Reunited

CHAPTER FOUR

"MR. KENDRICK, I've got Mr. Arledge on the line from Telles and Associates."

Rafe stared out the window of his office, his gaze fixed on a scull as it skimmed over the gray water of the Charles. The weather was turning colder and, before long, even the most die-hard rowers would be off the river.

Kencor occupied an entire floor of the high-rise, and from various vantage points in the office suite, he could see across the river basin to Cambridge, or out into Boston Harbor, and even across the harbor to Logan. When he first bought the building, he felt as if he were on the top of the world. But now the views didn't seem to hold much interest. Maybe he'd become too jaded to appreciate how high he'd climbed.

"Mr. Kendrick?"

Rafe turned around. His secretary, Sylvie Arnold, stood in the doorway. Sylvie had been with him from the start, his very first employee when he opened his first office. They'd developed an efficient working relationship and an odd personal relationship. If he had had a big sister, that sister would probably have been a lot like Sylvie. She was coolheaded in contrast to his mercurial moods, sympathetic when he was unforgiving, laid-back when all he could do was drive himself harder and harder.

Though they'd both grown up in blue-collar families, he'd worked hard to fashion himself into a worldly man. Sylvie still had a bit of neighborhood in her, a feisty, scrappy attitude that he respected. She was only a few years older, but there were times when he felt like a kid next to her. She'd already experienced so much more of life than he had. She had a life outside work, a husband and two kids.

"Mr. Kendrick?"

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Yes, I know. Can you tell him I'll call him back later?"

"I'm sorry, but you're the one who called him. Or I did, at your request. You wanted to know about that property in Southie. You told me to call him at 3:00 p.m. and it's three now."

Rafe slowly turned. "I don't want to talk to him, Sylvie. In fact, I really don't want to talk to anyone right now. Hold all my calls. And cancel all my meetings."

She nodded, then walked out of the office. Rafe stared after her, a frown furrowing his brow. He'd known Sylvie for nearly ten years. She was a beautiful woman, yet he'd never once found himself attracted to her in any way beyond platonic or professional. What was it that made one woman undeniably alluring while another caused nothing more than brief consideration?

His mind returned again to Keely McClain, to the night they'd spent together nearly a month ago. He cursed softly at the unbidden images that flashed in his head. How many times had he thought of her over the past weeks? And how many times had he pushed those thoughts right out of his head, hoping to forget her?

His desk was covered with computer printouts and department reports. He sat down and began to sort through them, determined to focus on current business rather than old…pleasures.

"I'm sorry to interrupt again."

Rafe glanced up. "No, it's all right, Sylvie."

She held up a box. "These just arrived." She walked in and closed the door behind her, then set the box on his desk. "I thought you might want to see if they fit before you took them home."

Rafe reached out and pulled the top off the shoe box. Beneath the tissue paper was a brand-new pair of loafers he'd ordered from Milan, to replace the shoes Keely had ruined. Christ, as if he didn't have enough reminders of her already, now he had fine Italian footwear. If he were a superstitious man, he might think she was haunting him. "I'll try them on later." He pushed the box aside.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Sylvie said. "Because you've been having a hard time getting things done lately. And you've been in a black mood for a month."

"I've been busy," Rafe said.

"You were supposed to review that stack of reports by last Friday and you haven't. Both Elliot and Samuelson have called wondering if they have the go-ahead on their projects."

"Maybe if you'd take that damn promotion I offered you, then you could read the damn reports," Rafe muttered.

Sylvie clucked her tongue, shook her head, then held out her hand. "Pay up," she said. "Ten dollars times two."

"Damn is not a curse word," Rafe said. "We've had this discussion before."

She wiggled her fingers. "Pay up, Rafe."

"That's Mr. Kendrick to you," he corrected as he pulled out his wallet and withdrew a pair of ten-dollar bills.

Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement. "Only when I'm within earshot of other employees. Remember, I knew you back when you owned three properties and couldn't get a bank to loan you a nickel so you'd have two to rub together." She paused, her expression turning serious. "Is it your mother?"

"She's fine." He shook his head. "And I meant to thank you for the flowers you sent for her birthday."

