Seducing Their Nun

Unlikely Bedfellows 1

Seducing Their Nun Sister Margaret Mary comes home to clear out her late mother's house. There, she finds nothing about her past was as she had been told by the nuns at St. Agnes. Suddenly, after a contented life behind convent walls, Margaret Mary wants to experience all she's missed. When love sneaks up on her—first through her attorney, Jordan Parnell, and then his friend, Mark Collins—she sees the world, and life, in a new light. Jordan doesn't recognize Catherine Jacobsen's allure until it's too late. He may call her Catherine, but she's a nun. Still, he seduces her into loving him, too. When his friend returns from Korea badly wounded, Jordan knows that Mark and Catherine can help each other heal. Between them, he believes they can convince Catherine to stay. Then a terrible secret disrupts their lives and puts their future in doubt. Genre: Historical, Ménage a Trois/Quatre Length: 67,532 words

SEDUCING THEIR NUN Unlikely Bedfellows 1

Jenna Stewart

MENAGE EVERLASTING

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting SEDUCING THEIR NUN Copyright © 2012 by Jenna Stewart E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-079-8 First E-book Publication: September 2012 Cover design by Harris Channing All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

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DEDICATION At one point in my life, I longed to become a nun. I had great role models to choose to emulate, and I still think it’s a worthy and worthwhile vocation—for those who truly have the vocation, which obviously I didn’t. And isn’t Jack happy about that? This book is for Margie. Remember when we chatted at work about books that could never be written—much less published? One of us said a nun love story. I said a nun ménage, and you burst into laughter. I said when I wrote it, I'd name the nun after you. Well, it's taken a few years, but here she is. I hope you enjoy the story! I miss our talks and laughter. To my mom who (with Jack) has always been my greatest cheerleader and supporter, and to Sister Mary Paul, an inspiration of my childhood, though she might not appreciate it now. And as always, to the love of my life, Jack, the very best reason ever for my giving up entering the convent.

SEDUCING THEIR NUN Unlikely Bedfellows 1 JENNA STEWART Copyright © 2012

Chapter One As soon as Sister Margaret Mary stepped off the train at Ballymeade, Oregon, she caught the scent of the sea, something as familiar to her as it was strange. “Can I help you with your bags, Sister?” “What?” Startled from her reverie, Sister Margaret Mary dropped her smile and turned to face the porter. He tipped his cap. She acknowledged him with a nod. “I only have this one.” Shyness overcame her. Speaking to someone was strange enough, but conversing alone with a man who was not a priest wasn’t something she’d done since before going to the convent more than twenty-five years ago, as a child. “Thank you,” she added hastily. He waited, with a slight upward curve to his lips. Should she tip him even though she required no help? She wished now that she’d asked Sister Celeste, who had traveled in the world a bit. She would have known the expectations of train porters. As it was, Margaret Mary had few coins to spare and no experience by which to judge what to do. So she did nothing. Finally, with a “Good day,” he walked off. Though the train had been filled with soldiers returning from Korea, she found she was the only passenger on the platform. A conductor farther down the track shouted, “Aboard!” She turned to watch. The brakes released with a hiss. The cars jerked forward, inches at first and then feet,

picking up speed. She strained to see Sister Celeste or Sister Brigitte, both of whom were continuing south to help establish a new convent in California. There they are! She waved furiously, suddenly frantic to maintain contact. Sister Celeste returned her wave, smiling broadly and imparting encouragement in both actions. Sister Brigitte frowned, as was her way, but Margaret Mary knew it was with concern that she would be spending the next weeks alone. Any nun outside the convent without the company of at least one other sister was highly unusual. And now, as the train disappeared from sight, panic welled up. How long had it been since she stood outside cloistered walls, with no one nearby for solace? Automatically tucking her hand under the scapular of her habit for her rosary, she quickly recited ten Hail Marys, one for each bead in the decade, until she could breathe once again. Silence cloaked the station. Rooted to the spot, she stared southward long after the train had disappeared like a track-bound, reticulated snake, slithering around a curve and into a thick forest of fir. She was alone. No sisters surrounded her with their silent support or fellowship in prayer. No bells would organize her days and nights, enforcing a discipline that had become second nature. For the first time since childhood, she was stripped of all identity, except for her habit and the knowledge of her servitude to God within her. Hefting her black suitcase, she walked toward the station. The stationmaster stared openly from the doorway. For a brief moment they locked gazes, then she ducked her

head and glanced past the building toward town. Three old men sat on the porch of a whitewashed, Victorian-styled building. A neatly lettered sign proclaimed it to be the Ballymeade Hotel and Rooming House. The men had stopped rocking while they stared back. One had a glass raised halfway to his lips. Fatigue overcame her desire to sink into the ground with self-consciousness. Safe within the convent’s walls she’d been protected from a stranger’s curiosity. For the next few weeks she’d have to learn to deal with it. “Excuse me,” she said to the stationmaster, “have you seen a Mr. Parnell? He was supposed to meet me.” “Robert Parnell died a few weeks ago. Ain’t seen his boy Jordan today. You Emma Jacobsen’s daughter?” Did she have to tell this man who she was? Was it his business? “Yes. Can you direct me to Hollyhock Cottage?” “Hollyhock Cottage. Are you sure that’s where you want to go? Not the hotel?” He looked her up and down in a familiar manner she found discomforting. She fought the urge to shrink away and instead stood straight and squared her shoulders. “Yes, please, if you know where it is.” “Oh, I know where it is, awright.” He walked to the edge of the platform and spit into the weeds along the building before pointing past the hotel. “Go to the end of Main Street. Turn right up Elm, and at the top of the hill go left on Route 83. About three miles on you’ll pass the entrance to Horsehaven.” He stopped and looked her dead on, his mouth pulled back in a smirk. “That’s Brendan Tipton’s

place. You’ll know of him, I expect?” “I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone in town.” “Ah.” He quirked his brows. “Well, then. Continue on another two miles and turn left. Once you turn, you can’t miss it. The house is about half a mile off the road.” On a normal day, she’d undertake the walk without a second thought, occupying her mind with prayer along the way. But the trip from Ohio had been long and tiring. Her back ached and her legs threatened to fold. “Is there somewhere I can purchase food to take with me? Some fruit, cheese, and milk?” “Store’s halfway up Main.” He spit into the weeds again and then stared at her boldly. “Thank you,” she said, backing away from his too-open gaze and the disdain she felt pouring off him. She walked down the platform steps and crossed the street toward the hotel. The men on the porch continued to watch her progress, though they’d started rocking again. “That be Emma Jacobsen’s girl,” the stationmaster called from the station. His tone held a meaning she didn’t understand. “Oh,” said one of the men, while another said, “Izat so?” “Sorry ta hear ‘bout your mom,” said the man with the glass. “That’s kind, thank you,” Margaret Mary replied. “You goin’ out ta the cottage?” “Yes.” He stood and moved to the railing. “That’s a far piece for ya to walk. Ask for Lonnie at the gas station up the street.

He runs the town’s taxi service. He can take ya, seein’ your mom’s just died an’ all.” “I don’t have money for a taxi.” She said the words, ashamed of the fatigue that made them sound something like a whine. “Lonnie owes your mom.” The man glared back toward the station where Margaret Mary thought the stationmaster still watched. “We all do, one way or tuther. Tell Lonnie that Jim Thompson says so.” “I will, Mr. Thompson, thank you.” “Be careful out there, that the same thing happened to your mom don’t happen ta you.” “Aw, Jim, she’s a nun for God’s sake,” said the first man, and then he tipped his head in her direction. “Sorry, Sister.” What could she say to that? Her mother had been sick since Margaret Mary was a child. That was why she’d been sent away to school so young, so her mother could rest and have the quiet she needed. Was there the chance she could contract the disease, whatever it was? And why would being a nun make her immune? Did that man think she had magical powers? People did think strange things about Catholics. “I’ll be careful,” she assured the men. The middle one laughed, but Jim Thompson just nodded and regained his seat. “See that ya are.” By the time she reached the gas station with suitcase in one hand and the grocery bag held in the crook of her other arm, she was about to drop from tiredness and heat. The black habit absorbed the sun’s rays, making the layers of

clothing beneath stick to her skin. Sweat trickled down her skull under her veil and wimple, and she felt a sheen of perspiration on her forehead. As Jim Thompson instructed, she asked for Lonnie. A large man ducked out from under a car on the hydraulic lift, wiped his hands of grease while listening to her request, and then went to talk to a man working under another car. Just as silent as before, he came back, took both the bag of groceries and her suitcase, and put them in the trunk of a battered blue car. Margaret Mary gratefully climbed in the back. After several minutes of grinding gears, starts and stops, and many more turns than she’d remembered the stationmaster mentioning, Lonnie turned sharply to the left. He wound along a mere track—not a road—much faster than she would have liked and finally ground to a halt before a charming little house. A white picket fence lined with flowers of an amazing variety fronted the porch. A good forty or fifty feet away from the house, another length of fence extended for several yards along where solid ground gave way to the cliff that dropped to the ocean. Lonnie threw the car into neutral, set the brake, and got out. He opened her car door but didn’t extend a hand to help her. Instead, he retrieved her possessions from the trunk, climbed the porch steps, and flung open the door of the house to enter. Mother Superior had notified the lawyer who sent the letter telling of her mother’s death when Margaret Mary would arrive and asked that he have the utilities working. It seems he should have locked the doors,

or perhaps he hadn’t received the letter and the door had been unlocked since the funeral. “Thank you so much,” she said as he came out and strode to the idling car. He grunted in return, and before she could process anything else to say, he ground the gears into reverse and took off up the lane and out of sight, leaving nothing but a dust cloud in his wake. Slowly, feeling as though she were in a trance, Margaret Mary walked into her mother’s house for the first time in more than two decades. She didn’t expect to suffer a wave of nostalgia, and she didn’t. She’d been a small child when she last lived at the cottage. She barely remembered being there before her mother took ill and she was sent to the convent for schooling. When Margaret Mary wrote years later to say she planned to enter the order as a postulate, her mother hadn’t asked her to return home first, and so she hadn’t. By then, the cottage overlooking the Pacific was no longer home. A musty odor permeated the room. Margaret Mary left the front door open then spent time to raise the windows, too. The fresh breeze blew the curtains, immediately banishing the staleness of the empty house. Next, she carried the groceries into the kitchen. Relief flooded her when she heard the low hum of the refrigerator and the overhead light came on. She wouldn’t have to spend her first night in the dark. She put away the few items she’d bought, put on water for tea, and made a cheese sandwich. Dusk was falling. She took dinner outdoors and watched the sun set over the

ocean. Waves crashed against rocks at the foot of the cliff, sending saltwater sprays feet into the air and nearly drowning out the screech of sea birds. Near the horizon, gold melded into amber before meeting the steel gray of the water. “Dear God,” she said aloud, “thank you for granting me a safe journey and bringing me to this place of beauty.” She turned, stopped, then faced the sea again. “And please give me the strength to finish my work soon so I may return to Your work within the walls of St. Agnes.” As she turned back to the house, a car came down the lane. Back straight and hands hidden beneath her scapular, she waited for it to stop. A tall man got out, his suit jacket flying open as soon as the ocean breeze caught it. He strode to her with purpose and held out his hand. “Sister Margaret Mary, I’m Jordan Parnell. I’m very sorry to have missed you at the train this afternoon. I was in Portland on business that went unexpectedly long. I do apologize.” She stared at his outstretched hand and then up into amazingly penetrating blue eyes. By the time she decided she needed to at least take his hand, he pulled it back. “Sorry to come unannounced, too, but there’s no phone out here. Your mother enjoyed her privacy.” “As do I. I’m not used to having a phone.” Good heavens! She was becoming a regular chatterbox. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that I will arrange for someone to come out and help you pack. That is, if you and your fellow sister want help.”

“No one else is with me.” His brow wrinkled, managing to make him look both confused and worried. “I thought nuns never traveled alone.” “Normally, no.” Mother Superior hadn’t been able to spare anyone to be with her. She had reluctantly allowed her to travel to Oregon with Sisters Celeste and Brigitte but said it would be a month or more before anyone else could leave the convent. She had written to the local priest to expect Margaret Mary and suggested she talk with him about finding someone to help her with the house. Jordan stood silent as though waiting for more of an explanation, but she couldn’t tell him about how St. Agnes worked or Mother’s reasoning. She had told Margaret Mary to stay safe and to stay away from men. As though she needed to be told that! “Um…as to help, I think I will be fine on my own. Thank you.” “Okay. I will have papers for you to sign, so I’ll check in with you tomorrow or the next day. Will that be all right?” He glanced up through the encroaching twilight toward heaven and then looked at her and smiled. “I promise to come at a more reasonable hour the next time. And I apologize again for not meeting your train.” “Thank you for coming,” she said. He got back to his car, backed up slowly to turn, and left. Nice man. Surely Mother Superior wouldn’t mind her talking to him. He was her attorney, after all. And there was no way he would do anything to jeopardize her well-being. Back inside the house, she found linens, made the bed

in the only bedroom, and prepared for sleep. She knelt for prayers and climbed between the sheets. After both the excitement and weariness of the day, she’d thought she would be out when her head hit the pillow. Instead, she lay awake seeing in her mind’s eye her attorney’s intense blue eyes. The image stirred something in her, something both comforting and troubling. For the life of her, she didn’t know which emotion disturbed her the most.

Chapter Two Margaret Mary knelt in the wooden pew of the humble church early the next morning. Deep in prayer, she didn’t notice the priest standing beside her until he tapped her shoulder. Quickly, she stood, head still bowed out of respect. “Sister.” “Good morning, Father.” “It’s not six o’clock yet, Sister.” She nodded rather than speaking. “Mass is at six thirty. Have you eaten anything?” Eyes wide, she looked up and shook her head. The man looked more than six feet tall, slim with a shock of white hair and weak blue eyes with crow’s-feet. Frown lines bracketed his mouth. “I thought as much. I understand you’re from a cloistered convent.” He waited for her quick nod. “I suppose you’ve been up since five o’clock praying?” She stared at the floor again and said nothing. “And with nothing in your stomach.” He made a grunt of disgust. “I’ll be lucky if you don’t pass out before the end of Mass. Next time eat something as soon as you rise so I won’t have a sick nun on my hands.” He strode off, his cassock swishing. Margaret Mary knelt once more and bowed her head, closing her eyes against sudden dizziness. She was used to a regimen of rising during the night for prayer and then

meeting for Mass at five thirty. As was her practice, she’d woken twice during the previous night, climbed out of bed, and spent half an hour on her knees. What she wasn’t used to, and what no doubt contributed to her dizziness now, was the several-mile walk to the little whitewashed church at the edge of town and the wait for the service. A person knelt in the pew behind her and brought her back to herself. She didn’t turn her head to look around, but three people sat in pews in front. Shortly, the priest—he hadn’t given his name—walked to the altar and began the service. Before she knew it, she’d received communion at the altar railing and made the sign of the cross at the final blessing. Remaining on her knees, she waited until the church emptied then made her way to the door. “I suppose you didn’t bring anything to eat with you, either?” The priest waited at the door. She said nothing. He huffed out a breath. “Silly woman. Lonnie,” he called out, “can you run Sister…” “Margaret Mary,” she supplied in a low voice. “Will you run Sister Margaret Mary out to the cottage?” Margaret Mary looked up to see Lonnie, lean and broad shouldered, standing at the end of the sidewalk. His coveralls matched those he’d worn the previous day except that these were clean. He dipped his head at the priest but said nothing to her. “His old Nash makes us all hold our breaths, but he seems to keep it going.” “Thank you, Father.”

“Don’t thank me. If you’re going to be coming to Mass every morning, Lonnie will pick you up. Eat something,” he admonished, shaking his finger in her face. With that, he spun on his heel and re-entered the church, leaving her to follow the closemouthed Lonnie to the blue vehicle. As soon as he pulled to a halt at her front door she opened the door and exited the car. The day’s heat already infused the town, but here a freshened breeze blew her veil into her face. She brushed it back and leaned down to Lonnie’s open window. “Thank you,” she said. “Six fifteen tomarra,” he said. “That’s really not necessary,” she replied hastily. He put the car in gear and started backing away. “Tomarra,” he called out the window. Margaret Mary entered the cottage and put together a breakfast of oatmeal and hot tea. Like the previous night’s dinner, she took her meal outdoors. Sunlight glittered off the water far below. Peace filled her. “Thank you, Lord, for this view, for guiding me through the darkness to the church this morning, and for Lonnie and his Nash.” With a renewed sense of vigor she entered the cottage to do her duty, to her mother who by God’s grace had lived a good life for many years in the face of her illness, to God, and to her order. She couldn’t wait to return to the convent. Or, maybe…Maybe I won’t go back to Ohio. Maybe Mother

Superior will send me on to California to help Sister Celeste. She’d never been anywhere. To travel and explore different places would be—

She stopped midwish. What she did with her life was not for her to decide. Where she went, where she lived was up to God, through his servant, Mother Superior. “Thoughts not dedicated to God are thoughts available to Lucifer,” she quoted under her breath, appalled that she’d let her mind wander. One of the first things impressed upon postulants was the importance of keeping one’s thoughts focused in prayer. Here she was after a couple of days outside the convent reverting to behavior she’d thought bred out of her. Wasting no more time, she withdrew her work clothes from her suitcase. She pinned back her veil and rolled up the long sleeves of her gown. She donned a long white apron and protective coverings for her lower arms and the white chemise she wore under her gown. Earlier, she’d noticed garments in the hamper in the bathroom. Now she gathered everything and took it to the wringer washer in an alcove off the kitchen. Then she filled a bucket she found stored under the sink, picked up a scrub brush and rags, and went back upstairs. Dropping to her knees, she dipped the brush in the water, scrubbed a small space of floor, and then cleaned it with the rags, as she’d been taught years before. With the familiar chore, her mind slipped into a pattern of prayer. When she finished the upstairs bedroom and steps, she refilled the bucket with fresh water and began scrubbing the downstairs flooring. Intent on her work and prayer, she didn’t notice the shadow fallen over the room until she changed sections of floor.

A man stood in the front doorway, one hand on each side of the frame. With the sun at his back, his face was hidden. Quickly Margaret Mary scrambled to her feet and faced the stranger. “Yes?” she asked, hiding her hands under her apron. The man stared, a small smile curving his lips. “Sir?” Margaret Mary asked in a low tone. Finally he spoke. “Hello, Catherine.” Catherine? Then from the deep recesses of her mind, memories made their way to the surface. “Catherine, would you like a story before bed?” “Catherine, not so close to the edge!” “Good-bye, Catherine. Don’t forget Mama.” She had been Catherine. At least before school, where she’d been only Miss Jacobsen. Then she’d welcomed Christ as her husband and took her vows and her new name, Margaret Mary. At that point, her former life died so that she could dedicate herself totally to God. “I am Sister Margaret Mary. And you are…?” He coughed out a laugh. “Don’t you know?” She shook her head, trying to picture Sister Celeste or Mother Superior in this situation. Had either of them needed to deal with a strange man from a past they didn’t remember? Talking to a man was hard enough in itself. Lacing her fingers together and crossing her thumbs, she said a fleeting prayer for strength. “No, sir, I’m afraid I do not know.” “Brendan Tipton,” he said curtly and walked into the living room. Margaret Mary took an involuntary step back, gasping

when she caught sight of his face. If the Archangel Michael came to Earth, he couldn’t have been more beautiful than the stranger who had just entered her mother’s house.

Chapter Three She looked up into piercing blue eyes which regarded her with amusement. He stood over six feet, because she herself was almost that height. Mother Superior had often reminded her of her ungainly height when she was still in school. His shoulders could have held the world—even under his jacket there was evidence of muscle. His face was chiseled planes, hard and solid, and his salt-andpepper hair made him look like the patriarch of a family, wise and respected. Powerful. “Yes?” She’d heard his name the day before, from the stationmaster. Like this man, he had assumed she would know who Brendan Tipton was. Tipton shrugged and then walked around the room, picking up things from tables and bookshelves and putting them down again. “I thought perhaps your mother mentioned me in her letters.” “I haven’t received a letter from my mother since I entered the order. That’s been fourteen years.” He turned in surprise. “I know for a fact that she wrote you.” “I have no explanation, then.” She bowed her head. As always when confronted with an unknown situation, she sought comfort in her rosary, but even fingering the wellworn beads didn’t erase the disquiet brought on by Mr. Tipton’s presence. And he seemed in no hurry to leave. “Well then, we shall have to become acquainted while

you’re here.” No! More than any man she’d ever met, Brendan Tipton frightened her. He was beautiful unlike any other, but his allure came from more than his looks. She watched as he chose a figurine to examine. He plucked it off a side table, his hand large enough to hold a muskmelon, his fingers long, the tips calloused. Yet he caressed the porcelain shepherdess as though she were a real woman, with tenderness and care. Feelings stirred deep inside her, like a shift in the Earth. The man disturbed her in so many ways, and she had no means of making him leave. More tightly she clung to the rosary. Hail Mary, full of grace… Tipton looked up as though he heard her thoughts. “Praying, Sister?” He snorted a laugh and then cast a glance around the room. “Perhaps you should. This is not your Father’s house, it’s your mother’s.” He spared another glance for the shepherdess in his hand. “This was your mother’s favorite. It does not belong within convent walls if that is your intention.” His gaze raked her from head to foot. She caught her breath, sensing once again the power exuding from his very pores. She hoped he couldn’t see inside her, that he couldn’t tell the turmoil his examination caused. His hooded gaze came back to her face. Heat flushed her cheeks. His stare softened. She felt almost as though he had reached out and skimmed his fingers across the heat, adding further to her distress. Why didn’t he go? “No, this little shepherdess does not belong sheltered behind walls with a bunch of withered, sexless old women.

And neither, I think, do you.” And then he did leave. Against her common sense, she stumbled to the door to watch him. He strode to the edge of the cliff, raised his arm, and dashed the figurine to the rocks below. He’d cradled it with gentleness and then destroyed it with such force Margaret Mary felt it even yards away. Without a backward glance, he walked off. She fell to her knees and bent her head to beg God’s peace. For the first time since childhood, she couldn’t formulate the words or muster the attention that should have come easily. She couldn’t expel the image of Brendan Tipton’s smashing the porcelain figure. She remembered her reaction when she imagined his hand touching her face, and shame flooded her. She hoped Mr. Tipton would never return. At the same time, to her dismay, she knew he would. For the rest of the day Margaret Mary maintained a flurry of activity in an effort to keep her mind off her earlier visitor. Or rather, off the disquiet he made her feel. She finished cleaning the floor, this time with the door firmly closed. Then she rinsed the clothes she’d washed and ran them through the wringer. When they hung on the line, flapping in the wind —sheets soft as butter, blouses and skirts, two pairs of slacks, and silk underwear with lace—she had a moment’s pause. Those couldn’t be her mother’s things. She’d been sick, bed-ridden, and unable to get around by herself. For years, Margaret Mary believed that only the peace of living in this remote location by the sea had made it possible for her to hang onto life as long as she had.

Margaret Mary put the conundrum from her mind in order to decide where to start sorting through articles and packing. There was an additional room upstairs beside the bedroom and bath that appeared to serve as a reading area. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a chintz-covered chair with side table and lamp sat near the window overlooking the stretch of hillside that backed the cottage and led up to the main road. The lower level held the living room, kitchen, a dining area, and a laundry alcove. Through a door under the stairway, Margaret Mary discovered a study. The room— though barely large enough to be called such—like the reading room upstairs bore a woman’s stamp, whereas the rest of the house showed the darker colors, contemporary styling, and lack of clutter that implied a masculine taste. Two round windows allowed light and air. On a table, flowers had died in a vase next to a bookmarked volume of poetry. The walls had been painted a pastel lavender, and the chair and ottoman beside the table had lush contours and coverings showcasing white and Persian lilacs. A rolltop desk occupied the corner. Impressionist-style paintings, mostly miniatures, dotted the walls, and glass knickknacks of all sizes and shapes jammed every other surface. The cottage was worlds away from Margaret Mary’s austere cell. The sheer quantity of items in this room alone, to be evaluated and packed for disposal, overwhelmed her. Tomorrow she would ask Father if he knew of a reliable woman who’d be willing to come out and help her. The

notion that a woman working with her would also serve as a buffer if Mr. Tipton should happen by again gave her a much-needed sense of relief. Atop a bookshelf, Margaret Mary found a key. On a hunch, she tried it in the keyhole of the rolltop, and it fit. Inside, the many cubbyholes burst with papers, though the general aspect was one of neatness. In the center of the writing surface, an envelope rested with her name on it. Margaret Mary opened it and sat in the chair to read.

My dear Catherine, I am gone, and without seeing you or holding you one last time. I believe I am sorriest for that, as sorry as I am for having sent you away when you were only a child and still in need of your mama. I needed you also, my sweet, but it was not for us to be together. I hope you understand and don’t hate me.” Hate her, why? An illness was no one’s fault. Ever since she left home she’d prayed nightly for her mother’s health and spirits, at first wishing health would be restored so she could go home, but then that her mother didn’t suffer. Knowing her prayers reached a loving God’s ear made her loneliness bearable. She came to view their separation as a test they had to overcome. Now they were at the end, and her mother’s well-earned peace was the reward for them both. She continued reading.

Another thing I greatly regret is that you entered the convent. “What?” Startled, she read the words again. If her mother felt that way, why hadn’t she spoken up at the time?

Why hadn’t she begged Margaret Mary to come home?

I felt I had to send you away, Catherine, but I never intended that you would lock yourself away from the world. There’s so much you’ve missed, my dear, so much you’re still missing—sampling a soda at the drugstore counter, a drive-in movie with a boyfriend, the freedom to go where you want and do what you want. Having a conversation with a girlfriend. Feeling a man’s arms around you, making love, raising children. I do so wish you could know these things. I would wish for you even the life I’ve had rather than the one you chose. How could her mother think she was unhappy? Granted, she had been miserable during her school years. Perhaps she would have returned to Oregon after high school if she had felt needed or wanted. Instead, with no actual direction to her life, the nuns had guided her into the order. She found peace there. Too bad she couldn’t reassure her mother.

You might wonder what I mean by “even the life I’ve had.” In many ways, I’ve been alone but not really lonely. In my own way, I’ve loved not one man but two. And if they haven’t truly loved me, they’ve taken care of me—and of you, my dear. Her mother had fallen in love there in her cottage by the sea? The first man must have been Margaret Mary’s father. But who could the second man be? Her mother hadn’t been able to get around for years.

I might as well cleanse my conscience of everything. I don’t know who your father is, Catherine.

Her hands dropped to her lap, her mind numb, unable to form a thought. All her life she’d believed her father had lived with them until his death. Now, half of her was a mystery. Uneasily, she picked up the letter.

I’m sorry to tell you so bluntly, but I hope as an adult you can understand. That I became pregnant while being with several different men is not something I could explain to a child even if I’d wanted to. You wouldn’t have understood. I was always glad I left that life before you discovered exactly what I did. Her mother had been a…she couldn’t say the word even to herself. Stiffly, she folded the papers and stuffed them back in the envelope, locking the whole thing back in the desk. For the remainder of the day, Margaret Mary kept her mind totally consumed in prayer, but not in joy or peace. She prayed as a way to block from her mind the horrible truth she had discovered. Her mother had not been ill. She had not been at death’s door all those years of Margaret Mary’s confusion, anger, and loneliness. She simply hadn’t wanted her daughter. Her mother hadn’t wanted her.

Chapter Four Around noon, Brendan rode the acres of his coastline ranch searching out two calves that had strayed from the rich, grassy pasture into the thick woods edging his property. His land continued for another mile or so into the forest, a buffer he used to keep neighbors at a distance. And though he’d awarded Catherine distance by leaving the cottage that morning, he hadn’t banned her from his mind. His first view of her had been a virginal white slip. She’d hiked up the black part of her costume, so that above the white, the black covered—and enhanced—the soft roundness of her ass, tilted up as she bent over a scrub brush. She cleaned the floor, swaying with each backward thrust of her knees. His cock had risen at the sight. He’d wanted to drop down and rub himself against her. Then she’d caught hint of his presence and stood. She was covered from head to foot. A white bib apron masked a shapeless drape of black material to where she’d pinned it at her knees. Beneath the apron and white slip, black stockings ended in sensible black shoes. A black veil capped her head. She’d pinned that back, too, leaving her face framed in pure white binding. She was angelic, her face small and round, her light-brown eyes wide at the unexpected sight of him. She was tall, like her mother. He’d have thought statuesque if that formless costume had allowed her shape to show.

But it was her mouth that captured his attention most. Lush and full, her lips made a perfect O when she stepped back from him. They were devoid of lipstick, yet he immediately pictured them bright red, saying a prayer before they slid over his cock and sucked him off. He was hard even now, remembering his first sight of her. He’d wanted her then, and he wanted her now. She was Emma’s daughter—another turn-on—and he was old enough to be her father, though thankfully he didn’t deserve credit—or blame—for siring her. No, not a nun. He was more in the habit of spawning devils, like his son, David, an unrepentant gambler who was well on his way to becoming a dissolute drunk. Or his daughter, Nancy, spoiled as her mother could make her. Thank God she was married and now driving her husband crazy, whining and demanding everything under the sun. No, producing nuns wasn’t for him. But fucking them might be. From what he’d seen that morning, he could pluck the tender, juicy peach from the branch any time he chose. The question was, did he want that on his soul? He snorted. His soul already sported so many stains, one more wouldn’t matter. Far off, he spotted the two calves, foraging together among Douglas fir needles and fallen oak leaves. He nudged his horse to the right to get behind them. Closer, he clicked his tongue and called out softly, coaxing them to do what he wanted, to go where he directed. They cocked their heads to listen and then trotted ahead of him, docile and willing to let him direct them back to the herd.

Sister Margaret Mary—oh yes, he’d known her name since she’d surrendered herself to that unnatural place— would be just like the calves. Surrender defined her. She was used to giving herself over to someone stronger, someone in authority. She’d promised herself to God. Well, around here, he was God. He’d never had to fight for a woman before, though he’d paid dearly at times to maintain his relationship with Catherine’s mother. But the idea of challenging the Almighty for the nun’s loyalty was a challenge to consider. This little coastline of Oregon could become Mount Olympus, with one god fighting another for control and power. Yes, submission was the key. He wanted nothing less. Damn but his cock ached. Any more thoughts of Catherine’s surrender and he’d have to get off the damn horse and jack off. He wouldn’t continue his exile, not with the image of her sweet ass aimed at his cock and her luscious lips haunting his dreams. Winning her over would take some time. He wanted her to come to him of her own free will. He needed someone to watch over her, to keep her safe from the town’s speculation and delay the process of her packing until Brendan could overwhelm her senses. He knew just the man. He banished the virginal sister from his mind and concentrated on getting his cattle in one place on the high pasture.

**** “Yes?” Brendan called out from behind his desk. A maid stuck her head in the door. “Mr. Parnell is here to see you, sir.” “Tell him to come in.” Brendan replaced the paperwork he’d been reading in the drawer of an oak desk that occupied a good portion of the corner. His office was large enough for a sofa and two substantial leather chairs, a credenza that served as a liquor cabinet, two walls of books and his desk. It was a man’s room, the one place in the house his wife, Marlene, was forbidden to decorate. She wasn’t even allowed in there unless he invited her, and he never did. Bad enough he had to sit across the table from her at meals when their schedules happened to coincide. After the birth of their daughter she’d indicated she wasn’t interested in having sex any longer. He’d acceded without argument. Just the threat of his visiting her room every night had been enough for her to grudgingly agree to his finding release elsewhere. By the time he’d installed Emma in the cottage on the cliff, Marlene’s objection to how that would look to the town meant less than nothing. “Hello, Bren.” Jordan Parnell, though the age of Brendan’s son, used the familiar nickname that his father had adopted. “Jordan, good to see you. How have you been?” “Well, thanks. And you?” Jordan, son of Brendan’s best friend and attorney for more than thirty years, sank into one

of the leather chairs. “Good, I’m doing good. I understand you’re handling Emma Jacobsen’s estate, taking the case over from your dad.” Brendan walked to the credenza and poured a whiskey, neat. He held up the glass. “You want one, or are you holding off until lunch?” “I’ll have one over rocks.” “Pussy.” Jordan laughed. “That’s my concession to the hour of the day.” He accepted the glass but didn’t drink. Instead, he set it on the edge of the desk, leaned back and crossed his legs, ankle over knee. “Dad was her attorney, so now that he’s gone I took over. Why? Is something up that I should know about? I’ve been in Portland the last few days.” “Her daughter arrived yesterday. She’s a nun.” “I know that. I sent the letter telling her about Miss Jacobsen’s death. I opened the cottage for her use while she’s here. Didn’t want her staying in town.” “I’m glad you had such foresight. She should be at the cottage.” The better to catch her alone. Jordan frowned. “I should have been here when she arrived, but I was stuck in Portland.” He lifted the glass from the desktop and took his first sip. “I’ve seen her. She seems at home. But if you have time, I do believe she can use some help.” Brendan raised his brows. “Do you have any idea how much there is in that cottage?” “No.” Jordan met his gaze. “The cottage was your territory, as I always heard the stories.”

Brendan smiled. “Her mother was the finest piece of ass I ever had.” He laughed outright when Jordan stood, looking angry. When his blue eyes blazed and his jaw tightened, he looked the very image of his father when he fought hard in the courtroom and won. “Calm down, son. I’m only speaking the truth. Emma had a way about her, a way with her body. She’s the only woman I never tired of fucking. But my thought now is for her daughter.” See, God? I can tell the

truth. Jordan took a deep breath and let it out. The years in the Marine Corps had shaped him into a fine man, fit and sharp. How he and David had graduated from high school in the same class, both from good families, and yet ended up so different was a mystery. He’d give his right arm to have Jordan for his son instead of the wastrel he had. Stiffly, as though against his better judgment, Jordan took his seat again. “I’ll see if I can find someone for her.” Brendan swallowed half the whiskey in his glass. “I think you’re the right person for the job.” When Jordan started to protest, Brendan cut him off. “You’re above reproach in this town, you’re her attorney, and you know exactly what needs to be done and how to do it. As you said, I’m familiar with the cottage’s contents. I can tell you with confidence that there are a lot of valuable items hidden among the sentimental trash, gifts from me, and—” He stopped and looked away from Jordan. “How will she know the difference?” “How will I? I’m no antiques dealer.” “But you have an eye for value. She’s a nun, for Christ’s

sake. Help her out.” The younger man thought for a few minutes. “I liked Miss Jacobsen,” he said finally. “She was nice to me the few times I met her. I’ll go out and offer my services.” “Good man,” Brendan said, saluting him with the half-full glass. “I know you’ll do a thorough job, taking your time to make sure everything is accounted for.” Jordan fixed him with an appraising gaze. “What’s in this for you?” Brendan grunted. “What? You don’t trust that I can have good intentions?” “You were my father’s best friend. But as good and decent as my dad was, you were always the opposite. Seeing the two of you was like looking in a mirror— whatever he did, you did the reverse.” He stood up, took a slug of whiskey, and put the glass back on the desk. “Please don’t take offense. You know it’s true.” Brendan chuckled and slapped Jordan on the back. “No offense taken. I know I’ve raised a few eyebrows around here.” It was Jordan’s turn to chuckle. “But in this case, I only want Catherine to get what she needs.” “Catherine? Was that her name?” “Yes, before she gave up all hope of a natural life,” Brendan said dryly. “Well, I’ll get out there tomorrow.” Jordan started for the door. “Oh, and so you know, the reason I went up to Portland was to talk to a buyer for Dad’s firm. I’ll serve as a silent partner until he pays off the note, and then he’ll be the lawyer for Ballymeade.”

Brendan looked up sharply. “Do you mean you’re selling out?” “I’ve never been interested in being an attorney. I went to law school to please Dad, but face it, if I’d wanted to be a lawyer, I would have stayed here instead of joining the Corps after graduation. This way, I’ll keep an eye on things and Mother will have an income for as long as the firm is a working concern.” He opened the door. “I’m letting Dad’s clients know. The man who will be taking over has a good record. If you leave your business with him, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.” “This would about kill your father.” Closemouthed, Jordan said nothing for a moment. “Dad knew that I could have died in Korea. Have you read about Chosin? Do you have any idea of the hell we went through? I think he would want me to live life as I want to, not as he dreamed.” “You don’t know your father at all.” “I disagree. But at any rate, I wanted you to know my decision so you could make plans. And I will honor my father’s obligation to Miss Jacobsen’s daughter.” He gestured toward the desk. “Thanks for the drink.” He closed the door behind him. Insults aside, Brendan couldn’t help but admire the man. He had made a name for himself in the war and won a medal for bravery. He wasn’t the lawyer “the Lion of Harvard” had wanted him to be, but he had turned into quite a man. “Unlike David,” Brendan muttered, finishing his drink. And then his thoughts wandered back to the virgin in

the cottage. He could imagine what Leo, Emma’s other lover, would say. She’s a nun. She doesn’t do sex. But she will with me. As much as they’d had to pay to keep Emma, she had been worth it. He’d never known a woman who would do anything he asked and enjoy it. They’d fucked every which way, in public, in the ass, there on his desk while his wife entertained guests two doors away. She never said no, she never acted as though his requests were a burden. Emma was the anti-wife. She hadn’t loved him. He hadn’t wanted her to. In romantic terms, she was his courtesan, his and Leo’s. He grinned, remembering the look of surprise and, yes, fear on Catherine’s face that morning. In realistic terms, her mother was the world’s best whore. He knew in his gut that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Fair warning, God. If you want this woman’s soul,

get in line.

