Page 66 of The Promise
Patrick nodded, his big hand reaching for hers, enclosing it in his warmth. "You're safe here. I won't let that son of a bitch get anywhere near you. I promise."
She placed a finger across his lips, absorbing the jolt of electricity that sparked between them. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
He ran the back of his hand along her cheek, his eyes searching hers. "I can take care of you, Loralee. If you'll let me."
Oh God, how she wanted to abandon herself to him. But another part of her, the part that still was thinking with her head, warned that nothing could come of it. Nothing at all.
She sat back and pasted on a cheerful smile. "Tell me about your family."
Patrick frowned,uncertain what had just happened. One minute there were sparks flying and the next she was askinghim his life history without so much as a hint of what had happened in between. He sighed and leaned back against the post, realizing he really didn't know the slightest thing about women.
"I guess you could say we were vagabonds. My father was always certain there was a fortune to be had just over the next hill. That's why he came to America in the first place."
"From Scotland?"
He glanced over at her to see if she was truly interested. She was watching him with doe eyes and he fought the desire to pull her across his lap and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. "Yes. The Macpherson's have a place, sort of like a ranch I guess, called Crannog Mhór."
"Cran what?" She tried to say the name but failed.
"Crannog Mhór. It means lake dwelling. To hear my father talk about it, it must be the most beautiful place in the world. It's real remote. Up in a mountain valley somewhere."
"That would explain why he liked it here."
"I never thought about it one way or the other, but I imagine you're right."
"So what made him leave, if he loved it so much?"
"Well, like I said, there was the adventure of it. That, and the fact that he was the fourth son. His brother Calum was set to inherit." Patrick shrugged. "And there were two more in line after that. So he set off for America."
"And landed in New York. He told me a little of it."
"Yeah. That's where he hooked up with Owen. They were just boys really. Younger than me. But they hit it off. Complimented each other really. I mean Father has always had his dreams, but not really any focus, and Owen, he's always been the practical one. Their friendship just seemed a natural thing. And Owen, well, he's always been there for all of us. Many was the timewhen the money he made put a roof over our heads and food in our mouth."
"You're close to Owen, aren't you?"
He nodded. "Since my mother left us, Owen has been more a father to me than my own. For a while he was the only one I could talk to. Michael was too angry. And Father was too drunk." Bitterness rose in him, its sour taste almost physical.
"But he wasn't always like that."
Patrick smiled, remembering. "Oh, no. Once upon a time, Duncan Macpherson was a charmer. His smile could light a room, and he could make you believe anything was possible."
"Was New York where Duncan met your mother?"
Patrick smiled. "Yup. According to my father, she was the prettiest girl in the city. And I reckon it's a mighty big city."
"Her name was Rose?"
"Just like the flower. Hell, she even smelled like roses." He inhaled deeply, remembering the sweet scent that had marked his mother. "She was just off the boat herself, from Ireland, waiting tables at a place called Paddy's. That's who I'm named for."
"A bar?"
"No, the man who ran the place. My mother always said he was an angel."
"And that's where your father fell in love with your mother?"
"To hear him tell it, it was a magical thing. One look and he knew she was the woman for him. Owen says it wasn't quite as magical as my father would have us believe. According to his version of the story, it took quite a bit of wooing on my father's part."
"And what did your mother say?"
