Last of the O'Rourkes Page 5

  She didn’t like it. No, she didn’t like it a bit.

  Riley’d been fun and easy and completely non-threatening. Safe. Kat was suddenly thankful for the long robe Seamus had brought to her at the hospital. Thankful for the protection it seemed to offer. Not that she actually feared Seamus....

  The front door swung open and a little gray haired woman fluttered out of the way. “Oh, the poor dear.” She clucked her dismay so much like a character in a bad movie that Kat almost laughed aloud.

  And wondered, for the hundredth time this morning, just what, exactly, she’d gotten herself into.

  “This is the lady I told you about—Kathleen Malone. She’ll be our guest for a while.” Seamus brushed past the chattering woman as if she weren’t even there. “There’s no need for you to follow. I’ll get her settled.” The last was said looking over his shoulder as he quickly climbed the long staircase.

  Kathleen peeked over his shoulder and suppressed a tired giggle at the look of shock on the tiny woman’s face. She decided to keep her mouth shut and just go along for the ride.

  He sat her carefully in the rocker, the same chair where he’d held her in his arms the day she’d nearly miscarried. He’d been trembling that morning, almost as much as she.

  Kathleen still wondered about his reaction. Had he been angry still, or afraid for her?

  No. It came to her suddenly, the truth of it all. He had merely worried about the baby, the unborn child who appeared to intrigue him so completely.

  Riley’s child. Seamus’s last link to his brother? She’d have to think about that one. Seamus and Riley obviously hadn’t had what anyone would call a conventional relationship, especially for twins.

  She still wasn’t certain if they’d hated, tolerated, or even liked one another.

  Seamus pulled back the covers of the bed and fluffed the pillows. Kat waited patiently, biting her tongue when she would have teased Riley about his domestic skills. She had to keep reminding herself Riley was gone. This man didn’t know her or her often warped sense of humor, any more than she knew him.

  But he’d brought her into his home, offered her sanctuary and care even knowing there was someone out there threatening her, knowing he might be putting himself at risk for a woman carrying another man’s child.

  She was definitely going to have to think about that one. She knew instinctively Riley wouldn’t have done as much, and wondered if he would even have accepted responsibility for his child.

  Riley’s brother had. Without question or complaint, he had taken her in as if there were no other alternatives. Maybe, she thought, for a man like Seamus O’Rourke, there was no alternative.

  His sense of honor was something Kat couldn’t deny. She’d seen evidence of it time and again throughout her week-long stay at the hospital. It was a part of him—the integral sense of decency and integrity lacking in so many men.

  Not merely lacking, but nonexistent in Riley.

  Riley’s dead.

  She had to quit making comparisons.

  “Let me help you.” His quiet offer halted her thoughts, and his arms wrapped around her and gently settled her into the wide bed.

  She didn’t even attempt to struggle. What was the point?

  “This room is so feminine.” She noticed for the first time the intricately patterned damask curtains, the matching rose carpet, and the crocheted bedspread covering the big four-poster bed. “Not my usual style, but it’s really beautiful.”

  “It was Gran’s room.” There was softness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “She raised my brother and me after our parents were killed. She was a truly good soul, loving, full of mischief but always there for us. Not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.”

  He shook his head, as if he suddenly realized how much of himself he was giving away. “Anyway,” he said, briskly rubbing his hands together, “If you’ll make that list we talked about the other day, I’ll have Mrs. Andrews pick up what you need.”

  “Mrs. Andrews?”

  “Hazel Andrews, my housekeeper. She comes in for a couple of hours every day.”

  “Ah.” She grinned. “The little sparrow at the front door. Does she always chatter like that?”

  “Always.” He smiled directly at her for the first time. It hit Kat with the equivalent of a physical blow. She placed a protective hand over her middle. Suddenly, Riley’s ready smiles and easy banter faded under the power of this man’s strength, his solid character.