Chapter Five The next morning Margaret Mary waited outside the cottage for Lonnie. She was able to enjoy dawn as it crept over the hillsides and slid onto the ocean, changing the gray expanse into shimmering blue. She crossed herself after saying a prayer of thanksgiving for her night’s rest, disturbed as it was by thoughts of her mother and the letter hidden in the desk. “Good morning, Lonnie,” she said, opening the back door when his car halted at the bottom of the steps. He said nothing, but it struck Margaret Mary that she had initiated a conversation with a man, for perhaps the first time in years. And she’d done it without thinking or worrying or praying that she was doing the right thing. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure how to feel about her actions. In church, she said the rosary until Mass began. The priest gave no sign of recognition when he gave her communion. He might have ignored her when she passed him at the door after Mass, too, but he didn’t stand alone. Mr. Tipton was with him. “Good morning, Sister Margaret Mary,” Mr. Tipton said when she reached them, head down and hands tucked beneath her scapular. “Good morning, Mr. Tipton,” she replied, talking to the ground. The priest huffed. “Lonnie had to go, Sister. Mr. Tipton has offered to drive you back to Hollyhock Cottage. I told

him you’d prefer to walk, most likely. Did you bring something to eat today?” “No, Father. But I did have a slice of bread when I rose at four-thirty. And I would rather not inconvenience you, Mr. Tipton.” “Don’t be silly,” Tipton said. “Why should you walk miles when I have my car here?” “Walking is good for her soul, Tipton,” the priest said. “It gives her time to reflect and pray.” “The walk is uphill a good part of the way. You’d have her wear herself out so she can reflect on what? On how much more work she could have gotten done at the cottage if she’d ridden home instead of marched?” “She will reflect on the consequences of actions.” Margaret Mary looked up. The priest’s stern expression was set on her, not Mr. Tipton. She knew—his look and words told her in no uncertain terms—what she should do. “Thank you, Mr. Tipton, but I do prefer to walk.” She started past him. He reached out and stopped her with his hand on her arm. She should have recoiled, but the shock of being touched, even through the layers of clothing she wore, rendered her incapable. She simply stared at where his hand met her arm. Not so, the priest. “Release her, Tipton!” “I’m not hurting her, Samuels.” He gentled his voice. “Am I hurting you, Sister?” Dumbly, she shook her head, and he let go. She continued to stare, sure she would see scorch marks in the outline of his fingers on her sleeve.

“Look at it this way, Father, the faster she gets home and working on settling her mother’s estate, the sooner she’ll be on her way back to Ohio, where she’ll be safe from the world. Isn’t that what you want? Besides, you heard her, she’s had nothing but a slice of bread today. What if she passes out on the way home?” “Sister.” There was anger in Father Samuels’s voice. “I told you to bring something to eat for after Mass. Do not disobey me tomorrow.” She tore her gaze from her sleeve and directed it at the priest, whose eyes flamed with rage. “Yes, Father Samuels.” At least she now knew his name. “Since Mr. Tipton has offered you a ride home, I suppose you might accept. Today.” He added, “Report to me tomorrow after Mass. While you are part of my parish, your soul is my responsibility.” “Yes, Father.” Tipton clapped the priest on the back. “Don’t worry, Father. Jordan Parnell—you remember him?” Father Samuels nodded. “Good man.” “Yes, he is. His father represented her mother, and Jordan’s anxious to be of service to the Sister. He’ll be helping her with the inventory and packing.” She couldn’t believe her ears. A strange man would be with her every day at the cottage? But…but this would never work. Just the touch of Mr. Tipton’s hand had sent her into near paralysis. Being near him yesterday and again today had initiated feelings she’d rather not explore. How could she bear having a man with her day after day in close

quarters? She looked at Father Samuels. Surely he wouldn’t condone this? “Excellent. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better myself.” He actually smiled, and her heart fell. “I’d really rather—” “Jordan Parnell will be a great help, Sister. I’ll hear no argument. Let’s have this business concluded and get you back behind the walls of the convent where you belong.” Under her scapular, her hands clenched. She bowed her head. “Yes, Father.” “I think Jordan is probably waiting there now, so shall we go, Sister Margaret Mary?” Tipton turned to and walked toward a large vehicle parked at the curb. She had no choice but to follow. The sporty-looking car he led her to was no beat-up Nash. A hood ornament denoted the front and fins decorated the back. There were only two seats, so she sank into a plush leather front seat. Tipton mumbled something and smiled before closing the door. She couldn’t have heard correctly, but it sounded like, “You’ll have to do better than that, God.” **** Brendan Tipton didn’t try to engage Catherine in conversation on the trip home. He knew she was uncomfortable being cooped up in the relatively spacious Buick. His plan involved earning her trust and then knocking her off kilter.

He’d noticed it before, and it was more evident today, that Catherine had no experience in the world. Tipton wondered if she’d even been outside the convent walls since entering as a student at age six. The thought of teaching her about her body and its many pleasures entranced him. Her mother had been a temptress who had held him in thrall for many years. But Catherine was a treasure. A complete neophyte, who needed only an awakening. And he was just the man to do it. “You’ll like Jordan,” he said at last, just before they arrived at the cottage. “He’s only been home from Korea a couple of months.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “And you don’t have to worry about him. As a man, I mean. He knows you’re meant for someone else.” She shot him a worried look. “I belong to God and no one else.” “Of course,” he agreed. After I’m through with you, God can have you back for all eternity. “Here we are,” he said, turning onto the lane. “It looks like Jordan’s waiting.” She said nothing until he stopped. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Tipton.” “Call me Brendan, please. Your mother and I were good friends, after all.” Her look sharpened. Did she have an idea about her mother and him after all? He hoped so, in a way. Fucking her while she knew he’d fucked her mother would add a new edge to the experience. He exited the car and went around to help her out, but she beat him to it. Fine. He didn’t mind if she took charge in

a few things. Let her continue thinking the Earth hadn’t shifted on its axis when they met the previous day. Let her keep up her silence, demurely hiding her hands and dropping to her knees in prayer. Soon enough she’d be on her knees in front of him, and her prayers would be of a different sort. “Jordan,” he said amiably as the young man approached. “This is Sister Margaret Mary. Sister, meet Jordan Parnell, your current attorney.” “Hello, Sister. It’s good to see you again.” They already met? “You didn’t tell me yesterday that you had met.” Jordan regarded him with those damn cool blue eyes. “No, I didn’t.” But she hadn’t mentioned it either, on the way here. As expected, she looked down demurely instead of meeting Jordan’s eyes. But was she really demure? Or did she have some deception in her? Why hadn’t she simply said that Jordan had already been here? “I appreciate your offer of help, Mr. Parnell. I have given this some thought, and I believe I should just ask a charity to come and take whatever they want. Then perhaps you could handle selling the house and distributing the funds?” “Sister, I understand your desire to be through with all this work and get back home, but I don’t advise that you follow that plan. Your charity will realize much more if we examine what’s here and make decisions about value as we go.” Good man! Brendan couldn’t have said it better himself.

Guilt her into staying until every last trinket has been looked at. Two weeks at least. Deceptive bitch or not—and he did enjoy a bit of a challenge—within two weeks he’d have her cherry and—maybe—his fill of her.

Or perhaps, she’ll enjoy being a real woman so much she’ll decide to stay in the cottage her mother occupied. The second-generation whore might prove to be better than the original.

Chapter Six Jordan waited for Sister Margaret Mary to say something. It would be a shame to give away everything in the house sight unseen. If Brendan Tipton said there were some valuable items in the house, there no doubt were. He might be a bastard, but he was no fool. He had an eye for expensive, valuable things, like the Buick Roadmaster he’d driven up in, and women. Like Emma Jacobsen. Jordan hoped the Sister didn’t know about Tipton and her mother. Their liaison was a not-so-well-kept secret in town. “I suppose you’re right,” she said at last. “But I would prefer a woman to help me.” So she knew now what a big task faced her. And it must be emotionally taxing as well. When she said day before yesterday that she didn’t want help, he had wondered if she realized how hard clearing out her mother’s cottage would be, the memories that would haunt the place. “That might be a problem,” Jordan said. “I’m in the process of selling the law firm and closing out my business with it. I only have a secretary, and I’m afraid I can’t spare her. I could hire someone from town, but they won’t know how to deal with things as well as I. It will go faster if you will allow me to help.” Silence fell over the threesome again. “I understand you’ve been in Korea?” Her voice was so low Jordan had to lean in to hear. For a fleeting moment he hadn’t been sure she was talking to him, for her eyes never

met his. “Yes. I was stationed on the East Coast for several years before that.” “He was gone far too long,” Brendan said with a touch of sternness. Jordan shrugged. “I enjoyed the Marine Corps.” Brendan seemed to stretch before Jordan’s eyes. He was a big man anyway, but when he drew to his full height, most had to look up at him. At five foot eleven—the same height as the nun, he noticed—Jordan was no exception. But he did it with a certain arrogance that came from being younger, fit, and fresh out of the military. That didn’t deter Brendan. “Well, your father needed you at home. And so did your mother.” “I’m here now. Before I leave again, Mother will be financially set.” Since his arrival home after his father’s death and his decision to sell the firm, he only wanted to tie up loose ends and get out from under. From under the firm and his guilt over not fulfilling his father’s wishes, from under his mother’s constant demands that he marry and settle there in the family home, from under his restlessness to strike out on his own and live life as he wanted. He had to see to his mother’s welfare, but then he was finished with Ballymeade. He’d be gone the day the papers for the firm were signed. But first he had this task, this job with the nun. Brendan wouldn’t leave it alone. “You should have—” “This isn’t the time,” Jordan said, using the voice that had brooked no argument from the men under his command. “We’re disturbing the lady.” In fact, though she

hid her hands beneath a part of her habit and her face remained impassive as she watched the ocean, he noticed she’d tensed. “I’m here to help, Sister Margaret Mary, so why don’t you show me where to begin?” Brendan stared at Jordan, looking as though he wanted to say something more. He had been a touch off kilter ever since finding that Jordan had already met the nun. He enjoyed seeing Brendan thrown off his game, which was probably why Jordan hadn’t just told him outright yesterday that he’d been to the cottage and offered to find help for Sister Margaret Mary. Finally Brendan walked to the driver’s side of the car and dropped in. “Perhaps I’ll see you at Mass again tomorrow, Sister,” he said. She faced him. Or rather, her body faced him. Her gaze turned down. “Please do not trouble yourself. I can walk.” “Nonsense.” Brendan closed the door. The engine started with a smooth purr. He backed up and pulled away. Only when the vehicle made its way up the lane did the nun follow its progress. Jordan couldn’t determine what he saw in her eyes. Fear? He’d seen plenty of it in the eyes of men in battle, but this was different. When she walked toward the cottage, he followed, putting all questions about Brendan, his future, and the mysterious nun from his mind. “I’ve always liked this cottage,” Brendan said, standing in the living room. “I came here once or twice as a teenager.” “Did you meet my mother?”

He hated the way she avoided looking at him when she talked. The submissive woman was never his choice. “I did. She was very beautiful and quite nice. You look a lot like her, only taller.” “Did you know her…well?” She raised her head. Beguiling eyes, so light brown they were almost a dark honey color, studied him with an intensity that bored right through him. “Not well, no. I brought Christmas bread that our cook baked for the neighbors, that’s all. But she was always gracious and gave me gifts in return. I saw her around town now and then and visited her here maybe three times.” “You saw her more than I did in twenty-five years, then.” Good God. She was about his age. He knew she’d been sent away as a child, but he didn’t realize she’d never been home or that her mother hadn’t visited her. “That must have been hard for you.” She said nothing, but her mouth tightened. He had a feeling that if he could have seen her shoulders they’d be full of tension. She took a breath. “I appreciate your helping me, though really, it’s not necessary.” “I don’t mind.” He scanned the room again. There weren’t so many items that the space felt cramped. However, after years in the service, where everything had its place, he knew that what one saw on the surface normally wasn’t all there was. “Where do you want to start?” They stared at each other. When she dropped her gaze again, her sigh told him she would accept his being there.

“The kitchen?” she asked quietly. “Won’t you need to use what’s there?” “I require very little.” The way she said it, the vulnerability that virtually rolled off her, touched something in him. “Perhaps you should expect a bit more for yourself.” With a quick shake of her head, she walked across the room and into the kitchen. “Do you need to list all that’s here?” “Yes.” She shook her head and sighed. “All right.” With his own sigh he returned to the porch to retrieve his briefcase. He set it on the kitchen counter and removed a pad and fountain pen. “I’ll record everything in the house and your disposition of each item. Then I’ll help you pack it for shipping to the appropriate destination.” Her eyes wide, she asked, “We’ll have to work together?” “That would be easiest.” He smiled. “I won’t bite.” Her mouth tightened again. After just the few minutes they’d been together, he recognized the signs of her discomfort. But then, had he seen her totally relaxed yet? He wasn’t used to the company of nuns, but he hadn’t thought they were in a constant state of tension. Didn’t they smile now and then? “All right,” she finally said. “I’ll be only a moment.” Making no noise, she left the kitchen. Jordan opened a cabinet and glanced at the contents then strolled into the laundry room, where he removed his

jacket and loosened his tie. The door to another room was tucked up under the stairwell. He pushed it open and looked into a charming area, though he didn’t enter. The room contained the only feminine furnishings he’d seen so far. It had the looks of a study or sitting room, packed as it was with books and bric-a-brac. They would need a load of boxes for this room alone. A large rolltop desk sat along one wall. Bookshelves lined another. Miss Jacobsen must have been the greatest reader he’d ever encountered. He would want to go through the desk. If she had left any legal documents, they would be important to find early. “What are you doing?” He turned at the sharpness of the nun’s tone. Before, he had to concentrate to hear what she said and her eyes were cast downward. Now she not only met his gaze, her eyes blazed. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I wanted to gain a feel for what we were up against and thought I’d make sure there were no legal documents left behind that needed to be filed.” “Oh.” She blinked and turned her face aside. “I thought…” Again he saw beyond the beads hanging at her waist, the black veil and gown topped now with a white apron. This woman was hurting, vulnerable and sheltered more than he’d known any woman in this day could be. “Sister, I would never steal from you.” Eyes wide, she turned to look at him. “I never thought you were trying to steal.”

“No? What then?” He waited, but she didn’t speak. He felt a rush of protectiveness. “Tell me.” “I thought you might be trying to…” She twisted her hands, out from the cover of her habit. Taking a shuddered breath she continued, “To read personal letters.” He wanted to reach out and take her hands, to stop their trembling within the warmth of his own, to impart the strength she seemed so badly to need. “I promise not to take another step in this enterprise without your knowledge and approval. Will that be okay?” She nodded, her eyes still wide. “So, shall we start in the kitchen?” “Yes. Thank you.” She spun and nearly ran ahead of him. Before, though, Jordan saw a smoothing of her forehead, a brightness in her eyes, and the tiniest curve of her lips. For the first time, Sister Margaret Mary looked calm, collected. Almost pleased. And damned if he didn’t like the look.

Chapter Seven As was becoming her custom, Margaret Mary took her evening tea outdoors, to the part of the yard where she could watch waves crash upon the rocks. She liked the view perhaps because she could identify with the rocks right now. Like them, she felt pounded by relentless forces over which she had no control. When God accepted her as his bride, He infused her with strength built of His teachings and the Church’s unassailable truths learned in convent life. Then she’d been thrust into the world, with no bearings or understanding of what she would face. The day had gone smoothly with Jordan Parnell working at her side, but only because she took great pains not to make contact. But how long could that go on? Sooner or later, she would touch him, would become familiar with him. Perhaps would like him. And then what? Is that how things started with her mother? I am

not my mother. Her mother hadn’t needed peace and quiet, she’d only needed solitude, without the burden of a daughter. Margaret Mary looked down to see a particularly violent wave strike the rocks below her. She felt the blow in her heart. Her life had been a lie. She was grown but not whole. She’d had a mother…but she had not been loved. Dropping the porcelain teacup, she fell to her knees in pain as spasms clenched her stomach. Holding her veil back with one hand, she leaned over and wretched. When

she’d emptied her stomach and then some, she sat back on her heels, staring sightlessly at the infinite sea. Margaret Mary bowed her head, her hands clasped before her to keep them from trembling. “Heavenly Father, help me understand. Why did you bring me here?” Tears streamed down her face. “What should I do? Please send me a sign.” The sound of a vehicle on the lane caused her to rise. Swiftly she swiped her hands across her eyes to dispel the tears and picked up shattered pieces of ceramic. The cheerful yellow roses that had adorned the cup were hardly discernible on what was left. Only then did she turn to see who was coming. “Oh, no,” she whispered, recognizing the driver. A shard of porcelain dug into her finger while she silently watched Brendan Tipton step out from his car. He didn’t drive the sports car but a long black vehicle. A bishop would drive such a thing. A pope would step from it with the same confidence and control Brendan Tipton did. For a moment she had the urge to kneel and kiss his ring. Mentally recoiling at the blasphemy, she hurriedly said a prayer in penance. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced.” He leaned against the car door, hands in his pockets. “Not at all,” she lied, another cause for prayer. He grinned as though he knew her thoughts. She understood the mouse, under the cat’s watchful gaze. “I wanted to see how things went today with Jordan.” “Quite well.” She cleared her throat, wishing that would

also lessen the unexplained fear causing the primal beat of her pulse. “I’m cleaning things as we go. Two of the kitchen cabinets are finished.” “Jordan is keeping a good tally?” “I’m sure he is fulfilling his duty well.” They stood in silence, the the ocean meeting shore and the circling gulls the only sound. Margaret Mary wished Tipton would leave. Summer’s long days meant light would linger for hours more, but she wanted to prepare for bed. Or read more of Mother’s letter. No! That was the last thing she wanted to do. Prayers, she had prayers to say. So many prayers. He straightened away from the car. “Maybe I’ll come in for a cup of coffee.” “I…I have things to do.” “Of course you do.” His voice had become silk, flowing over her. She’d never felt silk except in the threads used to embroider altar cloths or priests’ vestments, but listening to Brendan Tipton speak she knew how it felt—warm, embracing, enticing, with a whisper of the forbidden. She inhaled, and the embrace of his voice filled her with something dark and heated. Something irresistible. Without waiting for a further reply, he strode toward the house. “Are you coming?” he called from the porch. She needed to say no, to tell him to leave, to put distance between them, but she couldn’t. Mutely, she trailed after him. He entered the house as though it belonged to him. She found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. She froze under

the force of his stare. Maybe she could have moved if he looked her directly in the eyes, but he never took his gaze from her mouth. In her nervousness, she licked her lips, and a fire blazed in his eyes. “Do you like strawberries?” She nodded, and he smiled as though he knew she did. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow.” “I thought the season was over,” she offered stiffly. Why did she answer him? It only encouraged him to stay longer, and she’d have no peace until he left. “A vendor I know brings them up from California. Didn’t the nuns teach you that there is a season for everything, Catherine?” She started at the sound of her childhood on his lips. Her heart lodged in her throat, and he smiled again. “I want to call you Catherine when we’re alone. It is your name, after all.” “Not any longer,” she managed to say. “I gave it up.” She almost winced, the words bitter as a pill. Her mother had bestowed on her an adult name, a rich and regal name, then given her no foundation upon which to grow into it. If there had been visits or letters, if she’d explained why she sentenced a little girl to a life behind walls, maybe Margaret Mary wouldn’t be so at sea now. Within the cloister, before knowing the truth, she had thought her life filled with joy and purpose. Now her habit weighed on her like a suit of armor. More than anything she wanted to escape his gaze by bowing her head, to find the words to pray or at least to hide her hands beneath her scapular, but she still held the cup fragments. She brushed by him to drop the shards in

the trash can. He reached out and grasped her wrist. She said nothing, unable to speak with a mouth dry as sand. “You’ve hurt yourself,” Tipton said. Before she knew what he was about, he held her hand under the cold tap. Thin trails of red water ran down the drain. Then, unbelievably, he took her finger into his mouth, sucking it in as far as he could. She gasped, trying to pull back, but his grip tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart raced out of control. Her knees threatened to buckle.

I’m going to faint! Dear Lord, please help me! “What the hell is going on here?” She jumped back and whirled to face the doorway. Jordan stood there glaring at Brendan as though he wanted to kill him. Then his gaze found hers. “Are you all right?” “Yes. No!” She dropped her gaze and tried in vain to keep her voice steady. “Mr. Tipton, please leave. Don’t come back. Please.” “Catherine. You don’t mean that. I’ll bring you those strawberries tomorrow. As a child you loved them.” “Please do not.” “Sleep on it,” he said. “If you can sleep,” he said for her alone. When she looked up, both men were gone. She bent over the sink, feeling nauseous again. Had anything been left in her stomach, she would have brought it up, remembering the strange feelings whirling through her when Brendan took her finger into his mouth. She easily could have lost control of her mind and body. Was that what had happened to her mother? Had she fallen unwittingly

into a situation she couldn’t manage? Jordan walked back into the kitchen. He clasped her shoulder and bent over. Tipping her head back so he could see her eyes, he asked again, “Are you all right?”

No! The devil stood before me, and I nearly fell into his arms! And then she was in someone’s arms. She sobbed into Jordan’s shoulder while he ran his hands up and down her back and made shushing noises in her ear. “It’s okay. He’s gone and won’t be back. I took care of it. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I’m here.” Gradually, his comforting calmed her, and she bit back her sniffles. She gently pushed away from him, embarrassed to have to wipe tears from her face. “Why did you come back?” He gestured at the counter. “I forgot my briefcase.” Thank you, God! “I’m very grateful.” “Has he been bothering you? Because he thinks he owns this house and everyone in it.” He stopped, brows crinkled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Her heart stopped. “Do you mean…” She licked her lips, taking a moment to gather strength. “Do you mean Mr. Tipton and my mother were—” “Don’t think about it,” Jordan insisted. “Your mother was a lovely lady. She did a lot for many people in this town, and no one here has any right to judge her.” “So it’s true.” Margaret Mary fell back against the counter, no longer trusting her legs to support her. “He…kept my mother and wants me, too.”

“How do you know? Has he said something?” The worry in Jordan’s tone led her to look up, to focus on the fact that he cared. It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel so protected. “Maybe I misunderstood his words, his expressions.” Grim, Jordan answered, “He’s a bastard. I’m going to watch over you from now on.” He reached for her hand and, amazingly, she let him take it. Fear didn’t course through her with Jordan as it did with Brendan. “Do you want to come home with me? My mother would welcome you.” She shook her head. “I think I will be fine here now. Thanks to you.” He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. Then he turned to pick up his briefcase. “I want to work on these figures a bit tonight. Are you going to Mass in the morning?” “Lonnie is supposed to be here to pick me up at six.” “I will be there to pick you up afterwards. Then we can come back and start.” Now she had three men willing to bring her home. She had no idea how to handle such attention. “That’s not necessary.” He met her gaze. The heat in his eyes warmed her through. “I’ll be there. Now be sure to lock up after I leave.” He stopped at the front door and turned to face her. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he’ll bother you again.” When he left, she closed and locked the door, checked the windows, and went upstairs. She tossed her habit onto the foot of the bed, too tired to care about hanging it

carefully in the closet next to the dresses and skirts she now knew belonged to her mother. She’d barely donned her nightgown when she fell into bed and a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eight Once during the night she rose, thinking she heard a noise. Tiptoeing to the window, she cautiously drew back the curtains and peered down into the yard. A stealthy figure approached the fence nearest the cliff from the porch. He looked out to the ocean and then, hugging the perimeter of the yard, slunk back to the porch. Margaret Mary had no doubts who the intruder was. Brendan Tipton had come sneaking around hoping to find a way in. Who knew why he waited out there now, but he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of finding her vulnerable. She looked for a weapon, settling finally on a heavy wooden coat hanger from the closet. Propping herself against the headboard, she sat tensely, waiting for him to make a move. The next thing she knew, she woke to dawn’s weak light, slumped over and still clutching the hanger. The alarm clock showed the time to be nearly six. She leapt from bed, performed her ablutions, and dressed so hurriedly, she affixed her veil as she strode outside to meet Lonnie. “Good morning, Lonnie.” “Mornin’.” It didn’t qualify as a conversation, but this was as close as he had come. “I don’t think I will need a ride home after Mass today. Someone else has offered to bring me.” He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Not Mr. Tipton.” “No. Mr. Parnell. Jordan. Do you know him?” Did she

imagine his relief when she confirmed that Tipton would not bring her home? “Jordan’s a good man. Don’t come with Mr. Tipton no more.” “No, I won’t. He scares me.” Lonnie nodded. “Good.” When Lonnie paid attention to the road once more, she saw herself reflected in the mirror. In the convent, nuns learned to live without mirrors since vanity was a sin. But now she took an appraising look at her face. Her eyes seemed far apart. A nice enough color, but not remarkable. Her nose had been broken when she failed to catch a hardthrown dodge ball when she was ten, and a slight crook at the bridge kept it from being anything other than a crooked nose. Her ordinary mouth was too full by half. Her complexion was all right, but tended toward high color if she became excited or upset. Was she beautiful? As a girl she’d never thought so, and she didn’t believe it to be the case now. There had been girls at school whom she considered gorgeous, but no one ever said those things about her. Why, then, did Mr. Tipton continue to harass her? He must find her weak, an easy target. Before they pulled into the churchyard, she averted her eyes. Too much more attention to herself and she’d have to confess conceit as well as a lapse in saying her prayers lately. Just then, for instance, she had spoken with Lonnie and spent useless minutes examining herself rather than praying. Each day seemed to bring another break in her

previously ingrained routine. Quickly taking her place in the pew, she barely had time to say a decade of the rosary before Father Samuels began Mass. The hour flew by before she knew it, and then she was at the door. “Sister Margaret Mary, your habit looks as though you slept in it.” She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Father. I will launder it today and take an iron to it.” She glanced into the parking lot. There was no Brendan Tipton, but no Jordan, either. Disappointment made her heart stutter. Well, she would rather walk than ride with Tipton again, but she would rather spend a few extra minutes with Jordan than walk. “Tipton get you home all right yesterday?” “Yes, Father.” “I don’t like that he is showing an interest in you. You must make him stop.” She must make him stop? She wanted to ask how Father Samuels proposed she do that, but she stopped herself in time from saying it. Then she’d have to confess disrespect to a priest. Her transgressions were building by the hour. “Yes, Father, although I’m not sure how.” “The same way Eve should have dispersed the devil in the Garden. Tell him with firmness to leave you alone. The woman must always set the ground rules, Sister.” What did he mean by that? Did he think she had any experience dealing with men? “Yes, Father.” “There’s Jordan Parnell. I wonder why he’s here.” A leap of joy replaced the earlier disappointment, and

she jerked her head up to see for herself. Just as Father said, Jordan was striding toward them, his eyes on her. He smiled when he saw she noticed him, and there was no way she could keep from smiling back. “Hello, Father Samuels,” Jordan said, holding out his hand. “It’s good to see you, my boy,” the priest responded. “I’m sorry about your father. He’s sorely missed.” Father Samuels had said nothing about her mother being missed or even acknowledging her death. For the first time, Margaret Mary had some inkling of what life must have been like for her mother, a disgraced woman kept by the town’s richest citizen, if his cars and actions said anything about Tipton. “Thank you, sir.” “What are your plans now that you’re home?” Jordan cast a sideways glance at Margaret Mary and said, “Right now, my plans are to take Sister Margaret Mary home. I’m helping her with the inventory of her mother’s house.” “That’s right. Tipton said so yesterday. I’m happy you came to get her rather than that—” He looked as though he wanted to say more. “Considering his relationship with her mother, it’s unseemly for him to show so much interest in her, too.” “I don’t think we need to talk about that here or now, Father.” Margaret Mary’s surprise at Jordan’s sharp tone focused her attention on him. The set of his jaw and the

blaze of fire in his blue eyes were all for the priest. In her experience, no one spoke to a priest like that, but Jordan appeared unfazed. He seemed fearless. “Shall we go, Sister?” He held out his hand, and without thinking, she took it. If Father Samuels thought anything of it, he didn’t make a sound. Jordan led her to the car and opened the door on the passenger side. Minutes later, they were on the road, windows down and wind blowing wildly on her face. “Do you listen to the radio at the convent?” Jordan asked over the sound of the wind. “We used to listen to Bishop Sheen. Now Mother Superior hears the news and tells us at dinner each night if anything worth knowing happened during the day.” “Would you like to listen to some music?” “If you would.” He turned a dial, and suddenly a man’s voice filled the auto with a cheerful song. “Dean Martin,” Jordan said. At the proper point in the song, right along with the singer, he belted out, “That’s amore!” Then he held out his finger as though keeping time and queued her to join in with the words at the next verse. By the time they pulled into the yard, she was laughing more than singing. Jordan stopped the car and brought silence when he turned off the ignition. “I love the sound of your laughter. I was beginning to fear that nuns never smiled.” “Oh.” As quickly as her laughter started, it faded away. “We spend a lot of time in prayer, and that’s very serious.” “Isn’t there time for fun?”

She had to think. When had she last done anything she termed fun? “Teaching is sometimes fun. The girls say outlandish things that make the teachers smile. But I don’t teach. I help keep up the priests’ clothing and the altar cloths. I am part of the contemplative order.” He stared at her in such a way that she felt uncomfortable. “Don’t pity me. I love prayer.” Then why

have you missed doing it so much in the last couple of days? She couldn’t help but think she was trying to fool God, because at that moment, given the chance to sit and talk with Jordan or be on her knees in prayer, she would rather be with him. “I wasn’t feeling sorry for you. I was thinking how sad it is that such a beautiful, intelligent woman should have missed so much of life.” She laughed—she couldn’t help it—though she felt a warm glow inside. “I’m not beautiful!” “You don’t look in the mirror enough.” “We don’t look in mirrors at all. Appearances mean nothing. One’s inner thoughts and prayers are all that have meaning.” He shook his head. “Well spoken, Sister, but not true. Inner beauty is important, but so is outer beauty. It’s how inner beauty reveals itself to the world. And you are beautiful.” She ducked her head. “Thank you for saying so.” Using his finger, he tipped her chin up. “Please don’t drop your gaze when we’re talking. I don’t want you to be subservient to me. We’re equals. We can look each other

in the eye when we speak.” Her breath threatened to leave her. Her heart might stop. “Yes, Jordan,” she breathed. They sat silently for several minutes, his finger under her chin, their gazes locked. A seabird flew overhead, calling out, and the moment ended. Jordan pulled back his hand as though scorched, and she shrank to the door, as far from him as she could get. “Before we start in the house, I have to tell you something,” she said. “Mr. Tipton came back last night.” “He did?” Jordan frowned. “How do you know?” “I woke up when I heard a noise. When I looked out, I saw him go from the porch to the cliff and back. I think he was trying to get in, though I didn’t hear anything else after that.” Jordan smiled sheepishly. “That was me.” “You!” “I came last night to be sure he stayed away. I kept to the shadows on the porch, but I had to…uh…take care of nature a time or two, so I went to the cliff.” She felt her face go scarlet with embarrassment. “Oh dear. I had no idea.” “I didn’t want to worry you and thought I could keep you from finding out. You must be a light sleeper.” Shrugging, she said, “We get up several times a night —” “To pray,” he finished for her. She smiled. “I guess we should get started. I’ll go up and change.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Margaret Mary climbed the steps thinking about Jordan and how remarkable he was. She didn’t remember ever being cared for, worried over, feeling valued as she had since meeting him. “Thank you, Father, for this wonderful gift.” It was the first truly heartfelt prayer she’d murmured in days.

Chapter Nine Jordan opened the kitchen window, letting in a cool wind off the ocean. When Margaret Mary came down, they started once more in the kitchen, letting the sound of the surf pounding at the foot of the cliff and the circling gulls be their backdrop. “Gravy boat,” she said. He marked it in his ledger. She set it on the counter and reached for the next piece in the cabinet. Jordan picked up the gravy boat to examine it. “This is Limoges and looks to be quite old. Would you like me to have it appraised instead of packing it off? It might be worth something.” “I don’t know.” She bit her bottom lip, brow wrinkled, staring at the piece in question. “What do you think?” “I’d do it. It might bring some extra money, and that has lots of uses, whereas the gravy boat is good only on someone’s dinner table.” “I see your point. One piece of china for one family or additional help for several families.” She beamed a smile, and his heart stopped. Her face, which he’d thought pretty enough—when he actually looked at her—shone radiantly when she smiled. Surrounded by the white of her habit, she appeared angelic, almost saintly. No, not saintly. He’d never jumped off the fantail of an aircraft carrier, but he imagined his stomach couldn’t do

any more of a flip-flop than it had at that second, watching Sister Margaret Mary smile. What a waste of a beautiful woman. He wondered what she looked like without the austere black-and-white get-up and how she might feel in his arms. It was just a short jump and cock rise to imagining what she might be like under him in bed. When he went home yesterday evening, he’d reflected on how fascinating Sister Margaret Mary was. She’d barely said fifty words, yet when she had spoken, her voice was melodious and gentle on the ear. As opposed to most women he knew, her words were sparse and to the point. Working alongside the good sister meant he wouldn’t be forced to listen to a woman who loved the sound of her own voice prattling on. Following her example, he’d kept his conversation to a minimum, too, choosing instead to record each plate, bowl, and serving piece she removed from the cabinets and then washed meticulously. Companionably, he dried and then wrapped the piece in newspaper and placed it in a cardboard box, which he’d brought for the purpose. Her silence was infused with a confident certainty, a firm belief in her God and Church. He’d never personally known a nun before. Did all of them have an unshakable knowledge of who they were and where they belonged, like Sister Margaret Mary? He wished he could say the same of himself. Then he’d returned to get his briefcase. When he found Tipton attempting to seduce Margaret Mary, Jordan

snapped. He wanted to kill something. Or someone. She was so obviously out of her league with a jerk like Tipton, he had to step in. Yet, when he held her in his arms for comfort, when he knew her true vulnerability and naiveté, feelings had stirred deep within him. He wanted to protect her, wanted to be there for her. Wanted to kiss her. That was why he’d returned to spend the night on her front porch and why he could barely keep his eyes open now. Tipton would not try to do to the daughter what he had so freely done with the mother. Margaret Mary might be an adult in years, but someone as sheltered as she had no means of handling the outside world. He would be her self-appointed knight. “Jordan?” He snapped out of his reverie and looked down into her face. “Just set it aside and I’ll take care of it. I know a good appraiser in Portland.” “Thank you so much.” She turned and took down another serving dish. They continued like that the rest of the morning, Margaret Mary removing dishes and washing them to be packed, Jordan recording the items, picking pieces to take to the appraisers and setting them aside, drying dishes, and trying to keep fantasies of the nun from his mind. “I’m ready to stop and have lunch,” he said around noon. She dropped her head, giving a small nod. Slipping past him, she headed for the stairwell. “Wait a minute,” he said, “I brought enough for both of us.”

She turned slowly and raised her head to meet his gaze. “What?” “I saw how little you ate yesterday. Today I brought lunch for two.” He moved toward the front door. “I thought we could have a picnic.” In reality he hadn’t planned to share his lunch, but after the morning, he thought maybe she might reward him with another of her smiles. “That’s not necessary,” she said, tucking her hands under her apron and casting her gaze down again. Then, as though remembering his admonition in the car about submissiveness, she looked up again. Good. That pleased him. “You won’t make me eat alone, will you?” He glanced through the window over the sink. “It’s a glorious day. Let’s sit on the porch steps.” She said nothing. He opened the refrigerator and removed a large brown bag. Holding it up, he said, “Look at this. Far too much for one.” He walked to where she stood. “I’m going into the laundry room to wash up. Why don’t you do the same upstairs and meet me out front?” He waited until he saw her nod, barely perceptible but there all the same, then he turned on his heel and left before she could voice a rejection. He heard her footfalls on the stairs and the water go on in the bathroom before he washed his hands and splashed water on his face. Then he faced his reflection.

Damn fool, getting all twittery over a nun. Why can’t you get excited making a normal woman smile for a change?” He shook his head and headed out to the porch to wait

for the only woman who’d captured his interest for a good long while. **** Margaret Mary had no idea why she’d let Jordan talk her into lunching with him, but dutifully she joined him on the steps after washing her hands and face. The wind off the sea blew fresh and clean, and she raised her face to the sun. I’ll need to wash clothes later today. They’ll smell so

clean in this air. “This would be a good day to hang out wash,” Jordan said, mirroring her own thoughts. Shyly, she cast him a glance. “I loved laundry days when I was a boy,” he continued as he unpacked the big brown bag. To her, the food he unpacked seemed never to end. “Behind every pair of jeans was a cowboy, and Indians waited under every flapping sheet. It was great fun.” He held out two wax-paper-wrapped parcels. “One is ham and the other is egg salad. Would you like to have half of one and half the other or a whole?” She couldn’t remember a time when she had such a choice. In school food was doled out, measured for each student to provide only the proper portions. In the convent food was even more stringently monitored, as a blessing from God and so not to be wasted. Through the paper she saw thick slices of homemade bread piled high with fillings.

