Ryan's Place Read online

  When she was in, he closed the door and flipped the lock, then retreated behind the bar. He figured it would give him the illusion of safety, maybe keep him from reaching for her and kissing her until her cheeks flamed pink from something other than the chilly air.

  When he’d fixed a fresh pot of coffee and poured two cups, he handed one to her, then took a sip of his own.

  “Do you need to stay behind the bar?” she asked. “Can’t you come out here and sit next to me? Or maybe we could go to one of the booths?”

  “I’m fine here,” he said. “This is where I’m used to being.”

  “And we definitely wouldn’t want to drag you out of your comfort zone,” she said, her eyes sparkling with undisguised amusement.

  He scowled at that. “There are reasons why people have comfort zones,” he said. “Why mess with them?”

  “It’s called living,” she pointed out. She patted the bar stool next to her. “Come on, Ryan. Take a risk. We’ll save the cozy booth for another day.”

  He sighed and gave in to the inevitable. He walked around the bar, but when he sat, he carefully left one stool between them. She bit back a grin.

  “Oh, well, that’s progress anyway,” she teased. “No need to rush things.”

  “Maggie, why are you here? It’s not as if this is the only place in town where you can get a coffee.”

  “But it’s the only place where I know the owner,” she said. “By the way, since you are the owner and it’s your day off, what are you doing here?”

  “Catching up on this and that,” he said evasively.

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a day off to me. Have you ever heard of taking a real break?”

  “To do what?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

  She regarded him with blatant pity. “Whatever you want.”

  “I want to catch up on all the things I don’t get to do when this place is busy,” he said defensively. “Paperwork, bookkeeping, checking supplies.”

  Maggie shook her head. “Don’t you have a hobby?”

  “No.”

  “Something you enjoy doing to relax?” she persisted.

  Uncomplicated sex relaxed him, but Ryan seriously doubted she wanted to hear about that. And today sex had been the last thing on his mind. Okay, not exactly true, he mentally corrected. Sex with Maggie had been very much on his mind, which he’d concluded was a really, really bad idea.

  Even so, he couldn’t quite keep himself from giving her a blatant once-over that had her blushing.

  “Not that,” she said, evidently grasping his meaning with no trouble at all.

  “Too bad,” he teased. “I do find that relaxes me quite a bit.”

  Her gaze locked with his. “Perhaps another time,” she said in a deliberately prim little voice.

  Ryan choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What did you say?” When she started to reply, he cut her off. “Never mind. Let’s not go there.”

  Now it was her turn to regard him with a knowing look. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Maggie, what do you want from me?” He couldn’t seem to prevent the helpless, bewildered note in his voice.

  Her expression faltered at the direct question. “Honestly?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” she replied, as if she found the uncertainty as disconcerting as he did.

  “Then you’re playing a risky game,” he warned.

  “I know,” she agreed, meeting his gaze. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. I keep finding myself drawn here. There’s something about this place, about you…” Her voice faltered and she shrugged. “I can’t explain it.”

  Gazes locked, they both fell silent. Finally Maggie sighed and looked away.

  “Can I ask you something?” she said eventually, still not meeting his gaze.

  “Sure.”

  “Father Francis told me something. He said that you don’t believe in love.”

  “Father Francis has a big mouth, but he’s right. I don’t,” Ryan said grimly.

  “Why?”

  Rather than answering, he said, “I gather you do believe in it. Why?”

  “Because I see it every single day. I see it between my parents. I’ve felt their love since the day I was born. I see it with my brothers and their wives, with Colleen and her husband. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do for each other or for their families.”

  Ryan listened, trying to put his skepticism aside. He tried to imagine being surrounded by such examples. He couldn’t. His own experience had been the exact opposite. There’d been a time when he’d thought his parents loved him and his brothers, but then they’d vanished without a trace. He’d been forced to question whether their love had ever been real.

  “Have you experienced it yourself?” he asked.

  “No, but I know it exists because I can feel it just by walking into a room with my family. It’s in their laughter, in the way they look at each other, in the way they touch each other. How can you dismiss that when it’s right in front of you?”

  “No,” he said quietly. “It’s in front of you. I’ve never seen it.”

  Because he didn’t want to get into a long, drawn-out argument over the existence of love, he deliberately stood up. “I’d better finish running those errands now.”

  Maggie looked as if she might argue, but then she put down her cup and picked up her coat. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “No problem.” He jammed his hands in his pockets as he followed her to the door.

  She opened the door, then hesitated. This time her gaze clashed with his in an obvious dare. “I’ll keep coming back, you know.”

  An odd sense of relief stole through Ryan at her words—part warning, part promise.

  “Unless you tell me to stay away,” she challenged, her gaze steady.

  “Whatever,” he murmured as if the decision were of no consequence.

  Her lips curved up. “I’ll take that as an invitation.”

  Before he realized her intention, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his cheek.

  “See you,” she said cheerfully, then disappeared down the block before he could gather his thoughts.

  Ryan stared into the shadows of dusk, hoping for one last glimpse, but she was gone.

  “That was a touching scene,” Rory said, stepping out of the shadows.

