A Heart Revealed Read online

  Folding her arms, Charity nudged her elbow against Emma’s while mischief glinted in her blue eyes. “Well, judging from the way Luke’s been looking at her all day, I’d say Katie will have all the fireworks she can handle.”

  “Sean!” The room stilled at the booming sound of the groom’s voice, edged with laughter. All eyes turned to the men by the wall, including Emma’s, who followed the lightning thrust of Luke McGee’s hand while her smile remained buried in Katie’s bouquet.

  Lost in conversation, Sean glanced up in surprise. Ever the athlete, he instinctively reached to catch whatever Luke was tossing his way. Whistles and cheers rose as he blinked at the pretty, lacy garter clutched in his upraised fist. Split-second realization forced color into his cheeks. And then, with a skewed smile and an innocent slant of heavy blond brows, the garter slipped through his fingers to the floor. “Whoops . . .”

  Charity’s husband, Mitch, retrieved the unwanted garter with a deft swipe of his hand and bobbled it with a grin. He shoved it into Sean’s breast pocket next to the white silk handkerchief and rose boutonniere. “Sorry, old boy, but this one belongs to you, and everybody here knows it. And I don’t mind saying, we all think it’s long, long overdue.”

  Sean plucked the garter from his pocket and slipped it on his arm, all embarrassment apparently forgotten as he grinned at his brothers-in-law. “I do believe I detect a bit of jealousy from the ranks of the married. Well, unlike you poor slobs, it will take more than trickery from Luke McGee and a bit of lace to get me to the altar.”

  “Yeah, like four sisters and a mother on a round-the-clock novena,” Mitch said with a chuckle, slapping him on the back. “Face it, Sean—your bachelor days are numbered.”

  Shouts and laughter erupted as Luke ushered Katie toward the door with a suitcase in his hand. Katie’s sister, Lizzie, followed behind, eyes moist as she snuggled a sleepy Kit.

  “Now you give me a call when you get to New York, Katie, you hear?” Marcy O’Connor squeezed her daughter in a tearful hug. “So I know you’re okay?”

  Patrick O’Connor shook Luke’s hand and shot his wife an off-center smile. “For pity’s sake, Marcy, Katie Rose is a married woman now, not a youngster underfoot who has to check in. Leave the newlyweds be.” He swooped Katie up in a ferocious hug and winked at his new son-in-law. “Besides, she’s Luke’s problem now, not ours.”

  “Father!” Mock indignation laced Katie’s tone as she gave her father a playful smack.

  “It’s all under control, Mr. O’Connor,” Luke said with an easy grin. He pressed a firm hand against the small of Katie’s back, totally ignoring the sudden lift of her brow. “And we will call tonight, Mrs. O’Connor, rest assured. Thank you all for everything.”

  “Do we get calls too?” Charity asked with a dance of her brows.

  Katie laughed and deposited a gentle kiss on Kit’s cheek, now sound asleep against Lizzie’s shoulder. “Nope, only Lizzie so we can check in on Kit.” She dispensed hugs to all three of her sisters and Emma. “You and Faith will have to wait till I get back because we’ll be very busy. Luke has a full agenda planned, lots of things he wants me to see and do in his old hometown.”

  “Uh-huh . . . I’m quite sure he does,” Charity said with a tease in her tone.

  “Charity!” Emma’s cheeks tinged pink, along with Faith, Lizzie, and Katie’s, who sneaked a quick glance at Luke while he conversed with her parents.

  Faith tweaked the back of Charity’s neck. “Ignore her, Katie, we all know she’s got a one-track mind. Just make sure Luke takes you to the Empire State Building, you hear? It opened a couple of months ago, and it’s supposed to be fabulous.”

  “Oh, yes,” Emma breathed, “you’ll have to tell us all about it. It’s the tallest building in the world and even has an observatory on the eighty-sixth floor with incredible views of the city.” She sighed and gave Katie a tight hug. “Why, that high up, your head’s sure to be in the clouds.”

  A grin tugged at Katie’s lips. “It already is, Emma.” Her eyes grew misty as she touched a gentle hand to Emma’s cheek and then to her sisters’. “I love you all so much, and I can’t thank you enough for your prayers and support. What does one do without sisters, I wonder?”

  Emma smiled and squeezed Katie’s hand. “One prays for friends who are just as dear.”

  “Taxi’s waiting, you two,” Steven said with a grin, bobbling his father’s car keys in hand.