“I couldn’t possibly eat a whole sandwich,” she said. Her stomach clenched. Should she ask for what she wanted? She was used to being told what to do, what to accept, what was right and wrong. “It’s Friday, and I can’t eat ham,” she finally managed, asking without really asking. “Then you take the egg salad. If you can’t eat it all, save half for later.” She began to protest, but he held up his hand for silence. She took the package he held out. “Now, he said, “we also have cold cucumber soup, left over from a dinner my mother gave the other night, and a salad with oiland-vinegar dressing.” She stared at him in amazement. “Were you going to eat all of this yourself?” “Lord, no.” He frowned. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you. No, I would have put most of this away in the fridge when I got home. Mandy thinks I lost too much weight while I was overseas. Mandy is our cook and my friend. This is her way of fattening me up.” She regarded his face. “You are maybe a little thin.” He laughed. “Don’t you start, too. Now, keep the soup for tonight, too. We can set this bowl of salad between us and eat with our fingers, just like on a real picnic. And then we have the grand finale” —he held up a plate covered with waxed paper— “chocolate cake.” “Oh my.” “And there’s plenty here for two.” He leaned back against the railing post and took a bite of the ham sandwich, effectively ending all protests. Margaret Mary removed half the sandwich and started to

eat. The food, the wind, the relentless sound of surf relaxed her. She forgot she was sitting next to a man, alone, enjoying a meal. The whole experience was bizarre, yet it felt very comfortable. Maybe because Jordan didn’t demand anything of her. “How old were you when you went away?” he asked when he’d finished his sandwich. He picked at the salad, but Margaret Mary had the feeling he left most of it for her. She nibbled on a carrot stick. “Six. First grade.” “And you haven’t been back since?” She shook her head, avoiding his questioning look. “What was it like, being away from home so young? Did you make friends right away? Did you miss your mom? Was it—” He stopped. “Damn, I’m sorry. A lawyer’s failing is to ask too many questions. I don’t mean to be intrusive.” “It’s all right,” she said and then sat thinking. “I didn’t make friends very well, I’m afraid. And yes, I was very lonely.” How many thousands of nights had she cried herself to sleep? Nuns who were superb teachers and disciplinarians didn’t excel as comforters. “The sisters did the best they could, but they weren’t used to having a student as young as I. And I was different.” “How so?” “Everyone else had families. They had visitors and went home for the holidays.” He shifted on the porch step, angling toward her. “You don’t mean you were the only child left there during the holidays?” Instead of answering, she ate quietly and stared over the water. “All those years?” She heard incredulity in

his question. Then he cursed under his breath, and she revised her opinion. He was angry, not surprised. “It’s okay, Jordan. That was all long ago.” “It’s not okay. I can’t believe they—” He halted and looked away after casting a glance her way. “God works in His own way.” “Well, God had a little help in this case. I can’t believe your mother knew how it was for you.” Margaret Mary shrugged. “I don’t know. I never heard from her.” “What?” Jordan sat up sharply. “You’re kidding. That doesn’t sound like the kind woman I met as a kid.” She studied his eyes. How much did he know about her mother? How much could she say? Nothing, she decided. She wrapped the rest of her sandwich. “Are you sure you don’t want this half?” He blew out a breath and immediately drew another. “No, keep it for later. The salad, too.” She laughed. The sound surprised her and seemed to please him. His eyes sparkled. Fine lines radiated from the edges when he smiled in return. “Do I appear to be starving?” “Really, you see how Mandy feeds me. You’ll be doing me a favor by taking some of this.” “That’s very kind, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Pensively he regarded her. “You know, I wish you could meet my friend, a buddy from the Corps. He could always make me laugh. He’d be good company.”

“What’s his name?” “Mark Collins. He’s my best friend.” “Is he home, too? Is he from here?” Jordan frowned. “No, he’s not from here. I got a letter from him the other day. He was badly wounded. I don’t know the details, but what little he told me doesn’t sound good.” She smiled and touched his hand lightly. “Maybe we’d be good company for him.” Where had she found the courage to say that? But he seemed pleased. When he looked into her eyes, she saw a sparkle there that she hadn’t seen before. He glanced down where her fingers still rested on the back of his hand. She jerked her hand back. When he looked up and smiled, she felt funny inside. Warm and strange. In the next second, she forgot about the feelings stirring deep in her belly. “Ready for cake?” “I’ll just have tea. But it will give me pleasure to sit here while you enjoy eating it.” His smile softened though his eyes sparked. “You’re on.” Margaret Mary carried the sandwich and other food into the house to refrigerate and to make tea. Outside, Jordan whistled. Inside, Margaret Mary smiled. The same feeling permeated her that she’d known since meeting Jordan.

Blessed peace.

Chapter Ten Her peace lasted until after dinner. As she washed dishes and the evening wind tossed the window curtains about, she reviewed the day. Nine pieces of china and crockery were set aside for Jordan to investigate further. His kindness touched her. Not just that he was willing to take the extra step and help her realize the most from her mother’s estate but that he had been angry when he heard about her time in school. She’d never even been angry about the situation herself. Confused, certainly, hurt even, but not angry. At whom could she have addressed anger? Her mother? She was ill—or so she’d thought then. At the sisters? They gave her shelter and a home when she most needed it. At God? “Don’t be silly,” she said out loud. “But I like it when you’re silly,” a voice said behind her. She tensed immediately. Spinning around, she threw specs of suds across the floor. “I…I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, Mr. Tipton.” He leaned against the doorjamb and raked a lazy, appraising gaze from her head to her foot, making her wish she had unpinned her habit and removed her apron. Even in casual dress of sports coat, open-necked shirt, and creased trousers, he seemed more in command. “I told you I’d be by with strawberries.” He dangled a handled basket from his finger. “And here they are.” She stuck her hands behind her and backed up until she

hit the counter. “I don’t care for any, thank you.” He came into the room, moving like a sleek tiger with its prey sighted. “Of course you do.” She dropped her gaze rather than acknowledge the searing looks directed at her. Breaking the connection didn’t end the intensity, however. “I was wrong when I said yesterday that I liked berries.” Her hands clasped at her lower back. “I doubt it,” he whispered, so close she felt his breath on her cheek. “She said she didn’t want any, Tipton.” Jordan! She thought he’d left for home. “I should beat the crap out of you,” Jordan said. “I told you last night not to come back here.” “And I told you not to interfere in my business,” Tipton replied. The smile he directed at Margaret Mary held no warmth or humor. Skittles of fear ran down her back. Lord only knew what would happen to her if Tipton came back and Jordan wasn’t there. From the corner of her eye she saw Tipton drop the basket on the counter. He picked up a piece of fruit and held it to her mouth. Suddenly, he was gone. Jordan had pulled him away and was propelling him to the front door. She followed, unable to do otherwise. To her absolute amazement, Jordan dragged Tipton by the neck of his jacket and by his belt, and tossed him toward the car. “Don’t come back. She owns this house and the land, not you. I’ll file for a restraining order if I see you here again.”

“You fool!” Tipton yelled as he pushed off the sleek black hood. He opened the car door and faced Jordan again. Using his finger to punctuate his words, he said, “You don’t know the trouble you’re stirring up. I chose you for this job because you were such a disappointment to your father. And you’re screwing up even this simple assignment.” “Get out of here, Tipton. Leave her alone.” “This isn’t over.” Tipton raised dust when he spun the car in the yard and sped up the lane. Breathing heavily, Jordan climbed the porch steps to her. As though pulled by a tether, she stepped into his arms. “If he comes by here again, even if he just drives down the lane, promise you’ll tell me.” She nodded against his chest. “I will.” “If he tries to touch you again, I’ll kill him, I swear I will.” She stepped back and cupped his cheeks. “No, Jordan, please. I don’t want your soul to be in danger because of me. I don’t think he will attempt to see me again.” “He’d better not.” Then to her surprise, he turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Her brain ceased to function, but not her nerves. Fire seemed to surge through her. How could she feel tingling between her legs from a kiss to her hand? “We’d better go inside,” he said finally. “It’s getting dark.” He followed her to the kitchen, where she continued to clean up. From their lack of conversation, an observer might think the world still spun on its axis, but she knew

otherwise. Jordan watched from where he leaned against the counter. “I’m sure Mr. Tipton was wrong, Jordan.” He grunted. “About what?” “He said you were a disappointment to your father. I’m sure that can’t be true.” She looked at him as she wiped her hands on a cotton dishtowel printed with a farm scene. “You could never be a disappointment to anyone.” The heated look he gave her warmed her through. His expression was so like Mr. Tipton’s, and yet it inspired an entirely different feeling. With Tipton, fear built the heat, fear derived from a knowledge of powerlessness. With Jordan, the heat came from need—a need to touch him, to see his smile, to watch as his eyes darkened from soft blue to midnight blue, as they were now. She shouldn’t have those feelings for him, nor for any man, but the decision had been taken from her hands. In this short time, she welcomed the new day not so she could pray but because she would see Jordan. She dreaded the nights not because she would be alone but because he wouldn’t be with her. At that moment, had she been surrounded by her community of sisters, she would still be alone, because Jordan wouldn’t be with her. What was she to do? She disobeyed God’s will with every longing thought, yet she might as well try to touch the stars as to give up her desires. How could she go to communion with the sin of lust on her soul, yet how could she not? As the only nun in the parish, everyone would notice if she didn’t go up to the railing and receive the host. Surely God sent her here to meet Jordan. There must be a

reason. It’s a test. One you’re failing badly. Jordan reached over and picked a strawberry from the basket. “They’re sweet. Would you like one?” The earthy, heady scent of fresh strawberries filled her nostrils. Her mouth watered. “All right,” she said. Instead of handing her a berry, he held one to her mouth. Unable to resist, Margaret Mary parted her lips. Jordan placed the berry on her tongue and pinched off the stem and leaves. She bit down. Honeyed juice filled her mouth and trickled over her lips. Jordan swiped his thumb over them, pressing the seam. Her heart hammered, and she blinked against the wild ideas running through her head, like separating her lips and taking his thumb into her mouth, mixing the flavor of the strawberry with Jordan. She nearly fainted with the boldness of the thought. “Is it good?” The berry or the coarse texture of his thumb against the tender flesh of her lips? Yes! Unable to speak, she nodded. “Let me see for myself,” he murmured and dipped his head. Not even a hair could have separated them when he stopped. “Push me away if you don’t want me to kiss you. I’ll go if you push me away.” Her breath came so hard and fast she was sure she would faint. She couldn’t move. Or did she not want to move? Either way, Jordan took her inaction as permission. The next moment, their lips met, his soft and compliant, hers shaky and unsure.

Seconds later, he stepped back. Her lids fluttered up. He watched her. She wanted to sink into the floor. “I’d better leave,” he said. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll pick you up after church.” She nodded. “All right.” He touched her lips with his fingers. “Don’t fear me. I’m not like him.” “I know,” she said. “I know that.” She didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want him to remove his fingers from her lips or his body from being close to hers. Father, forgive

me. “Until tomorrow,” he said, but he didn’t leave. He continued to look into her eyes. “Will you be outside tonight?” “I don’t think it will be necessary.” He stroked her cheek. “If you change your mind, you could come inside.” Shaking his head, he said, “I really don’t think that would be a good idea.” Why? Because he felt the same confusion she did? But no, that couldn’t be it. Jordan was a man of the world. It wasn’t possible that he wanted to kiss her again, no matter how much she wanted it. “Good night,” she said. “Good night.” Then he turned and left. Letting him go was the hardest thing she’d ever done. ****

Upstairs, Margaret Mary prepared for bed and then doused the lights. For more than an hour she lay awake. Did Jordan know how he affected her? Was he at home right now, imagining her, or did he give her no more thought than an elephant gave a mosquito? Worse, did he laugh at her, recognizing her naiveté? That she knew nothing about the world—or men—had to be as obvious as the white collar on her black gown. She slowly inhaled then forgot to exhale. With one hand, she covered her right breast. Her nipple poked her palm, hard as a pebble. She squeezed gently and huffed out her breath when the sensation it caused went right to a place between her legs. She wanted to touch herself there, she needed to. With her other hand she pulled up her nightgown, accordion pleating it until her legs were uncovered. She caressed her thigh, the first time she’d ever touched her body with a purpose that wasn’t practical or necessary. Her fingers skimmed softness that surprised her. She thought of her legs as instruments with which to kneel or stand, walk or perform work. She’d never considered they might also be pleasant to feel. Yet they were more—they inspired pleasure. With shaky breath, she took the next step and moved her fingers inch by hesitant inch toward the spot between her legs that literally throbbed with need. With Jordan’s kiss in mind, she brushed her fingers through the curly hair at the apex of her thighs and trembled. Her legs parted. It seemed

only natural to explore, so she slid her fingers lower, where the lightest contact sent every nerve into paroxysms. “Ohhh.” She closed her eyes, wanting only to feel the sensual waves rippling through her. Farther down, she encountered a pool of moisture. Slipping and sliding, her questing finger found the natural cleft of her vagina and edged inside. When she moved back to her clitoris, she took moisture with her. She made the trip again, down to the opening, up to the point of nerve endings in her clitoris. At the same time, she squeezed her breast, scraped it with her palm, and massaged the fleshy globe that seemed to swell under her hand. She thrashed her head from side to side, not knowing or caring that she moaned and gasped. This must be what some sisters were rumored to do in their cells at night—and no wonder. The feeling she instilled through a light touch here, a harder rub there, was nothing short of glorious. That she still knew a gnawing need that hadn’t been satisfied was a bit disappointing. Nonetheless, she’d flown to the moon—surely this was as good as a woman was supposed to feel and far more than any nun had a right. Opening her eyes, she pulled down her nightgown and rolled over. She should jump from bed and spend the rest of the night on her knees, petitioning God to forgive her many sins and cleanse her soul after her admission of contrition. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to be sorry.

Chapter Eleven What the fuck was wrong with him? He kissed a nun, for Christ’s sake. A nun. And God knew he wanted to do more. Much more. He could have, too. That was the hell of it. Now he understood Brendan Tipton’s desire, the God damn bastard. She was virginal—she didn’t even know how to kiss. He’d probably been her first. And she had absolutely no defenses against the world—or men. But she trusted him, or seemed to, and that meant the world. He had to hold that trust carefully. And that means no more

God damn, fucking kissing, you idiot! He pounded the steering wheel in frustration and pain. His dick was still hard and aching to be inside some sweet pussy, any old pussy. Dicks weren’t fussy. But his brain wanted only one—the one he couldn’t have. And then he’d brought up Mark, his best friend. For years they’d watched each other’s backs in times of danger and raised holy hell with each other when things were good. He’d never felt so at ease with anyone as with Mark. Was that why he’d brought up his friend to the Sister? He only knew that during lunch he’d gotten a bug up his ass to mention Mark to Margaret Mary. They would be good together, the three of them. The three of us together. Tangled limbs and hungry mouths formed an image in his mind. For God’s sake! Mark would die.

“No,” Jordan said out loud. “He’d kill you first, for wanting a nun’s pussy.” For wanting to share a nun’s pussy. They’d sandwiched a woman once, a prostitute in North Carolina. He’d found the woman willing to do it, and Mark had gladly followed. But Sister Margaret Mary was no prostitute. She was the furthest thing from it. Still, he couldn’t get the picture of Mark and him fucking Sister Margaret Mary in bed out of his head. He was going to rot in hell for sure. How the hell had he gotten himself into this situation? It had to be her damned trust and her obvious need for a knight in shining armor. Well, his armor was considerably tarnished, but he’d be her protector. And she’d be safe with him. She’d be safe from him, damn it. He pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house, shifted into first, and set the brake of the ‘51 Ford Tudor. The car wasn’t as sleek as Tipton’s Roadmaster, but he liked the roominess and the power he got from the V-8 engine. He’d bought her just a few weeks ago, and though she was used, she had the feel of a fresh young thing under his hands, with plenty of response and the willingness to do anything he wanted. Like a virgin. Get thoughts of virgins out of your

head. “Mother?” He dropped the keys in the brass tray on the entry hall table and strode toward the living room. “Is that you, Robert?” Jordan sighed. She had mistaken him for his dad several times in the weeks since he’d returned from overseas. Granted, his dad had only died a couple of months ago, but his mother was not senile. She just chose

not to believe her husband was gone. “No, it’s Jordan.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and took a seat in the wingback chair across from her. A pile of yarn with knitting needles stuck out from it sat in her lap. “Oh, hello, dear. Did you have a pleasant evening?” Had he? Yes. No. Hell no! He wanted her. He lusted after her. She’s a nun. “I know, God damn it!” “Jordan! We do not use such language in this house. When your father reverts to his old ways, he sleeps on the couch a night or two, I can tell you.” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” “Well, thinking it is just as bad.” She smiled at him, and he noticed her gray hair and crow’s-feet. Had they been there a mere two months ago? Maybe she had stopped wearing makeup now that she was alone. “I’m not too old to box your ears, young man.” He chuckled. “I remember you did that quite well.” “No, you were a good boy.” She lost her smile. “Not like Marlene and Brendan’s boy. That David was always into something wicked. I worried about you hanging around with him so much, but your father assured me that you would have more influence over David than he would over you. And he was right. Look at you. A hero in the war, while David is a drunk somewhere in California.” “Mother, I wasn’t a hero in the war—” “You were indeed! I read the report from the government. You saved a platoon of men.” “—and I’m sorry about David. He was a good friend. It’s

a waste.” He sighed, trying to put away the images of the men in that platoon when he and his men had finally broken through to them. “As for the men that were saved, I was simply in the right place at the right time. I did what anyone would have. It was sheer luck.” “Jordan,” his mother said quietly, picking up her knitting, “you sprinted through enemy fire to carry out a young man and led the others to safety. Now, perhaps anyone would have done it, but of the men who were with you, only you did.” “But—” “Don’t destroy a mother’s illusion. I don’t care what you think, I know you’re a hero. You always did the right thing when you were growing up, and you always will as you go through manhood.” She peered over her glasses at him even as she made the needles fly. Well, he hadn’t done the right thing tonight. He’d kissed a fucking nun. What would his mother think if she knew that? She’d do more than box his ears. She’d light into him with a lecture about the sanctity of religion and temptation and sin and the whole nine yards. Best she not know. Impulsively he said, “I had a letter from a friend the other day. He’s at loose ends, and I wondered if you minded if he came down here for a while.” “Not at all. Your father and I always enjoy meeting your friends.” He wondered how he would handle this denial of his mother’s. If she insisted on believing his father would walk through the door at any time, could he leave her here, even

when the deal over the firm was settled? “Is this friend from school?” “No. A friend from the Marines. We went through boot camp together and were in the same company in Nam. He was hurt and shipped back here early.” “Oh dear. What happened to him?” What had happened to him? They’d fought side by side in the Reservoir and taken that long walk out, back to the south, together. After that they’d separated when Mark was assigned to another unit. The last Jordan heard, Mark had been wounded badly enough to be evacuated to Japan and then Hawaii. “He was part of an ambushed unit. Got shot up pretty badly. He’s a great guy and smart as a whip. He and I talked about starting our own business when we got out of the Corps.” His mother gave him a sharp look. “But Jordan, you know your father is counting on you to join him in the firm. When he received his judgeship, he could have sold the practice, but he kept it for you. You can’t disappoint him now.” “Mother,” he said in a quiet voice, “Dad is dead. He’s gone. He won’t know or care if I stay in Ballymeade and practice law.” She stared blankly. Good God, should he get her to a psychologist? “I never wanted to be a lawyer, and Dad knew that well enough. I went to law school to make him happy, but my heart was never in it.”

“Don’t be silly. People like us do what they were born to do, what their duty is, not what their heart is in. Not always. But out of curiosity, what is your heart in?”

A cottage a few miles away. Stop it! Lust is not love. Truth be told, probably like Tipton, Margaret Mary’s uniqueness attracted him. Not the woman. As he’d noted when he first saw her, she wasn’t really a woman, anyway. She was just… Softness and

wonder and appeal, absolute appeal. Shit. That was the truth. When he held her, when he stroked her back in an effort to stop her from crying, he held a woman under all that volume of black and white clothing. Forcing his mind back to the conversation at hand, he said, “Business. Mechanics. I like making things and fixing things.” “You always enjoyed fiddling when you were a little boy. But—” “Don’t say Father wouldn’t approve. He’s—” “Dead! I know! Do you think I don’t know?” She bent over her knitting and burst into tears. This was the first time he’d seen her cry since he arrived. As easy as it had been to hold Margaret Mary when she cried, he didn’t know what to do for his mother. Finally, he moved to the couch and patted her back. “Can I get you some water?” “No.” She sat up and swiped her palms across her eyes. “No, I’m all right.” Her eyes were red and splotchy and she took quick, hiccoughing breaths, so Jordan wasn’t all that sure she was

fine, but he stayed beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “Your father and I were married for over forty years. Don’t dare assume that I don’t know he’s gone after all that time. He was my life.” “I’m sorry.” “They weren’t all good years, but I enjoyed my life, married to a respected lawyer and then a judge. They were high positions, and he wore them well. He was good at his work. He wanted you to follow him, but if you don’t want to, then that’s all there is to it.” She folded the blanket or afghan or whatever she was knitting and pushed it aside. “When will you be finished with that woman?” She said it so severely, he had to think for a moment who she meant. “Sister Margaret Mary? Maybe a couple of weeks. I had no idea there was so much there.” “Oh, there’s a lot there all right.” Bitterness tinged her voice. “The sooner that place is vacant the better. It should have been burned to the ground years ago, with her in it.” Abruptly, she stood and walked toward the stairs. Then she stopped again, just as shortly. Without turning she said, “I’m going up to bed. I will sign the papers for the law practice when they’re ready. I don’t want you to have to stay any longer than you absolutely need to.” Then she was gone. God damn it. What in hell had he said for that kind of response? And why the fuck was his mother talking about Hollyhock Cottage? Miss Jacobsen had been a woman unwelcome in the best homes in town, but she had always been nice to him. His dad had handled her legal matters for

as long as Jordan had known she existed, so he must have liked her. Jordan had no idea his mother was so narrowminded or that she held such harsh opinions about fallen women. More, what did she mean that her marriage hadn’t been good? He searched his memory and couldn’t think of a single time he had ever seen his parents fight or act unhappy. Shit. He rubbed his eyes. The little sleep he’d snatched on Margaret Mary’s porch last night wasn’t enough. He didn’t think Tipton would go back tonight, so he was probably safe to sleep in his own bed. He dragged himself off the couch and started upstairs. Tomorrow he’d call Mark and arrange to get him down here. They had a lot to discuss if the hint Mark had dropped in his letter meant anything. And then there was a day to spend with Margaret Mary. An idea occurred to him, and he smiled. He liked the idea of surprising her. Suddenly tomorrow morning couldn’t come soon enough. Despite his exhaustion, he dashed up the stairs.

Chapter Twelve Margaret Mary tossed and turned, unable to erase the image of Jordan’s face from her mind. Or the touch of his thumb on her lip, or the darkness of his irises just before he kissed her. Imagine, she was nearly thirty-two years old and had never been kissed by a man. Hardly kissed by anyone. He had moved his lips against hers, but she had done nothing—not even move her hands from behind her back. He must think her strange. Or maybe disinterested. She should be, but nothing could be further from the truth. She touched her face and recoiled from the heat that met her palm. She ran her finger along her lips and shivered with the touch. Her breasts ached, and she knew somehow that they wouldn’t if Jordan were there to soothe them. Then the very thought of his being there beside her brought an involuntary clench to the muscles of her thighs. She wanted to repeat what she had done before, to slide her finger inside and explore the fragrant wetness of her vagina, but she couldn’t bring herself to. It’s a sin. It’s a sin. It’s a sin. She already had so much on her conscience that she couldn’t willingly add more. Finally, she climbed from bed. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she went to her mother’s study. If her mother were there now, would she hold Margaret Mary and insist that every woman feels such confusion over the way a man made her feel? Would she tease Margaret Mary about being in love or warn her not to trust her feelings lest they

lead her into a trap from which she couldn’t escape? The church preached that sex was bad. But how many priests and nuns had actually experienced it? And if they had felt as she did now, wanting Jordan’s arms around her with such force it scared her, would they still say it was so wrong? More importantly, as someone who evidently had a great deal of experience with sex, would her mother tell her it was wrong? For several minutes, she piddled around, counting the number of glass figures and stopping at sixty-one. She picked up the book beside the chair and saw it was a wellworn copy of a novel called The Young Lions. The inscription read, After two decades with you I still roar. All

my love, Leo, your old lion. Jordan had said that Brendan Tipton had a relationship with her mother. Could he be Leo, the lion? She decided not. The paralyzing fear he instilled in her could not bring any woman to feel love for Mr. Tipton, and Margaret Mary suspected that he would not say it—particularly in writing— to any woman at all. The man loved himself. And power. There was no room left to love a woman. The front of the chair-side table opened, revealing an open place inside. There she found stacks of hardcover books. She pulled one out and flipped the pages. Cramped writing filled every page. Turning to the first page she read

Feb 4. Went to town today. Lonnie changed the oil in the car while I bought groceries. Leo called this morning to say he might come for dinner tonight. I bought flowers as a special treat and fixed a beautiful roast. Of course he

didn’t come. He called again, hours late, to tell me that he couldn’t get away from the house. He said she had planned guests and he had no good way to get out of it. He said he’d make it up to me, which means another glass dog or horse. Sometimes I hate those figures, because each one represents a missed moment together. The books were journals. She crouched down and began removing them from the interior of the table. When she finished, seven books littered the floor. A more intensive search brought forth another nineteen. Twenty-six volumes—one incomplete. One book for each of the years she was gone. She picked one at random and took it to the kitchen. Back ramrod straight in the chair, she opened the journal.

May 4. Catherine is dead. I can’t stop crying. The Mother Superior at the convent said she chose of her own free will to become a nun, but I can’t help wondering if it’s their way of trying to cleanse her of my sins. Did they think if they let her go she would become just like her mother? Did they think she’d turn into a whore? I hate them. I hate all of them for stealing my daughter. May 5. Bren came last night. He didn’t stay as he often does, but having him here made me feel better. He says Catherine’s choice was natural. After all, she’s been with the nuns for so long, maybe it’s what she really wants. Then, instead of being rough, as is his way, he gave me tenderness. He does have a heart though he hates to show it, I think. Shock waves rolled through Margaret Mary. Thanks to

Jordan, she knew Brendan Tipton had been her mother’s lover, but seeing it in black and white, in her mother’s own hand, made it real.

June 10. Today was my birthday, and both my boys were here. It’s been so long since we were all together. Bren gave me a beautiful scarf, and J. brought flowers and wine and presented me with a bracelet made of diamonds and emeralds. I will be able to wear it when the three of us go to San Francisco next month. I can’t wait! In celebration, we ate cake, drank wine, and shared each other on the kitchen table. I still taste Leo on my tongue. I still feel the two of them in my body. I’ll never give them up. Margaret Mary couldn’t breathe. How can a woman take two men into her body at once? Did her mother mean she could taste this Leo person the way she, Margaret Mary, still had the flavor of Jordan’s kiss on her lips? The journal confused yet thrilled her in a dark way. She couldn’t stop reading.

July 21. We returned this afternoon from our week away. The only time we can be together and ourselves is when we’re gone from Ballymeade. Then there are no wives, no damning looks from townspeople. We’re free, especially in a place like San Francisco, where no one cares what you do as long as you have money. Whenever we go somewhere, Bren enjoys seeing how much he can get away with. On this trip he had me wear nothing under my dress. I approached a sailor on Market Street and let him finger me while Bren and Leo watched from a

doorway. In broad daylight. The sailor was shocked, but he soon got into it. I was frightened we’d be caught but then found it exciting. I couldn’t believe no one stopped us, but then that’s San Francisco. When we returned to the hotel the three of us couldn’t get enough. We had a wonderful time, but it’s always nice to be home again. Margaret Mary’s head reeled. Never in a million years could she have imagined her mother being the kind of woman who would sleep with two men at once or approach a stranger on the street. And Mother Superior knew the kind of family Margaret Mary came from? No wonder the nuns had always separated her from the other girls. No wonder they emphasized her difference. She must have the sign of the devil somewhere on her body, on her soul. How would she be able to hold up her head when she returned to the convent?

August 2. Leo came tonight, alone for a change. We have so little time together without Bren that his being here was a treat. We lay on the rug in front of the fireplace and made love for an hour or more before he had to go. His wife would never do this—he told me only I provide what he needs. Soon he’ll leave her. He promised me again, and I know he loves me as I do him, so I trust him. To belong to a man—one man—who loves me and will cherish me is more than I believed I’d ever have in life. Thank you, God, for bringing me to this point in life! Who was this Leo? And what happened to their plans? A strange sense of kinship ran through Margaret Mary for her mother. As lonely as she had been as a child, her

mother had been in her own way. She had loved this man Leo, whoever he was, and yet had to share him with another. And she was fond of Brendan but benefitted from few feelings from him in return. They kept her well enough, but what are creature comforts compared to love? If convent life had taught her nothing else, she had learned that one can live happily with very few possessions. But loneliness was no excuse for her actions. She had a daughter. Couldn’t Margaret Mary have cured her loneliness? Couldn’t she have brought her mother joy and happiness? Instead, she had sent her away with nothing— no letters filled with love or “missing you” messages. She had set her only child adrift in a sea of things she could wish for but never have, in a life full of adult women who offered nothing more than bells, prayers, and a conviction that something about her was wrong, different from others. They set her apart and, now she knew, for good reason. Margaret Mary closed the journal. Her tea had gone cold long ago. She dumped it down the drain and rinsed the cup before going back upstairs. At four fifteen, she didn’t have long before she needed to rise for morning prayers. The good Lord knew she had neglected her duties to prayer for the past couple of days. She’d let herself slip into temptation and the ease of the world. No longer! Her thoughts of Jordan must be banished. The pleasure she took in his company, the shy joy she took in his protection and his seeming enjoyment of being with her, must end. No good would come of it. Emma—she found it easier to think of her mother now using her name rather than the title of

mother—had reveled in the attention of men, and it had damned her soul. Margaret Mary wouldn’t allow the same to happen to herself. That man at the boarding house when she arrived had been right. Illness lingered in this cottage unlike any Margaret Mary knew existed, and she was in danger of contracting it. The Bible said that the sins of the father would be visited upon the child. So this was why she had endured such loneliness growing up, why she had spent her life apart and afraid. The sins of her mother had indeed fallen to her, even without her knowing. Instead of dropping to her knees and praying, she climbed back under the covers and curled into the fetal position. Despite her belief that she was wide awake, she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. But not before a thought formed. She was nothing like her mother. And she never would be.

Chapter Thirteen Margaret Mary tried hard not to let any emotion show when she exited the church later that morning and saw Jordan waiting for her. Her heart skipped a beat, but she believed her expression to be impassive. “Sister!” Father Samuels glared at her. Automatically she ducked her head and tucked her hands under her scapular. His voice held such harshness she knew she had failed. “It is unseemly for a bride of Christ to look at a mortal man with such joy on her face.” She would pray today for help in not showing what she felt. She would pray even harder not to feel anything. “Yes, Father. It’s just…Jordan has been such a tremendous help at the house. I’m–I’m anxious to have it finished so I can return to St. Agnes.” “Sister Margaret Mary?” Jordan was close, so very close. His jacket brushed her arm, and heat rushed all the way to her heart. Father Samuels surely heard it pounding. “Yes, Jordan?” She didn’t raise her head. Try as she might, she knew she wouldn’t be able to fight the fervor bursting to be recognized. Instead of addressing her, Jordan directed his comments to the priest. “Beautiful day, Father. We’re going for a drive in the country. Margaret Mary should see a little of Oregon before she has to leave it.” “That is not why Sister Margaret Mary is here. And you

can’t possibly expect her to be out and about alone with a man.” “She will come to no harm with me. In any way.” Her head was down, but the terseness of Jordan’s words wasn’t lost on her. Father Samuels was quiet for a second or two and then said, “Sister, see that you don’t come to harm. In any way.” And he was gone, his cassock making angry swishes as he strode up the aisle. “Ass,” Jordan muttered. “Don’t say that,” she said. “He’s only concerned for me.” “There’s no reason for you to be afraid of me.” Annoyance tinged every word. “I’m not. I’m afraid of myself,” she whispered. He let out a sharp breath. “I’m sorry for flying off the handle.” She nodded her understanding. “Look up at me, please. I hate talking to the top of your head.” She raised her head far enough to watch him over her lashes. He let out another breath, this one a little slower. “My God, this is going to be hard.” Then he smiled. “I wanted today to be a surprise. Something fun.” Despite all her good intentions, his smile thrilled her. “You did?” He glanced to the church interior. “That bast—” He looked at her quickly. “Father Samuels is watching us from somewhere in there. Let’s get out of here.” He took her elbow and led her swiftly down the steps and to the passenger side of his car. Margaret Mary didn’t know how she managed to stay on her feet. She moved with him without thought or concern.

Without even a short prayer for her sanity. Almost before she realized it, they were pulling out of the church parking area and speeding along the road in the opposite direction of Hollyhock Cottage. Once they cleared town, the vehicle picked up speed. Margaret Mary took her hands out from where she’d clutched her rosary so she could keep her veil from slashing the air. With the windows down, talking was nearly impossible, but Jordan turned on the radio and flipped the volume up so that they could hear the music. He turned to her with a grin, and sheer joy made her smile back. After that, he faced the road, and she watched the scenery fly by. On one side, cliffs climbed hundreds of feet high, topped with towering evergreens. On the other side, the terrain dropped precipitously and then smoothed out to sand and surf. They drove on and on. She didn’t care if they continued on forever. The wind was freedom, the music a world she didn’t know, and being here alone with Jordan— even not touching, not speaking—spelled heaven on Earth. She would do penance for that thought later. For now, for once in her life, she wanted to enjoy the simple things every woman did. That couldn’t be wrong, could it? By the time he made a left turn and started up a steep grade, the ocean-side view had changed from waves of foam washing a sandy strand to sharp rocks jutting out of deep water amidst raging waves that continued on to dash the rocky cliffside. Her slice of coastline seemed tame compared to this. Scraggly pines clung to the cliffs as though to spite the pounding salt water and battering winds.

Margaret Mary was relieved to be heading away from the water and up into the forest that covered the ridge they had just topped. Jordan slowed the car and turned off the radio. “I thought we could have a picnic in one of my favorite places. I haven’t been here in years. Since before I went to school in fact. I hope it hasn’t changed.” “What kind of place is it?” He grinned once more, and she felt that now-familiar catch in her breath. “You’ll see. And give me your honest opinion if you want to have lunch there.” “I know I’ll love it.” And she would if Jordan did. Was she in love with the man? Was thinking about a person all the time and wanting just to be with him the same as love? Nothing can come of it. Don’t be a fool. But she wanted to be a fool. She wanted to be…normal. For once. She wanted to live without the awful loneliness of feeling apart from the world.

Please, dear Father, please. Just this one time let me feel what any other woman my age would feel. I promise I will be the best nun for the rest of my life if only… If only. Bargaining with God was wrong, but at last she had said a prayer that she felt in her heart. **** The look of wonder on Margaret Mary’s face told Jordan he’d been right in bringing her here. This time of year, the meadow came alive with flowers. Like a beautiful woman

proudly modeling her new skirt, the meadow displayed showy yellow, orange, purple, and white blossoms, nodding in the coastal wind. About two hundred yards east, dark fir trees harbored Indian basket. The western view was dominated by the Pacific and the rising mist off Oregon’s dramatic coast. “Shall I spread our blanket?” He loved that she loved the spot. The land was owned by a client of his father’s, left dormant for years. Neither man knew that Jordan had staked it out as a place to bring girls for “conversation” after a school dance or that he had often used it as a place to clear his mind, even on summer vacations from school. “Oh, please.” She stood with her hands steepled under her chin, spinning slowly in order to see everything. He couldn’t help but smile. He turned his back to the ocean breeze and flapped the old plaid blanket he’d found in the chest in his room until it settled flat onto the grass. Carrying the basket of food from the trunk of the car, he saw Margaret Mary with her head bowed as though in prayer. While he delighted in her enjoyment, he must keep a grip on himself. She was a nun, as her habit clearly screamed. There she stood, a column of black and white against the tempestuous color of the meadow. Just give her a nice day and nothing more. Nothing more. Not a thought after this except as a client. He could do that. Right? Setting the basket down, he dropped after it onto the blanket he’d been using in adventures since boyhood. It had served as a fort, spread over the backs of two dining

room chairs, and as a makeshift sleeping bag on overnight campouts. A little moth eaten now, for some reason he wanted to bring it on this picnic with his nun client. Wanted to share a little something of who he truly had been and still was. Jordan opened the basket. “I know it’s early. I brought some cereal and a thermos of milk. Or I also have bread and butter and a container of homemade huckleberry preserves.” She smiled. “That’s a large basket. Is the kitchen sink in there, too?” “No, smarty. Lunch is in here and a dinner snack. Our day isn’t over after breakfast.” “Oh, my.” She fell to the blanket on her knees and took a closer look at all he’d packed. Sandwiches, soup, nuts, berries, two thermoses of coffee, and a half chicken with three-bean salad. “Jordan, this is too much.” “It is not. And just so you know, I like it when you smile and laugh and look happy. You’re far too solemn.” “Well, today I’m happy. You were wonderful enough to offer me a special day, and I’m going to accept your gift.” With hesitation, she touched his hand. “Thank you, Jordan.” The merest brush of her fingers scorched his hand. Blood rushed to his cock in a matter of seconds. “You’re welcome,” he managed to say. “And another thing. I like it when you look me in the eye to talk. I like it when you say my name.” “You do?” Her eyes widened and turned dark. “Very much.” For two cents, he’d push her onto her back

and find out what was below that dress. He’d fuck her slowly until she screamed his name. The sound would float into the fir forest and be caught up in the trees, tossed by the wind from branch to branch, on and on. He’d revel in knowing her. He’d savor every moment, and then he’d fuck her again, faster this time, harder. She’d wrap her legs around him and meet him thrust for thrust. And then… And then what, you God damned fool? “Jordan?” She had been talking to him while he daydreamed of pounding her into the ground with his dick. What kind of sick bastard was he? “Sorry. I was distracted for a minute.” “Do you want some cereal?” She held the box of flakes in one hand and one of their everyday bowls in the other. “Yes, please.” He watched her long, slender fingers as she poured cereal into the bowl to the halfway point and then splashed milk over it. Even from up here, they didn’t escape the sound of the ocean. The smell of salt water and wildflowers mixed in his head. Leaning back on one hand, the wool teased an itch from his fingers, and he used it. He used all of his senses as a way to keep his mind off the woman sitting across from him casually fixing his breakfast. When they finished eating and sat companionably sipping coffee, she asked about the various flowers surrounding them. “I don’t know all of them,” he said. “But I know the orange is columbine. That purple one is camas, and the tall white ones are lilies of some sort.” He picked a small yellow blossom and held it out to her. “This is called monkey flower.”

