Rough Around the Edges. Marie Ferrarella

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СКАЧАТЬ the policeman laugh again. He clamped a fatherly arm around O’Rourke’s shoulders.

      “Hey, this is Bedford.” He nodded at the disappearing gurney. “That’s probably the most exciting thing that’s going to happen around here all night.” He paused, hesitating before venturing back outside. “Don’t you want to see your little woman before you go?”

      To try to explain one last time to the policeman that Kitt Dawson wasn’t his little woman and that he had only happened by at an opportune time for her seemed completely futile to him. For simplicity’s sake, and because he wanted to get home sometime before midnight, O’Rourke resigned himself to going along with the charade.

      “No, I thought I’d give her a chance to get cleaned up a little—and I’d like to do the same before coming back to see her and the baby,” he added for good measure, having absolutely no intention of doing the latter even if Kitt did have some of his clothing in her possession. It wasn’t as if that was his last jacket or sweater, and despite his words to the contrary, she was right. There probably was no way he could get them cleaned at this point. Beth would just have to understand.

      The answer had the desired effect on the policeman. He seemed obviously pleased. Nodding his head, Gary steered O’Rourke around toward the rear doors. “Okay, then let’s get going.”

      The trip back to his van was not one undertaken in silence.

      O’Rourke hadn’t really thought that it would be. Officer Gary Brinkley strongly reminded him of Shamus O’Brien, a distant cousin of his mother’s in the old country. It wasn’t that the two men looked alike, but Shamus could talk the hands off a grandfather clock and not take any note of it as he just kept on going. Not because the man liked to hear the sound of his own voice, but because Shamus truly felt that everything he said was important, gleaned on the battlefields of life. He felt it his duty to share those lessons with those who hadn’t had a chance to experience them yet.

      And after what sounded like an endless twenty years on the police force, first in Los Angeles County, then here in Bedford, it sounded as if the good constable had a great many lessons of life to impart as well. And O’Rourke found himself the lucky recipient tonight.

      It occurred to O’Rourke that he might have been better off walking back to the van in the rain. It would have been a great deal wetter and longer, but on the up side, it would have been a great deal more peaceful.

      The topic the police force veteran had settled on was marriage and family. Gary was definitely pushing for the pros. At length.

      O’Rourke had a headful of cons to oppose him with, albeit—not wanting to prolong the diatribe any longer than absolutely necessary—he listed them silently. In no uncertain terms, marriage and the family that followed had been both his parents’ undoing. And while O’Rourke loved his siblings with a fierceness that would have made the hearts of the creators of greeting cards swell with joy, there was no doubt in his mind that it was the burden of these same siblings, and himself as well, that had first killed off his father, then his mother. Sarah O’Rourke had died of nothing short of a broken heart a little over two years after her husband’s demise. Leaving the business of family-raising squarely on O’Rourke’s shoulders.

      “Nothing like it in the world,” Gary was saying for what seemed like the fourth or fifth time. “But hell,” the man said, turning in his seat, “I don’t have to convince you of that, do I?”

      “And why’s that?” O’Rourke heard himself asking the question as curiosity got the better of him.

      “Because I saw the look in your eyes when you looked down at that baby. You feel it already, don’t you?”

      Mystified, O’Rourke asked, “Feel what?”

      “That tug on your heart.” He thumped his chest with his fisted hand. “The one that anchors you in their harbor and makes you vow to do everything in your power to see to it that they get every chance in the world to have the things you didn’t. To be happy and healthy and all that other stuff.”

      Turning another corner, Gary pulled up his squad car in front of the van. The rain had subsided, falling steadily and sedately now rather than in sheets and gusts.

      “Here’s your van,” Gary pointed out needlessly. He twisted around in his seat. “So, you going to do it? Are you going to make an honest woman of her?”

      Now, there was a term he hadn’t heard in a long time, O’Rourke thought. Not since before he left Ireland. Then it had come from Susan, telling him that Patrick was going to be making one of her. An honest woman. It was Patrick’s baby she was carrying, all the while he’d been thinking that she belonged to him. He’d felt his heart crack a little then, but told himself it hadn’t. He’d known that the kind of life he’d planned for himself didn’t include having someone like Susan in it. She needed attention he couldn’t spare.

      He’d wished her luck and shut his heart. Just another sacrifice he’d made to get to where he wanted to be. A man who could take care of his own, meaning the family that already was, not the one that might be, if things were different.

      Problem was, he hadn’t gotten there yet.

      A whimsical smile played on his lips as he looked at the policeman next to him. “Are you a Catholic, Constable?”

      The shaggy black-and-gray brows drew together in one formidable hairy line. “What? No. Why?”

      “Pity.” O’Rourke unhooked his seat belt. “You’d have made an excellent priest. Father Donnelley back home couldn’t have held a candle to you.” Another man dedicated to long-winded sermons, he thought.

      Gary hadn’t gotten to where he was in life by not knowing when he was being given the slip. “So, is that a yes or a no?”

      O’Rourke grinned. “Not a candle,” he repeated, getting out. “Thank you for the ride and the advice. And the rain slicker.” Shedding the aforementioned garment, he left it on the passenger seat, then closed the door. He could almost hear the man inside the squad car sigh as he pulled away.

      O’Rourke’s grin widened.

      It faded when he realized he’d left his van keys in his jacket. The jacket that was now with a dewy-eyed, sharp-tongued woman in Harris Memorial, some fifteen or so miles away.

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