Patrick's Destiny

“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.

Chapter Four

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.