Patrick's Destiny (4 page)

He heard about his folks from time to time. Widow’s Cove wasn’t that far from home, after all. And in the past twenty-four hours, he’d heard far too many references to his family, first from Caleb Jenkins, then from Loretta Dowd. As for Daniel, Patrick knew his brother was in Portland much of the time, working, ironically, as a child advocate with the courts. Daniel had found his own, less-rebellious way of coping with what their parents had done.

Patrick sighed at the memories crashing over him tonight. He concentrated harder on the soup he was heating, then ladling into bowls, on the crusty loaf of homemade bread he sliced and set on the table with a tub of margarine.

Over the past few years of self-imposed isolation, Patrick had lost his knack for polite chitchat, but he quickly discovered that tonight it didn’t matter. Alice was a grand master. From the moment he sat down
opposite her, his presence at the table seemed to loosen her tongue. Maybe it came from spending all day talking to a bunch of rowdy five-year-olds, trying desperately to hold their attention. She regaled Patrick with stories that kept him chuckling and filled the silence better than the TV he usually kept on as background noise. In his day, Ricky Foster would obviously have been labeled a teacher’s pet, because his name popped up in the conversation time and again. Alice clearly had a soft spot for the boy.

“Then today wasn’t Ricky’s first act of rebellion?” he asked when she’d described another occasion on which the boy had gotten the better of her.

“Heavens, no. I’m telling you that boy will be president someday.” She shrugged. “Or possibly a convicted felon. It depends on which way his talents for leadership and conning people take him.”

“His daddy always lacked the ambition for either one,” Patrick said. “I suppose in retrospect a case could be made that Matt had attention-deficit disorder. He couldn’t sit still to save his soul. Maybe that’s Ricky’s problem, too.”

Alice regarded him with surprise. “You know about ADHD?”

Patrick leaned closer, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why? Is it a secret?”

She blushed prettily. “No, it is not a secret. I just didn’t expect…” Obvious embarrassment turned her cheeks a deeper shade of pink as her words trailed off in midsentence.

“Didn’t expect a fisherman to know anything about it?” he asked, trying not to be offended.

“I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

“Making assumptions about people is usually the
first step toward getting it totally wrong,” he replied. Then, because he couldn’t resist teasing her, he added, “For instance, right now I am trying really, really hard not to assume that you’re here because you want to seduce me.”

The color staining her cheeks turned a fiery red. “I see your point. And in case there’s any doubt, you would definitely be mistaken about my intentions.”

Something about the hitch in her voice told him he wasn’t nearly as far off the mark as she wanted him to believe. “Is that so?” he asked, tucking a finger under her chin and forcing her gaze to meet his.

“I came to thank you for saving Ricky,” she insisted. She swallowed hard as he traced the outline of her jaw. “And for going to see Mrs. Dowd.”

“I’m sure you believe that,” he agreed, noting the jump in the pulse at the base of her throat when he ran his thumb lightly across her lower lip.

“Because it’s true,” she said.

Patrick deliberately lowered his hand and sat back, noting the sudden confusion in her eyes. He shrugged. “Sorry, then. My mistake.”

Confusion gave way to another one of those quick flashes of anger that had stirred him earlier in the day.

“That sort of teasing is totally inappropriate, Mr. Devaney,” she said in a tone she probably used when correcting a rambunctious five-year-old.

Patrick imagined it had the same effect on Ricky Foster that it had on him. It made him want to test her.

He stood up, picked up his empty soup bowl, then reached for hers. He clasped one hand on her shoulder as he leaned in close, let his breath fan against her cheek, then touched her delicate earlobe with the tip of his tongue. She jumped as if she’d been burned.

“Mr. Devaney!”

Patrick laughed at the breathless protest. “Sorry,” he apologized, perfectly aware that he didn’t sound particularly repentant. Probably because he wasn’t.

She frowned at him. “No, you’re not. You’re not the least bit sorry.”

“Maybe a little,” he insisted, then ruined it by adding, “But only because I didn’t go for a kiss. Something tells me I’m going to regret that later tonight when I’m lying all alone in my bed.”

“You would have regretted it more if you’d gone for it,” she assured him, drawing herself up in an attempt to look suitably intimidating. “I know a few moves that could have put you on the floor.”

He caught her gaze and held it, barely resisting the urge to laugh again. “I’ll bet you do,” he said quietly.

“Mr. Devaney…”

“Since we’re old schoolmates, I think you can call me Patrick,” he said.

“Maybe the informality is a bad idea,” she suggested. “You tend to take liberties as it is.”

He did laugh again then. “Darlin’, when I really want to take liberties with you, you’ll know it.” His let his gaze travel over her slowly. “And you’ll be ready for it.”

