She answered over her shoulder. “Uncle Patrick. But his hair’s all gone.”
That managed to bring the O’Connor gathering to a halt. All eyes turned to him standing there in the doorway like the beggar Ivy Archer had declared him to be.
“Oh, look at you, lad.” Ma emerged from among them, moving swiftly toward him. “What a change in you.”
Tavish, standing not too far from the door, grinned over at him. “Seems Ma won’t be coming after you with her scissors in your sleep after all.”
Ma swatted in Tavish’s direction. “Whisht. I never said I’d do anything of the sort.” She looked back at Patrick once more. “Oh, my sweet lad.” She rose on her toes and brushed her fingers over his newly cut hair. “I’ve missed seeing these waves of yours. I’d hoped you’d cut it, but I didn’t want you to think we weren’t just pleased as could be having you here no matter what you looked like.”
Little Mary, who hadn’t stepped away, jumped back into the conversation. “He looks like Uncle Tavish.”
“Lucky man,” Tavish tossed back.
Putting his family in mind of hislivingbrother was a far better outcome than he’d braced himself for.
Biddy slipped up beside him, making hardly a sound. She set an arm across his back. “Come inside, Patrick. No sense standing on the threshold all night long.”
“Unless Ian would rather I just go,” he whispered to her. He’d no desire to earn more of his brother’s wrath.
“He’s asked me twice if I thought you meant to turn up.” She tugged him all the way through the door. “Now he’ll have his answer.”
“But is it the answer he wants?”
“Merciful heavens, Patrick. The two of you are like a once-courting couple tiptoeing around each other and making everyone uncomfortable.” She pushed the door closed behind them with her foot. To the room in general she called out, “And what do you think I have here, loves? Our Patrick, with that mess o’ hair he’s been sporting gone, I hope for good.”
“Do you know,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “you’re not nearly the shrinking violet you used to be?”
“In Wyoming, fragile flowers either grow hardy, or they die. I’m not fond of the latter option.” She slipped her arm from his, and, in a bit of impressive maneuvering, set herself behind him and gave him a gentle shove into the horde of family filling the small home.
The nieces and nephews were particularly intrigued by him, declaring again and again how much he looked like Tavish. And Tavish, for his part, took clear delight in telling everyone how fortunate the resemblance was . . . for Patrick.
In the commotion, Maura reached him. She watched him closely, poignantly. Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Saints, you look like him.”
His heart dropped to his boots.
“When I first arrived in Hope Springs, I could see that Tavish still resembled him, but you . . .” She swallowed audibly. “Saints.” Her next breath shook. “He never did grow out his whiskers.” Her eyes skimmed his face again and again. “He would have looked very handsome with whiskers.” She pressed her lips together as a tear dropped down her cheek. After a moment, she shook her head and forced a smile. “I’m ruining the birthday with these tears.” She wiped them away. “That haircut, though . . . You look so much like him.”
He should never have let Eliza cut it. This reaction was one of the reasons he’d kept his distance from his family the past ten years. He was already painfully connected to their shared grief. He’d vowed not to burden them with the constant reminder of what they’d lost. And now here he was breaking that promise because he needed them to fix him. A selfish man he was.
Patrick offered some half-formed excuse and maneuvered away from Maura and the others, determined to slip back out of the house and leave them all in peace. He hadn’t counted on Biddy.
She stood at the door, apparently having anticipated his departure. Her arms were folded across her chest. Her expression sat in tense lines.
“Don’t you dare,” she said. “You’ve abandoned them long and often enough. You’ll not do so today.”
“But I’m causing them pain.”
“I will make you privy to a secret, Patrick. This family is always in pain. Being together lessens it. Celebrating special days lessens it. Having as many of us here as we can manage lessens it. Loving each other lessens it.”
He rubbed at his forehead, pushing his unruly hair back. “It’s not right for me to be here. I ought never to’ve come.”
She set her hands on his arms. “Mark me, Patrick. ’Tisn’t ever a mistake for you to be in this home.”
He shook his head, the all-too-familiar sadness building inside. “’Twasn’t what I meant.”
If Biddy understood, she didn’t let on. “Before you sulk off, will you help with a repair that needs making?”
“Of course.” No matter his discomfort, he’d not leave Biddy in need. And being tucked away somewhere with a set of tools was far preferable to watching Maura and Ma cry. “What are you needing?”
