"You can jump to whatever conclusions you want," he said, "as long as I can get out of here before the stores close."

"Go," Maureen said. "Besides, I imagine Maggie will be along any minute now to help out. Shall I tell her you're out shopping for her?"

He scowled. "You'll do no such thing, or your bonus for this year will turn out to be ashes and switches."

Maureen laughed at the empty threat. "You gave me my bonus last week."

He sighed. "Next year, then."

As if the holidays weren't stressful enough for him, why was it that every female he knew had suddenly decided this was the perfect season to drive him crazy?

Chapter Eleven.

"It's a good thing you're doing," Father Francis a.s.sured Ryan as they drove to Maggie's house on Christmas afternoon after a busy morning at the shelter during which Ryan had played Santa to dozens of children. "It's about time you spent a holiday with a real family, rather than just the lost souls at the shelter or the strays who wander into the pub."

"This from a man who is usually among those strays," Ryan retorted.

"Only because I worry about you," the priest responded. "And because Rory is the only man I know who can make a decent Christmas pudding."

"Then why are you so agreeable to missing it this year?" Ryan asked.

"Because we've had a better offer. Christmas pudding is not the most important part of the holiday, after all."

"Besides which, I'm sure Rory agreed to save you some," Ryan guessed.

"Aye, that he did," the priest agreed unrepentantly.

A few minutes later Ryan found a parking s.p.a.ce half a block from the O'Brien home. Judging from the number of cars in front of the house and lining the driveway, there was a full house. Even though he was likely to know almost everyone there, Ryan suffered a moment of panic at the prospect of facing them. However, one look from Father Francis had him cutting the engine and climbing out.

At the door Maggie greeted them warmly, reserving a smug grin for Ryan. "They've been taking bets inside on whether you'd show up," she told him. "I believe my haul should be more than twenty dollars. Mother gets the other half."

"Do you all bet on everything?" he asked as Father Francis laughed.

"Just about," she said, standing on tiptoe to give Ryan a slow, deliberate kiss that made his head spin.

Before he could gather his wits, Ryan heard Father Francis mutter, "About time." Then the priest disappeared in an obvious attempt to give them some privacy.

Ryan felt Maggie's lips curve into a slow smile against his. When he pulled away, there was amus.e.m.e.nt dancing in her eyes. "What?" he demanded crankily.

"Nothing," she insisted. "Did you hear me say a word?"

Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction. "Keep it that way. This situation is not amusing, Maggie. I can't seem to make myself stay away from you, but that doesn't mean I've changed my mind. I'm the wrong man for you."

She surveyed him so thoroughly he almost squirmed, then shook her head. "I don't see it."

"See what?"

"You being wrong for me." Her gaze lit on the small gift bag in his hand. "Is that for me?"

With a sigh, he handed it to her. A part of him wanted her to open the present right then, but a part of him dreaded it. He didn't have a lot of practice picking out gifts, but this one had seemed so right. If she hated it, he was going to feel like an idiot.

Maggie had no such hesitations. She was pulling tissue from the bag with the excitement of a child. Her eyes lit up when she saw the small, square box. For a moment she fumbled with the lid, then impatiently handed it to him. "I'm all thumbs. You open it."

"It's your present," he protested.

"Please."

Ryan took the box, slit the tape holding it closed, then lifted the lid just enough to make opening it the rest of the way easy for her. "Okay, all yours," he said, anxious to be rid of it. Even so, he couldn't tear his gaze away as he awaited her reaction.

Maggie carefully unfolded the tissue in the box, then sighed. "Oh, my," she whispered, her eyes shining. "Ryan, they're beautiful." She removed the antique marcasite hair clips from the box with a look of reverence. The clips were made in the shape of shamrocks, and each had a tiny emerald chip in the center that was the exact color of Maggie's eyes. "I have to put them on."

Ryan stood as if frozen while she moved to a mirror on the foyer wall. Once the sparkling clips were in her hair, she turned to him with a smile. "They're perfect, the very best present anyone ever gave me. Thank you."

