Chapter 35
thirty-five
PATRICK
River thought she could get by with telling him that their son was in love with someone, without giving any details. His wife should have remembered that she was married to an O’Faolain, and challenges were their favorite pastime.
For several days, either by himself or with his brother Bran, they’d stalked their wives.
They followed them to work, to lunch, shopping, the spa, Raven’s gynecologist appointment, and Rowan’s bikini wax.
They waited outside the rooms for both of those, of course, until finally, finally, they caved.
Because Patrick and his brothers knew that where the Byrne sisters were concerned, it was all of them or nothing.
Ulf was in town for a few days—don’t get him started about how bizarre it was to find out that he and Bran had been living without their oldest brother their whole lives—and consented to tag along to meet the women for lunch.
As the three men walked into the pizzeria, Patrick’s eyes instantly found his wife seated on one side of a six-top table between her sisters. Even though they were all giving the men evil eyes, it still made his heart clench to see the sisters side-by-side.
They had all been stunning when they’d first met in Oklahoma, all of them in their twenties, except for his dad. Now that the sisters were in their forties, they still stopped traffic, especially when they were all together, like they were now.
Their Native American and Irish heritage had created three siblings so similar in appearance that many mistook them for triplets, but for their husbands, his late father included, their wives were spectacularly unique.
Still, when they were set on something, their hive mind was formidable, which was why they were so annoyed that they’d given in.
Patrick hid his smile. He was smart like that, going to her side and kissing her until she finally sighed against his lips and kissed him back.
“Asshole,” she whispered as she pulled back. Her voice didn’t hold any bite, though.
One kiss, and he was ready to ditch lunch. Revelations about Jonathan could wait. He and River had always been like that. One touch ignited instant lust.
Before he pulled back, he whispered back to her, “I’m not hungry for pizza any longer. Let me take you home.”
“Christ, Patrick,” River breathed heavily, but soon enough, she shook off the haze and poked him in his hard stomach—a little lower would have been convenient—and told him to “Sit down.”
Smirking, he made his way to his seat, noting that Raven looked slightly mussed as well.
Bran must have greeted his wife similarly.
And then he noticed Rowan. She was studiously watching the cooks through the open window, tossing dough into the air, pretending like she wasn’t missing his father fiercely at that moment.
Damn it. He never wanted to make her uncomfortable. There was nothing for it but to pretend everything was normal. River and Raven glanced at their sister and winced, immediately concentrating on the plateware in front of them.
He glanced at his brothers, both of whom could see that Rowan was struggling. Ulf, in his taciturn way, grumbled, “I have places to be. Have you ladies ordered the food yet?”
Rowan focused on the table once more and rolled her eyes at Ulf. “We have.” Realizing the table was quiet, she added, “I’m so excited. After lunch, I’m meeting Bébhinn for baby shopping.”
Raven and River were instantly clapping their hands in glee and asking about the shops they’d be hitting up. That was all well and good, but this lunch wasn’t meant for pleasantries. He wanted answers. Patrick cleared his throat to get their attention.
“River, I think you have something to tell me. Specifically, who in the hell has my son been mooning over for weeks now, and why is he being such an ass?”
“Margaret Morrow,” River stated.
“Mags?” Patrick asked. That took him completely by surprise.
“According to Bébhinn, who just had lunch with Mags, Blair, and Gray, Mags and Jonathan are an official couple as of last night,” Rowan said with a smile, clearly thrilled with the news.
“Christ, your son,” Bran said to Patrick, shaking his head.
“He’d better know what he’s about. That girl’s father, Charles, might be laidback, but her uncle, Coll, won’t be so easy to get around.
Come to that, Mags is Mirren’s little sister, and MacGregor will surely have something to say about Jon.
His reputation with women is not winning over any fathers. ”
“Hey,” River interjected, taking exception to Bran’s description of her son. “Jonathan is sweet and kind, and one of the most intelligent young men I know. Any family would be lucky to have him.”
Patrick took his wife’s hand across the table. “We know that, sweetheart, but Jon might have sewn a few too many wild oats, and unlike Dagr,” he glanced at his oldest brother and glared, “our son’s stomping ground was Dublin.”
River pursed her lips but didn’t deny the facts. “How sure are you that Mags is the one?” Bran asked.
“He’s been running from her for almost three years,” River answered.
“She’s the one,” Raven seconded.
“Margaret is his final play,” Rowan agreed with finality.