“Is that some sort of a dare?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“No, of course not.” She shook her head. “I really don’t know what to make of you. I expected you to be more…”

“Difficult,” Patrick supplied.

“Distant,” she corrected.

“Ah, yes. Well, there’s still a little life left in the
hermit. You’d do well to remember that, before you come knocking on my door again.”

“I won’t be back,” she said emphatically.

“You think soup and bread are sufficient thanks for me putting my life on the line to bail you out of a jam?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she said. “And your life was never on the line.”

“That water was damn cold,” he insisted.

“And you were in and out of it in ten seconds flat.”

He gestured toward the outside. “You want to dive in and see how long ten seconds becomes when you hit those icy waves?”

She shuddered. “No, thanks. I’ll take your word for it. You were very brave. I am very grateful. Let’s leave it at that.”

Probably a good idea, Patrick thought, given the way she tempted him. Fortunately, before he could ignore his good sense, he heard voices and yet more footsteps on the dock. Apparently, no one in the whole blasted town could read, or else, like Alice, they were all starting to assume that the No Trespassing sign didn’t apply to them.

Alice apparently heard the noise at the same time. “You obviously have company coming. I should go,” she said a little too eagerly.

Given the choice between the company he knew and the uninvited guests outside, he opted for the familiar. “Stay,” he commanded. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”

But when he stepped onto the deck, he saw not one or even two people who could be easily dismissed, but three, all dark-haired replicas of the man he’d come to hate—Connor Devaney.

“Patrick Devaney? Son of Kathleen and Connor?” one of them asked, stepping forward.

Patrick nodded reluctantly, his heart pounding. It couldn’t be that these three men who looked so familiar were really his brothers. Not after all these years. And yet, somehow, he knew they were, as surely as if they’d already said the words.

“We’re your brothers,” the one in front said.

And with those simple yet monumental words, his past and present merged.

A
part of Patrick wanted to slam the door and pretend he’d never seen the men on the other side. He wanted to go on living the life he’d made for himself without family ties, without complications. These three men represented all sorts of uncomfortable complications.

Too late now, he thought, looking into eyes as blue as his own. He could already feel the connection pulling at him. It was an unbelievable sensation, knowing that three men he’d spent the past few years wondering about were now right here on his doorstep. He had yet to decide if that was good or bad, miracle or disaster. More than likely he wouldn’t know for some time to come. The only way to tell would be to hear them out, see what sort of baggage they’d accumulated, thanks to being abandoned by their parents, and learn what their expectations were of him.

He scanned their faces with an eagerness that sur
prised him, looking for signs of resentment or blame. He saw only a certain wariness that was to be expected under the circumstances. These weren’t old high school chums who’d come to call, but brothers—brothers he’d last seen when he was far too young for the concept to even register.

The one who’d spoken first seemed to sense his turmoil. “Did you know about us?” he asked, regarding Patrick worriedly. “Or did we just come busting in here and shock you into silence by telling you something you didn’t know?”

“I knew about you,” Patrick admitted reluctantly. When his words caused a flash of hurt to appear in one brother’s eyes, Patrick quickly added, “But only for a few years now. Before that…” He shrugged. “I guess Daniel and I were just too young when we left to remember. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were barely two when you left,” his brother said. “How did you find out? Did our parents tell you?”

Patrick shook his head. “Daniel and I found some old photographs of us as babies. The three of you were in them. We asked our folks about the older boys in the pictures, and after a lot of denial, they finally admitted you were our brothers. We couldn’t get them to say a lot more.”

“Yeah, I imagine we’re not their favorite topic,” one of the others said with a bitterness that seemed to run as deep as Patrick’s.

“Can it, Sean,” the third one said, giving his brother’s shoulder a squeeze. “Now’s not the time. None of this is Patrick’s fault.”

“Given how we’re related, it seems a little odd, but
I guess introductions are in order,” the first one said. “I’m Ryan, the oldest. I own an Irish pub in Boston.”

Patrick would have guessed that, not just from the few strands of gray in his black hair or the lines in his face, but because he was the obvious leader. He turned his gaze to the brother standing next to him, the one with broader shoulders and the quick tongue.

“And you?”

“I’m Sean, next to oldest, a Boston firefighter and the one who doesn’t know enough to keep his opinions to himself.” He gave Patrick a rueful half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, I can relate to that,” Patrick responded. “Whatever’s in my head tends to come out of my mouth. Daniel, well, he’s not like that. He was always the peacemaker.”

Sean’s half smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “Sort of like our Michael here,” he said, poking the remaining brother in the ribs with his elbow. “He’s such a pacifist, it’s hard to believe he’s an ex-SEAL.”