Ryan didn't know how to cope with either her grat.i.tude or the too-obvious love shining in her eyes. It was all too much for a man who'd rarely been the recipient of either, at least not from anyone who'd truly mattered. Panic rushed through him. Not five minutes ago he'd told her that he was wrong for her, and now, apparently, she was more convinced than ever that they were exactly right for each other. He'd never realized before that a gift could speak volumes, could even contradict words, no matter how emphatically they'd been expressed.

"Maggie, I'm sorry. I can't do this," he said, turning toward the door. Before he could bolt, however, she stepped in front of him.

"Do what?" she asked.

He gestured toward the rest of the house, which was crowded with O'Briens. "The family thing. I'm no good at it."

Her gaze locked with his, unrelenting, yet tempered with understanding. "If that's true-and I'm not saying I believe it for a minute-then it's time you told me why. The whole story, not bits and s.n.a.t.c.hes."

Ryan sighed at her reasonable request. "Yes, I do owe you an explanation, but not today. Your family's waiting for you in there."

"They're waiting for both of us," she corrected. "There are plenty of appetizers and Dad's eggnog. They won't mind waiting a little longer."

So, he thought, this was it. "Is there someplace we can talk privately?"

"My room," she said at once.

Ryan balked as if she'd suggested going upstairs to make love. "I am not going to your room with you, in front of your entire family. Are you nuts? What will they think?"

"That we're looking for someplace private," she replied reasonably. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a crowd in the kitchen keeping my mom company while she cooks. There's a crowd in the den watching football. The kids are in the rec room downstairs. And there are at least a half dozen people in the living room listening to every word we're saying right now. Do you have a better idea?"

He latched on to her hand, grabbed a coat off the rack by the door and dragged her outside to his car. He turned the heater up full blast, then turned to look at her. Only then did he realize that he'd mistakenly grabbed a coat belonging to someone much larger. She looked lost and more delicate than ever in the folds of dark-blue wool. Her wide eyes watched him warily as if she were uncertain what sort of storm she'd unleashed.

Before he could drag her to him and kiss her the way he desperately wanted to, he forced himself to take a deep breath and tell her everything-about the way his parents had run off, about the devastating day he'd been separated from his brothers, about the roller-coaster ride he'd taken through the foster care system, about Father Francis catching him just as he'd been about to break into a neighborhood quick-mart for something to eat on a bitterly cold Thanksgiving eve.

"It wasn't the first time I'd broken into a store, and probably wouldn't have been the last," he told her, his gaze unflinching. "I was a thief."

"You were a hungry kid," she countered, her eyes overflowing with sympathetic tears.

"Don't excuse what I did because you feel sorry for me," he retorted sharply, hating that she seemed so eager to overlook the truth. "And don't you dare pity me. I didn't deserve it then, and I certainly don't now. I knew right from wrong."

"You were a boy," she insisted, still fiercely defending him. "You were obviously desperate."

"I was old enough to know better," he countered just as harshly. "I was just a no-good brat. Obviously, my parents knew that." He took a deep breath, then blurted the secret guilt he'd kept hidden in his heart for so long. "It's why they left, why I could never fit in with any of the foster families."

Maggie stared at him in shocked disbelief. "No," she said, flatly refusing to accept his explanation. "Whatever the reason your parents left, it wasn't that."

Ryan was startled by the depth of her conviction. He wished he were half as convinced that he'd had no role to play in their leaving. What else was he to think, though? He'd been the oldest. If only he'd taken on more responsibility, behaved better, perhaps things would have been different.

"I've asked this before, but you've avoided answering. Have you ever tried to find them or your brothers?" she asked, her voice suddenly gentle.

He shook his head.

"I've asked before, but I'll ask it again-why not?"

"Isn't it obvious? They wanted no part of me or my brothers. Why should I go crawling after them?"

"If it were me, I'd want to know why they did it," she said simply. "I'd have to know."