  “Have you been reduced to spying to get your kicks?” Ryan asked irritably.

  “Hardly. I just stopped by to see if you’d like a blind date for tonight. My date has a friend. I’ve met her. She doesn’t hold a candle to your Maggie, but I imagine she could provide a much-needed distraction.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ryan said. He doubted if both Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones rolled into one could distract him tonight.

  Rory grinned at him. “Which says it all, if you ask my opinion.”

  “Which I did not,” Ryan said.

  “Well, I’m offering it, anyway. A woman like Maggie comes along once in a man’s life, if he’s lucky. Don’t be an idiot and let her get away.”

  “I don’t even know her,” Ryan argued. “Neither do you. So let’s not make too much of this.”

  “Are you saying the woman doesn’t tie you in knots?”

  Ryan frowned at the question. “Whether she does or she doesn’t is no concern of yours.”

  “In other words, yes,” Rory interpreted. “So, get to know her. Find out if there’s anything more to these feelings. What’s the harm?”

  Harm? Ryan thought. He could get what was left of his heart broken, that was the harm. Maggie’s words came back to him then.

  It’s called living.

  Ryan tried to balance the promise of those words against the reality of the heartbreak he’d suffered years ago and vowed never to risk again. Bottom line? There was nothing wrong with his life just the way it was. It was safe. Comfortable. There were no significant bumps, no nasty surprises.

  “See you,” he said to Rory. “I’
ve got things to do.”

  Rory’s expression brightened. “You going after her?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Better things to do.”

  “What could be better than an evening with a beautiful woman?”

  “A couple of games of racquetball and an ice-cold beer,” Ryan retorted.

  Rory laughed. “That’s called sublimation, my friend.”

  “Call it whatever you want to. It’s my idea of a great way to spend a few hours.”

  “That’s only because you haven’t been on a real date with a woman who might actually matter to you in all the time I’ve known you,” Rory said.

  Ryan couldn’t deny the accusation. “You live your life. Let me live mine.”

  “That’s the problem, Ryan, me lad. What you’re doing’s not living, not by any man’s definition.”

  Nor by Maggie’s, Ryan was forced to admit. But neither her opinion nor Rory’s mattered. His was the only one that counted, and he was perfectly content with his life.

  At least he had been till a few days ago, when Maggie O’Brien had blown into the pub on a gust of wind and made it her mission to shatter his serenity. From what he could tell, she was doing a darn fine job of it, too.

  Chapter Five

  Maggie was beginning to hate the defiantly silent phone at her parents’ house. Ryan was definitely not taking the hint. She’d all but thrown herself at him, and he was still maintaining the same aloof, distant air. Without her fairly secure ego, she might have found it humiliating.

  If she’d honestly believed that he wasn’t the least bit interested in her, she might have accepted that and moved on, but she didn’t believe it. Not only did she know Colleen’s impression regarding his interest, but her own instincts on her last visit to the pub had told her he was attracted to her. She’d seen the immediate rise of heat in his eyes when he’d found her outside, the too-brief flicker of desire before he’d forced a neutral expression onto his face.

  Maybe if she hadn’t quit her job, if she had a million things to do, she could have let it go, rather than obsessing about him. The truth was, though, that she was bored with all this time on her hands, and Ryan was the most fascinating element in her life at the moment. The vacation she’d been looking forward to when she’d left Maine was turning tedious. She was not used to being idle. And though she was supposed to be contemplating a future career path, all she could think about was Ryan Devaney. Maybe her personal life had been neglected for too long and needed to be dealt with before she considered her next job.

  “What are you frowning about?” her mother asked as she poured herself a cup of coffee and joined Maggie at the kitchen table. “Or do I need to ask? Is this about Ryan?”

  “I know it’s ridiculous,” Maggie said. “I barely even know the man, but I can’t stop thinking about him. He seems so lost and lonely.”

  Her mother smiled. “Ah, yes, two traits that are guaranteed to fascinate a woman. So, when are you going to do something about it?”

  “Such as?”

  “Invite him here for dinner.”

  “Here?” Maggie asked, unable to hide her dismay at the idea of exposing an already jittery Ryan to an inquisition from her parents.

  Her mother chuckled at her reaction. “Your father and I are capable of being polite and civilized when necessary,” she teased. “Didn’t you tell me Ryan had a difficult family background? Maybe being around a normal family would be good for him.”

  “You think we’re normal?” Maggie asked with obvious skepticism.

  “Of course I do. A little rambunctious at times, but pretty typical. There are no major dysfunctions I can think of,” she added dryly.

  “I suppose you’re right, but I don’t think Ryan would accept the invitation. Frankly, I think normal makes him uncomfortable. Besides, it’s obvious to me that he’s happiest on his own turf.”

  “Meaning the pub,” her mother guessed. “Then we’ll go to him. I’d like to see this young man of yours again. How about tonight? Your father should be home early, and since it’s Friday, neither of us has to work tomorrow. It’s been ages since we’ve had a night out in Boston.”

  The prospect of descending on Ryan’s Place with Nell and Garrett O’Brien in tow made Maggie decidedly uneasy, but her family was a big part of her life. She might as well find out now if Ryan could cope with that.