She laughed, taking it from him. “I can see why. It has such a funny, sweet face.” “Like yours,” he said. “The sweet part,” he stammered. “Not the funny part.” Her smile dimmed, and she seemed to pull away slightly. You idiot! “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” “No. I’m fine, really. I’m just unused to people saying such nice things. I–I don’t know what to do with it.” “You should have wonderful things said about you.” Seeing her growing discomfort, he changed the subject. “As soon as we’re finished, we’ll go to one of the great places on the coast. I’ll show you something you could never see in Ohio.” Margaret Mary looked around, leaning back on one hand and holding the cup with the other. “It’s so beautiful here, I almost hate to go.” “We don’t have them here, but if we were in Ohio where you were as a child, we could come back later and catch fireflies as though we were kids.” “That sounds like fun.” “Didn’t you do that as a child?” “No.” She gazed wistfully toward the woods. “When I was in school, we had homework and evening Mass and bedtime was early.” “When did you play?” “Not often. Usually during recess I was held back to help one of the sisters who was teaching. I didn’t do much with the other girls.”

“Why not?” She bit her lip. Jordan knew how to read people. Margaret Mary wanted to say something and was deciding whether or not she should. “You know you can tell me anything. I’m your lawyer, and I’m sworn to secrecy.” Wide-eyed, she snapped her head toward him. “You are?” He’d been teasing actually, but now he wanted to know what bothered her so. “Yes. The law says I can’t be forced to reveal anything you tell me.” Still she considered. “Your father was Emma’s lawyer. For a long time?” Emma? What reason lay behind her referring to her mother by her name? “Yes. I believe she hired him as soon as she arrived in Ballymeade. That’s my impression anyway.” “His name was Robert, correct? He wasn’t ever called anything else?” “Robert, right. I never heard him called anything other than Robert, or Bob. Why do you ask?” She heaved a sigh, and her expression brightened. “No reason.” Looking into her cup she said, “I’m finished now. Shall we go to the next adventure you have planned?” “Absolutely.” She had already carefully packed their basket. He rose and took her hand to help her up. She carried the blanket, and he hefted the basket for the trek to the car. But he hadn’t forgotten the unusual use of her mother’s name and the question about his dad. She worried about something,

and coming on the heels of his own mother’s outburst the previous night, a foreshadowing of danger made the hair on his nape stand on end. Maybe he didn’t want to know the answers to his questions after all.

Chapter Fourteen If she had had any idea of what Jordan planned, Margaret Mary wouldn’t have agreed. He was clearly out of his head, leading her down the side of the cliff on weathered wooden steps. From what she could see, they were headed for a dead end of rocks—or a tumble onto rocks and into a vicious-looking ocean. Half the time, the wind blew her veil into her eyes so that she couldn’t see. Then she would stop and Jordan would stop then offer her his hand, and down they would go again. Did holding his hand engender more fear than a fall to her death on the Oregon coast? Maybe, because she didn’t want to let go, and that endangered her soul, not merely her body. “Almost there,” he shouted over the noise of the surf and the sound of seals. They had stopped a short few minutes ago and looked over the railing onto a flat expanse of rock below. Hundreds of seals—sea lions, Jordan had corrected her—rested on the stone or slid off into the turbulent water to swim. They rounded a curve, and she saw that the barrier of stone she’d thought they would face had a cleft through which they could pass. Inside, the barks of the sea lions intensified, as did the odor. But the sensation of being within a huge cavern, the cacophony, the smell, the mist on her face as waves burst through a narrow opening and then surged into the cave, combined to make the place seem otherworldly. Below them, on a rock island in the middle of

the watery enclosure, sea lions stretched out, barked, and clambered over each other to find the perfect spot. Well back from the wood railing that protected watchers from the edge of the rock balcony on which they stood, Jordan silently pointed to one large animal pushing another into the drink. She laughed with him. The sound blended with the other noises, bouncing and echoing up into the reaches of the stone. This was an enchanted place and something she would never forget. Indeed, this would be a memory she would take out time after time in her cell, late at night. Recalling such things from life outside the convent was a sin lest it germinate into discontent, but she couldn’t believe God would deny her this one short day of magic. While they enjoyed watching the machinations of the sea lions, he took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. She forgot to breathe and could neither move nor say anything. He leaned close to her ear hidden under her wimple and said, “This wet rock is slippery. Just taking a precaution.” A precaution. Of course. He was thinking of her safety only. She was grateful. Of course she was, but she couldn’t deny her disappointment. They must have stood there half an hour or more, laughing at the antics of the animals who entertained them without realizing it. Finally, Jordan again spoke at her ear. “Are you ready to go?” She nodded yes. He tugged at their joined hands until she was flat against the wall. Facing her, he passed in front. They met chest to chest. He stared into her eyes as though seeking an answer to a question he hadn’t asked. His face

was so close she felt his breath on her cheek and one of his legs snugly between hers. For a moment, he stayed like that, his body pressed close. If she died of sheer excitement, she wouldn’t fall because the pressure he exerted would keep her upright. Earlier she had thought the meadow was heaven on Earth, but this was even better. Except…This wasn’t the way to heaven, it was the path to hell. It was the path that led to Emma’s life. She flattened her hands against Jordan’s chest and firmly pushed just enough to let him know she wanted him to move. The fire in his eyes banked. He gave a nod and walked past her, dropping the hand he held in the process. When they started back up the steps to where the car waited and he extended his hand to help, his grip held nothing more than a helpful gesture. Was he angry with her? Did he understand? She hoped he did, because she was having a hard time accepting what she had done, what she had had to do. At last they reached the top and staggered to the car. When she fell exhausted into the seat, she was sure her legs wouldn’t hold out for anything else. She wished she could sleep after the sea air and exercise. But even had she been at the cottage and facing an empty afternoon, she wouldn’t be able to rest. Not with the imprint of Jordan’s hand still burning into her palm. “Want a cup of hot coffee?” “Oh, yes! Do we have any?” “I come prepared for any contingency.” He went to the

truck. A moment later he came back with a thermos and two metal cups. He slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition key far enough to play the radio. Instead of the fast music they’d heard before, he found a station that played classical. The volume low, they could have talked over it, but they didn’t. Margaret Mary looked at the ocean stretching to infinity and sipped the hot coffee with the soothing music doing nothing to calm her jangled nerves. Jordan didn’t appear to be upset after her rejection, but he wasn’t talkative, either. “I’m sorry,” they said at the same time. Then they laughed. “Ladies first,” he said. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for all you’ve done for me, especially for this glorious day. So I hope you didn’t take offense when I pushed you away.” She ducked her head out of habit and embarrassment. “Look at me,” he commanded. She did and saw nothing but understanding in his eyes. Relief flooded her. “Thank God you pushed me away,” he said. “I was about to kiss you again, and I promised that would never happen again. I’m sorry I fell short of my word.” “Don’t be,” she said a little too quickly. “I mean, I feel safe with you, Jordan. I like you.” His smile brought back some of the earlier sparkle to his eyes. “I like you, too, Sister Margaret Mary.” His brows drew together in a frown. “Is there something shorter I can call you besides Margaret Mary? Or Sister? For some

reason, it doesn’t feel right to call you that.” She reached under her scapular and clutched her rosary. “You could call me Catherine,” she murmured. “You don’t mind?” Mutely she shook her head, knowing she should mind very much. “Just please not in public.” “It will be a secret just between us.” And the way he said it made her heart swell with longing. Another secret, but hers alone. **** Because he knew the lighthouse keeper, Jordan was able to get them to the top of the light at Howlick Head. There, they ate lunch on the leeward side, gazing over lush, green hillsides dotted with Willamette fleabane, a daisy-like bloom. After they had stood at the ocean side of the light for a while, he offered her his jacket to drape over her shoulders, but she refused, turning her face back to the wind. As twilight approached, he led her down the spiral staircase and back to the car. He started it and then regarded her. “We’ve had a full day. Do you want to go home or stay long enough to chase a few stars across the sky?” “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” He smiled. “Is that your polite way of saying you don’t care to spend any more time with me?” “No! I just meant that you surely have better things to do

with your time than to chauffeur around a nun.” “As a matter of fact, there’s nothing I’d rather do than chauffeur you around.” “Then…” She glanced down and then back up. “May we wait a little longer to go back?” “Your wish is my command.” He aimed the car north, toward the meadow and what he hoped would be a million stars to light the night. They said little when he parked at the top of the lane to the meadow. He flipped off the headlights, and a murky dimness surrounded them. He found a popular music radio station this time, and they listened to Your Hit Parade . Margaret Mary sat quietly. Jordan let his mind drift back to how it felt with his body so close to hers in the sea lion cave. He hadn’t needed to crowd her against the wall, but now he knew—they fit together perfectly. Her breath had held. Her eyes, as well as he could see in the cave, were wide, but not with fear as they’d been when she had been held against the counter by Tipton. If he ever saw that in her eyes from something he did, he’d jump off one of Oregon’s many cliffs and let the Pacific take him. Lost in his reverie, he almost missed her gasp. When he turned sharply to see what the problem was, he saw only her look of awe as she gazed through the windshield. He knew without looking himself what he would see—a million dots of light in the sky and the meadow bathed in moonlight. “Do you know the constellations?” Jordan asked. She shook her head, not taking her gaze off the sky. “I’ll show

you,” he said. Margaret Mary didn’t move. He got out and went to her side to help her out. He moved into the meadow a few yards and pointed to the heavens. “The easiest ones are the Big and Little Dippers. There. See? How the stars right there bend down to form a handle and the four stars at the end form the cup?” “Oh, yes. I see it. What’s the bright star just over the trees?” “That isn’t a star, it’s a planet. Neptune is supposed to visible now, I think.” He stepped up behind her, so close he felt the fabric of her veil on his cheek. She stepped away and hid her hands under that long piece of fabric of her habit, a sure sign she was uncomfortable. If she knew anything about men, she’d know what he wanted to do right now, under the stars. His desire was inappropriate, but there nonetheless. “Look at the meadow,” he coaxed. “Isn’t it beautiful in the moonlight?” “It is. So different from when we were here earlier.” She walked a couple feet off, hands still hidden. Then the damndest thing happened. Half a dozen meteors streaked across the sky. She gasped and then looked back at him and smiled. “That’s amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen before,” he said, coming up beside her. She laughed, and her joy rang across the grass and into the forest. “It must be an omen of something stupendous. The tilting of the world on its axis.”

She didn’t know, but that was how he’d felt since being with her. “We used to make wishes on falling stars,” he said. “I’ve never seen so many at once, not at this time of year. Want to make a wish?” She grew quiet and stared into his eyes. She looked virginal, pure. Unattainable. He wanted her with an ache that wouldn’t quit. “What I want to wish for is something I have no right to.” “What is it?” Jordan asked in a low voice. “You.” She breathed the word. He said nothing. Heart hammering, blood rushing to his dick, he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. He framed her head with his hands and lowered his head. “Catherine,” he murmured. “Oh, God, Catherine.” Her stillness encouraged him. She didn’t try to push him away or beg him to stop. He didn’t think he could, anyway. Her sweetness was like pollen to a bee. He touched her cheek with his lips and then bussed her forehead. “I want to kiss you.” “Aren’t you already?” she answered in a low voice. “I mean really kiss you. Like this.” He tilted her head the slightest bit to the right and slid his lips over hers. She stood stiff as a soldier at attention, so he nuzzled her, taking sips, gentling her, encouraging her. Swiping his tongue along the seam of her mouth, he finally felt her begin to relax. This was wrong. He knew it in the depths of his mind, but his mind wasn’t in control. Primal urges pushed him forward, seeking entry to her mouth. There must have been

an angel on his shoulder, though, because he left her mouth and dropped kisses on every part of her face uncovered by her habit. “Jordan, I shouldn’t.” She sounded breathless and not at all sure. “Father Samuels says it’s up to me.” One of the last people in the world he wanted to think about at that second was the priest. Catherine didn’t have the knowledge of where his body was leading them, and Samuels was living in a dream world if he thought she had the assertiveness to stop a man, even if she knew when she had to. “Catherine, you’ve taken control of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you.” That was no lie, although sadly, it was also no excuse to do what he wanted to do. She raised her hands to his shoulders. “I feel the same about you,” she whispered. His heart raced even faster. She wanted him, too. “But it’s wrong.” Now she sounded desperate. He had to end this. “I’ll stop. Just one more kiss. Please.” “Yes. Please.” This time, when he lowered his lips to hers, she answered his kiss with a hesitant pressure back. And when she parted her lips just slightly, he took the chance to press his tongue into her mouth. Wrong, wrong! To his utter amazement and pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his neck and touched his tongue with hers.

Holy shit. He wanted her with a passion that surpassed anything

he’d ever known. But kissing her, just simply kissing her, would have to do. He would accept that and go no further. If he loved her—and he was fast believing he was close, if not quite there—he’d have to make the sacrifice and not express that love with his body. She had already given herself to the church and God. It wasn’t his place to break those vows and promises. But damn, how he wanted to! When they raised their heads and quietly held one another, his only impression was that they’d crossed a line in their relationship, in a magical meadow, surrounded by an untold number of twinkling fairy lights.

Chapter Fifteen Jordan reached over under her scapular and tugged her left hand out so he could hold it as they drove back to Ballymeade. Margaret Mary fought the wild swing of her emotions. She couldn’t believe the surge of heat that rushed up her arm and throughout her body just feeling his fingers entwined with hers. Such a simple thing for such a cataclysmic reaction. Did every woman feel like this when a man held her hand? Surely not. She was just backward—a woman in age but a girl in emotions. Jordan had left the radio off this one time when she could have used the distraction from the sensations assailing her. She had kissed Jordan! Or at the very least, she had allowed him to kiss her. Either way, she must be sinning. She must be sinning even more not to care, instead to yearn for it again and again. When he pressed his lips to hers, her head spun, her heart pounded, and her knees threatened to buckle. She would have tumbled to the ground but for Jordan’s strong arms around her. The meadow had been magical, redolent with fragrance, the distant sound of the surf, the pinpoints of light filling the sky and the fiery falling stars. Perhaps that had pushed him into their embrace. Perhaps in the cold light of day he would look at her differently, see her for the plain woman she was, in her thirties, restrained by a way of life that prohibited almost everything they had done that day, and whose mother spent her adult life servicing two men.

But he kissed me before. That was when you were upset over Brendan Tipton. But he wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t mean it. He knows what I am. In the darkness of the meadow he lost sight of that. When he sees you clearly, he won’t want you. That was the truth. God had granted her wish by giving her today, this perfect wonderland of a day. She would cherish it always, but she wouldn’t assume that any part of it would be repeated. They pulled into the lane to the house in darkness. She hadn’t expected to go anywhere after Mass and so had left on no lights. Jordan stopped the car and turned out the headlights but didn’t get out. Instead he squeezed her hand and swiveled to look at her. “Do you want to talk?” “About what? “You know very well. We kissed—really kissed. Do you know the difference between what happened on your porch yesterday and what took place in the meadow?” So stunned that he would talk in such blunt terms about what she had dreamed about all the way home, she merely shook her head. Both kisses had affected her the same— shaken, guilty, and wanting more. “Catherine, I think I’m falling in love with you. When a man loves the woman he’s kissing, he puts his tongue in her mouth. He mimics with his tongue what he wants to do with his penis.” Shocked, she snapped her head to him. “In her mouth?”

“Sometimes,” he allowed. “But mostly in her vagina. Do you know what I mean? Did you have any health classes that told you about sex?” “Hygiene. I know something about the vagina and its purpose for my–my…” There was no way she could ever talk with a man about her menses. “But no one ever described sex. I have to confess a sin if I even think about sex.” But she had, several times in the last few days, in an unexplained, fearful way with Mr. Tipton and in a totally different way with Jordan. “I would do more than describe sex, Catherine,” he said in a low voice. “I want to show you. I want to make love to you.” “But…I can’t. Don’t you see?” “You’re a nun. I know.” He looked out the windshield, appearing to be a man searching for answers. “Not because I’m a nun, Jordan.” Holy Father, I’m sorry! “Because I don’t want to be like Emma.” Shame filled her cheeks with heat, but he had to know, she had to tell him how much she felt for him. Instead of asking what she meant—he probably knew all about Emma, probably the whole town did—he asked something she didn’t expect. “Why have you started calling your mother by her first name?” This was too hard. She wanted to go inside and be done worrying about things she should release into the Lord’s care. Jordan tightened his grip and wouldn’t let her go. “It’s easier to think of her that way since finding out the

woman she was.” “What kind of woman was she?” She found the courage from somewhere to face him. Only the moon gave her the light to see his expression. Questioning, curious. Kind. “She–she had relations with men. Two men, the whole time she lived here. She sent me away so she wouldn’t have to bother with a child while she served two men. I prefer not to think of her as my mother.” His lips curved up in a slight smile. “Aren’t you supposed to forgive people and pray for their souls?” “I prayed for her health and well-being almost my whole life. I was told she was too ill to care for me. She was too ill to have me come home on vacations, to come and visit me there. Too ill to write letters or say she loved me. And all the time she was really too sick of having a child around while she and her lovers—” She couldn’t say more. She turned away, looking through the window. Again she pulled on her hand. Again Jordan kept her from escaping. Several minutes went by where the only sound was the surf from outside the car and their breathing within. “People do things for various reasons. Often they aren’t apparent to others, but to them they are crystal clear. For instance, why did you become a nun?” Once more he switched the subject to something she didn’t expect. “Because…I don’t know. It felt right. I felt a place of community.” “Now to me, that makes some sense. But why didn’t you try to find a home—a community—outside the convent?

Why didn’t you take a train back here when you graduated and face your mother’s illness?” “I thought…Mother Superior told me it would be best not to disturb her, that she might not be able to handle a visit.” “I wish you had come home, Catherine. I wish you had been here when I returned from law school and we had found each other then. Because when we make love—and we will make love—then you wouldn’t have the regrets of lost time or the guilt of doing something you want and thinking you shouldn’t want it.” “How do you know I want it?” she asked quietly. “By the passion you put in your kiss.” He stroked the palm of her hand with his thumb. It struck a chord between her legs, and her breath hitched. “Will you do me a favor?” he asked. “I–I’m not sure.” “It’s easy,” he said. “I want to see your hair.” “My hair!” He thought it was easy to reveal such an intimate thing? Hair was considered the height of a woman’s vanity. No one had seen her hair since she took the veil except other nuns who cut it at routine intervals. No one was supposed to see it until they prepared her for her coffin. But for Jordan, she would do most anything. With shaking fingers, she unpinned the black veil that extended from the top front of her head to her waist. Her wimple came next, the edges pulled out from under her starched white collar. She folded it in her lap and then stared at her hands, folded atop it. “Is it so hard?” Jordan asked. “Don’t do it if it’s too hard.”

She cast him a glance. He had no way of knowing, but this was a commitment on her part. A piece of herself she had shared with no one. It meant so much more than he could understand. Without speaking, she reached under her chin to untie the coif, the simple white cap that covered her head. Slowly she tugged it off, placing it over the wimple. She hung her head low and closed her eyes, waiting for Jordan’s judgment. “Catherine.” He whispered her name. A shiver ran down her back. “Catherine, look at me. Please.” She raised her head but didn’t open her eyes. Then his fingers feathered her hair, finding their way through her short lengths from the sides of her head to the back. Once there they guided her to him, and then she didn’t need to open her eyes because his mouth was on hers and the world dropped away to nothing beyond his hands tangled in her strands and his tongue explored the depths of her mouth. Tears escaped her clenched eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She felt naked before him though she was still covered from head to toe. With the exposure of her hair, she had revealed her soul. The rest would be only her body. And now she knew—she knew—that opening herself to Jordan the rest of the way was a matter of destiny. Yes, she was becoming her mother, but she didn’t have the presence of mind to regret it. ****

Jordan didn’t know what was happening to him. His heart pounded and his breath was all but gone. And all he’d done was kiss Catherine. “Shall I come in and check the house for you? It’s awfully dark.” She smiled. Sadly? Impossible to tell. He used his fingers to brush her hair back from her brow. A medium brown, all of it about mid-ear length, there wasn’t much of it. Flattened from the cap she took off last, it held no bounce or height, but the texture was so soft he couldn’t help but touch it. He couldn’t wait to see it in the light. “It’s late.” “It’s early, really.” He checked his watch. “Not even midnight.” “I rise at four o’clock for prayers. Or…” She bit her lip and gazed up at him. He kissed her lightly. “I should get up for prayers. I’ve slept through half the time I’ve been here.” “If I was here with you, I’d wake you up for prayers.” He said it knowing she would turn him down yet hoping she would take him up on it. “Are you sure you would wake me in time?” His heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t mean it. “I promise to wake you at four o’clock.” And one o’clock, and two, and three. That is, if he let her sleep at all. His cock already pressed against his trousers, demanding freedom. She ducked her head. Had her hands not been full of her headgear, he had no doubt she would have hidden them within her habit. “Then I think perhaps you should stay,” she said so quietly he barely heard.

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to look me in the eyes and tell me to stay. I can’t hear otherwise.” That was a bit harsh, but he wanted to be sure she wanted him to be with her for the night. He needed to know that she didn’t feel coerced. With a breath he felt shudder through her, she stared into his eyes. “I would like you to stay the night, Jordan.” “And I would love to spend the night with you, Catherine.” He opened the front door and ushered her in. He’d slept with more women than he should have over the years. A few he’d even cared for, though he’d never come close to thinking he loved anyone. But of all the beds he’d spent the night in, he had wanted to be in none of them as much as this one nor wanted to love a woman like he did Catherine. Nun or no nun, this was but the first of many nights with the woman he wanted to brand as his own. **** The car had come down the road after eleven o’clock, and Tipton knew it was Parnell and Catherine. That bastard! The punk kid had the nerve to push him out of Catherine’s house, the very house he had helped buy, furnish, and support. Emma had spread her legs plenty to pay him and Leo back, but she was nothing compared to the prize who occupied the house now. And Jordan Parnell sought to push him out. He sat within the comfort of his Cadillac, hidden behind scrub bushes across the road from the cottage lane, right where he’d been for hours, waiting for them to come home.

He watched them roll down the lane and come to a stop in the yard. Then they sat and sat. Doing what? For all he could see, they could be fucking the leather off Parnell’s seats. Then he exited and came to help her out. They walked to the house and out of sight, but Tipton straightened up and stared, unbelieving. Her head was bare! The fucker had gotten her to show a secret part of herself. If Parnell got to her before he himself did, there’d be hell to pay. He waited for Parnell to go back to the car. And waited. Then the light in the bedroom window reflected onto the yard and Parnell’s empty car, and Tipton knew he’d been had. That kid would take the nun’s virginity, and he’d be left with…what? Seconds. Brendan Tipton never settled for seconds. He started the Caddy and pulled out from behind the bushes onto the road. He had plans to make.

Chapter Sixteen In the bedroom, she flipped the light switch. Jordan remained downstairs, allowing her—no, making her—take time to think things through. He said he would agree to whatever she decided. With each step she prayed that she was doing the right thing. None of her experience gave her guidance in whether what she felt was love, but it was something. Something that made her stronger, more confident. Emma had said in her journal that she wished Catherine could have known what it was like having a man hold her, having a man make love to her. Since Jordan, she wanted it for herself.

What if…what if he doesn’t love me? What if he leaves me as soon as he’s had his fill? What if he leaves me with a baby? What if, what if, what if…? She would go crazy if she continued this way. Entering the bathroom, she came face-to-face with herself in the mirror over the sink. She had thought to cover it so she wouldn’t be tempted to observe herself, but now she looked. Her face reflected back with paleness that nearly rivaled her collar. Short brown hair, shiny under the harsh bathroom bulb but unruly and wavy, hung over the tips of her ears on the sides and to the bottoms of her ears in back. Her lips were too full. Mother Superior had been right —right about everything. She was plain, with nothing to

recommend her, especially to a man. “Catherine?” She shut her eyes. Oh Lord, Jordan is wondering what

I’m thinking, what’s taking so long. What should I do, Father? Please give me a sign. Inexplicably, her collar fell to the floor. “How…?” It tied in back. Jordan must have loosened it when he caressed her neck. She felt his hand there on her nape, even now. Was this the sign she had asked for? The collar —a part of her habit—had fallen away. Maybe the rest should, too. Margaret Mary walked to the top of the stairwell. “Jordan, you may come up.” Nerves struck. “If you still want to, I mean.” Relief flooded her when his tread sounded on the stair. She retreated once more to the bathroom, this time closing the door. After a great deal of lip biting and trying to make her riotous emotions come under control, she took the road in life she wanted, instead of the road duty called her to. And prayed she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. Then, with shaky hands and stiff fingers, she took great care removing her habit, folding each piece and setting it aside as though it was the last time she would be wearing it. “It is the last time,” she murmured. “The last time I shall wear the veil as the bride of Christ, chaste and virtuous.” From now on, she would be a fraud in a costume instead of wearing clothing that had defined her life.

Of course, she would have to wear it again. She would be expected to attend Mass and, for that reason, had to don the habit. But she would know the ruse, and she would pay the price eventually. “But not tonight, dear Lord. Please not tonight, after this amazing day.” Pulling on her robe, she turned out the bathroom light and emerged into the hall. Jordan stood just inside the bedroom. He had turned out the bright overhead light and left on only one near the bed. The room was dim and inviting. Or it would have been inviting had she not stood there clad only in a thin cotton robe and shivering with nerves. “Come here,” he said, holding out his arms. Slowly she obeyed. “You might not believe this, but I think I have some idea of how nervous you are.” “But, how can you?” “Everyone has a first time.” He ran his hands up and down her arms until he rubbed the tension away and she leaned into him. “We’re going to take our time,” he continued. “Anything you feel uncomfortable about, I’ll stop.” She had to laugh. “Anything I feel uncomfortable about? There hasn’t been a thing since I stepped off the train that I do feel comfortable about.” She stepped back and looked into his eyes. “Except you.” She shrugged her shoulders and the robe fell off, forming a puddle on the floor at her feet. Immediately, she ducked her head and automatically reached for her rosary. The beads she had received as a postulate were now on top of the pile of clothing in the

bathroom, rejected and left behind. Panic swelled inside.

What am I doing? “I love you, Catherine. You’re the most beautiful woman God ever created.” Nothing could have made her stand there, exposed to a man for the first time, except words such as those. “I’m old. I can’t imagine that I’m beautiful.” Tension made her shoulders ache and her stomach cramp. “You are, trust me. And you can’t be more than thirty-two. That is not old. You can still do anything you want.” He stepped closer and skimmed her bare shoulders. She trembled under his touch. “You can still have children.” Another wave of alarm rolled through her. “Jordan, can you ensure…I mean, is there a way to make sure I don’t—” “Don’t worry,” he whispered as though calming a frightened animal, which was just how she felt. “I’ll take care of it.” He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. “Do you want to watch me undress, or shall I turn out this light?” Feeling like a coward, she nonetheless said, “Please, without light.” He obliged. “That’s all right. This time we’ll get to know each other by touch.” Margaret Mary hadn’t been this nervous since…since ever. She thought she might be sick. Truly. She needed to get off the bed and into the bathroom before she disgraced herself. Then Jordan pulled back the covers and slid in beside her. Oh, Lord help me!

He put his arm under her head and used his other hand to tug her closer. “I’m going to kiss you. Just kiss you, like we already did.” Mute, she nodded. But this time when he kissed her and held her against him, they were skin to skin. Her breasts pressed his chest, her stomach glided over his, her legs stretched out along the same path as his. Something hard and long lay against her leg. When Jordan sensually sent his tongue into her mouth she remembered what he’d said before, that his tongue mimicked his penis, which must be that thing that rubbed her when he flexed his hips. Now he thrust his tongue in and out. Her senses muddled, she sucked at it to keep it in. He stroked her hair and ran his hands down her back. Tentatively, she reached up and did the same, stroking his head and rubbing her hand along his jaw to his neck. Then she continued down, lightly skimming his chest, stopping for a moment at his nipple. Farther, his side led to a barely flaring hip where his bone was prominent. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He was fit and lean. Margaret Mary held her hand there, not daring to move on. Jordan raised his head and concentrated his kisses along her jaw and up to her ear. A kiss was a kiss, right? No, these sent a new thrill through her. When he took the fleshy part of her earlobe between his teeth and bit down lightly, she wanted to cry out with desire. At the same time, he placed his hand atop hers and guided it down his thigh and onto that great thick rod that prodded her thigh.

“This is what goes into a woman when she makes love with a man. If you still want me, I’ll cover it so you’ll be protected. Then we’ll come together through your vagina.” She tried to wrap her hand around it and could just do it. “This can’t fit inside me.” “It will, sweetheart, I promise.” “Will it hurt?” She felt like a child, frightened of the unknown, and for the first time, she thought of a consequence other than pregnancy or being left on her own, emotionally tied to Jordan. “I understand it will hurt the first time. But I’ll do my best to make it good for you. And when it’s good, it’s very, very good.” He moved down in the bed, effectively sliding his penis out of reach. “I want to control myself, and I won’t be able to much longer if you keep stroking me that way. Just relax. Let me take care of you.” He dipped his head and took the nipple of one breast into his mouth. His tongue swirling around the hard tip sent her into mindless bliss. Can it get better than this? Then he slid down farther, dropping kisses across her stomach and to the curly hair at the top of her pubis. She stopped breathing when he crawled between her legs and used his shoulders to open her to his mouth. She gripped the sheets, unable to breathe or move or speak. He lapped at her, sinking his tongue into her vagina and licking her clitoris, two places the nuns warned that the devil loved to tempt women. Postulants were all told not to touch themselves for fear of following Satan to hell. If Jordan was Satan, she would follow him gladly to continue

the sensations he engendered. Suddenly, her very sense of being splintered into a million pieces. She lurched up off the bed, her body begging him to take more of her into his mouth, to swallow her whole. She called out to God, though prayer was the farthest thing from her mind. Can it get better than this? Before she came back to her sane mind, Jordan moved up between her legs. “Catherine, do you want me? Do you want to make love with me? Say it out loud, sweetheart.” His fingers stroked her vagina’s entrance, a tantalizing tease. He presented her with the final decision—become like Emma, taking a man to her body without marriage but becoming a woman in the truest sense of the word, or go back to the convent much as she’d left it, a woman on the edge of living. “Please, Jordan, make love to me.” “Thank God,” he murmured. She watched him tear open a square of foil with his teeth and then slide something over his penis. Her heart hammered as he pressed into her vagina. Slowly at first, giving her time to accommodate him, he eased farther inside. She stretched her legs as far as she could so he would fit within the V her legs formed. Suddenly, he pushed firmly and a rending pain shot through her. She threw her head back on the pillow and fought passing out. “I’m sorry,” he said into her ear. “I’m so sorry, but it’ll be better now. I’ll make it better, I promise.” He shoved deep inside and then stopped, taking a harsh breath. “I have to move, Catherine, but that will make it good. Just try to

relax.” He pulled his hips back and then thrust. Then he did it again. And again. And again, and now she moved with him. Tension built within, near bursting as they rose and fell against each other in concert. Their bodies slapped together. Margaret Mary was hot and then she was hotter. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and into his, sharing the fire that threatened to engulf her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought her knees up high on his hips. He pounded her into the mattress, his breathing labored, his shoulder, where she kissed him, salty with sweat. Lightning flashed behind her closed eyelids. She took a halting breath and went still with the wonder that unfolded within her body. Who knew that such a glorious experience happened between a man and woman? Jordan groaned and went still, too. Moments later, he rolled to her side and pulled her with him. His chest heaved with effort, and he said nothing. Did he feel at sixes as she did? Was his heart near bursting? Or did he wish he had never taken the nun to bed? She feared more than anything that she had been a disappointment to him. “Thank you, Catherine, for the most momentous night of my life.” “You aren’t disappointed in me?” “Nothing could be further from my mind. Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you too badly?” “It hurt, but you more than made up for it. I never imagined anything like this.”

He smiled and stroked her hair. “I never did, either.” He kissed her. “Let me go and get rid of this condom, and maybe we can catch some sleep before we do this again.” “Didn’t I do it right?” He only laughed and kissed her before saying, “You were perfect in every way. But lying here with you, I know I will want to make love with you before morning. That is, if you liked it well enough to want to do it.” Shy, she hid her face in his shoulder. “I liked it very much.” “I’m very glad. I’d hate to be the only one who thought I’d died and gone to heaven.” He kissed the top of her head and then extricated himself to go into the bathroom. When he came back and snuggled her against him, he fell asleep almost right away. She lay awake, thinking. About God, the Church, the betrayal of her vows? No. She thought that now she knew what life was for, what it meant to be a woman and in love. And she knew one more thing. It can’t get better than this.

Chapter Seventeen When he came from the bathroom and slipped back into bed, Jordan immediately feigned sleep. He was very much afraid that if they spoke, Catherine would tell him that she regretted what they had done. What he had done, to her. Jordan was certain Sister Margaret Mary would have second thoughts, but he’d hate knowing that Catherine did. Sure, she’d had a choice, but what kind of one? He knew what they were headed for, and should have stopped it. He’d given into weakness at every step, paying more attention to what he wanted than to what he should have done. Expecting a nun to put on the brakes when hormones were driving her forward at the speed of a freight train was like asking a child to turn down an ice cream cone. He should have been doing the thinking for both of them, and he’d failed. Now he waited to see if she slipped out of bed to pray or if she cried or pulled away from him when she thought he was sleeping. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t do any of those things. And she didn’t. She lay awake for a short while—he could tell from her breathing—and then curled up closer to him and drifted off. When he woke up next, his cock ached for Catherine’s pussy but she was gone. Before stumbling around in the dark, he turned onto his back and took stock. That was when he heard her.

As quietly as possible, he rose and went to the doorway. On the other side of the bathroom was another room, a sitting room of sorts, if he remembered. The door was pulled half-closed. Peering in, he saw Catherine in a long white nightgown, on her knees before the window. Now he could distinguish her words, and they both broke his heart and filled him with joy. “Holy Father, I come to beg Your understanding, if not Your forgiveness. I know the bride of God is supposed to be chaste, to think only of her duty to You. But Father, I love this man. I know we have sinned by making love before marriage, but I’m not sure Jordan would want to marry me, and I’m not sure I could stand to leave the veil. For the short time that I’m here, can I not serve You simply by being happy? Would I not be doing Your will by sharing my happiness with Jordan and all others I meet? I could not bear to live without the sunlight of Your love, and I don’t want to be like my mother, Lord, but I fear I cannot give him up.” She bowed her head. “You are not like your mother,” he said. Catherine jumped to her feet and spun to face him. “Have you stood there long?” He shook his head. “No. Just long enough to discern that you’re happy. So am I.” She came to him then, wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Do you think we’ll go to Hell if we continue?” He squeezed her to him. “I’m not a perfect man.” She raised her head and opened her mouth to speak. He

quieted her with a finger to her lips. “No matter what you may think.” “I was going to say that none of us is perfect.” “Oh.” Deflated that she didn’t think him perfect after all, he mentally kicked himself in the ass. It was silly to be disappointed over something so petty when he held the most perfect woman in creation. “But you are closer than some,” she said and placed her head back on his shoulder. “Thank you for that,” he said dryly, and she chuckled. How much she had changed in the last twenty-four hours. She had blossomed like the wild meadow flowers. “What I was going to say was that I’m probably going to Hell for a lot of things I’ve done. If I thought I was going solely for loving you, I’d have done it anyway. Feeling my cock deep inside your pussy, every inch of me touching every inch of you, feeling you grip me when you came—” He stopped and took a breath because he couldn’t go down that path with words without following them with actions. “I have no idea what you just said, but it makes me want to go back to bed with you. You said we could do it again. Can we do it now?” In answer, he tried to keep his heart from hammering out of his chest while he swept her up and carried her across the way. When he set her back on her feet, he whisked the gown up and over her head. She placed her hands on his hips and kissed him. “I would marry you,” he said.

“What?” “There’s no need to wonder. I would marry you, right now. I love you as you love me, and that’s the difference between you and Emma. She might have loved Brendan Tipton, but he doesn’t have the capacity to love anyone back. He kept her, but he didn’t love her. You aren’t your mother just because we do what they did.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, they didn’t do what we did. We made love. They fucked. Have you heard that word before?” “No.” “It means they had sex, but not like we have.” Leaning back so he could see her eyes, he said, “God wouldn’t deny you the chance to experience love, Catherine, or the arms of a man.” “Are you sure?” “I’ll never lie to you.” She smiled, and he didn’t see a trace of regret in her eyes. Then she climbed into bed. He picked up another of the condoms he’d left on the nightstand and tore open the wrapper. His cock throbbed when he slid the sheath over it. Soon, he hoped she would be interested in learning what pleased him with her hands and maybe with her mouth. But for now, he’d be happy just using her pussy, feeling her soft hands on his body, and taking her cries of passion into his mouth. She lay with one leg spread and the other knee bent, foot flat on the bed. Because of the darkness she revealed herself, but she probably didn’t realize that his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see her breasts, firm

and full, with wide nipples that screamed to be kissed. He already knew her torso to be long and supple, all muscle and soft, soft skin. Her legs were long enough to wrap around him and strong enough to help her buck against him when she came. And then there was her sweet face. Though not beautiful by some standards, she could serve as a model for the Old Masters. Her features were perfectly balanced. Her mouth boasted full, lush lips, and her eyes held empathy in their light-brown depths. He had never seen eyes like Catherine’s. But her eyes didn’t hold his attention right now. He reached out to touch her pussy. She rose up to meet his hand, practically riding his fingers. And she was wet, so wet, already. He couldn’t resist sucking her clit and tasting her cream. She held his head and pushed her hips up, asking wordlessly for more. When he finally climbed up over her, mind numb with lust, she had climaxed twice. His chin covered with her juices, he longed to kiss her deeply and give her a taste of herself, a flavor he’d already come to identify as pure Catherine. His dick glided into her at the same time his tongue did. She sucked it greedily, just as she rose to meet his thrusts. He took her with a hunger no other woman had inspired in him. In only a few minutes, they came together. She clung to him in the strength of her orgasm, and it was all he could do not to crush her to him as he released his body’s power. Her pussy grabbed his dick, milking him of cum, draining his energy and yet reenergizing him. His power over her was nothing compared to what she commanded of him.

