Page 44 of Broken Blood Ties

I shut the door, pulling my sleeve up to check the time. 11:00 p.m. “What the hell are ye doing here?”

He chuckles. “I think the better question is what isshedoing here?” He uses his spoon to point to the ceiling.

My heart thunders against my ribs and an odd buzzing fills my ears. I look up. “Who?”

“Go see for yerself.”

“Where’s Allie?” I ask, glancing at the pristine kitchen Cormac is currently mucking up with the pie crust crumbs falling out of his mouth.

“Sleeping. She’s got it rough.”

I rip off my coat and stride out of the kitchen as Cormac mumbles, “Ye’re a lucky lad.”

At the stairs, I notice Allie’s suite door is shut all the way, and I avoid knocking in favor of darting up the stairs.

Aoife’s door, however, is open and when I walk through my head snaps back at who’s in bed with my daughter.

Summer Smith.

What the?—

I step forward. Aoife’s bedside light bounces off both of them asleep in bed. Summer’s half slumped with her back propped on the headboard while cradling Aoife to her chest. Her face is relaxed, lips curved into a faint, almost peaceful smile.

Aoife nestles close to her, one of her small hands resting on Summer’s pink sweater that seems to ride up over her lower stomach just enough to make me yank my gaze away before the weight of desire is too great. I rub my palm over the ache in my chest and swallow hard, pulling a fist to my mouth and blowing out air. Why does seeing her hold my daughter do something to me?

The yearning turns into a sour tang in my mouth. She’s my daughter’s preschool teacher and too young to be involved with someone like me. A single father, tied to the Irish Mob; what would she assume about someone in my position? It’d probably add to her already growing list of criticisms.

As quickly as those thoughts come, so does a mirage of others. Why is she here? What is going on? Do I wake her up?

Ultimately, I decide on yes. Needing to get to the bottom of things, and I stride over and regret my decision to get so close. The scent of spices—thyme and rosemary—hit me when I lean down, masking a more artificial floral scent.

I let my gaze linger, fighting the urge to move the short piece of hair hanging over her dainty nose. Instead, I tuck both hands into my pants pockets.

“Miss Smith,” I whisper.

Her eyes dart open and slowly track up to where I’m standing over her. Then they widen before shifting toward Aoife. She pushes back on her hands to sit up but not before laying a hand over Aoife’s forehead.

I swallow the emotion clogging my throat.

Summer carefully slides out of bed, coming face-to-face with me. I open my mouth to say something, but she places a hand on my chest and shakes her head. Realizing she’s touching me, she recoils, pointing toward the hallway before bolting from the room. I’m left to follow, scrubbing at the spot where her hand had been.

Once in the hall, I shut the door.

“Mr. O’Donnell?—”

“What is going on?”

We both speak at the same time, and I gesture with my hand for her to continue.

She chews the inside of her cheek. “I was asked to gather some work for Aoife since she was out sick. When I was on my way out of the school this afternoon, I’d noticed it hadn’t been picked up, so I decided to come drop it off.”

One of my eyebrows creeps up as a smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth—I can’t help the hint of amusement. “I must tell Green he isn’t paying ye nearly enough if ye’re willing to make house calls to sick preschoolers.”

Her face reddens, and instead of the witty quip I’m bracing for, tears spring to her eyes, pooling enough to be noticeable. She swipes at them before they fall with a slight tremble in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Donnell. I overstepped. I just hated the idea of Aoife being sick alongside her nanny without anyone else home.” She sniffles, then narrows her eyes at me. “Withoutyouhome.”

There she is. Quick to judge about why I wasn’t home. Although this time, when she says it, she gets a far off look in her eye, and part of me wonders if she’s talking about me.