“She said no a couple of times, after all the times you said no to her, and you’re walking away?” his father asked, regarding him with disgust. “What kind of O’Brien takes no for an answer when it’s something that matters?”
“I’m pretty sure she thinks it’s like one of those jailhouse conversions, convenient under the circumstances.”
“Is it?” Mick asked. “Did you only ask her to marry you because of the accident?”
“In a way, yes, because that’s when I realized I didn’t want to lose her forever,” he said honestly. “In that moment, I couldn’t envision my life without her. Once I saw that, it was like the knowledge had been there all along, buried under all that baggage from the past.”
“Then keep telling her that until she believes you.”
“I don’t think she’ll ever buy it,” Connor told him. “It’s ironic really. I did too good a job of selling her on the fact that I don’t believe in marriage.”
“If you sold her on that, then you can sell her on this,” Mick insisted. “It might take a little longer than you’d like and it might require a little creativity, but I’ve seen you in action in a courtroom. You can win over anyone once you set your mind to it.”
Connor still wasn’t convinced. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, Dad, but I just don’t know. Maybe I have to accept that it could be too late.” Despite the words, though, admitting defeat grated.
“It’s only too late if you let it be,” Mick said impatiently. “Now stop sitting around here feeling sorry for yourself and go after the woman you love.” His expression brightened. “I could kick you out of here, if that would help. You could tell her you need a place to stay.”
Connor laughed, in spite of his sour mood. “Jess owns an inn. I’m pretty sure Heather would suggest I go there if I’m suddenly homeless.”
“Well, I’ll speak to your mother. I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll be able to come up with a plan.”
“Thanks for the thought, but I think I’d better handle this on my own. Sometimes the meddling O’Briens can be a bit much.”
“As long as you do,” Mick said direly. “Losing that woman and your son is not an option.”
Yeah, no matter what he’d claimed just now, Connor had pretty much figured out that much. Obviously what he really needed was a new strategy…and not one invented by his parents.
* * *
Heather had an appointment with her orthopedic surgeon, and then, if all went well and her cast was finally removed—or at least cut down to her knee—a physical therapy session to start reconditioning her injured leg. Megan had offered to take her, so she was surprised to find Connor at her door.
“Your chauffeur awaits,” he said cheerfully. “Mom’s tied up.”
She regarded him doubtfully. “Is that so? And you just happened to have the afternoon free?”
“Quite a lucky break, wasn’t it?”
“Sure, lucky.”
Accepting that spending the afternoon with Connor was inevitable, she allowed him to help her down the steps. It was still an awkward process, despite her improved agility with crutches. Once in the car, though, she fell silent.
Her mood deteriorated rapidly at the doctor’s office. She’d been counting on the doctor removing her cast, so when he told her, in an abundance of caution, that he wanted it to remain for another two weeks, she left the appointment bitterly disappointed.
“I had to cancel the therapy session,” she told Connor as they drove away. “You can just take me home.”
“Not so fast,” he protested. “You obviously need cheering up. How about a hot-fudge sundae?”
“It’s going to take more than a hot-fudge sundae to cheer me up, but thanks for trying.”
“Oh, the sundae’s just for starters. I have more in mind,” he said at once.
He stopped in front of the ice cream parlor, brought two large sundaes back to the car, then drove along the beachfront to Driftwood Cottage. “I thought you’d like to see how much progress Dad’s made,” he said as he parked across the street.
Heather turned to look. The exterior already looked exactly as she’d envisioned it, with bright white siding, red shutters and a sturdy new porch with a white railing and Victorian-style trim. Rockers and Adirondack chairs were already in place, as was an old-fashioned, elaborately trimmed screen door, just as beach cottages had probably had years ago.
Connor met her gaze. “Want to have your ice cream over there?”
Tears in her eyes, she immediately nodded. “Oh, Connor, it’s perfect, exactly the way I imagined it would be. Can’t you just see it with big pots of red geraniums out there?”
“Dad’s definitely got the knack for capturing dreams and turning them into reality,” he said, plucking her easily out of the car, prepared to carry her across the street. When she opened her mouth to protest, he commanded, “Don’t argue. The ice cream will melt if I wait for you to make your way over there on your crutches.”
“Good point,” she said, smiling as he strode across the two-lane road, opened the gate and settled her into a comfortable rocker with her leg propped up on another chair.
He was back in seconds with their sundaes.
Heather dug into the rapidly melting ice cream, but she was far more captivated by the view from the porch. The bay sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the weeping willows along the bank. She spotted a waterman checking the last of his crab pots on his way back into port.
“This is heaven,” she said with a sigh. “Connor, you’re going to love it here. So is little Mick when he’s with you.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “Don’t argue. Not just now. I really want to enjoy this moment. It’s so peaceful and calm. I love the hustle and bustle of being right downtown over the store, but this is just amazing.”
“You wouldn’t have thought that a
