Page 9 of Calling on the Matchmaker
“You won’t cause him any problems?” she persisted.
“Not one wee bit.”
“Finola Shanahan, you listen well to me now.” Mam’s tone was thick with the Irish brogue that hadn’t diminished over the years. “If we allow Bellamy to make your match, then you need to promise you’ll do just as he says.”
Finola folded her hands in her lap. “I will.” She wouldn’t interfere with Bellamy’s planning or manipulate his choices for her, but she would, as always, have plenty of tricks for making sure her matches would not find her suitable. But that was neither here nor there at the moment.
Around her, the parlor grew silent, accentuating the footsteps in the room above them as well as Enya’s singing.
Finally, her da took a step toward Bellamy and stretched out a hand to shake on the deal. “She’s in your care then, son. I have every confidence you’ll be able to find Finola a perfect match.”
4
Riley clutched his dad’s work-roughened hand between his own. He hadn’t moved from the chair beside his dad’s bed since arriving yesterday, except for when the doctor had visited for a checkup.
The doctor’s prognosis had been as grave as Tom Dooley indicated, and Riley hadn’t wanted to miss any of the last moments of his dad’s life, even if he was sleeping most of the time and groggy during the few occasions he’d awoken.
The door behind Riley opened, then closed, followed by the patter of feet—one of his sisters coming to see if he needed anything. With the draperies drawn, the room was dark, only a sliver of daylight filtering in to mark the passing of the night and the start of another day.
A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. As the slender fingers squeezed, he caught a whiff of jasmine perfume. Lorette.
The sixteen-year-old was the closest sibling in age to his twenty-six years and always seemed to understand him best. Though she was technically his half sister, he didn’t see her that way. He adored her. He adored all four of his blond-haired, blue-eyed little sisters. And he’d grown to love his stepmom too, although their start had been rocky.
He’d been but a lad of eight when he’d woken one morning tomake breakfast for his dad, only to find a pretty young woman in their apartment, her long blond hair streaming around her. She paused, with one hand stirring eggs in the frying pan and the other flipping slices of ham on the griddle. She smiled at him. “Good morn, Riley. I’m Eleanor, your new ma.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t need a ma.” He and his dad had gotten along just fine without anyone, hadn’t they?
Eleanor had turned back tohiscast-iron stove and resumedhisjob of cooking.
He had half a mind to stride over to her and drag her out the door. She was a thin waif and didn’t look old enough to be anyone’s ma. “I can take care of my dad by myself.”
At his declaration, she paused, and this time turned her full attention upon him, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears. “I can see that you’ve done an excellent job taking care of your dad. But I’d like to help, if you’ll let me.”
He started to shake his head, not understanding why she was near to tears. But before he could say anything else, his dad ambled out of his bedroom, yawning, shirtless, and his hair tousled. He hadn’t seemed to see Riley standing by the table and had gone directly to Eleanor, settled his hands on her hips, and drew her sharply against his body before bending in and kissing her hungrily.
Riley had only been able to stare.
Eleanor allowed the kiss but a moment before pulling back and pressing a hand against his dad’s bare chest. “I was just introducing myself to your son.” She nodded and smiled again at Riley.
At the reminder that he had a son, his dad jerked away from Eleanor. He swiped up his shirt from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. As he stuffed it on, he didn’t meet Riley’s questioning gaze.
In that moment, Riley had known he’d fallen short of beingwhat his dad had needed. Somehow he’d failed so that his dad had gone out and gotten himself a bride without telling him.
Eventually, Riley had realized that Eleanor had grown teary-eyed because she’d been sad that at eight, he’d already been responsible for so many things. And of course over time, she’d made it nearly impossible not to love her. Not only had she been beautiful, but she’d been good and kind and tender to him. She still was.
Each of the four daughters she’d borne William Rafferty were every bit as beautiful and good and kind and tender—just like her.
Lorette squeezed his shoulder again. “Ma says I’m to sit with Dad so you can sleep.”
Riley shook his head. “I’m staying right here.”
“I told her you’d say that.” Lorette stepped up to the bed and stroked their dad’s cheek. Covered in a layer of scruff, Dad looked nearly as young now as he had the day he’d married Eleanor. He’d aged well, with only a few creases in his forehead and cheeks. His blond-brown hair was untouched with silver, wavy like Riley’s. And his body was still as muscular and strong.
The fact was, William Rafferty was too healthy and young at fifty-two years of age to suffer from a heart attack and die.
Riley pressed his dad’s hand and was surprised when his dad gripped back. A second later, his eyes flickered open. “Riley?”
Riley leaned forward into his dad’s line of vision.