  His honor. There it was again. She shook her head, an imperceptible shudder. Honor wasn’t a word she used all that often in her world, where the line between good and evil, truth and lies, was so often...and easily, crossed. Now, every time she looked at Seamus the word came to mind.

  Along with other words, like intractable, arrogant, chauvinistic, stubborn ... She was running through an endless list of possibilities when he suddenly leaned over and tucked the blankets up under her chin.

  “Mrs. Andrews runs the place with an iron fist. Don’t let that silly chatter fool you. She can be a real harridan.”

  “I’ll remember.” Kat yawned, surprised to feel so exhausted and yet so energized at the same time.

  “Rest.” He dropped his hand briefly to her shoulder and squeezed for emphasis.

  She wanted to reach up and cover his fingers with her own, to thank him for his kindness, but he slipped away and was gone before she turned thought to action.

  HE STOOD JUST OUTSIDE her door, his hands shaking, his heart pounding an erratic tattoo. His mind pulsated with her scent, his skin shivered under the memory of her softness, the essence of her life and the life she carried when he held her oh-so-briefly in his arms. He closed his eyes, savoring the recollection, the image of her lying in the old four-poster bed, her silken hair pooling across the pillow.

  Thirty-six years old and he’d never before carried a woman in his arms, never tucked one into bed, never felt this deep, visceral yearning that threatened his sanity.

  So this is what it’s like.

  Oh, the need had been there—the pure, physical need for sexual release. He’d never played the games his brother had played—the flirtations and affairs that had always been so meaningless to Riley—he’d been so determined to be everything Riley wasn’t.

  So he’d lived like a damned monk most of his life, working and channeling his energy in productive directions, avoiding relationships and passion as if love itself were a sin. The few women he’d slept with had been too much like him—passionless, preoccupied, uninterested in more than a one-night fling, a simple physical release free of complications or emotion.

  He’d allowed nothing to interfere with the important things in his life—his work, his writing, his professional success.

  Seamus stiffened against the wall as that same life slipped into painful focus. It was a life devoid of living. No one cared about his sacrifices, his accomplishments. Until now, even he hadn’t realized what was lacking. Somehow, for all his philandering, could Riley have been right?

  No. Absolutely not. Riley’s choices had been selfish and self-serving. But in his own way, Seamus realized, so had his. He’d enjoyed playing the martyr to Riley’s excesses; had relished his position of self-righteous power.

  A position that had suddenly, unequivocally, lost its appeal.

  “Just my luck,” Seamus muttered, closing his eyes against the agonizing truth. It didn’t seem either right or fair that his sexual awakening would occur in the hallway outside his beloved grandmother’s old room.

  However, considering the way his life usually worked, it was entirely apropos that the first woman he’d ever really wanted, the first woman who’d given him a glimpse of the passion he might be capable of feeling, carried Riley’s child.

  To top it off, he didn’t even know if he liked her.

  Some day, he thought, pushing himself away from the wall and heading down the stairs, he might find humor in the irony of the situation.

  Not now, though. Definit
ely not now.

  He shoved his needs into that overwhelmed compartment of his brain where such things were stored and went into his office to work on his column.

  KAT WATCHED MRS. ANDREWS flutter about her room, dusting, arranging, cleaning things that were already clean while generally driving Kathleen nuts. She thought about just getting out of bed, grabbing the pair of soft blue sweats Seamus had gotten for her, climbing into her car and driving away.

  It had been over three weeks. The doctor had said just today she could get up for an hour at a time, as long as she took it easy. Kathleen figured she could go one hell of a long way in an hour.

  It was either that or go quietly insane. Which, the way things were progressing, was probably the shorter trip.

  She missed her new friends, mostly people she’d met since transferring to San Francisco. With the stalker still on the loose, she’d hesitated to call anyone for fear of putting their safety at risk.

  She really missed her old body, the slim, athletic one with hormones neatly arranged and functioning as they should. This body felt fat and bloated and awkward. A body ruled by a tiny, anonymous “whatsit” that had suddenly developed feet and knees and elbows...and a penchant for soccer at two a.m.