Michael rolled his eyes, then stepped forward with a decided limp and held out his hand. “I’m Michael,” he said quietly. “I’m just a couple of years older than you and Daniel.”

“Oh, my, this is so incredible.” The soft murmur came from behind Patrick.

He turned and stared into eyes shining with unshed tears. For a moment he’d forgotten all about Alice, but she’d apparently followed him up onto the deck when he hadn’t immediately returned. Now he seized on her presence like a lifeline.

Needing desperately to hold on to something familiar, if only barely so, he reached for her hand. Alice held on tight, communicating surprising understanding and
support. It was almost as if this reunion meant as much to her as it did to him. Once again Patrick wondered about her past and the sense he’d had that they had experienced similar losses in their lives—a loss of people, perhaps a loss of innocence.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” Ryan asked. He glanced pointedly at Alice. “Or is this a bad time?”

“Absolutely not,” Alice said.

She spoke quickly, as if sensing that Patrick might try to think of some way to put off this encounter until he’d regained his equilibrium. “Jess’s is close. Why not go there?”

Since the unanimous opinion seemed to be that this conversation was going to take place, Patrick finally nodded. Jess’s would be better and far less intimate than trying to crowd four big men into the tight quarters below deck on his boat, and the chill in the night air made sitting on deck an uncomfortable alternative, although it might have the effect of shortening the encounter.

Still, Ryan waited, watching him sympathetically. “Is this okay with you?” he asked Patrick. “I know we’ve barged in here without warning, but we’ve waited a long time for this moment. We weren’t absolutely certain we had the right man, but one look at you and there was little question that you’re our brother. We’d really like you to fill us in on some things.”

Patrick fought off doubts and reminded himself that he’d always preferred to confront things head-on. “Sure, why not?” he said, as if the prospect of a beer and a little get-acquainted chitchat were of no consequence. Admittedly he had a great deal of curiosity about these men who were his brothers. He might as
well satisfy it, now that the opportunity had presented itself.

Besides, there was something reassuringly solid and normal about the three older Devaneys. He’d learned a lot about judging people since leaving home. He could tell at first glance that these were men of character. One of them had been a SEAL, for heaven’s sake. If that didn’t speak of courage and honor, what did? Maybe it was possible to outfox the Devaney bad blood, after all. If so, he wanted to know how.

As he led the procession toward Jess’s, his steps dragged. Even though he’d satisfied himself that this was the thing to do, he couldn’t deny feeling a certain amount of dread. What if things were even worse for his brothers than he’d imagined? What if they bore scars from being left behind? What if they blamed him, right along with their parents? Not that it would be a rational blame, since he and Daniel had been little more than babies, but in a volatile situation, logic and reason seldom mattered. Though he didn’t even know them, he found that he desperately wanted them to accept him, and that terrified him. Discovering his parents’ betrayal had taught him never to expect or need too much from anyone. Better to be a loner than to be hurt like that ever again.

Besides, his brothers had said they were here to fill in the blanks in their lives, not to answer all of his thousand and one questions.

With Patrick lost in thought, Alice kept up a barrage of inconsequential, nonstop chatter, mostly about Widow’s Cove’s history. It helped to defuse the tension as they made their way to Jess’s.

As they neared the bar, they could hear the jukebox blasting. That, too, could be an inadvertent blessing,
Patrick concluded. It was going to make real conversation difficult, if not impossible. And at this time of the evening on a typical Friday, Jess’s was usually packed and noisy. Maybe they wouldn’t even find a free table, Patrick thought, in one last hopeful bid to put this encounter off until tomorrow…or maybe forever. Maybe Daniel had it right, after all. Maybe it was better to keep his head buried in the sand. Maybe these strangers who claimed to be his brothers would go away. Sure, his curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied, but what did that matter really? He’d made it through more than twenty years without having them in his life, and vice versa.

His halfhearted hope for a quick end to the evening was promptly dashed. He wasn’t entirely sure how Alice managed it, but with a few whispered words to Molly, a table was magically cleared. Then Alice gave his hand one last reassuring squeeze. “I’ll leave you with your brothers.”

Fighting panic, Patrick gazed into her eyes. “Don’t.”

“You’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, but I heard enough to know that this must be a life-altering moment for all of you. I don’t belong here in the middle of it.”

“I want you to stay,” he said, needing some sort of familiar lifeline, someone from the world he’d made for himself to steady him as it rocked on its axis.

“It’s okay,” Ryan assured her. “If Patrick wants you here, it’s fine with us.”

Still, Alice shook her head and extracted her hand from the death grip Patrick had on it. “Thanks, but I need to get home. I’m glad I got to meet you, though.”

