Driftwood Cottage. Sherryl Woods

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      “Looking after me isn’t your job any longer,” she told him, trying to protect herself from the way his caring made her feel. It might be an illusion, but she felt cherished.

      He shrugged. “I can’t help it. Old habits are hard to break. I’ll bring some leftovers when I come. You barely touched your meal, and you completely missed dessert. Word is it’s Gram’s apple pie. There’s none better. I’ll bring you a slice.”

      She chuckled. “You’re no better than your dad, you know. You’re trying to fatten me up.”

      Connor winced at the comparison, then shrugged it off. “I’m bringing the pie, and I’m going to sit right here while you eat every bite. You’ll thank me later.”

      The temptation to slide over and kiss him was suddenly so overwhelming, Heather forced herself to throw open the car door and bolt without responding. Only after she was upstairs in her apartment, with the door safely locked behind her, did she release the breath she’d been holding.

      Heaven help her! When an O’Brien turned on the charm and showed his soft, caring side, what mortal woman could possibly resist? And yet somehow, she knew she had to. Her future depended on it.

      When Connor had seen Heather standing on the edge of the cliff with rain soaking her, he’d wanted desperately to sweep her into his arms and carry her into the house, into his bed and spend the rest of the afternoon warming her up with his body heat. He’d settled for handing her gloves and scarf to her and holding an umbrella over her head because he’d known she would allow no more. Her wary gaze had been a warning to tread carefully.

      Driving away from her apartment just now, knowing she was upset and that he was responsible, had been just as hard.

      But neither of those things prepared him for walking back into his house and facing down the judgmental stares of his entire family.

      “Where’s Heather?” Megan asked, her expression filled with concern.

      “I drove her home,” he told his mother. “She apologizes for running out. She wasn’t feeling well.”

      “Feeling left out, more than likely,” Mick said, showing surprising insight for a man who was usually oblivious to subtleties.

      From across the table, Abby scowled at him. “Connor, I just don’t understand why you’re being so pigheaded. Anyone can see that you love this woman.”

      “I do,” he agreed readily. “It’s not enough.”

      “Well, of course it’s not,” Mick said with undisguised disgust. “She had your baby. She has a right to expect you to make an honest woman of her. That’s what I expect from you, too.” He frowned at Connor. “And I don’t want to hear any more of this garbage about not believing in marriage.”

      “Well, I don’t,” Connor said belligerently, turning to the rest of his family. “No offense intended to those of you who do. You get to live your lives the way you want to. Show me the same courtesy.”

      “Even if your stance is costing you the woman you claim to love and your son?” Thomas asked mildly. “Everyone here just wants to see you happy. If you can tell us that you are, then God bless.”

      “Well?” Mick prodded, picking up where Thomas had left off. “Let’s hear how happy you are.”

      Connor remained stubbornly silent. Only the knowledge that bolting from the room would be an act of cowardice kept him in place.

      “Enough,” his grandmother said. “Connor has to find his own way, the same as the rest of you have. Megan, Jess, why don’t you clear the table, and I’ll bring out the pie and ice cream.”

      Relieved to have a reprieve, Connor sighed. Kevin gave him an amused look.

      “You don’t actually think you’re off the hook, do you?” his big brother asked.

      “I was hoping,” Connor admitted.

      “Not likely,” Trace told him.

      “In fact, something tells me the crowd’s just getting warmed up,” Jake added.

      Sensing unity, Mick gave him a benevolent look. “You won’t win this one, Connor. Marry the woman.”

      “Even if I think marriage inevitably leads to heartache?” he asked. “Even though I see proof of that every single day?” He turned to his uncle. “What about you? Back me up here. You’ve divorced twice. You know a piece of paper doesn’t guarantee anything.”

      Thomas gave him a pitying look. “Being married was the happiest time of my life. I loved both of my wives. You won’t find me arguing against the potential joy of marriage. When it works, it’s worth every bit of struggle it takes to get it right.”

      “And yet, here you are, with us on a Sunday afternoon,” Connor retorted.

      “And I’d give anything to have it otherwise,” Thomas said. “I’d go back to either one of my wives, if they’d have me, but sadly I burned those bridges. If the opportunity arises and I find another woman to love, it won’t take me but a minute to take that walk down the aisle again.”

      “Don’t say that in front of Gram,” Kevin warned. “You know how she feels about divorce because of the church. In her eyes, Dad and Mom were never divorced in the first place, so that wedding they had back on New Year’s Eve was nothing but a renewal of vows. She’s probably lighting candles right and left for you after two divorces.”

      Thomas grimaced. “Believe me, I’ve heard Ma’s opinion on the subject more than once. I’m just saying that when it comes to marriage, I’m a believer. People were meant to go through life with a partner at their side who loves them unconditionally.”

      “Yet another triumph of hope over reality,” Connor said cynically.

      Again, Thomas’s expression was filled with pity. “What do any of us have if we don’t have hope?” he asked. “Why, even at the bottom of Pandora’s box, there was hope.”

      Connor glanced around the table, looking for an ally, but everyone there was nodding at Thomas’s remark. Abby grinned at him.

      “You’re outnumbered, little brother. Give in gracefully.”

      “Never,” he said out of habit. Let them all live their lives blinded to the pitfalls of marriage. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap. For every happy couple they could point to, even in this room, he could find another five who were miserable. If they spent even a day in his office, listening to one tale of misery and heartbreak after another, they’d be stripped of these rose-colored glasses they were wearing.

      “Live in your dream world,” he told them, standing up. “I’m going upstairs to check on my son.”

      “You’ll miss Gram’s pie,” Bree said, looking shocked. “You never miss Gram’s pie.”

      “The peace and quiet will be worth the sacrifice,” he declared. “Just be sure there’s a slice left over for me to take to Heather later.”

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