A Heart Revealed (49 page)

“But I can’t! Mrs. Peep needs me . . . and my cats.”

“Mrs. Peep loves you and wants you to be safe. She’ll watch your cats, she already told me so.” The blue of his eyes steeled to gray as he peered at her, the flicker of a dormant temper glinting in his eyes. “I won’t stand here and argue with you, Emma. I’m not usually a volatile man, and you know that, but this is too important. Trust me on this—I will take you by force if I have to. So I suggest you pack your bags while I warm up the soup.” He turned away, disappearing down the hall where sunlight streamed into her kitchen.

A heave shuddered from her throat and she put a hand to her eyes, numb over how her life had changed in just a few short hours. Yesterday she had been content to be alone, fear as foreign to her now as Rory’s violent scorn. And yet, with one vile slap, her yesterday had shifted into a present steeped in fear, shame, and guilt, all neatly laced with denial and despair.

“We
will
do this,” Sean had said.

The memory of his mouth caressing hers burned in her thoughts, unleashing a flood of shame and guilt that caused her to quiver. Her hand trembled to her lips as tears slipped from her eyes.

No, God, we won’t . . .

15

C
 harity worried her lip as she paced in her elegant Victorian parlor, wringing the damp handkerchief in her hands with every step she took. Autumn sun streamed through her rich, velvet-swagged windows onto a pastel Oriental rug—where Runt snoozed unaware—infusing the room with hazy ribbons of light that provided sharp contrast to her weepy mood. She stopped at the front window for the twentieth time and parted the sheers to peek out, swollen eyes scanning the street for any sign of Emma. All she saw was Mitch’s Ford Model A Roadster parked at the curb, newly washed as always. Its midnight blue paint gleamed in the sun in front of their lush, manicured lawn now dappled with russet and gold leaves from towering oaks overhead. Moisture pricked at her eyes. Her husband’s automobile and his lawn—two things he considered his pride and joy. A sad smile lined her lips as she dabbed at her tears.
Like I used to be.

She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door of his study across their spacious foyer, his constant refuge since she’d made a fool of herself at the
Herald
. Day or night, the door was always closed, as tightly as his heart, while he refused to speak to her, look at her, be with her. He’d barely uttered a single sentence, at least to her, other than a grunt here and there in response to questions he chose to answer. His pretense with the children was flawless, easy banter and laughter while avoiding interaction with her at all cost. And the cost was high—almost forty-eight hours of intermittent weeping over the fact that her marriage appeared to be over.

And now this—
dear Emma
—the friend she loved like a sister, had been brutalized once again. Charity peered out the window, moist eyes trailing into a vacant stare. Her mind traveled far from the giggles of children as they launched into a colorful mountain of leaves across the street or the pungent smell of wood smoke curling into the air. No, instead she saw memories—the freshly scalded flesh of her dearest friend, oozing blisters the length of her face, once tender tissue, now scarlet and wet. Charity’s eyelids shuddered closed, desperate to shut out the image of battered skin, bruised and broken, forever scarring not only a beautiful face, but a beautiful soul.

The chug of her father’s Model T pulled her back to the present, and her eyelids popped open as it eased against the curb behind Mitch’s roadster. Sean rose from the driver’s side, and Charity bolted across the hall to quickly tap on Mitch’s door before thrusting it open. “They’re here,” she cried, complying with his request to let him know as soon as Sean and Emma arrived. Without awaiting his answer, she rushed to the etched-glass-and-wood front door and flung it wide, grateful that Henry and Hope were at Faith’s on an overnight with their cousins. She darted past the stately white columns of their large brick portico, completely oblivious to the cold bite in the air as she bounded down the brick walkway lined with boxwoods and mums.

Charity rushed to where Sean was helping Emma from the car, and bile rose at the sight of pulpy bruises on her dear friend’s face. “Oh, Emma,” she whispered. Her voice cracked with emotion as she embraced her as gingerly as possible, powerless to staunch the flow of tears to her eyes. She cupped the smooth side of Emma’s face and forced a smile, determined to fight the quiver in her voice. “Let’s get you inside with a cup of hot tea, all right?” She glanced up at Sean, her concern a mirror of his own. “Everything’s taken care of—her bags, her cats?”