  She hadn’t realized how much she would miss her job. Even a desk job was preferable to this half-existence, flat on her back like a beached whale. She hoped the doctor would release her soon to return to work. Thank goodness she had plenty of sick leave, but the boredom was driving her nuts.

  Not that there wasn’t plenty to do. Kat glanced at the pile of books stacked next to the TV controls, at the brand new VCR and a dozen tapes of her favorite movies, at the magazines scattered across the bed, and almost laughed.

  Especially when she thought about the magazines. Just this morning Mrs. Andrews had pointed out a column Kat hadn’t seen before, one about the psychology of food written by a Dr. Frederick James. Then Mrs. Andrews had whispered, as if it were a state secret, that Frederick James was one of Seamus’s pseudonyms.

  So, of course, Kat read the column. Then reread it in disbelief, learning all kinds of amazing things about the sensual aspects of food, in this case, potatoes.

  She’d never really thought of potatoes as sexy, but after reading what Dr. James had to say about those odd shaped little tubers, Kat knew she’d never face a baked potato with the same aplomb again.

  Not only was his writing shrewd, cutting and subtly erotic, it was intelligent and humorous as well. A real eye-opener, Kat decided to learn what thoughts were hidden behind the uptight attitude of her oh-so-formal host.

  Poor Seamus. The man obviously didn’t have a clue what to say to a woman unless he was giving orders, but he sure could turn a phrase or two on paper. She’d love to get him to relax, to let his hair down a bit and maybe smile again.

  He’d definitely become a challenge. As bored as she’d been, Kat figured she needed all the challenges she could find.

  Daily, he came to her room precisely at ten a.m. to check on her, always with Mrs. Andrews in tow. He stayed exactly ten minutes. They discussed world news, happenings around and about San Francisco, and the weather. Of course, Kat’s only view of the weather had been through the bedroom window. She’d tried asking him about his work, but he’d neatly changed the subject. He didn’t want to talk about hers. She wasn’t sure if he was afraid of her or just didn’t like her, but as far as Kat could tell, he was definitely avoiding her.

  That rankled. Men usually fell all over themselves to get her attention, at least in the beginning. Then her sassy mouth and bad attitude generally ran them off, but she’d been as pleasant as she could be with Seamus.

  Maybe that’s the problem.

  She checked her watch. Nine fifty-eight. At least she knew when to expect him. She fluffed her hair around her face, bit at her lips for more color. Pinched her cheeks and glanced at the small mirror next to the bed.

  Suddenly she realized what she’d been doing...and stopped.

  At exactly ten, Seamus walked through the door.

  “I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT like some color in here.” Seamus had to crane his neck to see around the huge bouquet of roses and irises he carried. “I just cut them this morning.”

  “Oh, Seamus, they’re beautiful.”

  Not as beautiful as you , he wanted to say. Of course he’d never be able to say anything like that without looking and sounding like a complete jackass. Riley could have carried it off, not Seamus.

  “The yard’s full of color,” he said instead, setting the vase on the bedside table. “We’ve had such unusually warm weather for March, everything’s early. Anyway, I just talked to your doctor. She suggested, if you’re feeling up to it, that you spend some time outdoors.”

  Kat ripped back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed before he even finished speaking. The long cotton gown he’d gotten for her hitched halfway up her thighs and he turned his head to give her a chance to tug it down.

  When he looked back, it was still there. Kathleen Malone was a woman obviously unconcerned with the amount of leg she showed.

  “Do I get to walk? Will you let me go down the stairs all by myself?” She mimicked a child’s voice, tilted her head as she spoke. Her blue eyes twinkled through a fall of thick, blond hair.

  She couldn’t possibly be flirting with him, could she? “No...um...that...ah...probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Too many steps.” Seamus swallowed deeply, aware of a near manic response to her light banter. Frantically he glanced about, searching for Mrs. Andrews.

