick altogether too close and looking more relaxed now.

She smiled at him, wishing she had the right to put her arms around him and kiss him. Wishing he didn’t look at her in a way that put the idea into her head.

“Will Fiona and her little friend be that noisy when they’re Dylan’s age?” she asked.

She ought to take a couple of steps back, Briana thought, but her body wouldn’t obey the dictates of her more sensible brain. He was so close she could see the black flecks in his eyes, the lines of both laughter and tragedy endured that radiated from the corners of his eyes, the darker patch of stubble on one side of his jaw where he’d missed a spot shaving. She could even smell him, the clean laundry smell of his T-shirt and the earthy and so-familiar scent of his skin. It took her back to the dark elevator, when she’d been surrounded by his scent, the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice.

The pull she felt was like a physical tug.

“I doubt it. I think boys are just rowdier.”

And which gender would he have ended up having more of, she wondered, if his wife hadn’t died? Boys or girls? It was a sad thought for a sunny day, but the information was so new to her that she needed to digest it. She wished she could ask Patrick, encourage him to open up and talk to her about that awful time. But she didn’t have the right. She already felt an intimacy she didn’t want to feel, and to encourage it at this point was crazy.

“You look like you’re miles away,” Patrick said.

“Sorry. I think I’m in shock. I had no idea Dylan and his friends had so much energy.”

He chuckled. “He’ll sleep tonight. They all will. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you much of a welcome. You caught me in the middle of a panic.”

She smiled, thinking how much she liked the carefree sound of his laughter, and how rare that laughter was these days. “As I believe I told you, I love to cook.”

“The salad looks great. Thanks for helping me out.”

“What are friends for?”

“Is that what we are, Briana? Friends?”

Briana had asked the question idly, and his reply stunned her. She blinked and stared at Patrick, so serious and so handsome with the sunlight glinting off his black hair, his blue eyes intent on her.

“I-I’d like to think we are.”

He gazed at her as though there was a lot more he wanted to say, and couldn’t. He merely nodded, and she noted the tense set of his shoulders as he turned and strolled over to his brother Sean, who was helping John flip burgers.

She didn’t see Patrick again until it was time for cake and presents. Since there were no kids in her own life-most of her friends being young, childless professionals-she was ridiculously nervous about her gift for Dylan. Was it too old? Too…artistic? She didn’t want to disappoint Dylan with a lame gift, and now she wondered if she’d been wise to include her small present for Fiona.

Oh, well, she’d done it with the best of intentions. Quietly she handed the little girl the wrapped package when Dylan opened his. Fiona was delighted, and her dainty little fingers made surprisingly short work of the wrapping.

“It’s a book!” Fiona showed it to Briana as though it would be a surprise for her, as well. She’d asked at the bookstore and hoped she had something age-appropriate, and the story was about a small black dog who got lost and had to find his way home. It seemed to be a hit with Fiona.

Dylan ripped the wrapping paper off his gift. “Wow. Cool,” he said as he opened the case and spied all the art supplies. “Thanks. I’ll draw you the first picture.” He flashed her that grin again, then opened his book and pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!”

He opened his other gifts, but the biggest excitement was saved for his father’s present-a black mountain bike with a glossy black helmet to match.

“Sweet!” Dylan yelled. “Now we can go biking together, Dad.”

Briana only hoped life in Courage Bay would calm down enough that the father and son could enjoy plenty of weekend bike rides.

She smiled to herself. While they were doing that, she and Fiona could spend some quality girl time making cookies, doing manicures, decorating the doll’s house she’d spied in the little girl’s room. Briana was dying to get her hands on it. And when Fiona was a little older, she imagined the four of them out riding together.

Abruptly she yanked her daydreams back to reality. What was she thinking? She never should have come here today and allowed herself to fall into the fantasy that she was part of the O’Shea clan.

Until she’d cleared her uncle’s name, she needed to keep her distance from the O’Sheas-all of them. If by some slim chance Patrick had been a party to hurting her family, the two of them could never have a future together.

Briana forced herself to drink coffee and chat to Mary O’Shea as though she weren’t counting the seconds until she could leave.

Then, suddenly, nine of the boisterous young boys were being taken home, and relative quiet descended on Patrick’s home. Good. Her moment to escape had arrived.

After a short conversation with Patrick and John, Shannon clapped her hands. “Do the birthday boy and his sister want to come have a sleepover at Auntie Shannon’s?”

Over the shrieks of glee and the pleas, “Can you make pancakes in the morning? Can we take Cleo for a walk?” Briana felt her stomach contract.

Damn that interfering, matchmaking Shannon O’Shea. Briana had liked her better when she was threatening her than she did now that the woman was trying to foster a relationship between Briana and Patrick that was both inappropriate and fraught with potential heartache.

Briana knew perfectly well that the sleepover was a ploy to give her and Patrick time alone. It had to be the least subtle ploy she’d ever seen, and in front of his whole family, too! Not that anyone seemed to mind. Mary, for one, had a complacent smile on her face, and she saw the older woman reach for her husband’s hand and give it a quick squeeze.

Oh, no.

Briana didn’t want time alone with Patrick. Well, okay, she did, but not while everything was such a mess, and she was so confused.

No. She couldn’t and wouldn’t be manipulated like this. As well-meaning as his sister was, Shannon was also, as she’d warned Briana, pushy. For some reason, Patrick’s sister had now decided to sanction the romance, but Briana needed to let it be known to every O’Shea in Courage Bay that she made her own decisions. And being offered a night alone with Patrick on a silver platter was more tempting than she liked to admit, but she wasn’t ready for that delicacy quite yet.

In the pandemonium of the kids getting ready to go, and before Patrick’s family had a chance to leave, she retrieved her coat. Her color was high, she knew, but she couldn’t help that. Maybe they’d think she’d caught a touch of sun.

“Thank you for a lovely party,” she said to Dylan, who was running around the kitchen with his sleeping bag, shouting something about not needing a toothbrush.

Patrick didn’t seem to agree on the toothbrush situation and was down in the bathroom, she presumed, yelling something about cavities.

“Thanks for the present,” Dylan said. “I mean, thanks for coming.”

“I had a good time. You enjoy your sleepover.”

Then she gave Shannon her blandest smile, wished every O’Shea in the vicinity a pleasant evening, and headed out while the O’Shea she most cared about was down the hall in his children’s bathroom.

And take that, Shannon, she said to herself as she scooted into her car and drove home.