"Then is it the business?"

Rafe shook his head. "Really, it's nothing. I've just been traveling too much lately. Too much time sleeping on planes. Too many strange hotel rooms. I just need some rest."

In truth, whenever he tried to sleep, he found himself thinking about Keely. She was like a drug. Now that he'd had a taste, he wanted more. But he thought if he fought the cravings hard enough, they'd go away.

He'd gone over that night again and again in his head. It wasn't the sex, though that had been pretty great. And it wasn't because she was some gorgeous piece of ass, though she was nice to look at. It was how she'd made him feel. For those few moments in just a single evening, he'd let down his guard, he'd forgotten all his anger and he'd been happy.

And then, he'd left for Detroit and returned to find her gone. There had been no answer in her room and when he had inquired at the desk, the clerk had informed him that Keely McClain had checked out early that morning. The note she'd left him only said that she had to get back to New York and that she'd call him the next time she was in Boston.

So she had waltzed out of his life as quickly as she'd waltzed in. And look where it had gotten him. This was the end of it. From now on, Keely McClain was part of his past, a past not worth dwelling on. "You know, you could help me out," Rafe suggested. "Make some dinner reservations for tonight for two. Someplace quiet…romantic. Then call Elaine Parrish and tell her I'll pick her up at seven."

The only way to put Keely McClain out of his head would be to replace her with another woman, someone prettier, more adventurous in bed. And the sooner the better.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be a good idea," Sylvie said.

"Why not?"

"Elaine announced her engagement three months ago. I read it in the paper."

"Then find someone else. Anyone, I don't care."

"Maybe that's your problem," Sylvie commented.

Rafe sent her a stern look. "Just do it. And take these shoes. Give them to your husband. If they don't fit him, give them to the Salvation Army. Just get them out of my sight."

She grabbed the box and tucked it under her arm. "Right away, Mr. Kendrick."

But before she got to the door, Rafe stopped her. "One more thing. They're having a party at my mother's hospital," he lied. "I told the staff that I'd arrange for the refreshments. I thought a cake might be nice. And some of that…you know, you put it in a big bowl and-"

"Punch?" Sylvie asked.

"Right." He paused. "And I was reading about this person in New York who makes unusual cakes for parties. I think the name was McClain. I'm pretty sure her bakery is located in Brooklyn. Can you see if you can track down a number? But don't call-let me. I'd like to discuss what she can do."

Sylvie's eyebrow shot up. "Since when do you talk to cake decorators?"

"Just find out more," Rafe ordered. "And if I were you, I'd think about taking that promotion. Before I fire you for insubordination."

"You've been offering me a promotion for five years and I've been giving you crap for twice as long. And you haven't fired me yet."

Rafe held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Ten dollars. If damn is a curse word then so is crap."

She slapped a ten into his hand, then stalked out of the office. He was glad Sylvie didn't want another job. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get along without her. Rafe leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. But a few seconds later, his intercom buzzed. He reached over and punched the button. "Yes, Mrs. Arnold. What is it?"

"I have a number. I found a McClain's Bakery in Brooklyn and they do make party cakes."

Rafe sat up straight. He wasn't sure whether he wanted Keely's number. Just a few minutes ago, he'd decided to move on, to find another woman to occupy his thoughts.

"Mr. Kendrick?"

"Just hold on to it for a while," Rafe finally said. "I'll let you know if I need her-I mean, it. The number."

He sighed, then raked his fingers through his hair. His gaze fell on a stack of file folders sitting on the corner of the desk. "Quinns," he murmured. He'd collected all the information he needed to put his plan into action, yet in the past month he hadn't done anything to further his aims.

From now on, he intended to keep his eye on the ball. Nothing, not even Keely McClain, would keep him from his plans this time.

KEELY FINGERED the claddagh pendant hanging around her neck, running her thumb over the emeralds as if they might bring her good luck. She'd come back to Boston to meet her family and tonight she'd do just that. She'd walk into Quinn's Pub, have a beer and introduce herself. And no matter what happened, she'd live with the consequences.