And he gave, willingly, happily, to have her with him. When they finally ended, he rolled onto his back to catch his breath. Earlier, he’d put a trash can beside the bed, and he discarded the condom. When he pulled her over to straddle him, her pussy to his nearly flaccid cock, her cream mingling with the residue of his cum, a sense of peace and communion overtook him. He could see himself spending his life with her, having children, building a future. Catherine and Mark and him. They would make a fierce threesome in the world. The image of life without either of them appeared dim and murky. At first, he’d thought only of having her. Then of having her with Mark. Now he wanted so much more. He wanted the world. But the world was full of problems. Where could they live the way he wanted? And what about Catherine? Would she agree to two men? Would she even agree to keep loving him? She’d given no indication that she would leave the convent. In fact, in the same breath practically, she had said she couldn’t live without him but couldn’t leave the Church. What the hell does that mean? She nuzzled his neck, and he forgot his doubts. He would have her. Once he set his mind to a challenge, he won. He always had, so he would again. Wouldn’t he? “I’m so afraid I’m not pleasing you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.” He reached down and pulled the sheet over the two of them before stroking her back. “You’re amazing. You make me feel like I own the world.” “I do?”

“You do,” he assured her. “I’ve always heard that virgins are tight and that sex can be hard for them, and for the man. But you fit me as though we were made for each other. Know what? I think we were.” “So you’ve never made love to a virgin before?” “You’re my first. With you, I feel as though I’ve never made love with anyone else. You make me…” He gave up trying to come up with the words. “I don’t know how to describe it.” Moving his head to the side so he could see her, he asked, “You don’t have anything to compare this to, but how are you feeling?” Her laughter held wonder and joy, not amusement. “I could describe how I feel, but anything I said would be blasphemy because the words I’d choose are normally reserved for descriptions of God. Glorious, awestruck. When we ended together, I could feel you inside me. It felt…holy, blessed. How could anyone say such an act is sinful?” “Father Samuels would condemn us for it.” She nodded and pressed her lips to his neck and then his upper jaw and then his ear. If it were humanly possible, he’d be erect again. He’d lift her over his cock and slide into heaven using her warm honey to ease the way. Hell, he was still halfway hard from their last time, but he only was able to find three condoms from Emma’s bedside table. Evidently at least one of her gentleman callers didn’t want a little bastard running around. Jordan hadn’t planned to spend the night fucking Catherine. If he had, he would have brought more than three rubbers. He had to content himself

with holding her or do without when they woke in the morning, and he wasn’t willing to give up the chance to meet the dawn deep inside his Catherine. Even so, his cock stirred. Like a born seductress, she wiggled her butt, placing her pussy in the danger zone. “Sweetheart, you’re about to feel what it’s like to have sex without protection if you keep on. I don’t want you to get pregnant, so maybe you’d better slide off to the side.” She flexed her hips. He about died. Then she swung her leg over and cuddled up. “Mother Superior might not let me come back if she knew about this.” “How would she know?” “Father Samuels. She wrote and told him my soul and I were in his care.” “He’s doing a piss-poor job if he let you ride home with Brendan Tipton. He knows what kind of man he was, that he and your—” Damned idiot! She didn’t need to hear about her mother’s lovers. “It’s okay, Jordan. I know about them. My mother had a journal, and he’s named.” “Did you say there were two men?” She was silent. He rolled to his side so he could see her. Taking her hands in his one, he held them to his chest. “Your mother was a sweet and generous woman. I don’t understand why she left you alone in that school, but I do know that when people let her, she gave a lot to this town. She helped nurse people in the last flu epidemic, and she’s given large amounts of money to the school here and other

good causes. People in Ballymeade have a lot they owe to Emma Jacobsen, I don’t care how many men she slept with.” “You don’t condemn her?” “I liked her. Whatever she did with Brendan and the other man has nothing to do with me or how she treated people.” A sudden thought struck him. Her question and his mother’s comments formed a thundercloud in his thoughts. “You wanted to know my dad’s name. Is it because of the journal?” “Yes. But it’s okay. The other man’s name is Leo.” He exhaled. “Good.” Would it have mattered if she’d said Robert? It shouldn’t, but maybe. He’d always thought of his dad as having the strength of a lion, not just in body— he was big, like Jordan—but in character. He had been a well-respected jurist and a pillar of integrity, known throughout the western region. So, yeah, if he’d found out his father was screwing Emma Jacobsen in the same bed where he lay with Emma’s daughter, it would change a lot of things for him. Now he could put it all aside. His dad was dead, but Jordan lay beside the woman of his dreams. The past could stay in the past.

Chapter Eighteen “Catherine.” She heard the name as though through a fog. “Catherine?” “Just a few more minutes, Mama.” She rolled over, directly into something solid. Her eyes fluttered open. A man’s bare shoulder touched her nose. Jordan. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled closer. He folded his arms around her, too. “You asked me to wake you at four.” He rested his chin on her head. “And thankfully, I’m not your mother, or I wouldn’t be able to do this.” His penis nudged her legs. “Hmm, that is nice.” In fact, desire to feel him inside her welled up. Jordan swept his hand down her back and squeezed her buttocks, and a new thrill ran through her. He whispered her name with such need she felt it with every nerve. “I want you, too,” she whispered back. “Slow and easy. We’ll take our time.” Moving his hand from her butt to her front, he lifted her leg over his hip and dipped his fingers into her vagina. “You’re wet,” he said, “and hot.” “I can’t seem to help it.” “I’m very glad.” Jordan rolled away from her and picked something up from the nightstand. In the dark, she couldn’t see exactly

what he did, but from the sound of tearing foil, she knew that he covered himself. And then he turned back to her. “Put your leg high on my hip,” he said. Before entering her he swished his penis up and down, along the crease between her legs and across her clitoris. Her breath hiked and her hips jerked. She clutched at him and raised her head to press her lips to his. Immediately, he slanted his head and opened his mouth. For the first time, she slid her tongue into his mouth, tentatively exploring it and feeling the tug of his gentle sucking. At nearly the same moment, he found the entrance to her vagina and probed it. With a thrust of her hips, she invited him farther, and he accepted with slow, steady drives. With his free hand, he reached between them and circled her nipple with his thumb. She arched her back into his hand. In response, she ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his neck. He set the pace with leisurely, almost sleepy moves. She compensated by feeding the growing surge to climax by touching him with her hands and lips, across his shoulders and along his jaw. He dove deep, pulling out and gliding in. Then he made short, tight jabs, just inside her entrance. Gulping, she pressed as closely to him as possible. “Hurry,” she urged him. “Oh, don’t stop.” He moved his hand from her breast to that point between them where they merged and took her clitoris between thumb and forefinger. “Yes,” she said on a moan. “Yes, yes.” Her thoughts

shattered. She dug her nails into his arms and kissed his shoulder, sucking hard in an effort to stifle a scream of passion. “God, what a woman,” Jordan murmured close to her ear. “My woman.” Her climax rolled on and on. She threw back her head and gasped for breath even as she clenched her vaginal muscles and jerked her hips forward, riding Jordan’s penis and drawing him deeper within. So far gone was she, Jordan’s climax came without her knowing. She struggled to find her even keel for several minutes after he relaxed his hold and lowered her leg. “What a hold you have on me,” she said finally. “I can say the same of you. I can’t get enough of you.” She smiled, drained of all energy and yet feeling alive as she never had before. “I wish it could go on,” she said, stroking his jaw. “Why can’t it?” He pulled back and looked at her, a question in his eyes. “I asked God for a perfect day. He granted me that and a night, too. But now it’s over. It’s time for me to return to my life and you to yours.” He took her hand and kissed each fingertip. “It’s not that easy. You’re my life now.” “Jordan,” she whispered. “I love to hear you say my name. I love holding you and kissing you.” He skimmed his hand down her torso to her hips. “I love having my cock so far in your pussy you know it’s a part of you. If I could, I’d come inside you and know my

sperm might join with you and start a baby. I see you in my mind’s eye, big with our child.” Her breath had quickened with each word. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I asked God for a day.” “You asked him to allow you happiness for the time you were here. I heard you.” He kissed her over and over, but she steeled herself against him. “Let me love you,” he urged. “Give me the chance to convince you that you belong with me.” “Not during the day.” Why had she said that? She meant to deny him altogether. She had to, or deny the rest of her life, the life she had believed in with all her being since childhood. Why try? She wanted him as much as he wanted her. “Wanting something is no reason to have it. Satan puts things before you that you want, but they are not what God wants you to have.” She heard the words of Mother Superior as clearly as if she were there in the room. Following quickly, she heard Jordan’s voice saying that God would not deny her love or the arms of a man. Would God care that she wasn’t married to the man with whom she had shared her body, or would he be happy for their love? “Loving must wait until the night. During the day I must remain what everyone thinks I am. Promise me, Jordan.” He hesitated only a moment. “I promise.” ****

When she walked down the steps in her habit, Jordan wanted to shout at heaven at the unfairness of it all. He’d finally found a woman he could spend his life with, and she couldn’t acknowledge her feelings in return. “I hid the car beside the house while you were showering. Lonnie won’t see it when he picks you up for Mass.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, damn it. He had to remember that the woman who dropped her head in submission, who spoke in a small voice and deferred to those around her, was the nun, Sister Margaret Mary, and one side of the woman who had set his night on fire with her hot cunt and burning kisses. Accept one part of her, accept it all. He would accept it all. “Thank you, Jordan.” “I’ll be there to pick you up afterward.” “It’s Sunday, so Mass will be a little longer. Do you mind?” She sounded nervous, asking the question. “Of course I don’t mind.” Her tone needled him. Sure, he was relinquishing holding her, touching her, kissing her during the daylight hours—and that was damn hard—but did she think he’d be mad over waiting a little extra time?

Touchy, touchy. She’s only doing what she thinks is right. Fuck it! What’s right is going back upstairs and spending the day in bed. Lonnie’s Nash came barreling down the lane. Jordan bent to kiss her, but she recoiled. “I can’t, Jordan. Please. If I kissed you, everyone would know. It would show in my

eyes. I have to be careful.” “I understand. Sorry.” She gave a curt nod and hurried out. Jordan raked his hair back. Shit. How was he going to be able to handle this when every inch of him wanted to touch every inch of her every damn minute they were together? He waited until the sound of Lonnie’s car disappeared up the road before stepping out to retrieve his own vehicle from its hiding spot alongside the house. The morning was crisp and clear, with no mist off the ocean. Just the kind of day he loved. The drive home went quickly, the windows down and radio on. Before he went upstairs to clean up, he stopped by the kitchen. “Mandy, I’m bringing home a guest for dinner. Is that a problem?” “You know we always have more than enough for Sunday dinner. I just hope it’s a pretty young woman you’re bringin’ home. It’s time you were married.” Jordan dropped a kiss on the Negro woman’s cheek. “Don’t you worry about me. Why don’t you get married?” “You go on, now. I’ve done had me one man, and he was enough.” Jordan laughed, taking the back stairs two at a time. His mother came out of her room adjusting a pearl necklace around her throat when he reached the top of the steps and started down the hall to his room. “What is so amusing? And you’d better hurry and get ready if you’re coming to church with me.”

“Mandy’s what’s funny, and I’m not going to church with you. I’m cleaning up and then picking up Sister Margaret Mary at the Catholic church.” His mother frowned. “You’re going to work on Sunday?” “No, I’m bringing her here for dinner.” She dropped her arms and stood back, ramrod straight. “You are not. I will not have her here.” “Why?” “She isn’t welcome.” “Then don’t expect me here, either. She’s my client and she’s a nun. What could you possibly have against her?” She stood there, lips thinned, silent. “All right then,” she finally muttered. “Bring her to dinner.” And she spun and stormed off, much as she had the other night. At the top of the main stairwell, she turned. “Where were you last night? I waited until eleven and you weren’t home.” “I stayed with a friend. I told you I might be late.” “All night is not ‘late’.” “I apologize. But I’ll likely be out overnight a lot for a while. A friend and I have a project going on, and it requires nighttime hours.” “Do I know this friend?” “No. But if things work out as I hope, you will.” “I see.” She walked stiffly down the stairs. What in hell was wrong with her? She’d been acting strangely ever since he got home and seemed to be getting worse. What would Catherine’s opinion be regarding his mother’s behavior? As something of an innocent—he grinned. Not quite so innocent now—and outsider, would

she see signs of illness in his mother that he was too close to see? He had to get Catherine there first, so she could meet his mother. He wondered how the two women most important to him would get along. He knew his mother would come to love Catherine—how could she not? A sweeter, more wonderful woman hadn’t lived on Earth. He only hoped Catherine would like his mother, too. Whistling, he hurried to his room and ripped off his clothing. Buck naked, he started shaving and was nearly finished when he noticed the hickey on his shoulder. Grinning, he touched the bruise. She had more passion than she knew, and however sheltered she’d grown up, her body had a sense of what to do and how to do it when she lay with him. What they had was damn good. He only hoped he could convince her of it. He showered and dressed in minutes, choosing his blue suit instead of the black. There would be plenty enough of that at the table with Catherine’s habit. The phone rang as he was pocketing wallet and keys. “Mr. Jordan?” Mandy called. “Telephone!” “Thanks!” He strode to the hall extension while strapping on his watch. Then he planned to pack a bag to store in the trunk. If he stayed the nights with Catherine, he didn’t want to show up at home every morning in the same clothing. “Hello.” “Jordan?” The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Mark?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The voice at the other end of the line didn’t sound like the Mark he knew. That man had been big—in body and voice—and confident. This man’s voice held a tentativeness that should have been alien to him. “Hey, Buddy, I was going to call you today but I got tied up. Listen, I hate to cut your time with your family short, but we need to talk. I wondered if maybe you could come down here.” “You were going ask me to come to Oregon? Well, shit. Then you might be happy to know I’m already on the way. Cutting my family time is fine, really.” Just like Mark, to be ahead of him. But something was wrong in his tone, in his manner. “Great minds thinking alike. Where the hell are you?” “Seattle. Listen, I hate to be a pain in the ass, but is there any way you can come and get me?” “In Seattle?” “No, hell no. My train is due to leave in a few minutes, and we’re supposed to be in Portland around three. Is that possible?” “Sure. We’ll meet you at the station.” “We?” If anything, he sounded even more hesitant. “You’ll see. Don’t worry about anything, okay? Family is great, but you’re among friends now.” “Thanks, Jordan. I knew I could count on you.” “See you later, then.” When he hung up, Jordan couldn’t help harboring a few worries himself. His best friend sounded changed. What had that ambush had done to him? And his mother. She

seemed always to be angry. Beyond all that, he was fucking a nun. Jordan smiled. Life was good.

Chapter Nineteen Margaret Mary kept her head down and her hands fingering her rosary. This persona fit her so much more comfortably than the one she had adopted last night, but still she had to fight with everything she had to keep the joy and desire from her expression and her voice when Jordan strode toward her after Mass. Even acting as normally as she always did, Father Samuels looked at her with suspicion, probably because of the way Jordan smiled at her when she glanced at him. “Hello, Father,” he said when he reached them at the church steps. People milled around the area, talking before driving home. “You kept Sister Margaret Mary sightseeing too long, Jordan. She looks tired this morning.” “I told you, Father,” she said quietly. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” “Hmph. Too much excitement. Mrs. Miller has offered to have you to Sunday dinner.” “Yes, Fath—” “That’s not possible,” Jordan interjected. “My mother is expecting her. Our cook has already prepared extra.” Margaret Mary looked up to see how the priest took that news. He glared at Jordan. Did he suspect the way they spent the night? If he took one good look at her he’d have to. She must glow. “Are you ready, Sister?” Jordan asked politely.

“Yes, Jordan.” She started after him when Father Samuels grabbed her arm. “You are spending too much time with him.” Affronted, she shook her arm free. “You said he was the best person for me to work with.” “I was wrong. I’ll find someone else.” “No!” The wide-eyed expression on his face showed his amazement at her answer and tone. She was no less surprised. “I–I’m sorry, Father, but Jordan has been a tremendous help. I will be here twice as long with anyone else. He cleans and packs and records everything for the legal matters as well.” “I am not concerned with legalities. I am worried about your soul.” She turned to see Jordan waiting from a few feet away, listening to the exchange. “You have no reason to worry about my soul,” she said loud enough for the priest to hear. “God is watching over me. I trust in His wisdom.” “I hope you know what you are doing, girl.” She snapped her head around and met his eyes directly for the first time. “Please do not patronize me, Father Samuels.” She began walking toward Jordan. Turning, she said, “And I am not a girl.” By the time she reached Jordan, she was shaking almost uncontrollably. She had never spoken to a priest so disrespectfully. “I know that was hard, but I’m proud of you.” Jordan opened the door for her. “I thought God would strike me dead right there and

then.” Jordan climbed behind the wheel and started the engine without looking at her. “I was afraid to look at you back there,” he said. “I just knew everyone would be able to see that we’d spent the whole night loving each other.” “I had the same fear.” “Being with you and not holding you is going to be harder than I thought.” “Are we really having lunch with your mother?” “We sure are. Then we’re going on to Portland to pick up a good friend. No working on Sunday.” “Oh, Jordan, I can’t, really. There’s so much to do.” “Tomorrow is soon enough. And we’ll have an extra pair of hands.” “I don’t know—oh my goodness!” He drove up a driveway and stopped before a house nearly as large as the nuns’ dormitory at St. Agnes. “This is where you live?” “All my life. The house was too large for us, even then. It would have been different if I hadn’t been an only child, but now it’s like living in a cavern for Mother. At least when Dad was alive they entertained a great deal.” He leaned over the steering wheel, staring up at the three-story, stone structure. “I’ve been trying to convince her to get something smaller, but she won’t have it.” “I understand. It’s her home.” He turned his warm gaze on her. “See why I love you? You’re so sweet.” Jordan walked around the car and extended his hand to help her out, but she hesitated to touch him in any way.

What if his heat drove her crazy? “It’s okay,” he said, reading her mind. “Whatever we feel now we can make up for tonight.” Tonight. Living a double life was hard. She spent the daylight hours longing for the darkness. Jordan’s mother met them at the door. “Thank you for inviting me to dine with you, Mrs. Parnell.” “Jordan invited you.” Margaret Mary withdrew from the animosity that rolled off the woman. Jordan’s hand tightened on her elbow, giving her strength. She would need it if this was any indication of their mealtime. “I believe Mandy has already laid the table.” Mrs. Parnell swiveled on her heel and walked off, leaving them to follow. “You’ll like Mandy,” Jordan said. “Is she the cook who wants to fatten you up?” she asked, smiling. “Yeah. Wait until she lays eyes on you. She’ll be packing even more in that lunch basket.” Margaret Mary laughed. She couldn’t help what Mrs. Parnell might think. Jordan led her to the dining room and held out her chair before doing the same for his mother. Before he could take his own seat, an older Negro woman entered through a different door. She stopped short when she met Margaret Mary’s gaze. “You must be Mandy, the wonderful cook Jordan is always talking about.” The woman grinned. “He’s a sweet boy, but he’s a mite

thin after fighting overseas.” She set a bowl of potatoes on the table. “Not a future wife, I see,” she muttered to Jordan. The lunch of roast beef and vegetables was delicious, but she could hardly eat. Jordan sat across from her, so close and yet too far. His mother barely spoke, no matter how often Margaret Mary tried to engage her in conversation. What had she done to inspire such anger? “Sure you don’t want pie?” Mandy asked her when she came in with dessert plates and coffee. “Positive, thank you.” When Mandy served Jordan and his mother and then withdrew, Margaret Mary gained the strength to ask why she didn’t eat with them. “Why, she’s a servant. This is the family table.” “I’m sorry. I just thought—” “You did not think, obviously.” “Mother, stop it!” She had only heard Jordan sound angrier with Mr. Tipton. She gave him a warning shake of her head and saw him draw a deep breath. “Sister Margaret Mary is our guest.” The woman drank her coffee. Margaret Mary should have stayed quiet, but she couldn’t resist trying again. This was Jordan’s mother. Even if she would always be a nun to the woman, she wanted her to like her. “I’d like to offer my condolences on the death of your husband, Mrs. Parnell.” Instead of affection—or even tolerance—Mrs. Parnell’s gaze was full of hatred. “He died two months ago of a heart attack, right after I told him I’d never give him a divorce.” What was she to say to that? Was there some hidden

meaning she should infer? “Two weeks later, your mother jumped off the cliff outside her front door.” The blood rushed from her head. Swarms of dots filled her vision. “What?” Jordan’s brows bunched. “Didn’t your Mother Superior tell you?” She gripped the table and tried to focus on him. “Tell me what?” His mother smiled. “Your mother, the town whore, committed suicide.” Margaret Mary saw only blackness before she hit the floor. **** Her eyelids fluttered, thank God. Hopefully that meant she hadn’t hurt her head too badly when she fell. He chafed her hands, ice cold from shock, between his. Kneeling beside where she lay on the living room sofa, he looked up as Mandy brought in a glass of water. “Thanks.” “Poor thing,” Mandy said in a low voice. “She can’t help what her mom was. Your mother ought to know that.” “Miss Jacobsen wasn’t the town whore, Mandy. She was Brendan Tipton’s mistress. There’s a fine difference.” He looked up. “Do you know what’s going on around here? Mother’s been acting strangely.” “Your parents hadn’t been happy for a long time, not since I been with ‘em, but I never thought after all these

years your dad would ask for a divorce. Guess your mother didn’t either. That was a shock, and then the heart attack came on top of everything.” “I thought they were happy. Shows how much I knew.” Catherine’s eyes opened slowly. “Hi. Are you all right?” “You knew?” “Of course. I thought you did, too. There didn’t seem to be any good reason to bring it up.” “But that means she died without grace.” “You don’t know that, now,” Mandy said soothingly. “The good Lord knows what’s in our hearts even before we do, and He listens.” “I hope and pray He saw the right message in my mother’s heart.” Jordan sat back on his heels. “I’m so sorry, Catherine. My mother had no right to speak to you like that.” He glanced at Mandy to see if she noticed that he’d accidentally used Catherine’s actual name, but she showed no reaction. He’d have to watch it. Making that mistake in front of most people would give them away. “Your mother is grieving. She lashed out, but she didn’t mean to hurt me. She just wants to be free of her own pain.” “I believe you’re right,” Mandy said. “And it’s good of you to think that way.” “Still, I’m getting you out of here.” Jordan stood, determined to get Catherine home as soon as possible. “Mandy, I’m going to be staying with a friend for the next couple of weeks.” But what the hell would he do with Mark? Considering his mother’s attitude, he could hardly leave his

friend there at the house, but neither would he give up his nights with Catherine. Mandy considered Catherine for a moment and then looked up at him. “You can come by each morning and evening and pick up meals. You’ll have enough to worry about without dealing with food, too.” He hugged her. “Thanks, Mandy.” “I’ve known you since you were a little boy, Jordan. You take care, you hear?” “Yes, ma’am.” She heaved a sigh. “You get this lady home now. Come by this evening. I’ll have some food put together.” “Thank you for a delicious dinner,” Catherine said. After her shock, she still exuded a sense of calmness that he lacked at the moment. Where did she develop that well of peace from which to draw? “You’re welcome, darlin’. I’m glad to meet you.” “I’m so sorry,” he said. “If I thought no one else had, I would have told you.” “Where is she buried? I should have asked Father Samuels before now. I should have asked to visit her grave.” “She’s laid in a corner of Brendan Tipton’s property. It overlooks the ocean, I understand.” “Did you attend the ceremony?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Was there a ceremony? I’m sure Father Samuels didn’t preside.” “I believe a few people from town attended.” “I attended.” Mandy shot a look to the stairs. “Your

mama don’t know,” she said to Jordan. “But Miss Jacobsen helped me out once, and I never forgot it. She was a kind lady who ended up in a bad situation.” “I wasn’t home from Korea yet. Would you like me to ask Tipton if we can go up there?” “No. Her body is there but not her soul.” She shivered, and he feared she would have a relapse. “I don’t want to ask Mr. Tipton for anything.” “Good,” Mandy added. “She lays in a beautiful spot, in view of the ocean. That damn Tipton did her right in death at least.” “I think we’ll be on our way, Mandy.” “Yes, go before your mama comes back down. And take care, now.” “We will.” Jordan helped Catherine up. “How do you feel?” he asked her. “Fine. I’m fine, Jordan.” But she gripped his hand as though he was her only lifeline.” He nodded. “Let’s get you home.” As he backed down the drive, he looked up to the window of his parents’ bedroom. He saw a brief glimpse of his mother, and then the curtain fell back into place. “Please don’t leave me home alone today, Jordan. I don’t think I could stand to be in that house all day with only my thoughts keeping me company.” “I’d hoped you’d come to Portland with me. Remember I told you about my friend Mark? He’s coming in today on the train.” “I’d like to go with you. Thank you.”

“And I think you should wear one of your mother’s dresses for the trip. Will you consider it?” “Why?” “Because I can’t keep my eyes off you, and because I want to hold your hand even now. Do you want to go all day and not touch?” “No.” She didn’t sound too totally convinced. “I don’t want to push you into anything, but you know how I feel.” “I feel the same.” She stared out the windshield and frowned. “What about Mark? What will you tell him about me?” “I’m not sure. We will talk with him when we see him.” He cast a quick glance her way. “I don’t want to give up our time together.” “I don’t either.” She faced him, and he saw shadows in her eyes. Had he put them there? Him with his ideas of “taking her home to meet mother”? What a farce that had been. What had he hoped to prove, that life with the Parnells would be better than life in her convent? If so, he’d failed. She bit her bottom lip. “Jordan, you know I have to go back, don’t you?” His heart sunk. “Do you?” “Oh, my love, you know I do. It’s my life, my vocation. This is a moment in time that has changed my life, but I have made a commitment to God and my community.” “What have you committed to me, Catherine?” He felt like a selfish SOB for sounding so needy, but God damn it,

he loved her. “My heart. My body. Is that enough?” “I guess it has to be.” He knew that leaving the convent would have been a giant step for her. He also knew he would do everything in his power to convince her to take that step.

Chapter Twenty They stood on the platform looking like every other couple, a handsome man holding the hand of a plain, tall woman. Catherine—she could only be Catherine in the peach-colored dress and matching cardigan, for Margaret Mary would surely sink into the Earth from shame—couldn’t get used to having her legs exposed from the knees down or feeling the breeze on her neck. Her hair was badly cut— even someone as inexperienced at judging hair as she could tell that—but the wave and curl stopped it from looking as badly as it might. Standing ramrod straight and stiff as the pillar holding the roof over their heads, she thought people might pity someone as good-looking and confident as Jordan being with someone like her, but no one seemed to pay them any mind at all. Gradually, the crowd thinned. Singles, couples, and groups departed in varying stages of gaiety. Soldiers in uniform hefted duffel bags and dispersed, all of them studied and dismissed by Jordan, looking for his friend. Finally, when no one else exited the train for several minutes, he frowned. “I wonder if something happened.” With a tug to her hand, he nudged her toward him. “Will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes? I’ll check at the information desk and see if he left a message.” She squeezed his hand. He had tried so hard to make up for his mother’s disclosure, showing his concern and worry with every action and word. “I’ll be fine. Go and see if

you can find out what happened.” He kissed her forehead and set out down the platform and into the station. Alone, Catherine folded her hands at her waist in her familiar way, feeling for her absent rosary beads. Had she arrived at the Ballymeade rail station less than a week ago? How much had changed. Never would she have imagined a short week ago, riding the train with Sisters Celeste and Brigitte, that she also rode toward a destiny completely unthought of. Jordan had brought equal amounts of bliss and confusion to her life. Would she have remained in Ohio and let the local priest handle her mother’s estate had she any inkling of what she would learn about herself in Oregon? But even with that knowledge, in ways different than before but no less real, she felt an outsider, with no place in either world—the convent or with Jordan. She glanced up the track, where cleaning crews had boarded, and saw a tall, thin man exit the train very slowly. He leaned heavily on a cane while trying to lift a bulging duffel bag with his right hand. He was not in uniform but had the bearing of a soldier when he stood and looked the length of the path he would travel. She saw the studied look of his gaze and felt the breath he inhaled as he squared his shoulders and set out, measuring each step as though determined to make it the entire way, no matter what. Without thinking, she stepped forward and walked to meet him. His limp became more apparent the closer she came to

him, as did something more horrible. His left ear was deformed. Horrific scars marred his left cheek and crossed over his eye. He didn’t meet her gaze as she approached. Here was a man who had lost his place in the world. She identified with him immediately. “You’re Mark, aren’t you?” she said when they met. “Yes.” He gazed at her a moment and then looked beyond her, down the track. “Are you with Jordan?” She smiled. “He didn’t tell you he was bringing me, did he?” He shifted his focus to her again and, for a second or two, studied her face. In that instant, his eyes—beautiful, expressive brown eyes—softened. “He said ‘we’ would be here to meet me. But he didn’t say the other half of ‘we’ was a beautiful woman.” The heat of a blush stole across her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, ducking her head in embarrassment. “Mark!” Jordan hurried toward them. Catherine stepped back as the two men came together, Mark dropping the heavy bag and catching himself on his cane just as Jordan shook his hand excitedly and then hugged the man. Catherine—and, she saw, Mark—recognized his one swift glance as Jordan’s appraisal. “How the hell are you?” he asked and picked up the duffel in such a casual way she might have thought he and Mark planned it. With his other hand he took hers, holding it so tightly she would have eased his grip if she hadn’t felt he needed to hold on for support. Seeing Mark scarred as he was must have been a shock.

“You’ve met Catherine, then,” Jordan continued without waiting for Mark’s reply, because his slow progress and scarred features showed all too clearly how he was doing. “I didn’t actually catch the name, but one look at her and it was clear she had to be with you. All of the prettiest girls always gravitated to you.” “The hell you say,” Jordan said, laughing. “This is Catherine Jacobsen. Catherine, meet Mark Collins, my best buddy since Parris Island and the best damned Marine ever.” “After you.” “I stand corrected. You’re with the two best damned Marines ever.” She laughed. “I feel very safe.” “You should,” Mark said. “How long have you two been together?” “I first laid eyes on this gorgeous woman less than a week ago. But already she’s captured my heart.” “I can see that,” Mark said at the same time she quietly said, “Jordan, really.” “It’s true,” he affirmed. They reached the station and entered the busy lobby. “You two wait by the door over there and I’ll bring the car around.” Jordan flashed her a reassuring smile and backtracked to a door behind them. “You’ve really known him for years?” she asked Mark. “Yeah. You’ve really known him less than a week?” “It seems longer,” she said and then quickly covered her mouth in surprise when he laughed. “I didn’t mean it quite

like that.” “I understand, though. He can be overwhelming.” She smiled and they walked on, her letting him set the pace to the door. “Are you in pain?” “Some. I’ve been on the train for a day and a half and my leg has gone too long without being worked, but it will get better.” “We have about two hours to Ballymeade. If you sit in back and put it on the seat, will that help?” He pushed the door open with his right hand and held it for her. “Thank you,” she murmured. She moved close to the curb, where he came up alongside. “Are you and Jordan lovers?” Startled, she looked up and then was startled again to find his intense gaze focused on her. “Why do you ask such a thing?” “Because I more or less invited myself down here, and I don’t want to intrude.” “I will let Jordan explain our relationship.” He nodded and searched the street instead of her face. What a strange man. Inside she quaked at Mark’s straightforward question, but she gathered courage in that she didn’t withdraw or collapse under his direct gaze. She was growing. **** “Are you hungry?” Jordan turned the car south on State

Route 99. Mark, in the backseat as Catherine had suggested, took a shuddered breath, believing that the swelling in his foot and lower leg would be reduced within an hour with them elevated on the seat. The trip had been pure hell, but he’d had little choice intruding on Jordan’s privacy. “No, I’m good.” “Well, then, I might as well bring this up now. Since we spoke yesterday, a lot has happened.” Mark tensed with anticipation of bad news. “Catherine is in town for only a short time, and things have moved pretty fast. At the same time, my mother has started acting strangely, to the point where I’ve moved partially to Catherine’s.” “I don’t want to intrude.” “No, no. There’s plenty of room at my mother’s. You’d only be sleeping there. You’d spend the rest of the time with Catherine and me at the cottage. I just hesitate to ask you to spend the nights at home without me to serve as a buffer. I’m not sure what crazy things my mother would say, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” “If she doesn’t mind my being there, I’m sure it’ll be okay.” Any other time, Mark would have kidded Jordan about sleeping with the beautiful woman while he, Mark, stayed at home with “Mom.” But after the last many months, Mark had had enough more important things to worry about than who had the best-looking girl. That was something he no longer need worry about, anyway. Women virtually ran from him in terror once they saw the scars that marked him

outside. They didn’t hang around long enough to see the ones inside. “Jordan, I wonder if maybe Mark couldn’t stay at the cottage. There’s the sofa in the living room. I believe it even folds out.” The men spoke simultaneously. Jordan said, “Are you sure?” as Mark said, “I don’t want to interfere.” “I don’t doubt Jordan’s mother would welcome you,” she said, half turning in the front seat. “But I’m also sure you and Jordan have a great deal to talk about. I’m just offering you a place with us if you want it.” She faced Jordan. “Or, Jordan, perhaps you should go home at night, too. That would give you both a more comfortable place to sleep and time to talk.” “I’m not leaving you until and unless you kick me out.” Jordan shared a moment’s telling glance with the woman. Something wasn’t quite right, but Mark had no way of knowing what. Nor, truth be told, did he give a flying fuck at that moment. “We have time to think about it,” Jordan said. “So tell me what you’ve been doing.” He met Mark’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Mark gave a tired chuckle. “If I said learning how to live again, would I sound melodramatic?” “Hell yes, but I’m sure it’s true, too. When did you get out of the hospital?” “Two weeks ago.” Jordan’s brows rose in the mirror. “You’re shitting me.” Then he cast Catherine a sideways glance. “Sorry,

sweetheart.”

So that’s how it is. Poor bastard has it bad. For her part, she cupped his cheek and then sounded as though she was praying. Mark never imagined Jordan— on whom recruits had placed bets for the most number of women fucked on their first weekend leave after basic training—would end up with a Bible thumper. “I went home for a week,” he said to Jordan, and then to Catherine he added, “Home is Minneapolis, ma’am.” He stopped a minute, trying to block the sight of his mom’s face from his mind when she first saw him. “But you know how it is. My mom was making too big a fuss, cooking my favorite meals every night and plumping pillows and all that shi…stuff. Too much for this Marine to handle.” In fact, his mother couldn’t stop crying. The doctor had given her a sedative, so she’d divided her time between crying or sleeping his whole time home. His sister wouldn’t let her friends in the house, rushing out the door to intercept them on the porch instead. After a few days of that, he’d felt less welcome than a leper. That was when he thought of calling Jordan. He had no one else he thought would understand. When he announced he was leaving, he didn’t know who had been more relieved, his family or him. And now Jordan had a girl. Worse, one who would feel it her Christian duty to nurse him, probably with eyes full of pity. “Well, you won’t be smothered with kindness with us,” she said from the front seat. “We’ve been planning on an extra pair of hands to help organize and pack. So you’ll

need a good night’s rest tonight.” What the hell? He hadn’t expected that attitude. “And since we’ll be working side-by-side, you’d better call me Catherine.” Emotions had been close to the surface for Mark since the fucking Chinese troops had ambushed his unit on a reconnaissance mission into the north, but he hadn’t been closer to tears than right then, hearing Catherine accept him without hesitation. When she met him on the platform, she’d shown nothing but a smile. There’d been no recoil, no staring, no avoiding his gaze. Who was this woman, and why had Jordan been the lucky son of a bitch who found her? At that moment, he half fell in love with Catherine Jacobsen. “Fair warning, Mark,” Jordan said. Another quick, shared look between him and Catherine made Mark wonder what was coming. “In public you’ll have to refer to her as Sister. Sister Margaret Mary. You see, Catherine is a nun.”

Holy fucking shit!