  “Ready, Katie?” Luke cupped a secure hand to Katie’s waist.

  “Hey, McGee . . .” Sean and his brothers-in-law forged forward to give Katie a hug before slapping Luke on the back. Sean flicked the garter on his arm with a chuckle. “Trust me—you’ll pay for this dearly in our next game on the court.”

  Luke delivered a cocky smile on the way to the door. “Lookin’ forward to it, Sean. Now that we’re related, I won’t have to take it so easy on you.”

  Emma smiled when Charity and her entire family shadowed Katie and Luke out the door. A gentle sigh floated from her lips. Family. I wonder if they know how truly blessed they are?

  “Sweet tea in Georgia, a solid week without Mr. Priss in the office—imagine that!” Bobbie Sue Dulay, one of Luke’s employees from the Boston Children’s Aid Society sauntered over to Emma with a purse under her arm. “Talk about a week off with pay.”

  Emma grinned up at the older silver-haired woman who far exceeded Emma in girth, height, and humor. “Yes, Katie tells me he can be pretty particular about things in the office.”

  “Humph. That’s the toad callin’ the frog homely for sure. If I didn’t know better, I suspec’ those two of being twins separated at birth.” Bobbie Sue shook her head as she watched the newlyweds duck out the door. “Yep, a marriage made in heaven for shore, if you’re in mind for a little spice in your life.”

  A marriage made in heaven. Against her will, the smile stiffened on Emma’s face. She worked hard to appear attentive while Bobbie Sue prattled on, but somehow her thoughts wandered to Rory. Heaven had had nothing to do with what she and Rory had shared, and for the first time in a long while, a hint of melancholy stole into her mood. Luke and Katie had it all—a marriage made in heaven, a family to love, and the blessings of God—and at the thought, a rare malaise settled on Emma Malloy. Like Katie and Luke, Emma had spoken vows too, and given an oath. She swallowed hard as she absently nodded at something Bobbie Sue said. Yet, love like that would never be hers, she realized, and although she had accepted that long, long ago, that didn’t stop the sting of tears that suddenly pricked in her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” A crease popped in Bobbie Sue’s brow as she bent to study Emma’s face, freckles all bunched in a frown. “Why, honey, you’re bubbling like you’re fixing to cry.”

  Emma blinked, then drew in a deep breath and forced a smile. “Come on, Bobbie Sue, let’s get some wedding cake, shall we? And don’t mind me,” she said with a quick swipe at her eyes. She linked arms with the woman, then squared her shoulders as they strolled to the other side of the room. “I’m notorious for crying over weddings.” Her smile was unnaturally bright as she ignored the stab in her heart.

  Especially my own.

  “Well, the wedding was a hit, Marcy. You and Katie did a wonderful job, and on a shoestring budget, no less.” Emma bent to slip off her heels and massage her feet.

  Despite a room in shambles from wilted flowers, spilled punch, and crumbs on the floor, a sense of satisfaction could be seen in each of the faces around the table. The silence in Kearney’s back room was a welcome relief from noisy well-wishers and shrieking cousins who’d spent the last two hours running wild. Now that guests had departed and all children had been shipped off to neighbors for safekeeping, nothing was left but cleanup.

  Marcy O’Connor tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her honey-colored bob laced with almost invisible strands of silver, and Emma couldn’t help but think she seemed more of an older sister than the mother of her three daughters in the room. Her tone was tired but
content. “Thanks, Emma. And a hit, indeed. Especially with Patrick, who’s lost more than one night’s sleep worrying about the cost of this wedding. I swear the man used to enjoy the sleep of the dead, but not anymore. At least not since this awful depression started two years ago. I’m just grateful Katie and Luke suggested a cake and punch reception here rather than a dinner at a hotel or an expensive hall. And with Luke getting this room free and Collin and Brady printing the invitations and programs as a gift, not to mention you girls providing flowers and cakes, Patrick O’Connor may actually sleep tonight.”

  Lizzie grinned. “He should. Four daughters married and no more weddings to pay for—maybe he’ll sleep for days.”

  “Oh, that sounds so good, doesn’t it?” Charity said with a scrunch of her nose, head propped in her hand.

  Faith chuckled. “No more daughters, true, but that doesn’t necessarily mean no more weddings to pay for, does it, Mother?”

