“Just a woman who knows what’s best,” Nell countered with a serene smile. “You two stay in here and have something to drink and a snack. I’ll go on up to bed after I’m done in the den. Your father will want to know you arrived safely, Maggie. Besides, I have to be up at dawn to cook that bird.” She winked at Maggie. “Your father bought a huge one that’s probably not going to fit in the oven, which means I’ll have to surgically dissect the thing, then patch it back together after it’s cooked so he won’t know.”
Ryan saw his chance for escape coming right after Mrs. O’Brien disappeared for the night, but one look at Maggie had him hesitating.
“Don’t even think about,” she said, her gaze locked with his.
“Think about what?” he asked vaguely, his thoughts scrambling.
“Sneaking away in the dead of night.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Because tomorrow’s going to be a busy day as it is. I don’t want to have to spend a chunk of it hunting you down and dragging you back here.”
“So this is purely selfish on your part,” he said, taking a step closer to the dangerous fire in her eyes. There was something about her—an exuberance, a warmth—that made him want to take risks he normally avoided.
“It is,” she said, her gaze unflinching.
“Maggie, I did you a small favor. You don’t owe me anything. Besides, I have plans for tomorrow, and the day starts early. I really do need to be getting back.”
Surprise flickered in her eyes then. “You have plans?”
He was vaguely insulted by her obvious shock. “I’m not totally hopeless and alone.”
She blinked and backed up a step. “Yes, of course. I should have realized,” she said, clearly embarrassed.
Ryan should have let her go on thinking that those plans involved another woman, which was clearly the conclusion she’d reached. That would have been the smart, safe way to go. Instead, he found himself explaining.
“I’m taking food to the homeless shelter run by St. Mary’s. Everything has to be set up by noon, which means an early start. And, as we discussed in the car, the pub opens at four for the regulars who don’t have anyplace else to go. Not to mention that tonight’s paperwork didn’t get done, nor were the receipts counted.”
She nodded and something that might have been relief flashed across her face. “What a wonderful thing to do,” she said, apparently seizing on the planned meal for the homeless. “Can you use some help at the shelter?”
Help was always in short supply, but Ryan hesitated. It would be better to stop things here and now with this woman who had the determination of a pit bull and who seemed eager and able to slip past all his defenses.
“Of course you can,” she said, without waiting for his reply. “We’ll be at the shelter by ten.”
“‘We’?”
“My family, except for Mom, of course. She’ll need to stay here with that humongous bird, but everyone else will want to pitch in. It works out perfectly. I’ll have one of my brothers bring along a spare for my car, too.”
Ryan searched desperately for a subtle way to change her mind. “Shouldn’t your family be pitching in around here?”
“Mom refuses to let anyone else into the kitchen. She says we just get in the way. Besides, I brought a lot of food tonight that only needs to go in the oven. Everyone else will bring dishes, too. She really has only the turkey to contend with.” Maggie regarded him intently. “Don’t even think of turning me down. I owe you.”
“You don’t,” he repeated, even though he knew he was wasting his breath.
Besides, one part of him—a very big part—was suddenly looking forward to Thanksgiving in a way that he hadn’t since he was eight years old. That was the last holiday his family had spent together. By Christmas that year, he’d been with a foster family, and he’d had no idea at all where his parents or his brothers were.
And nothing in his life had been the same since.
Chapter Three
“Late night last night?” Rory inquired as he and Ryan loaded food into a van to take it to the homeless shelter. “You look a wee bit under the weather.”
Ryan scowled at his cook’s apparent amusement. “I did a favor for Father Francis. It kept me out until after 3:00 a.m.”
“And did this favor happen to involve a lovely redheaded lass?”
Ryan gave him a sour look.
“I thought so. Why is it that Father Francis never thinks of me when a beauty like that comes along?” Rory lamented.
“Perhaps because he’s well aware of your tendency to break the heart of any woman you go out with,” Ryan told him. “You’ve earned a bit of a reputation in your time among us, Rory, me lad.”
“Undeserved, every word of it,” Rory insisted.
“Then why do I have a steady stream of women at the bar crying into their beers over you?”
“I can’t help it if I’m a babe magnet,” the cook said with a perfectly straight face.
The irony was that despite his round shape and fiery temperament, forty-year-old Rory attracted more than his share of women. Ryan suspected it had something to do with his clever way with words and his genuine appreciation of the fair sex. Rory’s problem was that he appreciated a few too many females at one time. The drama of the breakups frequently spilled from the kitchen into the pub. Oddly enough, even after the blowups, the women kept coming around. Rory treated each and every one of them with the same cheerful affection.
“I can hardly wait for you to fall head-over-heels in love,” Ryan told him. “I truly hope the woman makes you jump through hoops, so I can sit on the sidelines and enjoy the entertainment.”
“I feel the same where you’re concerned,” Rory responded. He regarded Ryan with a speculative look. “So, has this redheaded angel of Father Francis’s well and truly