  “Are you sure?” she asked her mother.

  “Of course I’m sure. It’s a great excuse to spend the evening out with my husband. And didn’t you say there’s an Irish band at the pub on weekends? That will be lovely,” she said, then quickly amended, “as long as we can keep your father away from the microphone.”

  Maggie grinned. Her father’s enthusiasm for singing was a family legend. Sadly, though, he couldn’t carry a tune, but that had never kept him silent.

  “Keeping Dad away from the stage will be your job,” she told her mother. “I can’t have Ryan threatening to bar us from the premises.”

  Her mother chuckled. “Yes, that would pretty much ruin your grand scheme, now wouldn’t it?”

  Ryan had been lured over to the homeless shelter by a frantic call from Father Francis. When he arrived, he found the priest trying to console a heavyset African-American woman who was clutching a crying boy about ten years old. As he got closer he could see that the boy had some sort of medical problem that had left his complexion ashen and his eyes listless.

  When Father Francis spotted Ryan, he gave the woman’s hand a pat, then left her to join Ryan.

  “What’s the problem?” Ryan asked.

  “That poor woman is beside herself, and who could blame her?” the priest said. “A few weeks ago the doctors told her that her son has a congenital heart problem that requires surgery. He also mentioned that it’s probably something he inherited from his father. Apparently, the news was so distressful for the father that he quit his job and took off, leaving them with no income and no insurance.”

  Ryan felt his gut tighten with knee-jerk anger at a man who would do that to his family. He pushed the reaction aside to deal with the real crisis. “I suppose you want money for the surgery,” he said. “I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow. You could have told me about it tonight at the pub. Why bring me over here?”

  “Because that boy needs his father,” the priest said. “He can’t go into such a risky surgery believing that his own father doesn’t care about him. Though you never faced a major illness, I’m sure you can relate to how he must be feeling.”

  Unfortunately, Ryan could relate to it all too well. “You can’t expect me to find his father.”

  “I do.” Father Francis regarded him with a steady look. “I think your own experience will motivate you to help. And if finding his father can’t be accomplished in a matter of days, then I want you to step in and be his friend.”

  Ryan had no difficulty offering financial assistance, even in hiring a private detective to conduct a search, but involving himself emotionally in the boy’s situation was out of the question. “What’s wrong with you being his friend?” he asked testily.

  “I’m a priest, and I’m an old man. It wouldn’t be the same,” Father Francis insisted. “Come. Meet the boy and his mother. You’ll need to talk to them to get the information you’ll need for the search.”

  “You’re assuming I’ll go along with this,” Ryan grumbled.

  “Well, of course you will,” Father Francis said without a trace of doubt. “That’s the kind of man you are. You put aside your own feelings to do what’s needed for someone else.”

  Ryan was growing weary of living up to such high expectations, but he dutifully followed the priest. The woman watched their approach with a wary expression.

  “Letitia Monroe, this is Ryan Devaney. He’s here to help.” Father Francis patted the boy’s hand. “And this is Lamar.”

  Ryan nodded at the mother and shook the child’s icy hand. “Nice to meet you, Lamar. You,
too, Mrs. Monroe.”

  “You can help us find my husband?” she asked, her cheeks still damp with tears.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Ryan promised. “I have some friends who are pretty good at finding people who are missing.”

  She looked alarmed at his words. “Not the police,” she said urgently.

  “No, not the police,” he reassured her. He hunkered down so he could look Lamar in the eyes. “You a Celtics fan?”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “They’re the greatest,” he said, his voice weak.

  Ryan had to steel himself not to feel anything, not pity, not anger. “Well, once you’ve had your surgery, we’ll see about getting you tickets to a game. Would you like that?”

  “Really?” Lamar whispered.

  “That’s a promise. Now let me talk to your mom for a minute. Father Francis will keep you company. Just don’t play checkers with him,” he warned, then confided, “he cheats.”

  “What a thing to say about your priest,” Father Francis scolded, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

  Ryan spent a few minutes with Mrs. Monroe, trying to garner enough facts to pass along to a private investigator who visited the pub most evenings on his way home.

  “Do you really think you can find him?” Mrs. Monroe asked. “It will mean the world to Lamar to have his daddy at his side when he has this surgery.”

  “And to you, I imagine,” Ryan suggested.

  “Me?” she scoffed. “I don’t care if I ever set eyes on his sorry behind again. What kind of man runs out on his family at the first sign of trouble?”

  Ryan couldn’t think of any acceptable excuse for it, either, but he tried. “Father Francis said Lamar’s condition could be hereditary. Perhaps your husband simply feels guilty.”

  She seemed startled by the suggestion. “You think that’s it?”

  “I don’t know your husband, Mrs. Monroe. You do. But if it were me, I’d be struggling with a lot of emotions about now. Maybe you should wait till you talk to him before you give up on him.”

  She nodded slowly. “I’ll think about what you said. And I’m grateful for whatever you can do.”

  “Let’s pray I’ll be back to you with some news in a day or two. In the meantime, you make the arrangements for Lamar’s surgery. You won’t have any problem at the hospital.”