Ryan nodded. “Perhaps we’ll meet again one day,” he said, then headed over to join the others.

Still, Patrick held back. “I never thanked you for the
soup,” he protested with ridiculous urgency, just to keep her there and talking.

She grinned at that, obviously seeing straight through him. “And now you have.”

She pushed him none too gently toward the table where his brothers were already seated. Patrick sighed and let her go, but his gaze followed her as she left the bar. Only then did he suck in a deep breath and go to join his brothers, pulling up a chair at the end of the booth rather than sliding into the vacant spot they’d left next to Michael.

“Pretty woman,” Ryan observed. “Is she someone special?”

“I barely know her,” Patrick said, forcing his attention to the three men seated opposite him like some sort of military tribunal. He should have slipped into the booth, he realized belatedly, made himself one of them, instead of an outsider. The symbolism was unmistakable. He wondered if they were aware of it.

Fascinated with the three men despite himself, he studied them. As Ryan had noted, there was no question about the family resemblance. All had the pitch-black hair and blue eyes of their Irish ancestors. He’d seen enough pictures of past generations—if not of this one—to know that Devaney men tended to be handsome rogues. Ryan’s hair was a bit longer than the others and had those few errant strands of gray creeping in. He also had a tiny scar at the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, completely out of the blue, a memory slammed into Patrick’s head. There had been an argument, some sort of dispute between him and Daniel over a toy dump truck. Ryan had tried to mediate. Turning his temper on Ryan, Patrick had thrown the truck at him and split his lip. The image, obviously buried in
his subconscious for years, was as clear now as if it had happened yesterday.

Tears swimming in his eyes, he swallowed hard and pointed at the scar. “I did that to you, didn’t I? I threw a truck at you.”

Surprise flickered in Ryan’s eyes, then amusement. “I’ll be damned. I’d forgotten that,” he said, touching the scar as if he’d also forgotten its existence.

“You planning on getting even at this late date?” Patrick inquired warily.

Ryan rubbed his face. “Too late for that. I’ve been living with this face for a lot of years now. I’m used to it.”

“Besides, Maggie thinks the scar’s sexy,” Sean chimed in with a grin.

“Maggie?” Patrick asked.

“His wife,” Sean explained. “How he caught a wonderful woman like Maggie is beyond me, but I think that scar played a part in it.”

Ryan laughed. “Could be. She does seem to be fond of kissing me, at any rate. I should probably thank you, Patrick, but I guess I’ll let my wife do that when she meets you.”

Patrick froze at the implication that they were here for more than some very brief get-acquainted meeting. This invasion of his turf was disturbing enough. He wasn’t ready by a long shot for wives and maybe even kids.

He regarded his brothers warily. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m getting married,” Michael explained. “That’s why we picked this particular time to come looking for you.”

“How long have you known where I was?”

Apparently, Ryan heard the tension in his voice. “Not that long. Honest. Besides, Michael was badly injured when Sean and I first found him. He wanted to be on his feet again before we came up here to see if we had the right man.”

Patrick remembered the noticeable limp. “What happened?”

“A sniper attack,” Michael said succinctly. “It ended my career as a SEAL. It’s taken me a while to come to grips with that. In the meantime, I’ve been a bear to be around.”

“That’s an understatement. He was being a total pain in the butt till his physical therapist badgered him into getting out of his wheelchair just so he could catch her,” Sean teased. “Talk about motivation. Kelly was damn good at it.”

“Very funny,” Michael retorted. “The bottom line is Kelly and I are getting married, and we’d all like you to come back to Boston next week for the wedding. That way we’ll all have a chance to get to know each other. Daniel, too.”

Patrick instinctively shook his head. As much as he’d thought about this moment, things were moving too fast for him. “I don’t think so,” he said, leaving aside the question of Daniel. The prospect of exchanging whatever tight-knit family ties they’d managed to forge for the ones he’d already broken held no appeal. Seeing them now was one thing. Exchanging an occasional Christmas card might be nice. But anything more was impossible.

Ryan regarded him with sympathy. “We’re not a bad lot,” he reassured Patrick. “And it’s not as if we’ve been plotting and scheming together against you because you stayed with the folks and we didn’t.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Patrick said. If only they knew how devastating it had been to learn that their parents weren’t the models of decency that he’d always believed them to be.

“Really?” Sean asked skeptically. “I’m not sure the thought wouldn’t have crossed my mind if I were in your position.”

“That’s because you’re a cynic, Sean,” Michael accused.

“Maybe he hates us for showing up here,” Sean said, not backing down.

“I don’t even know you,” Patrick said. “As for hating you, why would I? You didn’t do anything. If anything, you guys were the victims.”