Smoothing her palms over the wool jacket she wore, she started toward the entrance to the bar. "Hi, my name is Keely Quinn and I'm your daughter." She groaned. "I can't just blurt it out like that. I have to have a more subtle approach. Maybe I can get him talking about his family. I'll ask him about his wife and then when I see an opening, I'll take it."

Her stomach did a little flip, but she refused to allow it to get the better of her. Instead, she paused and took a deep breath until the nausea passed. She hadn't had any coffee for a whole week, choosing milk instead to stave off the threat of throwing up in public. Gritting her teeth, she yanked open the door of the pub and stepped inside.

The place was crowded, noisy and hazy with cigarette smoke. No one bothered to look at her as she walked over to the bar. And she tried not to look at the patrons, wanting to stay as anonymous as possible. An empty stool near the end of the bar beckoned and she quickly took a seat, placing her purse in front of her.

She held her breath, waiting for someone behind the bar to notice her. Seamus was there, along with two younger men she knew were two of her brothers. The resemblance was striking, the same dark hair that she had, the same golden-green eyes. She saw her mother in each of them, in the playful way their mouths quirked up when they smiled. Seamus was the one who approached and she sat up straight and prayed that her voice wouldn't tremble when she spoke.

"What can I get ya, lass?"

Even now she could see the man that her mother had fallen in love with. If he had been half as handsome as the other two behind the bar, then he must have been irresistible. Keely swallowed hard. "I'd like a beer."

"A Guinness, then?"

"Yes. A Guinness would be fine."

He returned a few moments later with a huge glass of dark brown brew, topped by a head of pale foam. With a flick of his fingers, he tossed a coaster down in front of her and set the glass on top of it. "That's a lot of beer," Keely said with a weak smile.

"It's a pint. You look like a lass who can handle it," he said, his Irish accent thick. "Drink up now."

He made to walk away and Keely scrambled to find something to say to keep him at her end of the bar. "So is this your place?" she asked.

"That it is," Seamus said. He grabbed a towel from behind the bar and began to polish a rack of glasses. "Quinn's Pub. That's me. Quinn." He cocked his head at the two younger men at the other end of the bar. "My sons. They help me out."

"Have you always had the pub?"

He shook his head. "I used to captain a long-liner. Fished for sword on the Grand Banks."

"A fishing boat," Keely said. "That must have been dangerous."

"It was a good life for a younger man," he said in a wistful tone.

"Hey, Seamus, ya ol' gombeen! Gimme a pint!"

Seamus glanced over his shoulder, then walked away from Keely without another word. She sighed softly before taking a long sip of her Guinness. "Well, that went pretty well," she murmured. He didn't seem like such a bad guy. After her mother had painted a picture of a dissolute, irresponsible husband, Keely wasn't sure what to expect. But Seamus seemed like the kind of man who might welcome her arrival. After all, she was his only daughter.

Irish music blared from the jukebox and Keely gradually felt more comfortable in her surroundings. She drank her Guinness as fast as she could so that she could order another glass. Sean and Liam prowled the length of the bar-she'd gleaned their names from shouting patrons anxious for a refill. Liam was the youngest, the closest to Keely in age, and she felt a special connection to him. Had they spent a childhood together, they may have become best friends.

"Another?" Liam asked.

Keely pushed her glass toward him. "Make it a half-pint this time." If she didn't slow down, she'd be drunk before she said another word to Seamus.

But when Liam returned, he wasn't carrying a glass of Guinness. Instead, he placed a champagne flute in front of her and filled it with sparkling water. "What's this?" Keely asked, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach.

"That guy down there wanted to buy you a drink." Liam shrugged. "This is what he said you'd like."

Keely leaned over the bar and looked down the length of it. Her heart stopped the moment her gaze met his. "Oh, God." She quickly leaned back and cursed softly. Rafe Kendrick was the last person she expected to see.

Her heart slammed in her chest and for a moment she wasn't sure what to do. A decision didn't come quickly enough. A few seconds later, Rafe slipped into the narrow space next to her stool, his body brushing up against hers. A tremor raced through her and she closed her eyes as she remembered the feel of his hands on her body.