  Marcy chewed on her lip and chanced a peek across the room. Patrick and the other men appeared to be glued to the radio he’d insisted on bringing so he wouldn’t miss the Yankees game during cleanup. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “No . . . not necessarily.”

  Charity leaned in, arms on the table and lips parted in a faint smile. She squinted. “You have discussed adopting Gabe with Father, haven’t you, Mother?”

  A faint hint of color washed into Marcy’s cheeks as her gaze darted to her husband and back. “Hush, Charity, will you? I’ll tell your father when the time is right.” Her lips crooked to the right. “And trust me, after paying for his fourth daughter’s wedding—cake reception or no—would not be the right time for Patrick O’Connor. I’ll just give the poor man a month or so to get over the shock of this expense, and then I’ll ease him into it slowly.” She sighed and rose to her feet. “Well, we best get busy. Mr. Kearney needs this room for a recital tonight. Did everybody bring a change of clothes, I hope? He said we could use the storage area in back as a dressing room.”

  Emma jumped up and pushed in her chair. “Not me, Marcy, but that’s okay. I rather enjoy wearing this lovely dress you made.” She picked her bride’s bouquet up from the table and gave it a gentle sniff. “Would you like me to unplug the radio and ramrod the men?”

  A tired grin plucked at Marcy’s lips. “Yes, Emma, please. And don’t you dare do too much, you hear? We’ll be out to help in a bit.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Emma headed toward the men while Marcy and her daughters shuffled off to the storage room with high heels in hand and laughter on their lips.

  “Yeah, well, he may be the ‘Sultan of Swat,’ but it will be a cold day in the devil’s kitchen before I forgive that man for leaving Boston.” Patrick O’Connor puffed on his pipe with a vengeance, smoke curling up past his handsome face, which was screwed up in a frown. He leaned over the radio, the gray in his temples glinting as he squinted to listen to the play-by-play.

  Steven looped an arm around his father’s shoulder. “Come on, Pop, Babe Ruth transformed the dead-ball era into the Golden Age of Baseball, and you know it. And a record of sixty home runs? Face it, the guy doesn’t need to be forgiven, he needs to be canonized.”

  “Canonized?” Faith’s husband, Collin, scowled. “After he deserted the Red Sox for the Yankees?”

  “I’m with Steven,” Sean said. “And don’t forget he saved baseball’s rump when fans stayed away in droves after the White Sox threw the Series in 1919. Face it, Pop—baseball needed a hero, and the Babe is it.”

  “Ahem.” Emma quietly cleared her throat, and seven sets of male eyes blinked up as if she were the Babe himself. “I have orders to start you gentlemen on cleanup.” A smile played on her lips. “And be warned—I’ve been authorized to unplug the radio, if necessary.”

  The corners of Sean’s mouth edged up, easing the strain she’d noticed in his face earlier. “Now there’s a fearsome threat—sweet Emma Malloy terrorizing us with a timid smile.”

  Color flooded her cheeks as she hiked her chin in true Charity fashion, biting back an answering grin. “I suggest you put the Babe to bed, gentlemen, before the true threat to your happy homes come bounding out of the back room.” She gave them an uncustomary wink and spun on her heel, shooting a smile over her shoulder.

  “You’ve been spending too much time with my wife, Emma,” Mitch said in a dry tone. “And just for the record, Sean, there’s nothing timid about Emma when it comes to running the store. In fact, she can be as fearsome a taskmaster as Charity when she wants to be.”

  ———

  Sean loosened his tie, then rolled up the shirtsleeves of his white dress shirt. He gave Emma a cheeky grin, wondering what it was about Emma Malloy that always lifted his spirits. “Oh yeah, I’ll bet—a regular bully. I’m sure she has everybody quaking in their boots.”

  Another soft blush stole into Emma’s cheeks as she pivoted to face him, her teasing smile calming his belligerent mood. With a rare hint of the vamp, she tossed lustrous folds of rich, chestnut hair over one shoulder and assessed him through stunning gray eyes as pure and clear as any mountain stream. “One does not have to ‘bully’ subordinates to get what one wants, Mr. O’Connor, as you should well know from managing your own store.” One manicured brow hiked high despite the glimmer of a twinkle in her eye. “Or maybe you don’t.”

  Before he could respond, she whirled around and slipped out the door, and for the first time today, he felt a full-fledged grin slide across his lips. He didn’t know how she did it, but the woman had a knack for soothing his soul more than any person alive, and Sean wished he could bottle it.