Chapter Twenty-One Mark and Jordan stood on the porch while Catherine went inside to pull out the sofa bed and ready it for Mark. Jordan was happy Mark decided to stay at the cottage, and not just because it meant he wouldn’t have to take him out to the house, introduce him to his mother, and then leave him to be interrogated. No, he was pleased that Mark and Catherine seemed to hit a spark with each other. He wanted them to know one another. He wanted Mark to help him change Catherine’s mind. And now that he saw his friend and the shape he was in, he had a feeling Catherine could bring him some peace, too. The three of us together. The thought once more introduced the notion that they would be good with each other. He was brought back to reality sharply. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mark asked quietly as soon as the door closed behind them. Jordan burst into laughter. “C’mon with me to get dinner.” Mark limped to the passenger side. “If you go to a nun for passion, where do you go for dinner, the priest?” He shut the car door and seemed to heave a sigh. Jordan had taken stock of his friend in a few moments on the train platform and found him much worse off than he’d imagined. “I go home for dinner. Mandy, our cook, is packing meals for me and ‘the friend’ I’m staying with.” Mark turned a surprised look at him. “Your mother

knows?” “Hell, no. But Mandy saw us together. She’s a sharp old bird.” He pulled smoothly out onto the highway. “Jordan, buddy, you have to know that you’re asking for trouble. A nun, for God’s sake.” He stared out the window. “I mean, you’d be better off with a married woman. At least there you have a chance that she’d leave her husband, but holy shit. A nun.” He turned in the seat and stared at Jordan. “And you and she have…?” “Yeah.” Heat touched his cheeks, and he refused to look at Mark. Mark chuckled. “Well, at least you have the courtesy to blush.” “Do you like her?” Mark sat silent. “Yeah, I do. She’s the first person who’s looked at me and seemed to see me, you know? I don’t feel like a freak with her.” “She’s had a hard life and knows something about being different herself. There are depths to her, feelings and areas I can’t touch.” “You’re lovers, though.” “And that’s great. Wonderful. Like fireworks every time. But it isn’t enough. I don’t have the experience to understand how it was for her, growing up. I can’t touch the level of loneliness she went through.” He cleared his throat. “And that’s enough. I’ve said more about her than I should.” Jordan glanced at his friend. “I didn’t know things were so bad, Mark. I would have come to see you.”

“For a long time I didn’t want to see anyone.” He grunted. “Hell, for a long time I didn’t want to live. Three of the five of us who went back up north didn’t. I thought they were the lucky ones.” Jordan made the turn to go up Main, taking the longest possible route to give Mark time to talk. “Then I went home.” “Not what you expected?” “Worse.” Between his legs, he twirled the cane. “Thanks for letting me come. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I knew you’d understand.” “I didn’t let you come, I wanted you to come. Stay as long as you want. I have a feeling…” Mark looked his way. “Finish it.” Jordan shot him a quick glance. “I think the ocean air will be good for you.” He didn’t say that he thought Catherine would be good for him, too. And that Mark would be good for her. “So how do you handle these arrangements? No one knows about you two except your cook, I presume?” “I’m her attorney. And I’m helping her pack up her mother’s belongings and prepare the cottage for sale. She’s giving everything away except what can be sold to benefit selected charities.” “She isn’t making anything on it?” “Not a penny. And she doesn’t mind. She’s the most selfless person I know.” “And you fell in love. Are you sure it’s not just, I don’t know, the thrill of having something you know you shouldn’t?

Like having an affair is exciting. But when she leaves the old man, fucking without the fear of him bursting in with a gun is boring as shit. Are you sure it isn’t something like that?” “You’ve got it wrong. Catherine is the furthest thing from boring, even as Sister Margaret Mary.” “You don’t really know her, Jordan.” “I know her better than she knows herself.” He made a right and drove through the front gate and up the driveway. Mark turned around and took a longer look at the huge wrought iron gates. “Your family has a crest? Jesus.” Jordan laughed. “Dad had that made up when he made judge. It’s just for show.” Around the back of the house, he stopped and set the brake. “Better stay in the car in case my mother is around. She’ll ply you with questions.” Jordan strode to the back door. It opened before he could knock. Shit. “Hello, Mother.” She gave him a curt nod. “Jordan. Mandy said she was packing a dinner for you.” “I hope that’s all right.” “No, it’s fine.” She peered past him. “Is that the man you’re staying with?” “We’re sharing a place for a few days. Working on something.” Mandy brought the basket of food to the door. “Thank you.” “Aren’t you going to introduce your friend to us?” His mother started out the door. Jordan blocked her way. “He’s not feeling too well right now. Maybe later.” He waited until she retreated back

inside. “If you need me during the week, you know I’ll be helping the Sister at Hollyhock Cottage. You can come there to find me.” She sniffed. “As if.” “I’m sorry to hear it, but suit yourself.” He kissed her cheek and then hurried back to the car. “Hell, I didn’t know you were rich.” Jordan grunted. “Far from it. My dad did well enough, but I’ve lived off my military pay all the years you’ve known me. I’m about as rich as you.” Mark regarded him interestingly. “Wanna be rich?” He didn’t have to think long. “Not necessarily. I want to do something I love and make a difference in the world. If I get rich along the way, that would be okay.” “The nun has worked her magic on you. Don’t they swear to live a life of poverty or something?” “Or something.” “Of course, I think they vow chastity, too.” “We didn’t plan any of this, Mark. I swear to God, it hit me like a brick wall. I tried to control it.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Then he grinned. “Shit, I didn’t have a chance.” “God got there first, buddy. Hard to forget that.” “It about kills me to see her in that habit. She says she can’t see herself leaving the convent.” “When that happens—if that happens—would you consider going to France? With me? To build new engines?” “No shit?”

“No shit.” Mark laughed. “I haven’t had much to do for months. I took the plans we sketched out on the back of that envelope that girl sent you, remember?” “Jenny Hopson. She married a frat brother five months before I got home. And after swearing undying love for me, too.” “Her envelopes were smelly, that’s all I remember. And they were big enough for us to plan a hot new engine. An engine that will actually work, Jordan. Or at least it does on paper.” Jordan hit the brakes going down the lane. “But what’s France got to do with it?” “In the hospital I met a guy who knows a guy who works the pit crew for one of the Le Mans teams. He took a look at our sketch and said it has merit. But they won’t give it a good look unless we’re there.” Jordan hid the car at the side of the house like the night before. He shut off the motor and turned to Mark. “Let me get this straight. You saved our stupid little throw-away sketch and worked on it while you were in the hospital. You showed it to a guy who knows a guy and they’re willing for us to come to France and pitch it to them.” “That’s it. You always did catch on fast.” “When do we leave? Why didn’t you call when you knew?” “I found out the day I called you to come down here. I didn’t want to explain over the phone. To my parents, I just got home from Korea. I didn’t want them to know I’m thinking of going to France now.” He opened the door and

struggled to stand. Jordan watched, holding himself back from offering help. He knew Mark might need it but damn sure didn’t want it. Finally Mark steadied himself with his cane and closed the door. “We need to be there by the first of November. If they like what they see, they want time to get it together before race season starts.” Jordan paced his steps to match Mark’s as they went inside. On the porch, he put his hand on Mark’s arm to stop him. “I’m excited as hell by this, but let’s not bring it up in front of Catherine. I want her to feel like we have all the time in the world.” “I get it.” “And Mark?” Mark raised his brows in question. “I’m happy as hell you’re here.” **** “Mark, are you sure you’ll be all right? The bathroom is upstairs. What if you need to…use it during the night?” Catherine jumped up from the chair in the living room, where she’d sat on the edge. “I’ll leave on the light.” Mark had to smile. Her frenetic actions showed how nervous she was to go up to bed with Jordan while he was right downstairs. “It’s okay, really.” “Well…” She bit her bottom lip, which made her look adorable and very un-nunlike. “The pillows should elevate your leg enough. I hope it helps.”

“I’m sure they will.” He doubted he’d be able to keep his leg on that stack of feathers all night, but for her he’d give it a shot. “Listen,” he said. “I get cramps sometimes at night. Will it bother you two if I go out and walk them off?” “No, of course not. It’s dark out there. You will be careful, won’t you?” He smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t fall off the cliff or anything.” The stricken look on Catherine’s face shocked him. “I was kidding. I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” Jordan came in from the kitchen. “You in good shape?” “Yeah, fine. I was just telling Catherine that I get leg cramps and might go out and walk them off. So if you’re worried about noise or anything, don’t worry because I’ll be outside walking off a cramp.” Catherine shifted her attention from him to Jordan. “What kind of noise?” Mark wanted to laugh. Jordan shot him a look that said he’d better not. Slipping his arm across her shoulders, he said, “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll explain it to you.” She smiled at Mark. “Good night, Mark. I’m happy you’re here.” “Good night. Thanks for letting me stay.” He heard them talk quietly as they climbed the stairs, and then the bedroom door closed. Mark blew out a breath. Hobbling to the chair Catherine had just vacated, he removed his shoes and socks. His foot and ankle resembled a cantaloupe in size. Reddened skin stretched over the aching, swollen area. He stripped down

to his skivvies and climbed onto the bed. Just so he could tell Catherine he used her pillows, he lifted his leg and put it on the stack. Sighing, he relaxed and let exhaustion take him. Just about then, he heard Catherine say, “We can’t. He’ll hear us.” Then Jordan’s deep rumble came through the ceiling, and she laughed. “Oh, dear.” Jordan spoke again, and then came the unmistakable sound of bedsprings, slow at first and then quickening. Mark should have felt a “cramp” coming on, but he didn’t think he had the energy to get up and walk around outside. But could he stay here and listen to the obvious sounds of sex going on upstairs? Fuck it. He dragged his ass out of bed and made his way to the porch. But even outside and away from the action, the sound of bedsprings squeaking in rhythm stayed in his mind.

Chapter Twenty-Two Nothing was the same. Her life had been turned upside down. When she came downstairs to go out to meet Lonnie, Mark had stared with confusion in his eyes before turning away, as though he hadn’t really believed them last night. And why should he? She hardly believed it herself, and she lived it. A nun by day, a harlot by night. When at the convent, one Sunday after Mass she had overheard a woman describe another woman using that word, and the tone of her voice indicated a harlot was someone to be despised. Later, using a few precious moments alone in the library, she looked up the word in the dictionary, one of the few secular books available to the sisters. She intellectualized the word then, but now she understood it in her deepest recesses—those recesses Jordan readily revealed to her while exploring her body. Harlot. Imagining such a woman had been horrible then. But at night, when the lights were out and only moonlight invaded the room, when Jordan made her complete by licking her cream and then filling her with his penis in long, slow strokes, well, then harlot took on a whole new meaning. Hunger, desire, daring, and fulfillment. At that moment, kneeling at the communion rail and waiting for Father Samuels to work his way down to her with the blessed Host, all she could think of was Jordan’s lean body melding with hers. Her soul could be damned to Hell and still she would think of him, feel him, want him with

every bit of her being.

“Dominus vobiscum.” Her eyes were closed, but she could see in her mind’s eye the ever-present scowl on Father Samuels’ face as he wished the Lord to be with her. “Et cum Spiritu tuo.” She stuck out her tongue to receive the Host, but the priest didn’t place it on her tongue. Her eyes flew open to find him studying her with intensity. He knows! Don’t let him see you’re upset. Jordan’s calm, controlling voice spoke to her, and she gathered herself as never before. Raising her brows, she said in a low voice, “Father, people are waiting.” Grimly, he held out the Host, Margaret Mary accepted it on her tongue, and he moved on. But he knew about her, she couldn’t doubt it. He surely would confront her and then write Mother Superior. Her time in Ballymeade was limited now, whether they finished packing the house or not. Rising off her knees, she retook her set in the pew, anxious for Mass to be at an end. As she expected, Father held her back until everyone had gone. Jordan leaned against his car watching for her, but he pushed away when the priest restrained her and pushed her back into the shadows of the vestibule. “It’s all right, Jordan,” she said when she heard his footfall behind her. “It’s not all right,” the priest spat out. He shook his finger in Jordan’s face. “I trusted you! Brendan Tipton told me he had arranged for you to help her, and I was happy because you were a good man. And now look! You’ve ruined her. I

didn’t believe Tipton when he told me, but one look at her this morning and I knew.” He spun on Margaret Mary. “And you! You haven’t the soul of a nun. You are not blessed, you are not chosen by God to be His bride. You are a whore, no better than your mother!” Without thinking, Margaret Mary slapped him. Then she clapped her hand to her mouth in horror. Father Samuels covered his cheek with his hand. It shook, whether from shock or rage, she couldn’t tell. “If you hadn’t done it, I would, and worse,” Jordan said. He took her arm and tried to lead her out into the sunlight. Father followed after them. “If you return, I shall not give you communion,” he called. “I shall denounce you!” He backed into the shadows of the church and slammed the wooden door shut. Margaret Mary took a shallow breath. “What have I done? What have I done?” Jordan sat her in the car and crouched beside her. “Look at me,” he demanded. She couldn’t help but do what he said. “You did nothing wrong. He might be a priest, but he doesn’t represent God, not the way he treats you. He was way out of line.” Slowly, she nodded. Father Samuels had no right to say that about her mother or about her. She was discovering love. And who knew why her mother did what she did? Was it a man’s job here on Earth to judge them? He didn’t know the yearnings of a woman, or the desires. Those things didn’t make her any less in God’s eyes, she was sure of it.

“I’ll take you to a different church if you want. We don’t have to put up with that ass.” “As always, you help me see things in a new perspective.” She loved the shine in his eyes when he smiled as he did now. “I think for the time being God and I will become friends without the intermediary.” “I love you, Catherine.” “I love you, Jordan.” He kissed her deeply, and she knew that like her, he wished he could lay her back and take her right there in the church parking lot. At the least, she hoped Father Samuels secretly watched them and could sense the feelings they had for one another. “If he’s watching, he’s probably having an attack right about now,” Jordan said. “We should get home. Time for breakfast.” The ride home was swift. She spent the time detailing things about the town—the trees, whose lawn was greenest, store sales advertised with window banners. The last thing she wanted to contemplate was how the town would view her once Father Samuels spewed his vile stories. Mark waited on the porch. He struggled to his feet when Jordan parked the car in the yard. “Good morning, Sister. I think I forgot to greet you properly earlier.” “Don’t worry, Mark. Sister Margaret Mary is being put away for a little while. Just call me Catherine.” Her hands reached for her rosary and the safety of hiding her hands from others’ view, but she fought it. From now on, she had

to face the world. She had asked God to allow her to feel like a woman, a real, full woman, and by His grace, she did. Now, until they finished and she had to retreat back to the cloistered, religious life, she needed to live like a woman and face whatever came her way. **** “She slapped him?” Mark sounded as astounded as Jordan had felt. “She beat me to the punch by a few seconds, and he would have had more than a red face and bruised pride.” “Bastard.” “Yeah.” Jordan removed the thick slices of homemade bread Mandy had packed in the basket last night for their morning meal today. Mark put them on a tray and under the broiler to toast. “I’ve never met a woman as softhearted as she is. My mother just flat-out told her that her mother committed suicide, and Catherine found it in her to excuse her. Even forgive her.” “How did her mother do it?” Mark asked quietly. Jordan looked out at the ocean, calm and innocuous at a distance but dangerous as hell crashing against the rocks. “She jumped off the cliff, right out there.” “Christ. No wonder she about passed out when I made that stupid comment last night.” Jordan shrugged. “You didn’t know. And she didn’t worry

about anything once we got upstairs.” “So I heard.” Mark shot him a grin. “Thought you were going outside.” Shrugging, he said, “Couldn’t muster the energy.” He leaned over to remove the tray and turn over the bread. “Besides, in the few minutes I heard you before going to sleep, it sounded good. Happiness sounded good.” He slapped Mark’s shoulder. “It will for you, too. You’ll see.” Then he grinned, too. “But for now, she’s putting away the habit. Finally, I know I have a fighting chance to make her stay.” Checking the stairs to ensure Catherine wasn’t quietly descending, he moved closer to Mark. “You can be a part of it.” Mark removed the browned bread from the oven and turned off the broiler before turning a questioning look at Jordan. “How?” “If she offers to help, let her.” He gave a single-shoulder shrug. “Chances are, she will. That’s just the kind of woman she is.” “What kind of woman am I?” Jordan jumped. “Sneaky.” He turned and then tried to hide his surprise. She wore a simple shirtwaist dress, dark blue with little pink flowers on it. A scarf covered her head and tied in back, but her hair showed. Her lower legs were bare, but she had on a pair of black flats that looked as though they’d seen some wear. Even after her words when they arrived at the cottage, he’d half expected her to come down in her work habit.

Nervously, she bit her bottom lip. “Is this all right to wear?” “Are you kidding? Your mother’s clothes are a little big on you, but you look fine.” “Beautiful,” Mark added. “I don’t understand how you can look so great in your nun clothes and also in this.” “She’s just beautiful.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Stop, you two!” Then she looked up over her lashes and smiled. “But thank you.” “Let’s eat,” Mark said. One hand on his cane and the other carrying a plate of toast, he headed to the dining room. Jordan started to grab the plate when it wobbled frighteningly, but Catherine held out her hand to stop him. He knew it. She and Mark shared a bond from an internal pain only they understood. He could try, but he’d grown up in a loving home and come through the war unscathed. How could he begin to know the demons they fought? It was possible that they would develop feelings for each other. He took a moment to consider how he would feel if that happened. He watched them now, as Mark set down the toast and then pulled out the chair for Catherine. She smiled her thanks, and Jordan didn’t mistake the look of appreciation in Mark’s eyes. The kind of look a man gives a woman he wants. Observing his friend—the scars and deformity—and knowing the pain he must still be going through, there was no way he could be upset if he took comfort in the arms of

any woman. Even his woman. And for Catherine, he sensed instinctively that she would find relief in helping Mark start his true healing time. One lonely soul would lead the other back into the world. He only hoped she and Mark saw things the same way, that they wouldn’t let loyalty to him stand in their way. But how to let them know he approved without sticking his foot in his mouth and making a fool of himself? “Jordan,” Catherine called. “Are you coming?” “Just waiting for the coffee to finish. Go ahead and start.” He heard them talking but not what they said. Catherine laughed. He loved the sound. She’d put away the habit and changed again. She wasn’t the same woman who had arrived in Ballymeade a short week ago. Thank God. By the time the coffee perked and he took the pot and three cups to the table, he had the beginnings of a plan. “I’m going to have to be gone a few days in the next week,” he announced as he sat down. He poured coffee for each of them and then buttered a slice of bread. “When did you find this out?” Catherine asked. Worry crinkled her eyes when she looked across the table. “I should have thought of it before. I’m in the middle of negotiations for my dad’s firm. I’ll be running up to Portland trying to get things settled. You’ll be able to stay and help Catherine, won’t you, Mark?” Mark shifted his attention from her to Jordan. “Well… sure. If you want me to, that is.” “I’d appreciate it.” Catherine smiled at Mark, a nice, warm, inviting smile,

though surely she didn’t know how it looked. Then she smiled at him. “But you’ll be back soon, won’t you, Jordan?” Just like that, things fell into place. “You know I can’t stand to be away from you for long.” He’d have to warn Mark to keep an eye out for Tipton, but he wouldn’t have to say anything else to him about letting Catherine get closer. From the looks he gave her already, nature would take its course.

Chapter Twenty-Three The next morning, Jordan left. Left her alone with a strange, intriguing man. What had Mark been like before the war? Had women been attracted to him? Had he laughed and enjoyed his work and his leisure? Now he seemed only to be existing, unsure of where to go next. With her habit hanging in the closet and feelings of betrayal of the community of sisters she left back in Ohio plaguing her, she knew exactly how he felt. She went onto the porch. “Would you like more coffee?” Mark had been in the yard staring at the ocean for almost fifteen minutes. He faced the Pacific and the East. Was he remembering Korea or just contemplating what the world held for him? He turned slowly, using his cane for balance and strength. “No thanks. I guess we’d better get to work.” “Yes, when Jordan returns he’ll expect to see great progress.” She smiled as he came closer. He tripped on the stairs and nearly went down but caught the railing. She had to restrain herself from rushing to his side. His body bore enough pain. No need to wound his pride, too. He pulled himself up and gave her a rueful smile. “You trust me to handle your mother’s things?” “I trust you to handle anything, just as I trust Jordan.” When she saw that he was all right, she said, “Shall we start in the living room next? If we clear out some of what will go anyway, you’ll have more room to spread out.”

“I don’t need much space, but that seems as good a place to work as any.” “I’ll get the boxes and paper if you want to settle somewhere with Jordan’s ledger.” Jordan had taken care yesterday to show both of them how he noted each item in his book, a column for the number, one for the description, one to say where Catherine designated it should go, and a final one to say if the item was being held for auction or sale. Fortunately, he had asked Mandy for additional food to cover the time he expected to be gone. Even if they’d had a car, she didn’t know how to drive and Mark couldn’t yet use a clutch. They were stuck there, but strangely, she didn’t fear that. A little over a week ago, she would have panicked at the thought of spending time with a man. Not with Jordan, though, and not with Mark, either. She came into the living room. Mark had folded the bed away, opening the space. She carried the newsprint away from her dress, the blue one with the flowers again. She was lucky that her mother’s clothes fit her, but she didn’t want to soil everything in the closet by working in them. “Jordan was a good caretaker of the house after the deaths of his father and my mother. It must have been hard for him to work while grieving, but when I arrived he had the services turned on and loads of boxes and newspaper.” “He would be an excellent lawyer if that’s what he wanted to do.” She looked up, surprised. “I thought it was what he wanted. Not here,” she allowed, “because he’s selling his

father’s business, but I assumed somewhere.” As unlikely as it would have been, she’d prayed that he wouldn’t move near the convent. To know he was somewhere near, living his life so close by, would have killed her. The only way she would be able to pick up where she left off would be to forget everything about Jordan Parnell. The task might prove impossible. “You should ask him what he wants. I’m sure he’d like to discuss it with you.” She sat on the sofa and picked up a small figure from the side table. “This looks like it might be worth something.” She fixed him with her gaze. “You could tell me what Jordan plans for his future.” “I hope he and I will share our futures.” He winked. “But I’m not going to be the one to spill the beans about our plans. I think you’re right. This looks like fine porcelain. Let’s set it aside for appraisal.” “Where did you learn to judge the value of things? I’ve only learned a few things from Jordan the last week.” “My family owns a pawn shop in Minneapolis. You develop a keen eye for what things are worth when people are always trying to sell you something.” They worked well together. She held an item up for his examination, he noted it in the ledger, and then she placed it aside or wrapped it for the boxes. She moved around the room while he was able to sit with his leg up. “Tell me about growing up in Minneapolis.” “It wasn’t very exciting.” “You’d be surprised what I find exciting.”

“I have a brother and two sisters. My dad did well with the shop, but with three kids—I was grown and nearly out of the house by the time my brother was born—there never seemed to be anything extra. We all worked, but we had fun playing, too. Baseball, kickball, anything that kept us outdoors and away from chores.” “It sounds glorious.” She held out a wooden basket that had borders painted on it. Mark shook his head. “Tell me about your childhood. I’ll bet you were a good girl who never gave your mother any headaches.” “I grew up in the convent, actually.” She studied his expression. “Jordan didn’t tell you?” “Jordan has spoken of you nearly nonstop, but he gave me no background information.” She laughed, and then the joy faded. “My mother sent me there when I was six. I went to school and then joined the order when I graduated from high school.” “Why did you become a nun? Wasn’t there something else you wanted to try, to explore?” She wrapped a small painting in paper and fit it in the box at her feet. “I guess not. I was so used to them and their ways, it seemed natural to take the next step.” He was quiet for a moment. “It doesn’t seem right somehow. You grew up in a sheltered environment and had no idea what the world was all about. How could you make a good decision about your future without knowing what your choices were?” She bit her bottom lip, thinking. “That’s true, although…I was protected as well as sheltered. I was there through the

wars. We worked hard, and we benefitted from the work. We didn’t have a great deal, but we had what we needed. And great peace comes with spending your life in prayer. It’s not a bad way of life.” Although now it might be, now that she knew what she would be missing. “I don’t mean that it’s a bad way of life, just that you didn’t know anything else. It’s like going to a restaurant and ordering a hamburger without knowing that steak is on the menu. It’s not that steak is any better, but a person likes a choice.” “I see what you mean,” she said slowly. “I suppose at the time it felt right.” Or had she been pushed and nudged in that direction by the sisters she had come to trust? They hadn’t wanted her to come back here, where she might become contaminated with her mother’s lifestyle. They had kept her from it until her mother died, but even that hadn’t protected her. She had become the lover of one man and was entertaining another alone in the house. Catherine began wrapping a bowl that had held dead flowers when she arrived when the sound of a car coming down the lane attracted her attention. It couldn’t be Lonnie. She had told him early this morning that she wouldn’t need him to drive her to Mass any longer. Was Jordan back early? They didn’t expect him until tomorrow. She peered through the curtains and saw a long black car stop near the front steps. “Oh no. It’s Brendan Tipton.” ****

Mark put the ledger aside. This was the guy Jordan had warned him to watch out for. He was sure Jordan hadn’t thought that the jerk would show up within hours of his leaving—and neither had Mark. He didn’t have a fucking idea what he should do now. “I’ll go out and see what he wants,” Catherine said. Mark was pretty sure that wasn’t what Jordan would want him to let happen. “Wait. Let me go out and see what he wants.” A car door slammed out front. “But Mark, then he’ll know you’re here. He already knows that Jordan and I are…” She bit her bottom lip. “I’ll explain everything. Don’t worry.” He pulled his duffel bag closer and dug down deep, rummaging through everything still packed to find what he wanted. The door opened and closed. Damn. For a nun, Catherine sure had a mind of her own. When he reached the door, he opened it to see a very large man speaking intensely. Catherine hung her head. Her hands folded at her waist, she didn’t appear to be saying anything back. Mark limped to the top step before Tipton noticed he was there. “Catherine, Catherine! You are indeed your mother’s daughter. Two lovers now?” He reached out and stroked her cheek. She recoiled. “Taking on a third shouldn’t be much of a problem at all for a talented girl like you.” “Take your hands off her.” Mark was boiling mad, but he kept his voice calm and steady. His concern was all for Catherine. She seemed rooted to the spot.

“Who the hell are you?” “A friend of Jordan’s.” He leered at Catherine. “And of hers, I presume.” “A friend, yes. Anything beyond that, no.” Mark leaned on his cane. “Not that it’s any of your damn business.” Tipton took a step away from Catherine and toward Mark. “But it is my business. As a particular friend of Catherine’s mother, I take her needs and, uh, desires, very personally.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I see she’s given up the charade of being holy. She’s slimmer than her mother. I’ll bet she’s hell in bed.” Mark took in a breath and heaved it out. “Speaking of hell, get the hell out of here. Don’t come back.” Tipton laughed. “Who’s going to make me? A cripple like you?” Catherine gasped and finally moved when she spun wide-eyed toward Tipton. “Do not malign him, Mr. Tipton. Can’t you see who you’re talking to?” Shit! He’d thought Catherine saw him as a person, not as an injured, broken man. Now he knew it was all an act, though a well-played one. Tipton snorted. “I see exactly who I’m talking to. He couldn’t whoop a gnat.” “I wouldn’t count out a Marine, no matter what condition he’s in.” Mark knew he had to take care of the asshole first. Then he’d face Catherine’s words and how they betrayed his secret desires. She moved away from Tipton and climbed the porch steps to stand beside Mark. “Mr. Tipton, this man is going

to make you leave. If you don’t leave on your own, he will make you wish you had. Don’t let the cane fool you. He could ‘whoop’ you with both hands tied behind his back.” She folded her hands at her waist again, but she did not hang her head. “And if you would be so kind, please never mention my mother to me again. I am not like her, because I would never align myself with anyone like you.” She turned and entered the house, leaving both him and Tipton amazed and speechless. When they faced each other again, Tipton started to laugh. “She sure is something. Tell me, is she as much a hellion in bed, or does she follow orders for anything you want, like a good nun?” “Shut your fucking mouth.” Tipton took another step forward. “I ask again, who’s going to make me?” “Me and a friend.” Tipton looked around the yard. “Yeah? What friend?” “Mr. Colt.” Mark leveled his service revolver at Tipton and didn’t blink an eye. “Hold on a minute—” “Not another second. You should be heading for your car.” “Is that thing even loaded?” Mark fired a shot into the air. “Appears to be.” Tipton pointed at him. “You’re a fucking idiot. I’ll have you arrested, boy.” “You can try. Send the sheriff out so I can enlighten him on how one of the town’s upstanding citizens has terrorized

a nun, a woman who came home to settle her dead mother’s home. It’ll make a good story for the newspaper, too, I think.” Tipton stormed to his vehicle before turning and spitting out, “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” “Oh, I think I do.” He waited on the porch with the .45 in hand until he was sure Tipton was gone. Drained, he sank down onto the top step, his hands hanging between his knees. Catherine had defended him, he had faced his first enemy outside a war zone, and he had held a gun on the man. Catherine

defended me! He didn’t hear her come out, but he sensed her. “Come inside, Mark.” “In a minute.” She sat down beside him, tucking her dress under her knees. “Thank you for making him go away.” “He had something going with your mother?” “Yes.” That was all she said, but there was a wealth of emotion packed into the single word. “Has he propositioned you before?” “Since I arrived. I had no idea how to handle such a situation. Until coming here, I’d barely spoken to a man.” “You won’t have to worry about him again as long as Jordan and I have anything to do with it.” She smiled and then rested her head on his shoulder. Warmth welled up and filled him, spilling over. He thought he’d gasp with the heat of his emotions, the passion of them. He’d never wanted to lie with a woman more before,

and he hadn’t even kissed her. As much as he wanted to take her to bed, he wanted to hold her, to talk, and to spend quiet moments in silence. He simply wanted to be with her. Then he remembered that she was his best friend’s girl. “You’re right. Let’s go in.” “If you’re ready for lunch, I could bring it out here. Jordan and I enjoy eating in the fresh air.” “That would be great. Need any help?” “No, I can do it.” Before she rose, she used her hand on his cheek—the cheek, dear God, covered in scars—to turn his head toward her. When her lips touched his, his heart thundered. Then she was gone, disappearing into the house. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to march in there like a whole man and kiss her until she begged him to take her to bed and fuck. Jordan said he should let Catherine help him, but he surely didn’t have anything like that in mind. His friend firmly in mind, Mark stayed on the porch until Catherine came out with a light lunch of soup and half a sandwich. When they went back to work, he kept his thoughts focused on the work. All the while, he dreaded the night, when he would be alone with the woman of his dreams who already belonged to his best friend. And, oh yeah, to God.

Chapter Twenty-Four The evening came all too quickly. Jordan had said he might be gone until the next day, which meant Catherine faced the night alone with Mark. She remembered her first day with Jordan and how nervous she had been that they might touch or even that she might not know what to say. With Mark there had never been that sense of tentativeness. From the first she’d felt a kinship. Her love for Jordan wasn’t diminished, which only disquieted her. In the back of her mind was her mother’s journal where she’d detailed loving two men. Not that she loved Mark. But something about him affected her. She hung the dish towel on the hook on the front of the cabinet and went to find him. “Look at your ankle!” He sat in the living room chair, rubbing his foot. After pulling out the bed, he had removed his shoes and socks. The swelling looked painful. “I guess I didn’t do something right today.” “When Jordan comes home, you should ask him to take you to the beach a few miles up the coast. Walking in the sand will help build your strength and should help with the swelling, too.” “I’ll try it, thanks.” She stared a moment longer. “Would you mind if I helped?” All of the sisters took turns in the infirmary, and she knew a very small amount of healing. But one of the older nuns had sometimes required massage treatments in

order to relieve pain enough to sleep, and that had been her charge. “Um, well, no. But don’t feel that you have to.” She sat on the side of the sofa bed. Taking his foot onto her lap, she began by pushing up the cuffs of his trousers to midcalf. “Forgive my forwardness,” she murmured. “Forgiven,” he said. With a firm touch, she wiggled her thumbs up the middle of his heel and soul. At the midpoint, he squirmed and grinned. “Ticklish,” he said when she looked up. “Really?” she said, smiling back. “Don’t you do it,” he warned. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, wide-eyed and skimming the tips of her fingers across the middle of his foot. “You’re being a devil,” he said, laughing. “Okay, I’m going to be serious now. I want you to rest well, and I’m sorry I worked you so hard today.” “It’s the first honest work I’ve done since being sent out with my unit in Korea. I appreciate feeling useful again, even if it’s only writing numbers in a book.” She wiggled his big toe. “Don’t say ‘only.’ Your knowledge was invaluable.” Without using too much force, she smoothed her hands down his foot, toe to ankle, and up the short expanse of exposed leg. Silently she worked for twenty minutes or more—up the bottom of his foot, down to the ankle, and up his leg. The routine distracted her to the point that she didn’t notice the passage of time, only the

feel of his foot, the smooth skin. Angry, red scars and damaged muscles now relaxed under her fingers. The swelling had gone down, but the rest of Mark’s body held all the tension of a tiger ready to leap. “Catherine? Thanks, but I don’t think I can handle much more.” “Oh! I’m sorry. I thought I was helping. You should have said if I caused you pain.” “You did help my foot, and I appreciate it. It’s just that, uh, there must be something about handling the foot that affects a man.” She bunched her brows in thought. “Affects him how?” “In a, uh, sexual kind of way.” A quick glance at his groin showed what he meant. His trousers tented in front and his eyes had darkened, like Jordan’s did when took her to bed. “You kissed me today, Catherine. Was it just a thank you for getting rid of Tipton?” “Something about you calls to me. I think it’s your loneliness.” “Are you lonely?” “I was, growing up. I missed my mother, and I was always so different from the other girls.” “You didn’t have any friends.” She shook her head, still holding his foot in her lap. “That’s how I’ve felt since I got all shot up. Different, alone, and invisible.” “You’re not invisible.” “Not to Jordan. Not to you,” he added softly.

“No. Not to us.” Time seemed to stand still as Mark lifted his leg from her lap and leaned forward. Their lips barely touched, but she felt the kiss throughout her body. Every nerve made itself known. He leaned back. “I don’t want to step on Jordan’s toes.” “I love him. I feel very close to you. He told me last night that he sensed we had a bond he and I didn’t have.” “Do you think he knew this might happen?” She had to think. His lovemaking last night had been more tender than rushed, but he hadn’t said anything about her and Mark. “I don’t know. Do you think he would hate us?” “He told me you might want to help in some way. He said you were the kind of remarkable woman who would want to help me. I had a feeling there was more to it.” “But will he hate us?” “He wouldn’t have left us here if he’d had an issue.” Catherine hoped Mark was right. Jordan knew her so well—better than she knew herself. Because of that, he knew that she dreaded that her mother’s shortcomings might be her own. So if he left her here in Mark’s care, he had a reason. “Do you mind the thought of being with me, Catherine?” “Do I mind? No, Mark. Do you mind the thought of being with me? A plain, inexperienced, naïve nun? I have no idea what I’m doing, exploring this life.” “I would be honored to make love with you.” He looked into the corner of the room as though seeking an answer.

“The scars don’t bother you?” Then he focused on her face. No lie would escape his notice. “What scars?” The groan sounded as though it was ripped from deep within. She stood between his legs and cradled his head against her breasts. Swaying gently, she waited until he gained control. When he struggled to his feet and took her lips this time, there was no hesitancy, no holding back. Her heart raced. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tangled her tongue with his. When they sunk to the bed and he broke the kiss long enough to reach to turn out the light, she stopped him. “Leave the lights on,” she said. “I want to see your face while we make love.” She knew she’d said the right thing when his eyes flashed with fire, flames that she felt herself, deep in her belly. Thank you, Lord. Though, the Lord might not be pleased with her.

Thank you, Jordan. **** Mark had never felt anything like sliding his way home inside Catherine. She rose up to meet him, a naked goddess with firm, round tits and smooth, silky skin. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, of tasting her. For the first time since waking in the helicopter whisking him to the field hospital in Korea, he forgot the pain and knowledge

that he would never be the same man he had been. He forgot the stares of horror and pity and the conversations that ended in awkward silences. His mind was occupied by the woman beneath him and the absolute heaven of being engulfed in her hot, wet pussy. “Mark. Mark.” She arched her back. He took her nipple in his mouth and sucked, as greedy as a babe. With renewed strength, he drove into her. She bucked against him, her labored breathing alerting him to the fact that she was close. So was he. It had been so long. He gave up her nipple in favor of her mouth. His dick probed her inner recesses as his tongue claimed her mouth. She pulled on it with her lips and wrapped her legs around his waist. Shit. Any minute he was going to come. She had to come first. Her groan was deep and sensual, cutting through the fog keeping him from sanity. Faster, then harder, he thrust into her. Her pussy gripped his entire length, squeezing him, encouraging him to answer her feminine call, as ageless as Adam and Eve. Thank God he’d kept a condom in his wallet, like a good Marine. After seeing his face in the mirror in the naval hospital in Hawaii, he’d thought it would go bad before he ever had the chance to use it. But miracles happened after all. He came in an explosion, lost in the feeling of release and bondage at the same time. Physical release was more intense than it had ever been—harder than his first time, even. And because of that, he was bound to this woman in

a way he never had been to any other. She took him to her body, scars and all, with a graciousness he couldn’t believe. He hoped to hell he was right about Jordan. If it came down to a woman—any woman—and his friend and partner, he wasn’t sure how he would let Catherine go.

Please, God. A second chance here, please. He rolled off and lay beside her. What now? That was incredible was such a cliché, and Catherine deserved better. “I don’t know what to say.” Weak, but the truth. She turned onto her side and rested her hand on his chest. “It was wonderful. You were wonderful. Thank you.” He covered her hand. He couldn’t look at her because his eyes had welled with tears, and what kind of Marine cried after great sex? “I should thank you.” They lay there silently with the ocean roar as background. “You asked about my childhood,” she said in a low voice he barely heard. “I was taller than the other girls. Clumsy and plain. My lips were too big. My eyes were spaced too far apart. My front tooth was crooked. Some of the sisters made an example of me in class, and the other girls picked up on it. I know how it feels to be the object of curiosity and then scorn.” Mark stroked the top of her hand with his thumb and let her talk. But he couldn’t help but contrast her younger years with his own, boisterous, full of work as well as play, but always full of love. Who could subject a little girl to such a life as hers? What was wrong with those fucking nuns, anyway? They should be horsewhipped.