Why hadn't she ever considered this possibility? She had met Rafe outside Quinn's Pub that night a month ago. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that he might show up again. But she'd been so focused on meeting her father and brothers that she'd completely ignored the prospect that she might see Rafe there.

"So are you going to pretend that I'm not standing here?" he asked.

Keely felt a flush creep up her cheeks. The scent of his cologne touched her nose and she recognized it immediately. Her pillow had smelled of it the morning after he'd left. "Hello, Rafe. How are you?"

"Hello, Keely. I'm fine. And how are you?"

His voice was deep, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel his breath on her neck. Still, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Fine." Her voice cracked and Keely winced inwardly. She wondered what would happen if she turned to him. Judging by the sound of his voice, that would put her lips about an inch from his. Maybe they wouldn't have to go through this uneasy conversation. Maybe they could just lose themselves in a very long and very deep kiss. All she'd have to do was lean forward and-

"I'm surprised to see you."

She caught a trace of anger in his voice and suddenly she felt as if he were playing a little game with her. "Why is that?"

"Oh, maybe because that note you left said you'd call the next time you were in Boston. And here you are, without a word to me."

Now Keely was sure he was toying with her. His tone dripped with sarcasm, setting her nerves on edge. What did he want? An apology? An explanation? A long silence spun out between them, filled with the raucous sounds of bar music and loud patrons. She'd imagined seeing him again, but the fantasy had never been colored with animosity; it had always been rife with passion and lust.

"I didn't expect to see you here tonight," Keely finally said.

"That's your explanation?"

She looked up at him, surprised at the hard gaze that met hers. She felt her defenses rise. Rafe was spoiling for a fight. "Are you angry at me?"

"I'm not used to being stood up," he said.

Keely forced a laugh. "Is that what this is about? Your ego?"

Oh, wasn't that exactly like a man. It was fine for him to walk out and never call again, but let her do it and he felt as if she'd sliced off his manhood. His attitude tweaked her temper. She knew the prudent choice would be to get up and walk away, but impulse told her otherwise. Keely turned on him, answering in a low voice, "It was a one-night stand. That's all. If you're trying to make me feel guilty that I left, it's not going to work. You know better than I do that it began and ended in that hotel room. You may have come back that night and we may have had dinner and another romp in bed, but it would have ended shortly after that. I just saved you the trouble."

He reached out and smoothed his fingers over her face. Her pulse quickened and her breath caught in her throat. To a casual observer, it might look like a seductive caress. But Keely knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to prove that his touch still affected her, that all he had to do was remind her of that night and she'd want him again. Well, she wasn't going to fall into his trap! Not this time. She regarded him with a bland expression, ignoring the desire that surged up inside of her.

"Tell me, Keely. How many times have you thought about that night? I'd wager you're thinking about it right now." His voice dropped to a low tone, still rife with mockery. "And wishing for a repeat performance."

Keely grabbed the champagne flute and tossed the sparkling water into his face. "We had sex! It was incredible. End of story. Are you satisfied now?"

Only after the words came out of her mouth, did she realize the impromptu beverage toss had rendered the patrons sitting at the bar silent-silent enough to hear her evaluation of their night together.

Liam moved from a spot a few feet away, ready to intercede. Mortified, Keely laid some money on the bar, grabbed her purse and headed toward the door. The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene, especially in front of her father and brothers. They'd think she was some low-class hussy before they even got to know her.

When she reached the street, she drew a shaky breath and tried to keep her hands from trembling. How dare he? Both of them knew what they were getting into that night. If he had any illusions about her feelings, she'd done nothing to confirm them.

Keely heard the door open behind her and turned around. Rafe stood on the top step. She swallowed hard. Why did he have to be so incredibly sexy? Why couldn't she have had a one-night stand with an ordinary guy? "Stay away from me," she warned.

He slowly walked toward her, his hands held out in mock surrender. "I'm sorry. I don't know why the hell I said that. Go ahead-go back inside. I'm leaving. End of story."

