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“You made a mistake comin’ here, Graham,” Doogan warned him, the anger he was trying to hold back slipping free in the low throb of his voice. “Perhaps you should leave.”
“Yeah, for now.” Graham rose to his feet. “But wait too long to fix this, Doogan, and I swear to you, I’ll help the Mackays run your ass out of town when you do return. Then you’ll understand the mistake you’re making.”
“Meanin’?” he snapped, rising as well. “And you’ll run me from no place that I decide to be, boyo. I promise ya that.”
The hard sneer that curled at Graham’s lips had his fists wanting to curl, to meet flesh and expend the fury rushing through him.
“You think your friends didn’t know why you married that bitch?” Graham snapped. “That we weren’t well aware she deliberately let herself get pregnant to trap the Doogan heir into marriage? That when she didn’t have a boy and you refused to touch her again, that she didn’t begin conniving to force you into paying her off for the rest of her fucking life?”
It was the truth. It was the reason he and Eli could never get along. Her younger brother had never wanted to see what his sister had become. He’d become estranged from his family when his parents refused to have her grave blessed, when Doogan refused to allow her to be buried next to the daughter Eli thought she loved. Just as Chatham Doogan had refused to allow his bastard son, Regan, to be buried in Doogan ground, swearing he’d sell every inch of the land if the ‘illegitimate spawn of evil’ was placed anywhere close to the child he killed.
Doogan understood, though. Eli hadn’t seen his sister’s spiteful nature; he’d still been too easy to use. She’d been certain he only saw what she had wanted him to see. Only believed what she’d wanted him to believe. That Doogan had broken her heart, taken her daughter, and left her with nothing.
Eli should have the truth by now. Doogan had allowed the file he’d ordered withheld made available to the agent. Eli wasn’t a boy, he was a man. If he couldn’t use a man’s intelligence to see what his sister was, then so be it.
“I don’t want to fight you, Graham,” Doogan snapped, forcing his fingers to uncurl. “Leave this be.”
“She cries all the time. She’s like a ghost. She turned the remaining details and the position of overseer of the pact over to another agent and isn’t even interested in it now.” The surprising information had Doogan staring at Graham in confusion now.
“Why would she do that?” he questioned the other man. “It makes no sense.”
“She said she’s done with it.” Graham shrugged. “Hell, she’s a Mackay, who knows why they do things. And as you said, it’s none of my business.” Contempt filled his voice. “The day will come when I’ll tell you the same damned thing, though. She’s none of your business. And you’ll listen. I promise you that, I’ll make sure of it.”
Before Doogan could question him further, Graham stomped from the office and from the house. He didn’t stop to keep his promise to the old man, Doogan thought, sitting back down wearily. No doubt, he’d catch the blame for that one eventually.
Because it was his fault.
The thought had him glowering in brooding anger at the fireplace across the room. Empty, cold; the dark bricks looked lik
e the yawning mouth of empty fucking dreams from where he sat.
Fuck.
“Yer makin’ a mistake, boy.” His father stepped into the room, watching him with that patient, somber expression Doogan hated. “That woman was drawin’ ya even before Katie was taken from us. Even I heard the way ya spoke of that woman causin’ havoc in Kentucky whenever. And it was no coincidence ya petitioned your godfather for the annulment when ya did. Ya knew ye couldn’t stay away from her, didn’t ya?”
He’d petitioned his godfather, a bishop in the Catholic church, for an annulment. Catalina was fighting it though, swearing they shared a bed, when they hadn’t.
Doogan stared into the fireplace with the desperation of a man searching his soul rather than the empty space that only rarely held the warmth it was created for.
“Ah, Brom, yer mother will be yellin’ at ya later, ya know,” his father warned him. “Call it drafts in an old house all ye need to. We both know the sounds of her wailing and tears, don’t we, son? Tonight, they’ll keep us both awake, aye?”
Yes, his mother haunted them. He’d accepted it the night of Katie’s death. They eerie sounds of his mother’s cries had sent chills racing up his back. He only prayed tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights, though he knew better. He swore he could feel her staring at him now, her Irish temper ready to erupt.
“She was a fine woman, yer mother.” Chatham sighed heavily. “Loved to do the things that made a man terrified for the loss of her, she did. Rode those horses hell fer leather, laughin’ with joy when they reared and thought to take the reins from her. And she’d loved that wee little girl a’ ours, didn’t she? I thank the Lord daily she left us before Katie was taken. We’d have lost ’em both had she not.”
“Stop . . .” Doogan snapped.
“Stop, ye say,” his father grunted. “Stop, Da. I’ll hear na more, Da,” he snarled. “Well, ye’ll be hearin’ your mam tonight, ye will. Mark my words. When the midnight hour opens the doors betwixt here and heaven, she’ll be a-ragin’ at ya. Mark ma words she will be.”
Doogan came to his feet furiously. Casting his father an irate glare, he stomped from the room, determined to escape the truth.
“Run, boy, all ye like. She’ll be waitin’ for ya when ya return,” Chatham yelled at his retreating back. “And ya know she will be.”
Run? Hell. He’d stopped running from his mother’s temper when he was a lad. Because his da was right. She was always waiting when he returned.
Two Weeks Later
Cumberland, Kentucky