“I never had friends, I had no family. So when I graduated from high school, I really had no idea of what to do with my life and nowhere to go. Staying at St. Agnes as a postulant seemed logical.” “But there’s so much else to life. Places to see.” “I don’t want you to think I’ve been unhappy. I’ve lived a fulfilled life.” “And now?” “I prayed that I would be able to experience love with Jordan. God granted my wish and sent me you, too. I will always have these memories.” He faced her at last. “Couldn’t you leave the convent?” She closed her eyes. “I’ve been with the sisters—my sisters, my community—for almost fifteen years. Leaving them would be very hard.” “But for Jordan? For us?” “Don’t ask me, please. This is a place out of time. I don’t deserve it, but through God’s grace I know some of what it means to be a woman. A real woman.” “You are a real woman, Catherine. A beautiful, vibrant woman. Your habit didn’t hide that. But how can you go back to that life after…” He swept his hand toward her naked body. “I might not have been called to a true vocation when I was seventeen. I can’t say one way or the other. But after living in the convent all these years, it is home. With God’s help, I’ll find my way back, if they’ll have me.” He stroked her hip and pulled her to him. He faced her with his left side visible. He didn’t mind. She saw him as he

was and accepted him. “Will you pray for me?” She caressed his cheek, skimming the scars with gentleness. “I already have. I always will.” His heart knew before his mind. He loved this woman. He’d never let her go.

Chapter Twenty-Five Catherine lay on the sofa bed listening to Mark make his way up the stairs. Her breasts ached to be touched, and between her legs, she knew a hunger she was coming to recognize. Jordan and Mark had become her lovers. Just as her mother had taken two men to her bed, so had Catherine. The enormity of the similarity didn’t escape her, yet still she wanted Mark. Or Jordan. Had her mother experienced the same yearnings? If so, no wonder she’d given in. Catherine rose and walked up the steps, uncaring that she wore nothing. Mark came out of the bathroom as she reached the top. His eyes sparked with appreciation, and she smiled as she saw him for the first time as God created him. Broad shoulders led to a muscular chest and narrow waist and hips. But she had a hard time averting her gaze from his penis. He noticed, and he reached down and pumped it. Immediately, it grew and thickened. Her breath hitched. Nothing else short of the house coming down could have averted her attention. “Have you not seen Jordan?” She shook her head. “We keep the lights out.” She gave him a small smile. “My request. I was too afraid to let him see me.”

“You shouldn’t be. You’re beautiful.” “I’m plai—” “Don’t say it!” He stepped closer, still stroking his penis. “Don’t ever say that again. You’re not plain. There’s no sin in being beautiful, and you are. Those nuns were crazy. Or blind,” he added. She licked her lips and took in his penis again. Mark had moved close. The bulb-shaped part that capped his penis had turned deep purple in color. The color of passion. Her heart fluttered. She fisted her hands at her sides in order to keep herself from knocking his hands aside and taking his place. “This is my cock.” She couldn’t bring herself to do it, but Mark took her hand and placed it on his hard flesh. It twitched when she touched it. He bent her fingers around it and guided her hand up and down. His cock was a rod of steel covered in velvety flesh. Once holding it, she couldn’t help but stroke it, caress it. It looked huge. No wonder she felt so full whenever Jordan or Mark made love to her. “Ahhh, that feels good,” he said. “Press a little harder there,” he murmured when she reached the root and a large vein. “Do all men look like you?” She stepped closer yet so that the head pressed her stomach. “Basically. Alike but different. Some men have short cocks, some longer.” She widened her eyes. “Longer than you?” He laughed. “Sadly, yes.” Framing her head with his

hands, he took her lips in an openmouthed kiss. His tongue probed her mouth, and she took it in and sucked. “I want you again,” he said and then continued kissing her. She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. “Does Jordan have more rubbers?” he asked. “Please say yes.” “Condoms? They’re in the table by the bed.” Mark lay down on the side of the bed nearest the table and pulled her atop him. His hands roved everywhere. She reciprocated by kissing his neck, his collarbone, and flicking her tongue against his flat nipple. “Straddle me,” he whispered. “Rub your pussy against my cock.” In the times she had been with Jordan, he had taken the command, perhaps sensing her reluctance to be the primary player. Jordan was emotionally stronger than she. But Mark and she were equals. She eagerly followed his instruction and added her own twists, pressing her pussy down on his cock so that the head slid into her channel. Then she pulled her hips up and let him out. “Careful,” he muttered. “Let me put on a rubber.” He plucked a square envelope from the drawer and ripped it open. “Let me,” she said, surprising herself. She took the rubbery disk from him and slid down over his legs. Everything in her urged her to hurry. Liquid leaked from her pussy and rolled down her thigh. But as she examined Mark’s cock, another urge overcame her.

Leaning down, she licked the head. Mark hissed in a breath. She fit her lips on the soft bulb and probed the slit on the top with her tongue. When she slipped the head into her mouth and teased it with her tongue, Mark ran his fingers through her hair and held her head. Then he pulled out, breathing heavily. “Honey, you don’t want to do that. You don’t know enough quite yet.” “Did I hurt you?” He burst into laughter, though he didn’t sound amused. “God, no. But I want to come inside you, okay?” So she hadn’t done anything wrong. He liked it. Covering her hands, he helped her apply the sheath. Then he lifted her over his cock and thrust up. This was no gentle entry, but Catherine didn’t care. She was ready and wet. There was no pain or discomfort, only the answer to a need that had built since she disclosed her childhood. He grasped her hips and held her still while he pushed up and pulled back. Catherine threw back her head and arched her back. Mark released her hips. With one hand he kneaded her breast. With the other he played with her clitoris. “I can see where my cock enters your pussy,” he murmured. He pressed her clitoris hard and she flew apart, crying out. “Come for me,” he said. “Come for me.” She couldn’t stop the convulsions from controlling her. On and on they went, and Mark kept on, too, rubbing her clitoris and driving into her vagina. Suddenly, he pulled her forward to place them chest to

chest, breath to breath. She jerked her hips in concert with his, rubbing her clitoris against the root of his cock. Stretching his arms down her body, he pressed her butt to him. The pulsing of his cock set off a stronger round of spasms. Lightheaded, she clung to Mark. “I can’t let you go, Catherine. I love you. I need you.” “And I love you,” she whispered. How could it be that she loved both men? But she did. Jordan had first opened her eyes to her sexuality. He had given her a view of the world she hadn’t imagined. He made her soar. He made her yearn for more in every respect. Mark touched her soul as well as her body. She wanted them both. How would she be able to give them up when the magical time in Ballymeade ended? **** Dawn had broken, but daylight hadn’t invaded the cottage. The skies were overcast and rain spit onto the roof when Jordan let himself back in. He had meant to stay away through the day and maybe another night to let Catherine and Mark have time to get to know one another. But he couldn’t wait any longer to be with her himself. If she did leave at the end of the packing, their time would be ended soon. The kitchen contained the bare essentials needed for their meals, the sitting room upstairs had been finished, and Mark and Catherine had planned to go through the living room yesterday. That left very little.

Quietly he peeked into the living room. The bed hadn’t been pulled down, but someone had lain on it. Mark’s and Catherine’s clothes lay scattered on the floor. So, it

happened. He took a moment to process the fact that the woman he loved had also slept with his best friend. Catherine had told him with great trepidation that she absolutely did not want to become her mother, and he had placed her in as position that led to that very thing. No! She was not her mother, and if she harbored the thought, he would explain the difference between a woman being kept and one who was loved. Between one who was used and one who healed and accepted healing with her lovemaking. He stole up the stairs, knowing what he would find at the top. Shadows remained in the room, and the two slept soundly, facing each other. Jordan stripped, tossing his clothes aside. He retreated to the bathroom to retrieve a jar of gel, and then he took a condom from the drawer. Equipped, he pulled back the covers and slid into bed at Catherine’s back. Wasting no time, he ran his hands over her back and shoulders. She stirred, shrugging her shoulders and wriggling back against him. He slid down the bed, letting the sheet cover him, until he reached her butt. He smoothed his hand up her leg, skimming Mark’s leg, too. As expected, his friend’s dick, already half-erect with the morning, came alive at once. Jordan kissed her cheeks and rimmed her ass with his tongue. Thinking about the

three of them together had brought this vision to his mind the whole day while settling his dad’s firm with the lawyer in Portland. He worried that she might not like being with both of them at once, and this was the time to find out. Crawling back up, he saw Mark and she were kissing. Mark’s tongue seemed halfway down her throat. He rose on his elbow and leaned over her. They broke the kiss, and she turned toward him, sleepiness still filling her eyes. “Jordan, you’re back.” That was all she could say, because he covered her mouth with his. She welcomed him by sucking on his tongue and teasing it with hers. She had become more open, more adventuresome. Mark dipped his head and suckled one of her nipples. “Did you miss me?” he asked when they came up for air. “Yes.” She smiled. “We both did. Did you miss us?” “I came home early, didn’t I?” He saw that Mark was retrieving a condom and putting it on. They hadn’t discussed this but seemed to operate as a trained team. “We both want you, Catherine, and there’s a way we can both have you at once. Are you willing to try it? It will be different for you but not bad in any way. Do you trust us?” “Yes.” She didn’t hesitate a moment. “I love you.” He kissed her again and then turned her to Mark. He situated her leg over his hip and turned her a bit to provide easier access for Jordan. His cock strained and ached for release. He hurried with the rubber and spread it liberally with the gel. He covered his middle finger, too, and gently probed her ass. She

froze. “Relax, sweetheart.” Mark kissed her, hopefully taking her mind off what he was doing to her ass. He eased his finger in and out, a little farther each time, stretching her, preparing her. God, she was tight. Like her pussy, though with all the times they had used her lately, she would be used to a cock now. Jordan knew the moment Mark thrust into her. She moaned and moved her hips. The woman was born for loving. Now if only they could convince her of that. He applied some gel to her hole and eased the head of his cock in. Instinctively she clenched her sphincter. Jordan kissed her shoulders and rubbed his hand down her back to the thigh that stretched across Mark’s hip. With each push from her front, she accepted Jordan a bit more. She and Mark still kissed, though Jordan sensed their change in breathing. Mark caressed her breast. Jordan squeezed her butt cheek. Through a small barrier of skin, he felt Mark’s dick moving in and out as he did the same. With the tightness of her ass, the smooth skin of her butt abrading his scrotum with each thrust, and the feel of Mark’s cock hitting the most sensitive part of his cock deep inside Catherine, he wanted to come in the worst way. But he wanted this to be good for her. It had to be good for her. She sucked in a harsh breath and her convulsions started, severe at first, gripping, and squeezing, and then tapering to a steady ripple along the length of his cock. Seconds went by, and she started again, and then a third time. Jordan couldn’t last any longer. He came with quick

pulses far inside her ass, at the same time Mark came in her pussy. Would they ever do this without the rubbers? Would he fill her with his cum, mixing it with her cream, truly making them one? Again, he had a flash picture of Catherine, big with his child—or Mark’s child. He wanted to see how their future would unfold. Assuming they had a future. Slowly, he withdrew from her. Mark did also, and she rolled onto her back between them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She shook her head. “No. It was different, exciting. I couldn’t breathe between you, and then I realized it was the ultimate fulfillment. I was overcome.” Lightning flared with the storm. She looked at the window and laughed. “I thought the flashes of light behind my eyelids were due to the three of us and what we were doing.” “It was,” Mark said. “We made a storm right here in this bed.” “I want to do it again,” she whispered. “I want to do everything with you two, anything. I want a thousand memories stored up.” Tears streamed down her face, like the drops of water rolling down the windowpane. “Catherine,” Jordan said softly. “You have to choose. You can’t be a nun and spend your nights wishing you were with us.” “I know,” she said. “I know.”

Chapter Twenty-Six She had to choose. But dear Lord, how? Catherine’s dreams plagued her. In one she woke each morning to Jordan and Mark but knew in her heart she faced damnation. In another, she spent years in her cell on her knees praying, but what she prayed for was to held by Jordan and Mark. How could she please both God and her own desires? When she finally did come awake, both men were up and out. Rain flew against the windowpanes in torrents, and occasional lightning brightened the sky. The smell of coffee came from downstairs, but she wasn’t ready yet to rise. She wanted to think. All along, she’d planned to return to St. Agnes. The contemplative life suited her, and she had given her vow to God and the order that for all her days she would be one with them. Having talked with Mark and Jordan, though, had she been called to a true vocation, or had she accepted the easiest course? If she withdrew from the convent, surely God wouldn’t consign her to hell for choosing love over a life she wasn’t meant to live. But is it love you feel or lust? Satan was innovative. He could make her believe she was in love—and that the men loved her—when in fact nothing lasting or true existed among them. How would she define love? She thought about them all the time. But you’re

unworldly. Any man who was nice to you would invade

your thoughts. She wanted to do things for them. Serving has been

ingrained in you. She loved the feel of their bodies next to hers. Sex. The

greatest draw to sin ever. She wanted their happiness above her own. Her inner voice stayed silent. “Nothing to say to that?” Do they feel the same about

you? They had given her no reason to think otherwise. Neither had prevaricated in any way. Both seemed to worry that she make her own decision without interference. Yet they showed in every way that they cared about her. Truth and trustworthiness were their hallmarks. Feeling better, she threw off the covers and padded into the bathroom. After showering and brushing her teeth, she hurried downstairs. “How do you feel?” Mark asked, handing her a cup of black coffee. Jordan stood when she entered. They had pushed the sofa bed into place and cleaned up the clothes she and Mark had left strewn over the floor. “I feel great. How about you?” “Never better.” He bent his head for a quick touch of their lips. She gave him another to match. “Jordan,” she said, giving him a soft kiss, “I’m so glad you’re back early.” “Me, too.” He smiled, and her heart flew. This felt so right, being here with them, taking their love on faith yet feeling the solidness of it deep inside.

“We won’t be going out,” Jordan said, glancing out the window. “I think the most work we have left here is in your mother’s study. But we don’t want to venture in there until you’re ready for us.” “I appreciate that. I think…” Unconsciously, she bit her bottom lip. “I think I’m ready.” “After coffee and something to eat will be soon enough.” Mark frowned. Did he sense the door she would be opening to them? Her mother’s secrets had to be disposed of in a way that didn’t diminish her dignity any more than she’d already suffered. At her arrival, Catherine couldn’t fathom how her mother had carved out a life away from hers or how she could have lived as she did. Now she had a glimmer of understanding of how and why Emma Jacobsen chose the life she had. If she did return to St. Agnes, she couldn’t leave the journals or her mother’s papers to be read by just anyone. “There is some very sensitive information in my mother’s journal, Jordan. You’re my attorney. If I leave them with you, what will be done with them?” “Whatever you choose. I can see that they’re burned, if you like. Or I can hold them in a safety deposit box until you decide.” He leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’ll do whatever you want, but as your friend, as someone who loves you. I’ll be out of the law business in a week or less.” “You’ll still be qualified by the bar, won’t you?” Mark asked. “I just won’t renew my license when it comes up. So,

yeah, technically for a while I’ll still be a lawyer. Just be assured that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure your wishes are carried out, Catherine.” “I would love to read all of them now, now that I feel some of what she did. I was so afraid I would become the sinner I thought she was, and now I see she was simply in love.” She looked at Mark and then Jordan, the only one among them who had known her mother in any way. “Will I meet her fate, do you think?” “No!” He scooted to the edge of the chair and reached for her hand. “You have two men who love you. Two strong men who would die rather than see you hurt. Unlike Tipton and that Leo, whoever he is, we aren’t already married. In fact, we talked this morning, and either of us would marry you right now, today if you were free to do so. We don’t want to trap you in a situation you find impossible to be happy in. You are not your mother, and Mark and I aren’t the same kind of men as her lovers. You can trust us always to tell you the truth and allow you options and control over your fate.” Mark, beside her on the sofa, turned to her and squeezed her shoulder. “None of us is in a position to understand why your mother did what she did. And none of us is perfect, so it’s not up to us to judge. We love you, Catherine. Whatever is in the past is something we all have to deal with, but when it comes down to it, it’s over. We want to share a future with you, if that’s what you want, too. She thought of the years in the convent and the years before that, worrying that if the nuns couldn’t love her and

her own mother didn’t love her enough even to write, how she would ever make it in the world. And then she considered how the sun had shone brighter, how she’d smiled and laughed and felt truly blessed since knowing Jordan and Mark. She pictured her habit hanging in the closet, the vestments by which she had defined herself for most of her life, and the rosary, which until she knew what the touch of a hand could mean had always been her source of calming and comfort. “It is,” she said simply. **** Jordan couldn’t believe his ears. She wanted to share their lives and fortunes? She half laughed. “I almost expect lightning to strike.” “God, Catherine,” Mark said, pulling her into his arms and spilling some of her coffee in the effort. “I can’t believe it! You’ve made us the happiest men on Earth.” “Sweetheart,” Jordan said, when Mark finally let go of her and she set her cup on the side table. “This is wonderful.” His heart nearly burst with emotion he couldn’t begin to express. If his reaction sounded a bit underwhelming, he could tell from her smile that she understood. Her acceptance changed everything. He wanted her with them, but worried a little too, that she didn’t fully understand what her decision meant—for them or for herself. “So.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Now that I’ve

said what was in my heart, I guess I’m nervous. What is our future? I’m guessing Ballymeade isn’t ready for another woman who loves two men.” Jordan shook his head. “I agree with that. In fact, there aren’t many places that would accept a woman living with two men.” He let the difference between what he said and what she’d said sink in. “We may be heading toward one of the few places in the world that would.” “Which is…?” “France,” Mark said. “France? As in Europe?” Mark nodded. Jordan smiled his affirmation. Catherine covered her smile with her hands. “When I arrived, I wondered if maybe Mother Superior would consent to my traveling to California to help opening the new convent.” Jordan didn’t want her to picture a little house with roses quite yet. “A lot has to be worked out before we know if we’re going to live there, but we’ll be setting sail by the end of October for business meetings in Paris.” “And you want me to go with you?” “We absolutely want you with us. But it depends on what you have to do to sever your ties with the convent.” Mark looked from her to Jordan. “What will that take?” “I have no idea,” Jordan admitted. “I have to request a separation from the bishop. Mother Superior has to agree to pass on my petition.” Mark’s brows wrinkled in a worried expression. “What if she doesn’t agree?” Catherine shrugged. “I don’t know. Before someone

leaves, they never talk about it. Just one day they’re kneeling beside you in chapel and the next day we’re told they have departed and that we’re not to mention them again. The process is not discussed.” “That’s because they don’t want to advertise that you can leave. They’re afraid of a rush for the doors.” Mark sounded as angry as he had looked earlier. What had she told him about her past that pushed him over the edge? “How many nuns have left in the time you’ve been at St. Agnes?” “Maybe three. Most of us there truly feel it’s where we belong. If not for both of you, I would be going back thinking the same.” “You have really thought about this, haven’t you?” Mark asked. “Jordan and I don’t want to be the reason you leave. It has to be what you want for yourself, not what you think we want for you.” “Mark’s right. As much as we love you and want you with us, a step this huge has to be your desire.” To Mark she said, “It’s all I have been thinking about. And yes” —she turned to Jordan— “it is what I want. It’s just that, without the two of you, I would still be afraid to see the world as something I deserve. I thank you for that, no matter what happens.” The rain made the only sound heard in the room for several minutes. Mark used his cane to stand. “I think we have plenty enough food to keep Jordan from getting soaked. I’ll fix something for us.” “Do you need help?” Catherine asked.

“No thanks. I need to use my foot a bit. You two stay there.” After he left the room, Jordan held out his hand. “Come here.” Catherine took his hand and rose to stand before him. His hair had dried from his shower, but hers was beginning to curl with the dampness left from hers. She smelled fresh and clean, and he ached to give her everything she wanted out of life. Leaning forward, he laid his forehead on her stomach and breathed her in. She cradled his head. He ran his hands under her prim and proper skirt until he reached her panties, which he knew to be virginal white. Pulling them below her ankles, he held onto her hips while she stepped out of them. Kissing her through her clothing, he still felt her heat, still recognized the catch in her breathing and knew when her heart began to race. “Do you have something to put on?” she asked hoarsely. Jordan nodded, still braced against her. “Let me have it.” Where had she learned how to command in their sex games? He loved that she took the initiative. From his shirt pocket, he handed her the square wrapper and then leaned back and opened his trousers. Arching his back, he pushed them to his knees and then waited. She looked at him, studied his cock as a boy examines a new toy to see how best to play. Then she sheathed him, taking care to stroke his entire length and squeeze the root. He needn’t have wished she would straddle him—she did it as though she read his desires telepathically. And then she

drove him crazy by rubbing her pussy across the head of his dick. Fire licked his balls when her skirt swished across them with every move. Flames chased desire through his veins until, just before he was ready to force her onto him, she sank over him on her own. She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it out from the waistband, exposing her tits held beneath one of her mother’s silk slips. He’d been shocked to find her breasts bound under her habit, rather than held in a bra. As in everything else, she must be slighter than her mother in bras, too, because she hadn’t worn one since shedding her nun’s clothing. Jordan took one nipple into his open mouth and breathed on it, then sucked. She thrashed her hips, rising and falling faster with each passing moment. He grasped her hips and guided her to a more steady rhythm, but she fought him with the coming of her climax. Mark came back into the room. He stood beside and slightly behind her, so he could cover her breasts with his hands. He circled her nipples with his thumbs. Holding onto Jordan’s shoulders, she pressed her head to Mark’s groin, turning to his zipper as though seeking something, as a baby seeks its mother’s nipple. Mark undid his pants and set his cock free. Catherine licked the head, and Mark guided it farther into her mouth. Jordan pulled her skirt away so he could see his cock pounding into her and then looked up to see Mark’s cock disappearing a couple of inches into her mouth. She truly was theirs, and they would never let her go.

She came with spasms that had him shaking. He came with the force of a young boy just learning how to fuck. Mark withdrew from her mouth and jacked off while watching her pussy contract over Jordan’s cock. He’d read of these kinds of scenes in underground Victorian sex novels but never thought he’d be part of one. This is your new life, boy. And he couldn’t be more excited.

Chapter Twenty-Seven “What the hell are you doing here?” Brendan Tipton had been out. It so happened that Jordan followed him up his driveway. Jordan didn’t expect Tipton to greet him any other way, and it was fine. He was in no mood for niceties. “I want to know about you and Emma Jacobsen and my father.” Tipton stared for a moment and then grinned. “Well, it’s about time you figured it out. Come on, we’ll talk.” Jordan didn’t like the way the conversation was starting already, but he was determined to get the truth out, no matter what it cost him. They went through to Tipton’s study. “Don’t disturb us,” he called out to someone in the vestibule. He went to the credenza. Tossing his hat onto a chair, he asked, “Want a drink? Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink this early in the morning.” “I’ll take whiskey, straight.” Tipton raised his brows. “My, my, we are upset.” He handed Jordan the drink, and he slugged it back. Like liquid fire, the whiskey went down with a good burn. Handing the empty glass to Tipton, he asked for another. Then Tipton settled into his chair and propped his feet on the edge of the desk. “What do you want to know?” “Start at the beginning.” “Okay. Your dad and I went to Harvard together. Hometown boys making good. I came back to take over the

family farm, he came back three years later with a law degree. And a few proclivities.” “Meaning what?” “He liked prostitutes. He liked being in charge, having control. We called him the Lion of Harvard, because he ruled the house where we lived. Not with an iron hand exactly, but most kowtowed to him. He had a presence, and he used it to his advantage.” Tipton stopped to appreciate the whiskey. “After he’d been back for a while, he started taking cases all up and down the coast. A winning attorney can build a name for himself, and Bob did that in spades. On one of his trips he visited a whorehouse, where he met a pretty young girl. There was something about Emma. You might have met her, but you never knew her, so you can’t understand what I mean.” “Catherine is like that, even raised in a convent.” “Ah. I thought she would be. It’s an innate sensuality. Emma hadn’t been whoring long enough to be jaded and old. He brought her back and installed her in the cottage. I didn’t even know he owned the place until he came to me with a proposition. Our own little whorehouse, with our own special whore. Once I met her, it was too good to pass up. We went in on all expenses. And let me tell you, she wasn’t cheap. But she was worth every penny. I actually miss her.” “But she had a daughter.” “Yes, the kid.” A sickening thought formed in Jordan’s mind. He thought for a moment he would vomit Tipton’s expensive

whiskey all over his expensive carpet. “He wasn’t—” Say it, coward. “He wasn’t Catherine’s father, was he?” “No. Emma already had Catherine when Leo met her. But he already had a plan for how to handle her.” Tipton held up the glass until light coming through the side window filtered through the whiskey. Colors reflected on the far wall from the amber liquid. He took another drink and then looked hard at Jordan. “You ever wonder why you were an only child? After all, everyone in town knew your family was perfect and loving.” This sounded like a question he’d need alcohol to get through. Jordan shrugged and took a healthy gulp of whiskey. “I just thought they couldn’t have more kids.” “They couldn’t have more kids because when Bob found out you were a boy, he stopped sleeping with your mother. She’d served her purpose.” How could that be? “They shared the same room.” Tipton shook his head. “Adjoining rooms. As far as I know, your mother’s a virtual virgin, and your dad had no use for her. Hell, there were times he cheated on Emma. She was supposed to be the one he went to for sex, but he was a frequent customer at some of the high-class places you can find if you know where to look or who to ask. Anyway, the point to all this is that he hated kids.” “He loved me.” “He loved his heir.” Jordan thought back. Had the interest in his schoolwork and his athletic prowess been a father proud of a son he loved or a man proud to stand out in the community

because the boy who succeeded was a reflection of himself? He couldn’t tell anymore. “So he came up with the idea of sending her away.” “Bob had contacts and found out about the convent school. He convinced Emma that it would be best for the girl, and of course we would pay for everything. And he got her in. I never knew how much that cost him. As her attorney, he had a long talk with the head nun and explained what Emma was. Of course he left out his part in all of it.” “Of course,” Jordan said wryly. “Bob told her that it would be best if there was no contact between mother and daughter. He said he was concerned only for the girl, of her being influenced by her mother.” Tipton turned and stared into Jordan’s eyes. The man was telling the truth. “I just found that last part out, by the way. When I first met Catherine, she said she’d received no letters. I know damn well that Emma wrote her every week. So I called the place and asked what had happened. The nun I talked to said they withheld all mail, coming and going, in order to protect Catherine from unsavory influences.” “That was unbelievably cruel.” “He didn’t want her coming back.” “What if Emma got pregnant again?” “Oh, he wore rubbers, every single time they fucked, believe me. Told me to, too, but a few times I was in rut and we did it au natural, as the French say. She was always wet and hot and ready, and that’s no lie. And daring. I swear, that woman would spread her legs for us in a

crowded room full of priests.” Not what Jordan wanted to hear. None of it. His father, whom he had loved and respected, was a monster. “Do you have any idea why Miss Jacobsen killed herself? It’s killing Catherine to know that she did it.” “For all her skills as a fucking partner, she didn’t have good sense when it came to her emotions. She fell head over heels for your father. He saved her from a life in a whorehouse or being on the streets, so naturally she had feelings for him. She still screwed me from now ‘til Sunday, but he was the one she hungered for.” He stopped and stared out the window before starting again. “He wasn’t good to her or even gentle, but she waited year after year for him to leave your mother. Poor thing. I guess she never knew he’d fed her a pack of lies until the end, after your dad’s heart attack. Then your mother let her have it double barrels.” “What? What did Mother have to do with Emma?” For the first time, Tipton looked uncomfortable. He glanced away. “Damn whiskey. Loosens the tongue, you know?” He got up and refilled his glass, sloshing more into Jordan’s, too. “I don’t know what you can do with the information, because I have no proof other than what she told me, but you might as well know everything.” He settled in his chair again, but not with his feet up. He cradled the glass in his hand and sat forward, leaning on the desk. He didn’t look at Jordan but kept his eyes cast toward the desk. “Your mother stayed with your dad for the

money and prestige. I mean, why else would a woman stay with a man who makes it clear he doesn’t want anything to do with her? But she grew balls during that time, let me tell you. Big brass balls. She knew about Emma. After Bob died, she went down to the cottage and confronted her in the yard. Years of bitterness over being left alone while Emma had Bob’s attention came out. She shouted and screamed, and I think she had a gun, because she told me she threatened Emma with something she couldn’t fight back against. And she said she cornered her against that useless fence on the cliff and just…pushed.” The words didn’t even register with Jordan. She pushed? Pushed what? He must have looked confused, because when Tipton looked up, he shook his head and gave a mirthless smile. “Your father held his mistress over his wife’s head, and his wife killed said mistress. Is that clear enough?” Jordan shook his head, feeling like a marionette being maneuvered by strings. “That can’t be true.” “That’s what she told me when they buried Emma’s body. It washed ashore about fifteen miles down the coast. ‘Course, there wasn’t much to bury. I was there, so was your cook, that Negress. Your mother had been in the woods watching. I was still there when she came out and spit on the grave. That was when she told me. Ask her. But there’s no proof you can use to do anything.” He knocked back the whiskey in his glass. “Wouldn’t be surprised if your dad’s heart attack was no accident, either. I tell you, that woman has balls.”

Jordan emptied his glass. “Is there anything else? I want to know all of it.” “That’s it.” Jordan nodded and stood. Three whiskeys was more than he usually drank in a month, but the adrenaline from anger and disbelief had kept him sober. He had to get home. No, not home, not home ever again. Now it was just his mother’s house. At the door, he turned. “Did you love Emma? Did anyone love Emma?” Tipton tilted his head and thought. “Catherine.” **** “Mother, I want to talk to you.” Jordan’s anger had built on the way from Tipton’s house to his mother’s. The pouring rain reflected the way he felt inside—doomed and adrift. “I thought you might, after seeing Brendan.” No longer knitting, she still sat before the fire, this time with a sherry glass filled with the amber liquid. He smelled alcohol from half a room away. Turned out, this was the perfect morning for drinking. “Tipton told me a great deal I didn’t know about my own family. I feel foolish and ashamed about my father. But if he’s telling the truth, you’ve topped even dear old Dad.” “He told you that I killed the bitch, and I did. I took your father’s pistol and I went there to shoot her, but she made my life so much easier by backing away from me in the direction of the cliff. I used only one finger to push her

backward and over the fence. My middle finger.” Jordan covered his face and then scrubbed his cheeks with his palms. He’d stepped through the rabbit hole. “Who else knows about this?” She looked up at him. “Brendan, you, and me. Brendan won’t do anything about it. I’m sure as hell not going to run to the sheriff. So that puts the burden squarely on you, Jordan. Are you going to turn in your mama for killing a slut who captured your father’s attention for two and a half decades of my time?” “Mother, you killed a woman. I’m an officer of the court. I have to say something.” She shrugged as though he’d just told her he needed to do laundry. “You can’t prove a thing, so go ahead and make a fool of yourself if you want to. I’m glad I did it. She stole my husband from me.” She sipped her sherry, nonchalance evident in every lazy gesture and comfortable pose. “The interesting thing is, no one in town even knows Robert and she were fucking.” Jordan wanted to cover his ears and run away. His mother had always exuded the attitude of a lady, not a murderer who used fuck offhandedly. “He covered his tracks well for as long as he was screwing her. Remarkable, isn’t it?” “What’s fucking remarkable is that all these years I thought we were the perfect loving family. The perfect fucking loving family. I used to feel sorry for kids whose dads didn’t come to Little League practice or whose mothers baked terrible cupcakes. Nothing compared to my

family.” “Your father came to Little League games so he could look good when you hit a home run. He didn’t go for you. He spent the games making contacts, blessing people with the joy of his presence. He even met her there at a few games. Oh, they didn’t act like lovers, just bare acquaintances, but he had no right. That was my time.” She finished the sherry in her glass and got up to pour another. “And I never baked a cupcake in my life. Mandy did all that.” “It was perfect to me.” He dropped his hands and wondered what he should do next. “The other night when you were forgetting Dad was dead, I felt sorry for you. I thought you loved him.” Turning, she stared at him. She looked old but younger than she had a week ago. Her eyes were brighter and her posture more regal—more like the mother he remembered before his father’s death. Maybe the Catholics had it right and confession was good for the body, if not—in this case —the soul. “Did Dad really have a heart attack?” “Yes.” “A natural heart attack. Without any help.” She laughed. “Are you suggesting I helped him along?” “Did you?” She ran her finger around the edge of the glass and swayed her head left and right. “There are natural substances that can bring about heart attacks. Some grow wild right here in Oregon. Did you know that?” His stomach clenched. He didn’t want to ask anything

else, he didn’t want to know anything else. But he had to know one more thing. “Based on what Tipton said, Dad didn’t love Emma Jacobsen. Why would he ask for a divorce?” “Why do you think? He found another little chippie down in California. He said he was in love. I didn’t give a shit.” She sighed. “Look, Jordan, I loved the life your father gave me. It wasn’t fair of him to try to take it away. It was bad enough putting up with a whore living in my own town, but a divorce? I’d rather see him dead.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight “Hey, buddy,” Mark said as Jordan was hanging up his raincoat. “Everything okay?” “Everything is fucked up. Where’s Catherine?” “Upstairs.” In the years he’d known Jordan, the man had never been a doom and gloom kind of guy. Something was screwing with him royally. After he and Catherine had their incredible fuck on the table, they’d gone back to organizing the study. A few of the glass figures appeared to be unique and had been set aside. The rest were wrapped and packed. Then they’d started on the books. Her mother had had a ton of books, but they’d separated them and packed a good half of them. In all that time, they hadn’t speculated about what had driven Jordan into the rain, but it had been on both their minds. Mark went back into the study after Jordan dragged up the stairs as though the world weighed down his shoulders. Sitting in the chair, he took a hefty gulp of coffee he’d brewed and poured just before Jordan came home. The hot, strong beverage perked him up, and with enthusiasm he dug into the stack of books they had yet to pack. Miss Jacobsen’s tastes ran the gamut from the latest Mickey Spillane to Shakespeare. He picked up a copy of Madame Bovary to place it in the box when a folded piece of stationery fell out. He started to put it aside, but curiosity got the better of him.

He flipped the paper open and sat back to reach his cup.

Dearest Emma, you were spectacular last night. That dress made you look sexy as hell. I wanted my dick inside you the minute I walked through the door. I wish I could have stayed and fucked you all night long, but the bitch expected me home for some party she’d committed us to. Someday I’ll be rid of her, I promise. Until then, just know that you’re the only woman who keeps me satisfied. Your Lion What a bastard. From what he’d seen of Tipton, he sure as hell was no prize. But this Leo character was worse. Had he promised that he’d leave his wife? A married man who had this kind of setup would never desert the home fires. Why would he, when he had the best of both worlds? But even so, there was no sense of romance in this note, no hint of feelings other than for sex. This was what frightened Catherine. It wasn’t the idea of loving two men, it was that someday she might be trapped, still loving two men who didn’t love her in return. He began to fold the paper when he froze. This was fine stationery, bearing a watermark. In the center of the sheet, barely visible, was a shield. In the top-left corner a book lay open with the word Juris above it. In the lower right quadrant, an owl perched upon a gavel. He had seen this shield just the other day, above the gate at Jordan’s house. Leo was his father.

Hell, what do I do now? Whenever he spoke of the senior Parnell, Jordan’s eyes practically held awe. He heroworshipped his dad. Could he—should he—show him this note? And Catherine, too. She wanted to know who the second man was, but how would this change their dynamics? “What’s that?” Mark jerked his head up at Jordan’s voice. “Nothing,” he said. “It fell out of one of these books. Did you talk with Catherine?” “I tried, but I couldn’t find the right words.” “Can you tell me? How bad can this be compared to the shit we’ve already faced together?” “I’m not sure I can talk to anybody about it right now.” “Well, when you’re ready, you know where to find me.” That gave him the answer he needed. Whatever was eating Jordan, Mark didn’t want to complicate it by proving to him that his father was a heartless bastard who spent his days and nights fucking the mother of the woman they were now both fucking. There’s a difference. We love her. We want her. But in the eyes of an outsider—in the eyes of God, which was the only thing Catherine cared about—how different would it seem? Jordan stood at the opened desk, pulling out papers and separating them into piles. Mark slid the folded note into his shirt pocket. The old saying was that bad news spread like wildfire while good news took its time. In this case, later would suit the bad news just fine.