"What's wrong with you?" Keely demanded. "What gives you the right to be so angry at me? We shared a pleasant evening together and that's all. I'm sure you've spent pleasant evenings with lots of women before." Even so, Keely wanted to believe that their evening together had ranked right up there near the top.

"You're absolutely right," Rafe said. "Just forget you ever saw me tonight. I'm leaving."

He walked past her and headed into the darkness. Keely stared after him, fighting the urge to call out to him, to rush into his arms and do it all over again. What right did he have to be so angry? She'd done exactly what she was supposed to do after a one-night stand, hadn't she?

A sudden realization made her heart skip a beat or two. Unless Rafe Kendrick didn't consider what they'd shared a one-night stand. "Oh, bloody hell." She bit her lip to keep a few more juicy expletives from coming out of her mouth.

"Well, you've done it now," she murmured. "Your very first one-night stand and you completely screw it up." She walked down the steps. "Someone should write a manual, record all the rules."

She stared down the street, wondering if she should go after him and apologize. But what was she supposed to say? Sorry, I thoroughly enjoyed our night together, but I didn't think you enjoyed it as much as I did, so I left? She'd thought about him so many times over the past month, yet never once, even in her wildest fantasies, did she think he might actually feel something more for her than temporary lust. After all, her relationships with men usually tended to be one-sided. Either she cared too much or they did. There was never a mutual meeting in the middle.

She stopped halfway down the sidewalk and screamed in frustration. "This is not what I came here for," she shouted. "I'm not here for my sex life-I'm here to find my family." Keely turned to go back inside, but she knew she'd only be greeted with stares and whispers and speculation about her behavior.

She had planned to stay overnight and drive back to New York in the morning, but it was only ten. If she left now, she'd be back home by one. "Next time," she reassured herself. "The next time I come, I'll tell them."

As she walked toward her car, she half hoped that she'd find Rafe waiting. But the street was empty. She walked around the back of her car, then noticed that one of her tires was flat. Keely bent down and examined it closely. She found a perfect slice near the rim. She stood and glanced up and down the street. Someone had cut her tire deliberately. But who?

Rafe had disappeared in the direction of her car, but she couldn't believe he'd do anything so petty. What would his motivation be? To rescue her again? Or to force her to deal with her problems without his help? With a soft curse, Keely opened the trunk and began to rummage around for tools to change the tire.

She began with a tire iron and tried to work the lug nuts loose. But no matter how much she twisted and tugged, the nuts were frozen in place. "Damn it!" She kicked the tire.

"Can I help?"

The sound of a voice behind her caused her to jump and a tiny scream slipped from her lips. She turned, clutching the tire iron in her fist, but recognized the man immediately. She'd seen him that first night in front of Quinn's, right before she'd met Rafe.

He held out his hands as if to calm her. "It's all right. I'm a cop. I can help you."

Keely clutched the tire iron tighter. Though she suspected that this might be one of her brothers, she wanted to be sure before she put down her weapon. "Let me see your badge," she demanded, trying hard to remain calm.

As requested, he reached into his back pocket and produced a leather case. When he held it open in front of her, Keely squinted to see his name in the dim light.

"See. Detective Conor Quinn. Boston P.D."

She'd been right that very first night. This was her oldest brother! "Quinn?"

"Yeah," Conor said. "My da owns Quinn's Pub." He paused, his gaze examining her face shrewdly. "You look familiar. Have we met?"

"No. Never," Keely answered, shaking her head.

He asked her question after question, until she felt as if he were interrogating her, trying to get to the truth of why she was alone on a dark street in Southie so late at night. Thankfully, he finally decided she wasn't a criminal and offered to help her fix her tire.

Keely stood back and watched him, marveling at the ease at which he completed the task. "You know, you could have just come into the bar," he suggested, "and used the phone to call a friend. You shouldn't be out on a dark street like this alone." He stood up, brushed off his hands, then walked to the trunk and grabbed the spare.

"I don't have any friends," Keely said "I-I mean, not in the neighborhood. Not home. They're all…out." Maybe if she began asking him questions, he'd stop asking her. "So is the bar a family business?" She tried to make her tone casual, as if she was just mildly curious and not starving for the tiniest bit of information about her family.