He nodded, gently kneading Emma’s shoulder before retrieving her valises from the car. “Mrs. Peep is keeping her cats, and we packed all essentials and a week’s worth of clothes.” He hiked two hefty suitcases from the car and gave Charity a stiff smile. “I’ll bring the rest of her things over later, but I’ll warn you right now, she insists she’s only staying a few weeks.”

“She’ll stay as long as it takes to guarantee her safety, and that will be that.” Mitch grabbed a suitcase, his eyes softening as they lighted on Emma. “Is that understood?”

“Mitch, that isn’t necess—” Emma began.

“Oh, yes, it is, Emma,” Charity gently circled her waist to lead her to the door, “and it’s best not to argue, given the mood he’s been in.” She peeked at her husband, her tone cautiously playful as she tilted her head against Emma’s. “He’s liable to give you the silent treatment.”

Mitch inclined his arm, indicating for them to go ahead. “Don’t worry, Emma, I only reserve that for the most extreme cases.” He glanced back at Sean. “Who did this to her and where can we find him?” His harsh tone carried despite his obvious attempt at a whisper.

Emma turned at the door, dislodging Charity’s arm with the motion. “My neighbor’s boyfriend, but I won’t tell you his name or where he works because I don’t want you involved.”

Mitch’s jaw ground tight in a manner all too familiar. “We’re already involved, Emma. You mean the world to us, and neither Sean nor I are about to let this spineless vermin get away with this.
Or
do it again.”

“Trust me, Mitch—I sent Casey back to her mother in Kansas last week, so I don’t expect him to come around anymore.”

Sean moved to her side, eyes tender as he gently rubbed her arm. “That’s not what Mrs. Peep told me, Emma, and you know it.” His gaze flicked to Mitch’s and hardened, along with his tone. “The lowlife threatened to come back and finish her off.”

A shiver trembled through Emma’s body while tears welled in her eyes. The suitcase plunked to the porch as Sean pulled her into his arms. He held her close, head tucked against hers. “Emma, I’m sorry to frighten you, but you need to understand how serious this is. I . . .
we
. . . love you, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure you are safe.”

Releasing a frail sigh, Emma nodded against his chest, and Charity’s heart stilled when Sean kissed her hair. She held her breath while her brother palmed a gentle hand to her best friend’s cheek, the love in his eyes as thick as the air in Charity’s throat. “Now let’s go inside and get you settled in, okay? Then you need to get into bed—you look exhausted.” His mouth tipped up as he opened the front door. “Which is no great surprise with the hours you work.”

Mitch followed them in, humor masking the threat of his tone. “Am I going to have to get tough with you like I do with Charity, Emma, and badger you into working less hours?”

“Better do what he says,” Charity whispered loudly. “He’s the biggest bully I know.”

Sidling past, Mitch took the other suitcase from Sean and hoisted both in his hands, shooting Charity a thin smile as he mounted the steps. “Only when warranted, little girl.”

Charity’s heart skittered at the use of his nickname for her, praying it signaled that his anger was on the thaw. She turned back to Emma, unlooping her friend’s purse strap from her shoulder as she studied her weary eyes. “I think Sean’s right—you look tired. How about you go up and settle in to the guest room, and I’ll bring tea up shortly?”

“That sounds nice.” A smile wavered on Emma’s lips as she fumbled with her coat.

Sean whisked it from her shoulders and handed it to Charity before shifting Emma to face him, hands clasped to her arms. “Look, I have to get back to the store to finish up a few things, but I’ll drop by this evening, just to see how you’re feeling, okay?”

“Sean, I’m fine, really, you don’t have to do that—”

He silenced her with a splayed palm to the back of her head while his thumb grazed the curve of her jaw. “Yes, I do, Emma—I love you and want to make sure you’re all right.” He glanced at Charity. “She insisted on bringing budget reports along, but don’t let her have them because she needs to rest.” His mouth crooked up. “She comes across all sweetness and light, but trust me, she’s got a mulish streak that rivals yours, so you may have to crack the whip.”

