Maggie tried again. “You might increase the level of giving if people could claim a tax deduction. Instead, you’re relying on special collections at the church. Why not reach out to the entire community? Why not build up a solid bank account so there are funds available for an emergency? If you’d had such a fund, you wouldn’t have had to turn to Ryan to help with Lamar’s surgery. And Ryan could have claimed that money as a deduction on his taxes.”
“Ryan doesn’t help for the rewards,” the priest insisted, his expression set stubbornly.
“I know that,” Maggie said, totally exasperated. “But it could be a win-win situation.”
“Is that an improvement over an unselfish act of kindness?” the priest asked reasonably.
Maggie sighed. How could she argue with the logic of that? “You won’t even consider letting me set up a system?” she asked, then sighed again when he shook his head. “You’re turning out to be as impossible as Ryan.”
That, apparently, was an accusation he couldn’t ignore. Father Francis’s sigh was just as deep as Maggie’s. “You really think it’s important?”
“I do.”
“Who’s going to take care of all the record keeping it will entail?”
“I will.”
For the first time since they’d begun, he beamed. “Well then, if you’re promising to take charge, go ahead. The shelter can always use a volunteer.” He gave her one of those canny looks that she’d come to consider suspect. “Perhaps you’d like to help a few of the children with their math, while you’re here. The math tutor we had recently moved away.”
“I didn’t offer—” she began, but the priest cut off her protest.
“I know you didn’t offer,” he conceded. “I’m asking. Your help would be a blessing for the children.”
Maggie shook her head at his clever manipulation. “No wonder the shelter hasn’t needed a formal fund-raising drive. I’ll bet you could single-handedly squeeze money out of Scrooge.”
“Actually, it’s the Lord who provides,” he said with pious innocence. “I just give a gentle nudge here and there to point the way. Will you help the children?”
“When?” Maggie asked, resigned.
“I find after school on Tuesday is good for tutoring. Many of their tests are later in the week. And they haven’t yet grown bored with studying, as they have by Thursday or Friday.”
“Fine. I’ll be here on Tuesdays. I’ll come early and work on the books.”
He feigned a troubled expression. “That won’t interfere with your work, will it? I wouldn’t want to interfere with your need to earn a living.”
“I’m not working now, as you perfectly well know. Once I do find a job, we’ll make whatever adjustments we must.”
“You’re a good girl, Maggie O’Brien.”
“Or an idiot,” she murmured.
He grinned at her. “Never that. You’ve had the good sense to fall in love with Ryan Devaney, haven’t you?”
She regarded him with dismay. “Nobody said anything about me falling in love with Ryan.”
“Nobody had to. The look is shining in your eyes whenever you’re in the same room.”
“If that’s the case, no wonder he panics when he sees me coming,” she said, no longer making any attempt to deny the obvious. She’d fought against putting a label on her feelings, more for Ryan’s sake than her own. Maybe it was time she admitted that fascination had turned to something deeper.
The priest patted her hand. “The panic will wear off in time. Ryan’s no more a fool than you are. He’ll see what’s staring him in the face eventually.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Maggie said fervently.
Father Francis regarded her serenely. “Aye, child, that’s the way of it.”
Ryan was beginning to get used to having Maggie turn up at the pub every evening just before suppertime. Sometimes she sat at the bar, blatantly flirting with him. Sometimes she huddled in a booth with Father Francis, scolding him about the church’s accounting methods and casting surreptitious glances Ryan’s way. And increasingly, whenever it was especially busy, she grabbed an apron off the hook in the kitchen and waited on tables, refusing to accept anything more than whatever tips were left by the customers. Rory and Maureen considered her part of the staff. Juan and Rosita thought she was an angel. As for him, he was still struggling with what to make of her.
“Are you independently wealthy?” Ryan inquired one night a week before Christmas, when she’d turned down his offer of money yet again.
“Hardly, but I have some savings. Besides, this isn’t a job,” she insisted once again. “I have time on my hands right now, anyway. I enjoy being here. Your customers are the friendliest people I’ve ever met. And as long as I am here, I may as well pitch in. It’s obvious you can use the help.”
“I can’t deny that,” he said.
She looked into his eyes in an expectant way that had his knees going weak and the rest of him going hard.
“If you were to steal a kiss from time to time, it would go a long way toward making it worth my while to be here,” she taunted.
The woman could tempt a saint, he thought as she held his gaze. Unable to resist, Ryan tucked an arm around her waist and dragged her close. “Now, that is something I can do,” he said, covering her mouth long enough to send a shudder rippling through them both.
It was a risky game they were playing, though. He wanted so much more. His yearning for her had deepened each day, until every minute was a struggle not to haul her up to his apartment.
He’d vowed, though, that he wouldn’t let her tempt him into making a mistake they’d both regret. No matter how she got under his skin, he was going to be the sensible one and keep his hands to himself. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to strip away those thick, soft sweaters she wore, to peel away her skintight jeans and the lacy panties he fantasized about, and bury himself deep inside her. He hadn’t