Conor glanced over his shoulder. "Me and my brothers all take turns working on the weekends."

"Brothers? You have brothers? How many?"

He frowned as he slowly replaced the lug nuts. "I have five brothers," he said.

Keely smiled. "Five brothers. I-I can't imagine having five brothers. What are their names?"

He stood, wiping grit from the knees of his jeans. Then he released the jack and the car slowly came down. "Dylan, Brendan, Sean, Brian and Liam. They're all inside waiting for me. Why don't you come in? You can wash your hands and I'll buy you a soda."

Keely had already decided to call it a night. But the offer was tempting. She could walk into Quinn's with her eldest brother and introduce herself and get it all over with. "No." She was not going to be guided by impulse. Telling her family would take time and careful planning. "I have to go. I'm late." Keely took the tire iron from his hand then quickly yanked the jack from beneath the bumper, tossing them both in the trunk before hopping back inside her car.

As she pulled away, she released a tightly held breath. For a night that had started so simply, it had certainly ended with high drama. She'd been caught in the middle of her own little soap opera-the secret daughter, a newfound family, a spurned lover. All she really needed was a touch of amnesia and a disfiguring accident and she'd have a complete plot.

KEELY PEERED into the mixing bowl as she dropped a blob of butter into the icing. The paddle spun round and round and she watched it, hypnotically, glad for the chance to give her mind a rest. Since she'd returned from Boston last night, she'd been plagued with thoughts of Rafe, wondering whether she ought to contact him again or just let it go.

She couldn't deny the attraction she still felt for him, the little shiver that skittered down her spine when she first met his gaze, the thrill that raced through her when his body brushed against hers. Even in his anger, he was still an incredibly sexy man.

She'd sat in her kitchen last night, sipping herbal tea and making a list of the pros and cons of calling him. His business card was still hanging on her refrigerator door, right under a watermelon magnet. But a phone call would have been too uncomfortable, filled with uneasy silences. And sending a letter would have been too impersonal. So she'd decided on the best alternative she had-a cake.

When the icing consistency was perfect, she shut off the mixer and put a spoonful of the buttercream into a small bowl. She needed just a tiny bit of black to finish her creation.

"What is that?"

Keely glanced up, the pastry bag hovering over the cake. Her mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her hands braced on her hips. She wore a green apron with the McClain's logo emblazoned on the bib. "I'm working on a new design."

Fiona approached the huge worktable. "We've got to deliver the Wagner cake before ten tomorrow morning, three tiers with your Edwardian lace decoration. And you haven't even put the crumb coat on yet."

"I'll get it done-don't worry."

"If you don't want to do the cake, just tell me. I'll have one of the other girls decorate it. It will take two of them to finish it but-"

Keely ground her teeth. "I said I'll do it. I've got the rest of the afternoon and all night."

"I don't think you realize how complicated that cake is."

Her mother knew full well that Keely was capable of finishing the cake with time to spare. "I designed the bloody cake, Mother. I know how complicated it is."

"Don't use vulgar language, Keely."

"Why? You do. You're not always the proper Irish lady that you pretend to be."

Fiona ignored the provocation and stared down at the cake her daughter was frosting. "Are those shoes?"

"Italian loafers," Keely said. "It's for a…" What should she call Rafe Kendrick? Lover? Acquaintance? "A friend."

Keely scooped the icing into a pastry bag and carefully begin to add stitching to the top of the left loafer. "Was there anything else?"

"Do I always have to ask you? Couldn't you volunteer to keep me informed about your trips to Boston? I was expecting you for dinner last night. I thought we had plans."

"I'm sorry. I decided to go at the last minute. I had a free day."

"Did you talk to your father?" Fiona's tone was indifferent, but Keely sensed that she was curious.

"Yes, and I met three of my brothers. Conor, Liam and Sean." Keely shook her head. "Actually, I didn't meet them, but I spoke to them."

Her mother fell silent and when Keely looked up again, she saw tears swimming in Fiona's eyes. She silently scolded herself for acting so childishly. Her mother had lived without news of her six sons for twenty-five years and now her daughter was hoarding information like some petulant brat. "They're very handsome," Keely offered, her voice softening.