Emma’s lips trembled into a smile. “Stop that, Sean O’Connor, nobody’s that stubborn.”

Charity folded her arms, relief whirling over Emma’s playful jibe. She singed her friend with a mock glare. “Emma Malloy—you’re supposed to be my friend!”

The old Emma surfaced with a bit of the imp. “I am, Mrs. Dennehy, which is why I love you in spite of your pigheaded obstinance. Because when it comes to being bullheaded, everyone knows you’re the undisputed queen.”

“I’ll second that,” Mitch said as he strode down the steps. “But don’t worry, Sean, between your pigheaded sister and me, we’ll make sure Mrs. Malloy toes the line.”

“Good.” Sean turned back to Emma, his grin fading into a soft smile. Holding her gaze, he moved in close and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, eyes closed and fingers caressing her arm. “You’re precious to me, Emma, and I don’t want you ever to forget that.”

She nodded while tears pooled in her eyes.

Sean exhaled and moved toward the door, casting a final glance at Charity and Mitch. “Thanks for taking her in. She needs to be around people she loves, and she didn’t feel comfortable going home with me.” He hesitated. “You didn’t have plans tonight, I hope—”

“Absolutely not,” Charity said. “In fact, since you’re coming by later anyway, why don’t you just plan on dinner here, say around six?”

His eyes flicked to Emma and back. “I would love that, but you’re sure you don’t mind?”

Charity stood on tiptoe to buss his cheek. “Not if you help with the dishes.”

He tugged on her hair. “Deal—you wash, I’ll dry. See you at six.” With a wink at Emma, he turned to go.

“Sean!” Emma’s panicked cry echoed in the foyer as she shot into his arms, and he scooped her up in an instant, clutching her close as moisture glazed his eyes. And then in a blink of Charity’s wide-eyed stare, Emma pulled quickly away, her motion almost abrupt. “Thank you, Sean—for everything. Please know—your friendship means the world to me.”

His throat shifted and he nodded. “I know,” he whispered, and without another word, he opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind him.

Emma’s shoulders rose and fell before she turned around, her gaze almost skittish. “I . . . am tired, so I think I’ll head up now.” She squeezed Charity’s hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pass on that tea right now, but promise you’ll wake me in time to help with dinner and we can talk then, all right?” She started past Charity, and then in a catch of her breath, she whirled to embrace her with the same ferocity with which she’d just hugged Sean, clutching her so tightly that moisture stung Charity’s eyes. Emma’s voice faltered, frayed with emotion. “I love you, Charity, and I would be lost without you. You have been a gift from God, my friend, and there isn’t a day passes that I don’t get on my knees and thank him for you in my life.”

With a wobbly smile, she embraced Mitch too, her eyes tired but tender. “Thank you for the refuge of your home, Mitch. I feel safe here. You have that effect, you know. From the first moment we met, your kindness and strength has always felt like the hand of God.”

His voice was gruff. “Our home is your home, Emma, you know that. As long as you need it.”

She patted his arm and moved toward the stairs, stopping only to tease Charity with an unexpected jag of her brow. “Well, the only way I’ll stay for even a while is if I can carry my weight, so you best wake me to help you with dinner . . . or else.”

Charity saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I hate peeling potatoes, so that suits me just fine.” Her smile dimmed as she watched Emma climb the stairs, and then Mitch broke her reverie when he edged past on his return to the den. Heart in her throat, she halted him with a stay of his arm, her stomach twitching faster than the nerve in his jaw. “Thank you . . . for allowing Emma to stay.”

He paused, his manner aloof. “I love her too, you know.”

She nodded, feeling her palms begin to sweat. Chewing her lip, she clasped her hands together. “I know. Can I . . . fix you some tea, coffee, or maybe something cool to drink?” A muscle shifted in her throat as she implored with her eyes. “I thought maybe . . . well, you know . . . maybe we could talk?”