**** She was lost in a sexual haze. Earlier, when they retired for the night, she had kneeled over Jordan’s naked body, tentatively taking his cock into her mouth. Behind her, Mark eased his way into her ass. She’d never even used that term for her body part a few weeks ago, and now she allowed a man to use it for sex. But Holy Father, it feels so

very, very good. And so wicked. She reveled in performing acts that the nuns had preached against her whole life. They didn’t preach against all of them. She doubted anyone at St. Agnes knew that men used a woman’s ass to come to climax. Or that the feel of a man’s cock in a woman’s mouth produced such a sense of power and desire. Mark pushed ever so gently, and she took in more of Jordan. He caressed her head and stroked the hair back from her face. “Oh, yes, baby, yes, that feels so fucking good,” he muttered. She flicked her tongue against the bottom of his penis. “Holy fuck!” He squeezed her head to hold her still a moment and then said on a moan, “Do it again.” Mark reached under her and rubbed her clitoris. When she jerked with the contact, she both moved back onto Mark’s cock and dropped her head to the root of Jordan’s. He pulsed in her mouth, and she sucked at him. His taste, his smell, the thrill of rubbing the vein that throbbed beneath her tongue—all of these threatened to throw her over the

edge of reason. Mark thrust deeply into her, stroking her butt and up her back. He leaned over and lightly bit her shoulder and then began increasing his rhythm. His scrotum slapped her butt. His breathing matched his strokes. Wildly, she set her own pace, raising her head up and down, stroking with her tongue, rubbing her lips around the crown, sucking him in. She found his scrotum and stroked it firmly. “God!” Jordan tried to lift her head, but she was mindless, not even aware of what she was doing. But she did know that she was on the verge of an orgasm different from any of the others they had given her. She participated fully in this venture, even if she took them in as a crazed animal might. Nothing about this moment was sane or civilized. She craved release and in just this way, with just these men. She came on a deep moan, transferred to Jordan through his cock held tightly in her mouth. He joined with his own groan of release, his cock throbbing against the back of her throat. At first, she choked, but then, maybe because she was spinning through space and not thinking, she relaxed and swallowed instinctively. He tasted as he smelled—masculine and strong. Mark held off stroking her clitoris and slowed his pounding while she and Jordan came. But then he started again, his breathing harsh. Jordan adjusted himself on the bed so he could reach her breasts. He took a nipple in his mouth and suckled while he fingered her clitoris and pussy. She came again, hardly down from her first flight into the

universe. Then Mark came, holding her close, his cock buried in her ass. When he pulled out, Jordan crawled between her legs. He pushed her knees apart and lowered his mouth to her pussy. Mark took her breast, lightly biting and sucking, licking and nipping, while Jordan mined her pussy. She came a third time, crying out from sheer pleasure and fantasy. Nothing could destroy this. She loved her men, and they loved her. Nothing but good could come from such trust and goodness of heart. They would make a future. **** Jordan dropped to sit on the porch steps. In the predawn light, he hoped that somewhere within the sound of crashing waves he would find answers. Should he tell Catherine about his father? Should he give her the details she surely would ask for once he started down that path? And what in hell should he do about his mother? She’d confessed to murdering Catherine’s mother, and he had absolutely no doubt that she had done the deed. His family had done its worst to hers. How could he ever make it up to her? How could she ever forgive him? “Yeah, that’s right. It’s all about you, you dumb ass. You had to go and fall in love with Emma Jacobsen’s daughter. And a God damned nun to boot.” “Is this a closed conversation, or can anyone join in and

call you a dumb ass?” Mark asked through the screen door. “Christ! Isn’t there anywhere a man can go to be alone?” Mark’s cane tapped the floor, something Jordan noticed he’d taken to doing instead of tapping his foot. “Fuck, yeah. You can have all the fucking privacy you want.” He began closing the front door. “Hold up.” Jordan took a breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. This has been a hell of a day, but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come on out if you want to beard the lion.” Mark stepped out, bare-chested and barefoot. He eased down onto the step above Jordan. “We got a lot done today. The study’s about packed.” “Yeah.” Jordan might have told Mark he could come out, but he still didn’t feel like being social. If Mark wanted to be out here, he should enjoy the peace and let Jordan enjoy it, too. “Tomorrow Catherine said she would empty the closet except for those few things she would be wearing.” “Good.” “We thought it might be time to make a run into the city. Get some things appraised, drop off items the local churches don’t want.” “Okay.” “Then I thought I’d drop-kick your ass for acting like such a prick.” “Try it.” “Hell, even with a bum leg I could do it. Your bottom lip’s hanging down so low you’d trip on it.” Jordan swung around on the step and glared at Mark.

“So. You gonna give on what’s been eating you all day? Or are we going to go through another day of shifts between vile temper and silent treatments?” “You son of a bitch!” Another deep breath. When he exhaled this time, his anger deflated like a punctured tire. “You son of a bitch,” he said quietly. His shoulders slumped. “I recognized that glass unicorn as being just like one my dad gave my mother when I was about ten. He told her he’d had it made especially for her, that there was no other like it in the world. A couple months later, it went missing. We tore the house apart. I had a tutor at the time, prepping me for some fancy school my parents wanted me to attend, and he was fired, accused of stealing. We never found the thing.” “Until this morning.” “Right. My father secretly gave his mistress something he had bought specifically for his wife. He stole it and let someone else accept the blame.” That was as far as he was willing to go at this point. Until he had it all sorted in his mind, there was no need to reveal all the sordid details. “So you already know that your father is Leo.” Jordan raised his brows. “How do you know?” “That paper I found today. It was a note from Leo to Emma. The watermark was the shield that’s on the gate at your house.” Elbows on his knees, he held his head between his hands. “So what do we do? What do we tell Catherine?” “What do you think? Your family has known her and her mother the longest.” “I don’t know what to tell her. Why do you think I’ve been

going through hell all day?” They sat silently for several minutes. “You say we’re about ready to pack things in here?” Jordan had a glimmer of an idea. “It doesn’t look to me as though there’s too much of anything left to do.” “Then it’s Paris for the three of us. She’ll be away from here, from the house, from memories. Maybe we don’t need to say anything.” “Hide it from her?” Mark looked as skeptical about the idea as he sounded. “It will make her unhappy, learning everything…that I learned today. There isn’t a damn thing she can do about any of it. Why start out a bright future feeling miserable about things out of our control? We love her, that’s what she needs. Love and support.” “You must have found out some real shit today.” When he studied his eyes, Mark must have seen the confusion and misery Jordan felt. He finally nodded. “Okay.” Jordan sighed in relief. Mark’s agreement was the answer he had sought from the relentless ocean. Now he could see the light at the end of this tunnel of nightmare revelations. Soon they’d be gone from here and all its secrets. He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Stunned, Catherine left the window and stumbled back to the bed. Thinking that Jordan and Mark had walked out into the yard, she had gone to the window to watch them. Since discovering her love, she never had her fill of touching or seeing them. Instead of spying the men, she heard them talking through the open window.

“So you already know that your father is Leo.” “How do you know?” Pain spiraled through her. Jordan knew his father was Leo, and so did Mark. She lost track of their conversation but then tuned in again

“…it’s Paris for the three of us. She’ll be away from here, from the house, from memories. Maybe we don’t need to say anything.” “Hide it from her?” “It will make her unhappy, learning everything…that I learned today. There isn’t a damn thing she can do about any of it. Why start out a bright future feeling miserable about things out of our control? We love her, that’s what she needs. Love and support.” So, neither man was prepared to tell her. Jordan had said his father’s name was Robert, not Leo, and she’d believed him. Why had he lied to her? Worse, he had lured Mark into his deceit. She curled into the fetal position. Jordan had lied to her. She had trusted him with her body and her fragile emotions.

Now she didn’t know what to do. Had he meant any of the things he said to her? The men remained outdoors until well after dawn. Catherine finally unfolded her body and made her decision. She thought their relationship—a most unusual relationship, but one she had embraced because she trusted her partners—was worth a second chance. She would give them an opportunity to tell her what she already knew. If they were honest, she could move forward. Her faith was based on the idea of mercy and forgiveness. What did it say about her years serving God if she showed none to the men she loved? Dressing quickly, she hurried downstairs. At some point, one of the men had brewed coffee. She poured a cup and walked to the porch. “Beautiful morning,” she said. Jordan turned and smiled. He looked as innocent as a lamb. Could he act that well? Or did he truly believe what he’d said, that keeping her in the dark was for her own good? “Seeing you, I’d say more beautiful.” She couldn’t help smiling back. After years of hearing how plain she was, she felt like a sinner simply knowing joy when someone complimented her. She shouldn’t take pride in her physical appearance. “You’re a flatterer, Jordan Parnell.” “Nope,” Mark said. “He’s just telling the truth. How did you sleep?” “Well, thanks.” How to proceed now? “I know a little

about Mark’s family, but I’ve only met your mother, Jordan. What was your father like?” His expression turned wary. “What would you like to know?”

Why he hurt my mother so. Why you’ve lied to me for the last week. “What made him settle here? Was he from here?” “Yes. When he finished law school, he came back to set up practice.” “How did he meet your mother?” How did he meet my

mother? “At a law conference in Seattle. I think she was happy to come back here where she’d be a big fish, though in a small pond.” Catherine took a sip of coffee and then cupped the warm glass. The early morning air off the water was cool. Dark clouds crowded the horizon, holding the promise of rain later. “What was he like?” Jordan turned away from her. This was his chance. He could tell her right now that his dad had been his mother’s second lover. She knew without doubt that the glass unicorn had something to do with the matter. Jordan’s whole bearing had changed when he saw it. “When I was growing up I thought he was a god, dispensing law and justice. I admired him and loved him beyond words.” “And now?” Jordan swiveled to face her where she sat beside Mark. Misery was written on his face as he stared.

“Tell her,” Mark urged. Jordan licked his lips. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “Tell me,” she whispered. “My father is Leo.” A shuddered breath shook his body. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know until yesterday, I swear.” “I believe you.” Relief flooded her. “You knew?” “I overheard you from the window. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.” “That’s okay. I should have told you right away. I was afraid, and I apologize.” “Jordan doesn’t hold all the blame,” Mark said. “I found a note in one of your mother’s books yesterday afternoon, and it pointed to Mr. Parnell. I wasn’t sure who to talk to first, but I shouldn’t have held back from you.” “What now?” Jordan gave her a straightforward look. “Can you forgive us?” “Of course!” She smiled at his expression of relief. “Your not wanting to tell me is understandable.” She put down her cup and took one of each of their hands in hers. “But we’re embarking on a new life here, and we need to be honest with each other. I can’t live with men I can’t trust.” “I understand, Catherine,” Mark said. “And you won’t have to, I promise. No more lies.” Jordan said nothing, but the firm squeeze of his hand signaled his agreement. Shyly—but less so now—she asked, “Shall we seal our promise with a kiss?”

“Absolutely.” Jordan pushed up, using his hand on the step. When he took her lips, she tasted a sweetness that hadn’t been there before. Mark’s kiss filled her with passion. She loved these men! “I’m not kissing you,” Mark said, pointing to Jordan. “Thank God,” Jordan replied. “No promise is worth that.” Catherine laughed. For a brief moment, the sun shone brighter and she forgot about the bank of dark clouds rapidly running the wind toward the coast. **** Catherine’s soft lips caressed his dick, and Mark thought he’d die from pleasure. They’d dodged a bullet that morning when she pressed Jordan about his father, but then they’d hurried up to the bed he’d come to view as heaven and sealed their vows of honesty in a different way. She went down on him with abandon at the same time she took Jordan’s cock in her pussy. The scent of musk filled the air, making him more lost in the sensation of her hot, wet mouth closing over him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pressing her down, massaging mindlessly on the up stroke. She used her tongue to tease. With one hand, she rubbed his nuts, and he nearly came off the mattress. Beside him, Jordan thrust his hips upward. He had his eyes closed and his mouth slightly opened, obviously enjoying each and every inch of her cunt. Catherine hummed as she slid her head down, and he

felt it through every nerve ending in his body. That was it. He pressed her head down and came with a surprising intensity. He let go immediately, and she raised her head, stroking him with her hand instead of her mouth. He didn’t care. Expecting her to swallow was too much, though she had taken some. When she groaned and dug her head into his stomach, his wet cock under her chin and cum smeared on her cheek, he knew she was coming herself. He smoothed her hair back from her face with one hand and rubbed her shoulders with the other. Jordan let out a grunt. His tenseness proved he’d also hit the wall. The three of them were so in synch emotionally, their bodies seemed to follow suit. Catherine relaxed at last, and finally he knew she was finished. With Jordan’s help, he lifted her to lie between them and then took her hand. She snuggled her head on his shoulder and snaked one leg between Jordan’s legs. He pulled the sheet over them and, like that, they fell asleep. Later, rain pelted the windows when Mark opened his eyes. A glance out the window showed a line of blue sky directly behind the clouds. As quickly as they moved, the rain should end within the hour. Catherine breathed deeply, her head resting against his shoulder. Jordan spooned her back, but his breathing proved he wasn’t still asleep. “What time is it?” Mark whispered.

“A little after eight.” Mark began to plan out the day. If the sun did come out, he’d like to take up Catherine’s idea of walking the beach. But they also had the bedroom to empty and the rest of the study to pack, so taking time out to stroll the beach might not be feasible. Catherine stirred. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened. “Good morning,” she murmured. Reaching behind her, she rubbed Jordan’s thigh. “Morning,” he said. “Do you two have any plans for today?” Jordan pushed himself up to look at Mark over Catherine’s shoulder. Mark shook his head. “What did you have in mind?” Jordan asked. “I’d love to finish the house. I’m anxious to start our new life together. You have to be in France within a couple of months, and I don’t know how long it will take to complete the paperwork with the Church.” “I’m all for getting out of Ballymeade,” Jordan said. “I should be able to bring back the paperwork for the law firm and drop off the items you want appraised for auction if I get up to Portland today.” “If I can go with you, I’ll contact the team in Paris and make arrangements to meet.” Walking the beach could wait if it meant they would be off sooner rather than later. Nothing would be better than living with Catherine in a permanent relationship. “Will that be okay with you?” Jordan asked Catherine. “Absolutely. I’ll clean the study and living room.” She

smiled against Mark’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to use it as a bedroom any longer.” “I’ll go down and start breakfast,” Jordan said. He kissed Catherine’s earlobe and rose. “I’ll be down in a few minutes to help,” Catherine said, watching Jordan pull on his pants and zip them. “Take your time,” he said and left. A minute later, the toilet flushed, and then Jordan headed down the steps. “Is he okay?” Mark asked. “He seems a little reserved.” “I think he feels badly that he tried to hide his father’s relationship with my mother.” She ran her hand across his chest, sending shivers of desire through him. “And I’m sure it will be hard to leave his boyhood home and his mother. But won’t it be exciting to be together?” “I can’t wait.” He rolled toward her. “I never thought I’d find anyone like you.” She smiled and pressed her finger to his lips. “Believe me, I never thought I’d ever meet anyone like you, either.” How strange this whole situation must be to her. “Will it be very hard for you?” “Yes.” Her smile disappeared, and he was sorry to have been the one to cause it. Then she brightened. “If not for you and Jordan, I would be going back, unaware that the days could be so beautiful or that nights could be so wonderful. I wouldn’t know the meaning of being a woman. My life is changed, but in a way I think God approves.” Mark reached between her legs. His fingers slid through the wetness at the entrance of her pussy. “I certainly approve.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and raised her leg over his hip. “Do you?” “Oh, yeah.” “Do you need a condom?” “No. Face the other direction, toward my feet.” She flashed him a surprised expression but did what he said. He tugged her into place, her legs on each side of his face. Mark didn’t think Catherine had done a sixty-nine before, but she caught on right away. His cock lengthened into a steel-hard rod, which she took into her mouth and sucked in all the way. He licked the length of her labia, taking special care to rim her ass before probing her pussy with his tongue. Her cream flowed freely, as sweet as honey and more fragrant. While he drank her in, he used his middle finger to rub her ass. She flexed her hips, driving her cunt hard against his mouth and forcing his finger over her asshole. He used his tongue to tease her clit, and she moaned her appreciation into his cock. He pushed up, into her hot, sexy mouth. She stroked his balls and sucked his crown hard before sliding down to his root once more. Shit! He wanted to come. Openmouthed, he went back to her pussy, using his tongue to stroke just inside the entrance. In moments, she quivered, her juices running into his mouth, over his lips, and onto his chin. But he didn’t stop, didn’t let up, even as he felt his balls draw up, the signal he was ready to come. Then he did. In an answer to his dreams, Catherine sank her head down to the base of his cock and took his cum,

tensing only a split second. She groaned over and over, sending the sound in waves through his body. He sucked in air when she raised her hips off his mouth and moved a tad down his torso to collapse. Mark stared at her pussy, liquid still leaking out, now onto his nipple. He skimmed her pussy lips with his finger, and she shivered. He scraped up some of her cream and sucked it off his finger. Her pussy was a thing of beauty, and it was his and Jordan’s. How had a beat-up, disfigured Marine like him gotten so lucky? “Is there anything you want from town?” “Yes. For the two of you to hurry home.” Your wish is our command. He knew that Jordan, like him, wouldn’t spend a minute away from Catherine that they didn’t need to.

Chapter Thirty Catherine walked into the study that had held such fear for her a few days before, confident that she had come to know her mother in a way she’d never imagined she would. She still wished life hadn’t unfolded as it had—she wished her mother had wanted her more than she had wanted the company of two men. Or that at least she had received a letter explaining why the decision had been made as it had. Where before she’d felt unloved, she now knew what real love was, and she said a short prayer thanking God for the experience. The room stood empty. Sunlight streamed through the windows. The men had been gone a couple of hours, and Catherine had thoroughly cleaned the floors in every other room except this one. She’d left this room until last because once done, she would close the door on the room most belonging to her mother. Before she began, a knock sounded at the door. A fleeting fear that she would find Mr. Tipton flashed through her mind, but she pushed it aside. She had changed a great deal in the past week and knew she now had the confidence to counter anything he initiated. Throwing open the door, she looked in surprise at the person standing on the other side. “Mrs. Parnell. Hello.” “Is my son here?” “No, I’m sorry. He went to Portland to drop off the things

I’m selling.” She raised her brows. “Selling? I suppose in your greed you’re selling my glass unicorn?” “My mother’s unicorn? Yes, I believe that’s to be sold.” “In her whole slutty life, your mother never owned anything as fine as that glass figure. It was mine, until my husband—that’s right, my husband—stole it to give to her.” The woman might be Jordan’s mother, but she hadn’t earned the right to talk to Catherine this way, nor about her mother. “I’d appreciate it if you would leave, Mrs. Parnell.” “I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.” A look of satisfaction passed through her eyes, and she nearly seemed to be smiling. “Did you know that my Robert was your mother’s lover?” “No. No, I didn’t until this morning. Jordan told me everything.” “I wondered if he would come back here sobbing over his father’s grave mistake.” Then she cast her gaze head to foot, taking Catherine in. “I see. You’re no longer Sister, are you? That can only mean you’ve taken after your mother. You’re sleeping with Jordan, I suppose?” She didn’t like Mrs. Parnell, but she couldn’t lie. There was no reason to, anyway. Jordan knew his mother well enough to know what would concern her. It was his place to placate her. “I don’t need to explain anything to you.” “You’re right. There’s no need.” She stood back and studied Catherine. “Just the next time he sticks you with his cock, remember that his father did the same to your dear

mama, for years and years, in every which way.” Catherine gasped at Mrs. Parnell’s malicious tone. “I knew about her from the beginning, of course,” she continued. “At first, I tried everything I could think of to make him keep his fucking at home. But eventually, I gave up. When a woman spreads her legs so readily for several men at once, the temptation is too great I suppose. I had only fidelity to one man on my side.” “Please leave. Just go now. I won’t tell Jordan you were here.” Or the hateful things you said. “Feel free to let him know I dropped by. After all, he knows everything anyway. Tell him that even with my visit today, he can’t prove anything.” Catherine bunched her brows. “Why would he need to prove anything? What your husband did isn’t your fault.” For a moment Mrs. Parnell said nothing. Then she burst into laughter. “Oh, my dear, naïve woman. He didn’t tell you everything.” Still chuckling, she went down the steps and to her car. Catherine moved to the top step. “What are you talking about? What don’t I know?” Mrs. Parnell opened her door and looked back, seeming more relaxed and in control than she had a moment ago. “Would you be happy to know that your mother didn’t commit suicide?” “Yes. Of course. But then, how did she die?” Jordan’s mother smiled, a smile so like his that Catherine’s heart clenched. She opened her mouth to shout

for Mrs. Parnell to stop. She suddenly didn’t want to know what vile thing the woman was about to spout. But she didn’t have the option. “I pushed her off the cliff,” she said and then turned to point. “Right about there. I heard her screams over the sound of the ocean.” Catherine gripped the porch railing. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. “I see my skill in murder impresses you as much as it did Jordan.” Her eyes narrowed and her smile disappeared. “I wanted to make sure you knew. See how much you enjoy fucking my son now.” Without another glance, she climbed behind the wheel and drove away. Alone, Catherine sank down onto the top step. Even tears wouldn’t come. Jordan knew. He knew and didn’t tell her. He knew that morning when she said they should never lie to each other again. He knew when he followed her upstairs and made love. He knew later when he left for Portland, promising to come home ready to take the next step toward their future. A future she now knew was built on false witness. What a fool she’d been. For the past week she’d given herself to Jordan and then to his friend, believing their words of love. Yet what did she know of love? How could she have trusted herself to know the difference between love and a lust to know life at its fullest? She had given in to the vagaries of the body and forgotten all about the soul. She’d wanted a man to love her and pushed the love of God to the back of her mind. If she died right now she

would go to hell, and she would deserve to. **** The sun was starting down the west side of the heavens when they arrived home. Jordan loved the thought that Catherine had turned on the lights for them and that she waited on the other side of the door. “That was a worthwhile trip,” Mark said, “but by God I’m happy to be back here.” Jordan barked out a laugh. “You mean anywhere Catherine is.” “Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.” He opened the passenger door and pushed himself out. Jordan came around and waited for his friend before mounting the steps. “I think she’ll be happy with the appraisals and the starting prices for the auction. Her convent will make a good bit of money off what she sent up.” As they reached the top step, something beside the door caught his eye. It looked like suitcases, but they had taken all the extra clothing with them. “What’s that?” “Looks like…” Mark took a step toward the objects. “It’s my suitcase and I guess yours.” Jordan opened the screen door and tried the knob. The front door was locked. “What the—” He knocked. “Catherine?” In seconds, she came to the door. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stepped back. Her expression stopped him cold.

“What’s happened?” “Your mother came by after you left.” His blood ran cold. Gripping the screen door, he found it somewhere in himself to sound in control when he asked, “Did she?” “She was surprised that you hadn’t come running back here to tell me everything. But you hadn’t, had you?” “What’s going on, Catherine?” Mark stepped forward. “What didn’t Jordan tell you?” “How my mother died.” “How she…?” Mark looked at Jordan. “What’s she talking about?” “You didn’t know?” Catherine asked Mark. “I knew about his father, but I don’t know anything about his mother.” “Then I’m sorry. But I have to insist you both go. I have a lot to think about, and I don’t want either of you here while I do it.” “Catherine.” A note of pleading filled the single word. “Please. Let me explain.” “You mother did all of that and more.” Jordan spun on his heel and stormed off the porch. God damn his mother, he’d kill her. He’d wring her neck himself. He’d—

What, you dumb ass? You swore you’d always tell Catherine the truth, and you lied. Your own actions came back to bite you on the ass. He stared at Mark and Catherine. Mark spread out his hands and talked, obviously trying to reason with her. She

shook her head, looking as grim as he’d ever seen her. Gone was the meek little nun, hiding her face, averting her eyes at every turn. In her place stood a woman who touched his heart and owned his soul. He wanted her with everything in him. And he wouldn’t give up. Mark slowly made his way down the steps and walked toward the car. Catherine stared at him from the doorway then closed the door. “What did she say?” Jordan asked when Mark got in. “She said she had a lot to think about. I told her we’d leave her alone tonight but that we would be back tomorrow morning and that we hoped to win her back.” “Good. And she agreed?” “Jordan, I don’t know. She said she’s been foolish and that she owed God more than lip service.” The blood drained from his face. “She wouldn’t think of going back to the convent.” As long as she was free from the sisterhood, he had a chance of winning her back. “I think she might.” Mark sounded as miserable as he felt. No, not as miserable, because Mark wasn’t responsible for this whole fucking mess. “I’m sorry, Mark.” Mark laid his hand on Jordan’s arm. “Let’s go somewhere and get a drink. This is what you learned yesterday, isn’t it? This is what you thought would kill her if she knew.” Jordan nodded. “Do you want your suitcase? I can’t go home tonight. If I’m in the same house as that bitch, I’ll kill her.”

“Let’s go buy a couple of toothbrushes and then find a place to stay. A place with a bar nearby.” “Thanks, buddy.” He started the car and pulled up the lane. Would he be coming back tomorrow to a woman who loved him or to a nun and the end of life as he’d come to desire it? **** A sleepless night passed for Catherine at a snail’s pace. Hour after hour crawled by until weak morning light penetrated the room. Even so, she rose from bed calm and full of peace. The decision had been so easy when it came down to it. Only one course of action made sense. She would be gone from Hollyhock Cottage that day and from Ballymeade. She had little to take with her. Nearly two weeks ago, she had arrived with underclothing and a spare habit. Leaving, she would take little more than that. Jordan knew already what to do with the proceeds of the cottage and the things that would be auctioned off in Portland. Everything else had been distributed to local churches and charities for distribution to the poor. She could leave at least feeling she—and her mother, through her—had done some good for the world. As for her soul, God would forgive her. Forgiveness was always His message and gift to the world. Through prayer and proper living, she knew that she would learn to forgive herself for her foolishness and start to live again. Jordan and Mark were supposed to be back to talk

around nine, so when she heard someone knock on the door at eight, she was caught by surprise. She peeked through the front window to see Lonnie standing beside his Nash. Catherine swung open the door. “Sister Celeste!” “Hello, Sister Margaret Mary.” The nun looked with surprise at Catherine’s dress. “What are you doing here?” Sister Celeste cast her gaze down and hid her hands beneath her scapular. “I was instructed to come and see to you. Mother Superior heard from the local priest—” “Father Samuels.” “Yes. He indicated that you were in trouble.” “I feared he would call Mother.” “Is there reason?” Lonnie didn’t look their way, but Catherine didn’t want any word of this conversation spreading through town. “Come in, please. I’ll fix us tea. Or breakfast. Have you eaten yet?” “No. Some toast and tea would be welcome if it isn’t too much trouble.” “Not at all.” She led the nun through to the kitchen and began preparations. “What a pleasant little cottage,” Celeste said. “It is quite nice. I’ve been very comfortable here.” “It looks as though your work is at an end. I saw your suitcases on the porch.” “Oh, those aren’t mine. They’re—” Did she really want to explain about Jordan and Mark? The whole story would be

known soon enough. Celeste didn’t seem interested in details, anyway. “My train leaves the station in less than two hours’ time, Sister. Mother has asked that I bring you back to St. Agnes with me.” Catherine turned to the woman whom she had so greatly admired a few weeks ago for her knowledge of the world. “Returning to St. Agnes is exactly what I have in mind.” **** “We’re early,” Mark said. “I don’t care. I can’t wait any longer to find out what she has planned.” He guided the Ford into the lane but then slammed on the brakes. “I don’t believe it.” Mark opened the door. Jordan stopped him by grabbing his arm. Below them, at the cliff’s edge, Catherine stood, looking out to sea. The ocean breeze blew her veil out behind her, and she hid her hands within the folds of her habit. Lonnie loaded suitcases into the trunk of his Nash. “She’s made her decision. I don’t want to make it harder on her by confronting her now.” “But…” Mark closed the car door and slumped in the seat. “I’ve hurt her enough. I can’t stand to hurt her more by pleading with her to reconsider.” He put the car in reverse and backed out into the road. He would come back later to collect their suitcases and see

if she left them a note. If not, he would contact her through the convent to make sure of the disposition of Emma’s estate. He would never be able to face her without breaking down. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Epilogue Cap-d’Ail, France Catherine held the envelope up again and checked the address. 67B, Rue de Mer. Not Paris, though. Jordan and Mark had settled in Cap-d’Ail, a tiny village on the Mediterranean near Monaco. She hoped they still lived there, hoped nothing too very much had changed. The letter from Jordan telling her the legal dispensation of her mother’s estate was nearly a year old. It had taken months for it to be forwarded from the convent, and she had taken another few months to gather her courage to book passage. She knocked on the large wooden door. It swung open.

“Oui?” And in that instant, she gazed on the sweet face of her Jordan. He wore a white shirt with no collar, its sleeves rolled to the elbow, and faded black trousers. His eyes widened. “Mark! Get out here!” In seconds, she heard him. “What the fuck is it? I was right about to tighten the—” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Catherine!” “So it is you,” Jordan murmured. “I had to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.” She smiled. “You’re not dreaming.” “Come in,” he said, holding the door wider. “My God,” Mark said. “You look great.” He started then

stopped and looked at the greasy rag he’d been wiping his hands with. “Oh, the hell with it,” he said and hugged her using his arms and not his hands. “You look very fit,” she said when he let her go. “I see you’ve done away with the cane.” His attire was much the same as Jordan’s. She’d quite obviously caught them working on something. “The shoreline isn’t the same here as at home, but I followed your advice and built up my strength.” She sent a shy look Jordan’s way. He had closed the door and stood with his arms crossed. “And are you well, Jordan?” “Yes, thanks.” So formal. Perhaps the wounds hadn’t healed. “Come in,” Mark said. “I’ll see about some coffee and food. Have you eaten?” I was too nervous wondering if I had a future. “No. I didn’t take time at the hotel.” “A hotel here in town?” “Yes. I arrived last evening.” The two men looked at each other. Mark’s look was chagrin. Jordan lips formed a thin line and his brows furrowed. He shook his head as though to tell Mark not to say anything. She followed Mark, and Jordan followed her, up a flight of stairs and into living quarters. “Let’s sit on the patio. You can see the sea from there.” Mark showed her out onto a stone area surrounded with a decorative iron railing. A table with chairs sat among pots full of flowering plants and herbs. Quickly, he leaned

forward and brushed her lips with his. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could come to us rather than stay at a hotel. I’ll be right back.” He shot Jordan a look that said, “There! I did it.” “I’ll help,” Jordan said, sounding a touch desperate. “Stay here, you coward.” Mark smiled at Catherine and then disappeared into the house. Jordan sighed but held out a chair politely. She sat and then waited for him to say something to dissipate the ice floes she felt she was swimming in. “It seems we’re bound to be together near water,” he finally said. She looked to match his focus and was struck by the shimmering blue of the Mediterranean. “Water is ever changing. Rather like our relationship.” “Ebb and flow, is that it?” “Something like that.” She snuck a look from the corner of her eye and found that he stared at her. “We came,” he said, just as she said, “I waited for you.” “You didn’t come,” she said. “I waited until after nine thirty. I couldn’t wait any longer.” “We were there early. We saw you in your habit, staring at the sea. I told Mark I didn’t want to make things any harder for you by begging you to come with us. You’d definitely made up your mind to stay in the convent.” So that’s what had happened. If only they had come to the cottage. “That was Sister Celeste.” “Who?” “She was sent by Mother Superior to bring me back to St. Agnes.” The trip back had been strange. With her habit packed on the journey, she had found herself strangely in

two worlds traveling with Celeste—unable to comfortably kneel with her during prayer times yet feeling odd not doing so. How quickly she had shed the duties of a lifetime. “You mean you didn’t…?” He seemed to take in the meaning of her street clothes fully. Shaking her head, she said, “No. I had decided to stay out. I did go back to Ohio, though, and waited until the bishop approved my exit.” She looked away when his eyes became moist. “Mark wanted to go down and talk to you, but I said no. It could have saved months of questions.” “You were trying to make things easier on me. I understand.” “Did they give you a hard time? She remembered being ushered into Mother Superior’s office. Mother had required no lengthy explanations as to why Catherine wanted to leave the convent. Indeed, she seemed unsurprised. “You’ll stay in the resident house for the school until your paperwork is signed by the bishop.” “Thank you. Mother.” Mother Superior stood. “Follow me,” she said. Down the hall, she used a key to open the door to a basement, but in a part of the convent Catherine had never seen. “This is where we store the sisters’ things from their lives before they take the veil.” She led Catherine to a storage unit. Indicating a large box covered in dust, she said, “This holds the last clothing you wore. The other boxes hold your letters.” Letters! Catherine stared. At least a dozen shoebox-

sized boxes were stacked beside the larger box. “From my mother?” “Yes. At the request of your benefactor, we withheld mail to and from your mother. He felt contact with her would cause…” Mother dropped her gaze. Catherine understood just what she had intended to say. She thought Catherine might become infected with sin somehow by her mother’s influence. Robert Parnell—Leo—had been a monster. But he was the past and holding negative feelings toward him in her heart would only hurt her. “I believe you were only doing what you thought was right for me, Mother.” “I’ll ask the janitor to take everything to your room. I didn’t open any of the letters, nor were any of them discarded.” “Thank you, Mother. May I say good-bye to the sisters?” “No. You have made your decision. It’s best to let it lie.” That had hurt, but she adapted, as she had to everything in her new life. Through the letters, she discovered just how much her mother had loved her all those years, and that she had been as lonely as Catherine in many ways. They had been caught in a trap not of their making. Her mother’s prison was the cottage by the sea, the very place Catherine had found that real love set one free. Too bad her mother hadn’t discovered the same freedom. The only thing that had escaped her was the sense of peace and happiness she’d felt with Jordan and Mark. “No,” she said, coming back to the present with the Mediterranean breeze cooling her face. “Mother didn’t make it any more difficult than it would have been anyway.”

She looked out to sea again. This was not how she had hoped things would go. She had wanted them to sweep her into their arms and proclaim that they still loved her. Instead they acted as two old friends, pleased, but not ecstatic at her arrival. Perhaps she had misjudged the wisdom of coming here. “Did you start your engine business?” “Yes.” For the first time, Jordan’s voice filled with passion. “We’re in this year’s race, and things are looking very promising. Our shop is downstairs. We live over our work, as you see.” “No racing talk,” Mark stipulated, carrying a tray of coffee cups. A dark-skinned woman followed carrying a tray of sandwiches. “She asked,” Jordan said. To Catherine he said, “Do you remember Mandy, from the house in Ballymeade?” “Of course,” Catherine exclaimed. “The amazing cook. Did you move here with Jordan?” “To tell the truth,” the woman said, “after I found out what Mrs. Parnell did, I couldn’t stay there. Mr. Jordan said he’d show me the world, and Lord, if he hasn’t done just that.” “Mandy keeps us on the straight and narrow,” Mark allowed, moving a chair to sit beside Jordan. “But I’m happy you’re here. These men need a woman’s touch who’s under the age of sixty.” She patted Catherine’s shoulder and disappeared in the house. “So, your mother’s alone.” Grimly, Jordan said, “In that huge house. A prison of her own making.” “But we’re doing well,” Mark said, changing the subject.

Catherine was happy he had. “I want to know about you. What have you been doing?” he asked. “I’m a seamstress. If there’s one thing I learned to do well as a nun, it was sew tiny, neat stitches. When she found that I was leaving St. Agnes, Mother Superior insisted I keep the proceeds from the house. I gave in and kept a portion. So I’m also doing well.” “Good. The sale was quite successful.” Jordan didn’t meet her eyes when he said it. “Yes, I was very surprised.” She fixed him with a stare. “I was even more surprised when I heard who purchased the cottage. Mrs. Robert Parnell.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “I hope you don’t mind. She razed it.” Mark cleared his throat. “She had a bidding war with a mystery bidder.” It was Catherine’s turn for surprise. There was only one explanation. “Jordan? Did you bid against your mother?” “I didn’t really do it for you per se, because I didn’t think you’d ever see a dime of the money. I knew how much she wanted the place and I did it to spite her. I wish there was some way I could have punished her for what she did, Catherine.” “I have prayed for your mother. She must have been very, very unhappy.” Catherine shook her head and gazed at him. “And it isn’t for us to punish her, my love.” “You forgive me?” His words were strangled. “There’s nothing to forgive. As you once told me, I am not my mother. Well, you are not your father. I was

overwhelmed when you told me and I behaved badly. Do you forgive me?” “If only you knew how much I want to pull you into my arms and kiss you, you wouldn’t ask that.” “The people who caused us harm are dead or far away.” She took a breath. “Is there really a chance you still have feelings for me, Jordan? And you, Mark. Do you believe you could love me again?” “Catherine,” Mark said. “You have to ask? The one thing missing from our lives is you. I love you. Do you think there’s any way you would consider moving your seamstress business to France? There are a couple of old Marines turned mechanics who need you.” “And want you,” Jordan added. “You haven’t found anyone else?” “Sweetheart, I love you” Jordan reached out his hand. “There’s only ever been you.” She reached across the table and placed her hand in his. Then she took Mark’s hand, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Thank you, Lord, thank you for leading me back

to my destiny. “Tears, Catherine?” Mark asked, swiping them from her cheek with his thumb. “Of happiness. I love you both so much.” “Doesn’t the Bible say something about the sins of the father being visited upon the children?” Jordan smiled at her. “Do you know what you’re jumping into? With my parents, I’m in big trouble.” “That isn’t anything we have to worry about,” she said. “I

believe that God’s message is to love well. We do that.” Jordan rubbed her palm with his thumb. “I’ve thought many times since last year that your mother was the innocent in the whole story. She was looked down on, even though she did a hell of a lot of good things in the community. My parents were well respected and turned out to be horrible.” “I’m grateful the good Lord seems to think we’re all responsible for ourselves. I don’t need to assume anything of my parents’ sins or have them assume responsibility for mine.” Mark quirked his brows. “Of which there are a multitude,” Jordan said dryly. “You should know. You were there helping me commit most of them.” Catherine laughed, and it felt good and right, there with her men in that lovely place. “I would love to move here and live with you.” She dipped her head. When she looked up, she felt the sting of more tears. “In fact, I packed and brought with me what little I have, hoping you would still want me.” “I’ll get someone to bring your things from the hotel,” Mark said. “Please,” she replied. “I’ve lost so much time. Now I’m anxious to start our lives together.” An image of children dashing up and down the stairs flashed through her mind. Was that her future? She couldn’t wait to find out.

THE END NOMADAUTHORS.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Dee S. Knight has written award-winning erotic romance for years, even branching into ménage romance. Now as Jenna Stewart, writing exclusively for Siren-Bookstrand, she is creating only ménage—stories that stretch across the centuries and which show that the only thing better than true love between a man and a woman is true love between a woman and more than one man. For all titles by Jenna Stewart, please visit www.bookstrand.com/jenna-stewart

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com