  The diminutive housekeeper had suddenly disappeared. He didn’t even know why he’d looked for her. She certainly couldn’t lift Kat.

  He could and he did, swinging her lightly into his arms, settling her weight against his chest and silently thrilling with the soft glide of her arms around his neck. He had to get past this wanting her, thinking about her throughout the day when he had his articles to write, deadlines to meet. It wasn’t easy. Already Frank was bugging him about the next chapter of his book.

  He carried her down the long flight of stairs and settled her into one of the garden chairs set out on the small patio in back. She had a view of the ocean, the sweet scent of citrus, and the hum of bees and hummingbirds.

  “Thank you, Seamus.”

  He could leave her here, with the intercom to call him in case she tired, leave her and get back to his work where the air was easier to breathe and his heart knew its proper cadence.

  “Will you sit with me a while?”

  No! I can’t! He closed his eyes in defeat. “Sure...for a minute or two.” He pulled up a second chair, not too close, but still close enough he smelled the soft floral scent he recognized as the soap in Gran’s bathroom, close enough to reach out and touch Kathleen if he chose.

  She turned her face to the sun’s rays and closed her eyes. “You have no idea how good this feels. I’ve missed being outdoors and my usual activity. I’m not someone to lie around in bed all day.”

  “Not the soap opera, bonbon type, is that it?” Not with that slim, athletic body. The image of Kat Malone in sports gear and running shoes flashed into his mind. He shoved the image away.

  “Not me. I’ve never watched as much TV in my life as I have the last few weeks. I hope I never do again. What a waste of time!” She smiled, then stared toward the edge of the garden wall. “It’s strange, you know.” She toyed with a rose bud growing close by. “I feel so isolated here, as if the world is miles away, yet you’ve got neighbors all around.”

  “That’s what drew me to this place. Gran’s house, where Riley and I grew up, was beautiful, but the area was too noisy. I brought her here to live with me. We were both a lot happier. It’s better for work. I like the quiet, the sense, but not the reality, of isolation. Does it bother you?”

  “Not a bit, which surprises me. It’s probably because I’m feeling so weird...hormones and all. Pregnancy’s a whole new thing for me...for you, too, I guess.”

  “You
could say that.” He chuckled. “This whole situation is strange, if you want to know the truth. The only woman who’s ever lived here is Gran, and she’s been gone for years now.”

  “You’ve never married?”

  “No.” Even he was aware of the sadness in his voice. Aware and surprised by it. He’d never really thought of marriage.

  “Why?”

  Such a simple question. He watched her slim fingers caress the perfect white rosebud, while memories filled his mind. “There was always something else.” He knew the answer wasn’t enough, but it was as honest as he could give. “School, Riley, my grandmother, my work.”

  “You must be the older twin.”

  “You’re right. How did you guess?”

  “Because I was the oldest child and I always felt responsible for everyone else, especially my sister, even when she was old enough to make her own choices.”

  “What did she choose to do?” he asked, curious now.

  “She chose to die.”

  “How?” And how could she calmly sit there and say that?

  “Drugs, men, poor choices. Her body was found next to a freeway just outside of Riverside a couple of years ago. They never caught her killer.”

  “I’m sorry, Kat.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. I miss her, even though we used to fight over everything. Me being a cop and all.”

  “I argued with Riley the night he was killed.” Seamus stared in the direction of the Pacific, seeing only his brother’s face, a face that might have been his own. “We fought about you, I guess, though I didn’t know who you were. Only that there was someone he was seeing and someone Clarisse was seeing, and I had to step in and try to shove my morality down his throat. Again.”

  “I fought with Susan, too.” Kathleen covered his hand with hers. “But I did it out of love, Seamus, just as you argued with Riley out of love. If we didn’t care, we wouldn’t have been angry with the choices they made with their lives. I was doing all I knew how to do. I can live with that.”