Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

CATLIN

The man towering over me looks nothing like any of the men I have ever seen in church before. His broad stature alone is intimidating as he stares down at me, but it is nothing compared to how menacing-looking the rest of him is. His eyes are light blue, but there is a wild, untamed darkness looming behind them.

I’ve seen plenty of men with tattoos before, but no one like him. At least, not in person. His chiseled face is the only skin I can see that isn’t covered with them. Ink covers the back of his hands and fingers, with the same geometric pattern swirling from under the collar of his shirt and up his neck. It stops just below his rugged jawline but continues along the shaved sides of his head, coming to a well-defined stop at the edge of his meticulously coiffed dark-brown hair.

I take a few steps backward to put distance between the two of us as I continue to apologize, “I didn’t realize anyone was in ther?—”

“Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart.” His deep voice has a gravelly tone that only adds to his already gruff demeanor. I swallow hard as he tries to close what little distance I have put between us. As I continue to take small steps backward, he repeatedly advances like we’re playing a game of cat and mouse. A smug smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his tongue slowly drags along his lower lip as he stalks toward me like I’m his prey. When his smile spreads, it is quite clear that he’s enjoying this.

“Catlin, why don’t you go wait in my office?” Uncle Sean’s voice startles me. I suddenly find myself relieved that we aren’t alone and curious of how this little game was going to play out. His voice deepens and carries a sternness I’ve never heard from him as he turns his attention to the man standing before me. “Finnigan Evans, I think it’s time you be on your way.” It isn’t a question. Uncle Sean is telling him to leave, politely.

Finnigan’s demeanor doesn’t falter. He holds his ground, standing only a few inches away from me, as his powder-blue eyes bore into mine. “I’ll see you next week, Father,” he politely replies to Uncle Sean without pulling his gaze from me. Lowering his voice and dipping his head slightly, he whispers, “Hopefully you too, sweetheart.”

The smug smile spreads into a full grin, and he gives me a cheeky wink. It isn’t until he steps around me that I realize my heart is racing and I have forgotten how to breathe. Sucking in a breath as he passes, I inhale his spicy amber-and-vanilla-scented cologne. It lingers in the air for a moment as he walks between the pews behind me.

Breathing in the fading scent, my eyes trail the man walking toward the exit as I compose myself. Still on edge, I jump slightly when Uncle Sean lightly grasps my arm. “Are you okay, Catlin?”

“Um… Yeah… Yes,” I stammer. “He just startled me. That’s all.” Just a little scared. He just frightened me a bit, clearly evident by the pounding of my heart against my rib cage.

“I told you I would have picked you up at Penn Station.” Uncle Sean pulls me in for a welcoming hug before lightly scolding me, “New York City isn’t quite the same as Galway.”

“Clearly!” I exclaim as I arch a brow. Garnering a quick glance toward the back of the church to find the heavily tattooed man has left. “I didn’t expect?—”

“Most of my congregation are not like him…” Uncle Sean shakes his head.

“You mean… the tattoos?” I ask.

He nods. “Among many other things. The rest are great families and upstanding people.”

“Oh…” I softly exhale, realizing he is subtly letting me know that Finnegan and his family is not the type of family to be seen with.

Before I have a chance to say anything further or ask any of the thousands of questions swirling through my thoughts, Uncle Sean grabs my suitcase from beside the pew. Lifting the heavy bag, he grunts, “Let me show you where you’ll be staying.”

I follow him past the altar and into the back of the church. We walk through a small courtyard filled with flowers and what appears to be a tiny vegetable garden, surrounded by a tall brick wall, toward a small brick home. After opening the door and gesturing for me to enter, Uncle Sean shares, “It isn’t proper for you to stay in the rectory with me. This used to be a small convent, but it hasn’t been used in a few years.”

“It’s perfect,” I exclaim, stepping through the threshold. The modest space is minimally decorated, housing nothing more than a navy couch—that looks well beyond second-hand use—and a couple of end tables with decade-old brass lamps and dusty shades. Anything would be perfect if it means I get to be back on this side of the ocean again.

I was shipped to Galway— against my will —when I was fourteen upon the untimely passing of my parents. They had named my Uncle Sean as my guardian, apparently not taking into account that a man of the cloth isn’t exactly in the ideal situation for raising a teenage girl. Thinking it was for the best, he sent me to Galway to live with máthair chríonna while I finished my high school education at an all girls secondary school.

“It’s temporary,” I remind him.

“Very,” he agrees. “We agreed on six months while you fill in for my parish secretary.”

“I know,” I huff. I hate that I lied to get here, but he never would’ve let me come had he known I had accepted enrollment at NYU. “And then I’m getting my butt back on a plane to Galway to start the spring semester at university.”