Fiona smiled tremulously. "Really? Are-are they good men? I mean, are they polite? I always tried to teach them manners. Their father was so rough and unschooled but I wanted my boys to be more than just hooligans."

"They're very nice," Keely said. "Conor is a policeman. I had a flat tire and he helped me change it. He was kind and considerate. Sean and Liam were tending bar at the pub. Sean is tall and handsome, but he's very quiet. But Liam is friendly and kind of a flirt."

"Are they married? Do they have children?" She paused. "Do-do I have grandchildren?"

"I don't know," Keely replied, meeting her mother's watery gaze. "I didn't see any of them wearing a wedding band, but that doesn't always mean anything." She turned back to her cake and smoothed a section of icing near the heel of the right shoe, then studied it critically. "You haven't asked me about Seamus."

"I'm not sure I want to know," Fiona said.

"I can understand how you fell for him." Keely laughed softly. "When he smiles, his whole face lights up. His hair has gone white and his face is a bit weathered, but he's still very handsome."

"I think you're doing the right thing."

Keely froze. "Do you?"

"You should know your father and brothers."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because I've made a decision. I think I'm going to go to Boston. Not for a weekend, but maybe for a month or two. I want to get to know them all first before I tell them. That way, they'll get to like me before they know who I really am."

Her mother gasped. "But you can't leave the business for such a long time. We have jobs and clients."

"I'll still do the designs. I'll just put together more explicit instructions for decorating. Both Janelle and Kim are willing to put in some extra time-I've already asked them. And they're both anxious to prove themselves. They'll have some nice photos to put in their portfolios when they start their own cake-decorating businesses. I've also offered them both a raise and authorized hiring another kitchen assistant if they need one."

"Can we afford that?"

"I can afford it," Keely said. "The business is doing well. And you'll be here to watch over things. Besides, I'm not going to leave for another month or so." She paused. "You could always come to Boston with me."

Fiona shook her head. "No. That wouldn't be possible."

Keely set the pastry bag down. "Ma, you're going to have to see your sons sometime. After they find out about me, they're probably going to want to see you."

"They didn't want to see me before, why would they change their minds now? Not one of my sons has ever tried to find me. They probably all hate me."

"You don't know that. You have no idea how they feel. And maybe they have tried to find you. Or maybe Seamus discouraged them. But I think you need to make the effort. After all, you're the one who left them."

"What if they refuse to speak to me? I'm not sure I could bear that."

"What do you have to lose?"

Fiona thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "All these years, I've tried so hard to believe that they were all right. It would be nice to know for sure."

Keely circled the worktable and stood in front of her mother. She grabbed Fiona's hands and gave them a squeeze. "I know this is difficult for you, but I also know that everything will be all right. Going to Ireland was a good thing."

Fiona nodded, then pulled Keely into her embrace. "You're a sweet girl, Keely McClain." She pulled back and took Keely's face between her hands. "Keely Quinn. You've always been a sweet girl-a little bit headstrong and reckless at times-but when your father and brothers meet you, they'll recognize what a treasure you are and they'll learn to love you as much as I do." Fiona kissed her cheek, then hurried out of the kitchen.

"Sure, I'm a good girl," Keely said. She sighed softly, then shook her head. In truth, she had no idea who she was anymore. She wanted to believe she had control over her behavior, but her encounter with Rafe had proved that wrong. He could simply look at her and she got all crazy for him, wild fantasies racing through her mind.

She stared down at the cake. Was the cake really an apology, or just another invitation to sin? After all, didn't she hope that he'd get the cake, pick up the phone and call her? Keely couldn't deny that she'd like to repeat her night with Rafe Kendrick. But now was not the time to fall into some crazy love affair. It would only distract her and she had more important things to do.

She picked up the cake board and carried it over to the trash bin, then tossed it inside. It was a bad idea and a bad design. She had enough emotional upheaval to look forward to in the next months without throwing herself into the path of a devilishly handsome but ultimately dangerous man.

Maybe when she finally figured out who she was, she might allow herself to fall in love. But not until then.