A Passion Denied Read Online Free PDF Page A

her to his kitchen. He gave her a quick squeeze. “Same thing as always, Eileen, we pray. God always turns it around, doesn’t he?”
    She nodded and sniffed.
    “There’s coffee in my cupboard. Make a pot, will you? Double strength. I’ll go in and talk to Pete, and you bring it in when it’s ready, okay?”
    She nodded and then threw her arms around Brady’s middle. Her voice broke. “Oh, Brady, you’re a gift from God, ye are! Sometimes I think you’re an angel instead of a man.”
    Heat scalded the back of his neck. He patted her shoulder. “No, Eileen, I’m just a man who’s found the grace of God.” He steered her toward the cupboard, then headed for the door. He turned and gave her a reassuring smile. “Prayer and coffee, in that order, okay?”
    A smile trembled on her lips and she nodded. He closed the door behind him.
    “ Ei . . . leen! I’m gonna blister you . . .”
    Brady strode into Eileen and Pete’s apartment and drew in a deep breath for the task ahead. An angel instead of a man. His lips quirked into a sour smile. That would certainly be nice. Especially at a moment like this. His jaw tightened. As if I could qualify.
    Angels didn’t have his past.

2
    Lizzie pushed through the swinging kitchen door, and it slammed against the wall with a loud thwack . Their golden retriever, Blarney, lumbered up with a fierce bark and trotted over to lick her hand. Lizzie absently patted his head, then blinked at her older sisters, Faith and Charity, seated at the wooden table in their mother’s large but cozy kitchen. Both sisters stared in shock, hands stilled on the potatoes they were peeling.
    “What are you two doing here?” Lizzie asked, scanning the floral-papered room for some sign of their mother. She noted the freshly baked loaves of wheat bread on the counter and two lattice-top pies, their golden crusts bubbled over with peaches her mother had canned last summer. She took a sniff, and the heavenly smell of pot roast watered her mouth. “Where’s Mother? And Faith, why aren’t you at work?”
    “One question at a time, Lizzie. Mother had a doctor’s appointment, and Charity volunteered to take care of Katie, who—thank you, God—happens to be taking a nap at the moment. I wasn’t feeling well, so Father brought me home from work on his lunch hour, and I took a nap too. Now, suppose you tell us why you’re rattling the door off its hinges?”
    “I hate him.” Lizzie dropped into the nearest chair and plunked her elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand. She closed her eyes to ward off threatening tears.
    “Who?” Charity asked, dropping her peeled potato into a cast-iron pot. She wiped her hand on the stained dishtowel draped over her shoulder and absently rubbed her pregnant belly.
    “Who do you think? The most stubborn man alive.”
    Charity angled a brow and shifted in the chair with a groan. “That would be my husband, Lizzie, and I’m pretty sure you’re not talking about him.”
    Faith chuckled and jumped up to close the kitchen window. “Knowing Mitch Dennehy, I’ll vouch for that. But trust me, Collin isn’t far behind. Brrr . . . I’m chilly. Anyone for tea?”
    Charity sat up straight to massage her back. A wicked grin surfaced on her lips. “Must be men in general,” she muttered, “compounded by Irish descent, no doubt.” She loosened the top two buttons of her blouse and began to fan herself with a well-worn copy of Harper’s Bazaar . Golden strands of honey blond hair quivered in the breeze. “I can’t believe you closed that window. Sweet saints above, it feels like the devil’s kitchen in here.”
    “Sorry, sis, but if you weren’t almost four months pregnant, you’d have goose bumps like me. Lizzie, you want tea?”
    “Go ahead and brew it. She looks like she could use it.” Charity stopped fanning to lean in and give Lizzie the eye. “So what’s Brady done to you now?”
    Lizzie sighed. Her anger faded into hurt. “Nothing—and