Page 57

He raised a brow as if waiting for me to interrupt. “I figured out it takes all of the hundred and fifty square feet of solar panels about seven hours to generate enough power to heat twenty-five gallons. And there are lashings of batteries to store the power.”

“A ten-minute shower uses twenty-five gallons of water?”

“Right ye are. To conserve, I use the propane cookers to boil water for dinner and tea.” He gestured to the scattered burners in the kitchen. The scars on his knuckles rippled with the movement.

“Where’d you learn to hit like that? Last night with the aphids and this morning on the bag?”

“Ah, now I never tell that one.” He stared at his hand and stretched his fingers as if recalling a memory.

“I’d love to hear it.” I made a dramatic scan of the room and lowered my voice. “I won’t tell anyone.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Here I sit with the last lass in the world and she wants to hear me story?”

His smile was infectious. I knew I was grinning like a fool but couldn’t stop myself.

“Right.” He picked at a wool loop in the rug. “Then I’d like to start a’ the beginning if ye den’ mind.”

“Please.” I leaned against the bookshelf and met his steady gaze.

He bent a leg and draped an arm over it. “I was raised in Northern Ireland. The streets were uneasy. A sectarian environment. Ye know the conflict between the Catholics and Protestants?”

At my nod, he said, “Like the other boyos I grew up with, I learned how to fight and defend myself. But I wanted out. So I entered the seminary to become a religious priest. There, I committed me life to vows of poverty, obedience and chastity.”

He sighed. “I have continually fallen off the road to poverty. Matthew 19:21 says ‘If thou wilt be perfect, go sell what thou hast, and give to the poor.’ It sounded so easy, that’s for sure. But as a priest I lived a community life. A middle-class lifestyle with a car, a housemaid and a piped telly. I had a secure job and a salary. I wasn’t free of all worldly goods.”

He glanced around the room. “Even now, I den’ live in poverty and there’s no poor to give to. That brings me to me vow of obedience. Ye said ye spent time in the church? Do ye know this vow?”

I shrugged. “Mind your superiors, right?”

He smiled. “To be a good example of Christlikeness, obeying your superiors was a means to do so. Obedient humility.” His smile fell away. “I lived this one well till…”

His voice trailed off as he secured his unraveling dreadlocks behind his ears. “I stumbled upon a wee Irish lad getting reefed by Brit soldiers. They were ridiculing him for his accent. Made him say things…anything…then clatter him in the gub for saying it.” He rubbed the scars on one hand. “I lamped every one of those Brits out of it.”

“Serves them right.”

“Right. Bugger is…I couldn’t stop scrapping after that. I lost me head at the first sign of trouble. Then I got a reputation. I got approached by folks involved in underground boxing. They wanted to train me and put me in a ring. At the time, I thought I’d become a better boxer so I could help more lads. I learned from the best and got real good. Won a rake of fights and gave away me earnings. I’ve been milling ever since. Me superiors never knew.”

Creases furrowed his forehead. “I’m sorry. It’s not like me to rabbit on like this.”

His decency warmed me even if I couldn’t sympathize with his vows. “I’m glad you told your story.” I nudged him with my elbow, grinning. “And no doubt your pugilism saved the world’s last lass.”

He chuckled. “I think the world’s last lass was holding her own brilliantly.” He dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s two of three vows failed, then. All I have left is me chastity.”

My breathing hitched.

He lifted his eyes, captured mine. “I’ve held this vow for donkey’s years. It’s been the bloody hardest of the three, yet the only one inviolate. I den’ take it lightly.”

I squirmed under his gaze. I was probably the only person left who could stand in the way of his treasured vow. I had enough things to worry about. Walk away. Don’t do this to him. I stood. “Father Molony, thank you for—-”

“Who’s Annie?” He remained on the floor, staring up at me.

My heart pounded in my chest. Heat tingled my cheeks. “What?”

“Ye screamed her name in your sleep.”

I turned away. Exposing my vulnerabilities to a stranger was stupid, stupid, stupid. His clothes swished behind me. His footsteps approached.

“I usually remember my nightmares. I wake or get woken.” I faced him. “Why didn’t you wake me?”