Whatever Reilly Wants.... Maureen Child

church’s double front doors stood open, welcoming anyone who might need to stop in and pray, but Emma drove past the church and pulled into the driveway behind the rectory.

      She turned off the engine, then stepped out of the car and into the blanketing humidity of summer. The heat slapped at her, but Emma hardly noticed. She’d grown up in the South and she was used to the heat that regularly made short work of tourists.

      Besides, if she was looking to avoid the heat, she could have stayed at the shop, in the air-conditioned splendor of her office, and had one of her mechanics drive Father Liam’s aging sedan back to him. But she’d wanted the opportunity to talk to Connor’s older brother.

      Ever since her enlightening conversation with Connor the day before, Emma’d been fuming. And thinking. A combustible combination. She’d lain awake half the night, torn between insult and anger and even now, she wasn’t sure which was the stronger emotion churning inside her.

      She’d thought that maybe talking to Liam might help sort things out. Now that she was here, though, she didn’t have a clue what to say to the man.

      Muttering darkly, she headed past the small basketball court in front of the garage, down the rosebush-lined driveway and around to the front door.

      She knocked, and almost instantly the door was opened by a tall, older woman with graying red hair and sharp green eyes. Her mouth was pinched into its perpetual frown. “Miss Jacobsen.”

      “Hi, Mrs. Hannigan,” Emma said, ignoring the woman’s usual lack of welcome. Practically a stereotypical housekeeper, she was straight out of an old Gothic novel. So, Emma never took her grim sense of disapproval personally. Mrs. Hannigan didn’t like anybody.

      Stepping into the house, she glanced around and smiled at the polished dark wood paneling, the faded but still colorful braided rugs and the tiny, diamond-shaped slices of sunlight on the gleaming wood floor. “I brought Father Liam’s car back. Just want to give him the keys and the bill.”

      “He’s in the library,” the housekeeper said, already turning for the hall leading back down the house toward the kitchen. “You go in, I’ll bring tea.”

      “That’s okay—” Horrified, Emma spoke up quickly, trying to head the woman off. Everyone in Baywater knew enough to say no to Mrs. Hannigan’s tea. But it was too late. The housekeeper ignored Emma’s protest and strode down the hallway, filled with purpose, and Emma knew there would be no getting out of having to drink the world’s worst tea just to be polite.

      Grumbling to herself, she crossed the hall, opened the door into the library and paused, waiting for the young priest to notice her. It didn’t take long.

      Father Liam Reilly set aside the book he was reading, stood up and smiled at her, and Emma had to remind herself that he was a dedicated priest. As she was sure every female was forced to do when face to face with Liam.

      As tall as his brothers, he was every bit as gorgeous, too. His black hair, longer than the triplets’ military cuts, was thick and wavy and his deep-blue eyes were fringed by long black lashes any woman would envy. His generous mouth was usually curved in a smile that set people immediately at ease, and today was no exception.

      “Emma! I’m guessing your arrival means you were able to save my car again?” He crossed to her and dropped one arm around her shoulder, leading her to a pair of overstuffed chairs near a fireplace that held, instead of flaming logs, a copper bucket filled with summer roses.

      “I brought it back from the brink again, Liam,” she said, and handed him the bill she pulled out of her back pocket before taking the seat he offered. “But it’s on life support. You’re going to need a new one soon.”

      He grinned, then glanced at the bill and winced. “I know,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers. “But there’s always a more important use for the money. And Connor’s promised to rebuild the engine when he gets a chance, so I’ll wait him out.”

      Connor.

      The very man she wanted to talk about. But now that she was here, she really didn’t know what to say. How could she tell a priest that she wanted to kill his brother?

      “Something wrong?” Liam asked, sitting down across from her and leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees.

      “What makes you ask that?”

      He smiled. “Because the minute I said the name Connor, your face froze and your eyes caught fire.”

      “I guess poker’s not my game, huh?”

      “No.” He shook his head, reached out, tapped the back of one of her hands and asked, “So, want to talk?”

      Emma opened her mouth, but they were interrupted. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

      “Tea, Father,” Mrs. Hannigan announced as she bustled into the room carrying a wide tray loaded with a pitcher of a murky brown liquid, two tall glasses filled with ice and a plate of cookies.

      “Oh,” Liam said with heartfelt sincerity, “you really didn’t have to do that, Mrs. Hannigan.”

      “No trouble.” She set down the tray, dusted her palms together, then turned on her heel and marched out of the room with near military precision.

      “We have to drink it,” Liam said on a sigh as he reached for the pitcher.

      “I know.” Emma braced herself as she watched him pour what looked like mud into the glasses.

      “She’s a good woman,” Liam said, lifting his own glass and eyeing it dubiously. “Though I can’t imagine why the concept of tea escapes her.”

      Emma decided to get it over with and took a hearty swig. She gulped it down before it could stick in her throat, then set the glass back on the tray and coughed a little before speaking again. “So about Connor…”

      “Right.” Liam gagged a little at the tea, set the glass down and shuddered. “What’d he do?”

      Intrigued, Emma asked, “How did you know he did anything?”

      “Something put that flash of anger in your eyes, Emma.”

      “Okay, yeah. You’re right.” She jumped up from the chair that was big enough and soft enough to swallow her whole and started walking. Nowhere in particular, she just felt as though she needed to move. “He did do something, well, said something and it made me so mad, Liam, I almost punched him and then I thought he wouldn’t even understand why I was hitting him and then that made me even more mad, which even I could hardly believe, because honestly I was never so mad in my life and he didn’t even have a clue. You know?”

      She was walking in circles, and Liam kept his head swiveling, to keep up with her, following her progress around the room and trying to keep up with the rambling fury of her words.

      “So, would you hate me, too, if I said I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about?”

      Emma blew out a breath and stopped in front of the wide windows overlooking the shady front lawn. The scent of the roses in the cold hearth mingled with the homey scent of lemon oil clinging to the gleaming woodwork. Outside, a slight wind tugged at the leaves of the magnolias and two kids, oblivious to the heat, raced past the church, baseball bats on their shoulders.

      “He’s an idiot.” Emma turned and looked at him. “Connor, I mean.”

      “True,” Liam admitted and gave her a smile that took the edge off her anger. “In fact, all of my brothers are idiots—” he caught himself and corrected “—maybe not Brian anymore since he wised up in time to keep Tina in his life. But Connor and Aidan?” He nodded. “Idiots. Still, in their defense, they’re under a lot of…pressure, right now.”

      “You mean the bet?” Emma asked.

      Liam blinked. “You know about it?”

      “It’s practically