  Subordinates. His smile suddenly went sour at the thought of Andy, Mort, and Ray. Not only were they the best employees he’d had in eleven years as manager of Kelly’s Hardware, but they were men he respected who had become good friends as well. His lips flattened into a hard line. Men who depended on him to provide jobs to take care of their families in this dire economy. His bad mood returned with a vengeance as he joined his best friend, Pete, to dismantle a trellis archway his mother had asked him to build for pictures.

  “Hey, the wedding’s over, O’Connor, wipe that scowl off your face,” Pete said with a squint. “What’s eating you, anyway? I haven’t seen you this out of sorts since Howie Devlin’s older sister cornered you in a booth at Robinson’s.”

  With a grunt, Sean ripped off a branch of his mother’s trailing cottage roses twined through the white latticework. In the process, he knocked over a milk bottle of water hidden beneath the white satin draped around the base. Water gushed, and he groaned, squatting to mop it up with the satin.

  Pete grabbed the material around the other leg and started helping, peering up beneath bushy brows that framed the concern in his eyes. “What’s going on, buddy? First, you’re at your own sister’s wedding in one of the worst moods I’ve ever seen, then you’re like a bull in a china shop—two things as out of character as the Good Humor man running kids down with his truck. What’s up with you anyway? This isn’t like you.”

  Sean vented with a blast of air that started at the base of his lungs and rose like a pot ready to boil over. “Let’s just write it off as a bad day at work, okay? I’ll tell ya what though, Pete, there are days I’d like nothing more than to give Old Man Kelly a piece of my mind.” He wadded the satin and hurled it off to the side. “And my fist.” Rising, he reached for another branch, then quickly jerked away. “Blasted rosebush,” he muttered, scowling at the back of his forearm, which now ran red with blood from a lengthy cut.

  Pete handed him a piece of the soggy satin. “Here, you’re a train wreck waiting to happen, you know that? Why don’t you go have Kearney patch you up and then maybe you need to visit the speakeasy downstairs—you could use a cold one bad.”

  “Oh yeah, wouldn’t that be rich—thrown in the brig by my own brother, the prohibition agent. No, thanks, I’d rather take it out on you on the court, Murph, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Pete’s lips slanted. “Get yourse
lf a brew, O’Connor. I’d rather not test our friendship.”

  “Yeah, yeah. How about you disarm the trellis while I get this patched up? And trust me—I may just give some serious thought to that beer.” Heading for the door, Sean cocked his arm to check the bleeding right before he ran headlong into Emma.

  ———

  Emma jolted, hand to her chest. “Goodness, Sean, what did you do?”

  The bucket in her hands wavered, causing soapy water to surge over the side.

  He lifted his arm and vented a heavy sigh while several drops of blood splattered on the floor. “Apparently I’m a hazard when it comes to dismantling rose limbs from Mother’s trellis,” he said with a dry grin. “You wouldn’t know where I could get a bandage for this, would you, Emma? I suspect she’d be none too happy if I dripped blood on this white shirt.”

  Emma chewed on her lip, masking a smile. “No, but I can certainly check with Mr. Kearney. But first, we need to wash off that nasty wound.” She immediately set the bucket down and squeezed out a clean, soapy rag, clenching her teeth as she gingerly patted the blood away.

  Laugh lines fanned at the side of Sean’s face, easing the deep ridge in his brow. Eyes the same clear blue as Charity’s assessed her with a hint of a smile, merging with a spray of freckles and a tan to give him the carefree air of a mischievous Huck Finn. “I think I’ll live, Mrs. Malloy.”

  She met the twinkle in his eye with one of her own. “Not if you bleed all over that shirt, Sean O’Connor—your mother will have your head. Hold out your arm.” With short, gentle strokes, she cleaned the deep scratch and patted it dry, wincing at the rugged line that seemed to go on forever. “Goodness, what did you do, roll around in it?”

  He flicked the lacy garter that pinched against his rather intimidating bicep. “Nope, didn’t have to. Not with this jinx on my arm. In fact, I think I’m going to get rid of this albatross right now.” He reached up and jerked the garter off, dragging it down the craggy wound as it oozed fresh blood. With a squint of his eyes, he arced the garter into the wastebasket across the room with a neat, clean swish. “Yes! Two points for me and zero for marriage.” He held out his arm with an easy grin. “Patch me up, Mrs. Malloy—that was a mighty close call.”