"Some things defy explanation."

"And some things are less painful when you're old enough to understand the truth."

"That's nothing more than a bunch of psychological mumbo-jumbo and you know it," he accused. "I don't need it."

"Then what do do you need from me?" you need from me?"

He regarded her sadly. "Nothing," he insisted, lying through his teeth. "Absolutely nothing."

Maggie didn't say a word, but she looked shattered. Before he realized what she intended, she was out of the car and running up the sidewalk. Ryan sat there, the open pa.s.senger door letting in the freezing air, and realized that never, not even on the day he'd been abandoned by his parents, had he felt quite so alone.

The pounding on the door to his apartment would have awakened the dead. Ryan scowled but didn't budge from his chair. The drink he'd poured himself when he'd returned from Maggie's was still full. Even as he'd filled the gla.s.s, he'd known the solution to his problems wasn't alcohol. Unless he drank the whole blasted bottle it wouldn't grant him the oblivion he sought.

"Dammit, I know you're in there," Rory shouted. "Open the door or I'll have to break it down."

Ryan sighed. He knew Rory was not only capable of such a thing but, given the heat in his voice, probably even eager to do it. He crossed the room in three long strides and threw open the door.

"What is your problem?" he demanded.

"I'm not the one with the problem," Rory said.

"Oh?"

"Maggie called. She's worried about you."

"She shouldn't be," Ryan said.

"Then call her and tell her that."

"I don't think so." As horrendous as this pain in his chest was, he knew that dragging Maggie back into his life wasn't going to work. It was better that they end this with a clean break.

Rory noted the gla.s.s of scotch beside his chair. "I thought you didn't drink."

"I rarely rarely drink. There's a difference," Ryan said. "And if you nose around a little more closely, you'll see that I haven't touched that drink, either." drink. There's a difference," Ryan said. "And if you nose around a little more closely, you'll see that I haven't touched that drink, either."

Rory gave a nod. "That's okay, then. Want to talk about what happened?"

"No."

"Interesting. Maggie didn't say much, either."

"How discreet of her," Ryan said sarcastically. "It's a pleasant change."

Rory frowned at him then. "Maligning Maggie won't fix whatever's bugging you."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"Talking it out might help."

"I am not not discussing this, not with you, not with Maggie," Ryan said forcefully, his gaze leveled at his friend. "Are we clear on that?" discussing this, not with you, not with Maggie," Ryan said forcefully, his gaze leveled at his friend. "Are we clear on that?"

"Whatever you say," Rory said. "I suppose I'm expected to call her and tell her you're still among the living?"

Ryan shrugged. "Up to you."

"Perhaps I should drive out to console her," Rory suggested slyly.

Ryan felt his gut tighten. "Don't expect me to object."

"Okay, that's it," Rory declared, plopping down on the sofa. "I'm not leaving here until you tell me what happened. The day you say it's okay for me to pay a visit to Maggie is obviously the next-to-last day of the world."

Despite his foul mood, Ryan felt his lips twitch. "It's nothing that dire. It's just that it's over," he told Rory, keeping his tone surprisingly even. "Not that there was anything to begin with, just the promise of something."

"And you ended it, I suppose."

Ryan thought back over the scene outside of Maggie's. He'd said the words that had ended it, but it was Maggie who'd walked away. There was equal blame, if he wanted to be honest about it. No, he corrected, the blame was all his. He'd done what he was so good at doing. He'd shut her out, this time with a declaration she couldn't ignore.

"Yeah, I suppose I ended it," he admitted.

"Why the devil would you do a lame-brained thing like that?" Rory demanded, clearly dumbstruck. "And on Christmas, too? Have you no heart at all?"

Ryan met his friend's scowling gaze. "No," he said evenly. "And isn't that the point?"

"Sure, and if that's so, then why does it appear to me that it's not your hard head that's suffering so tonight? It seems to me it's your heart that's broken," Rory said, then headed for the door. "Think about that one, why don't you?"