Night Of The Blackbird. Heather Graham
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stopped her from wanting him.
But now she had found someone. Michael. She inhaled deeply, forced a casual smile. So you’re here, Danny. Good for you, nice to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a great life that I’m living….
She meant to turn away, but Danny’s smile deepened as the number ended, and in the midst of the applause, she saw him lean over to whisper to Jeff Dolan and her brother.
“Oh, no,” Colleen breathed. “They’ve seen us together.”
“So what?” Moira whispered.
“I said I wouldn’t sing until you showed up.”
“Colleen!” Moira protested.
“Hey, folks, we’ve got a special performance for you this evening,” Jeff announced over the mike. “The prodigal daughters have returned for Saint Patrick’s Day. We’re going to get them both up here for a special number in honor of all the Irish in America—and remember, on Saint Patrick’s Day, all Americans are a wee bit Irish!”
“Daughters, go on now,” Eamon said proudly.
“Come on up, Kelly girls,” Jeff said, encouraging them determinedly. “Ladies and gentlemen, a real treat. The Kelly girls. No one can do a rendition of ‘Danny Boy’ with quite such melodious Irish beauty.”
“What do we do?” Colleen whispered. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to us. I haven’t even heard the song in ages.”
“Um. Not since the last time we were here,” Moira said dryly. “I guess we go up there. We can’t hurt Dad.”
Danny had instigated this. She knew it. She walked toward Jeff, trying to ignore Danny with casual negligence as she took the mike. “Irish-American melodious beauty,” she said, smiling at Jeff and apologizing to the patrons in the pub. “No guarantees, but we’ll do our best.”
The first strains of the violin brought a sigh from the crowd. Moira reflected briefly that, with this particular audience, she and Colleen could have sung like two crows and sentiment alone would have evoked wild applause. But she did love the song, and she and Colleen had done it together since the Saint Pat’s program at church when they had been in grammar school. Her sister’s voice harmonized perfectly with hers. They might not have produced the most melodious Irish beauty ever, but they did the song proud. She loved the music. There was a magic to it, to being home, to singing with Colleen…and even in knowing that Daniel O’Hara was playing a soft beat on the drums behind her.
Naturally the crowd went wild when they ended the tune. Of course, here, it was singing to a group of proud relatives. Moira smiled along with Colleen, thanking those who called out compliments. She felt an arm around her, and before she could completely stiffen, she realized it was her brother.
“Patrick, hey.” She hugged him.
“What about me?” Jeff protested.
Jeff Dolan looked like a latter day hippie. She gave him a hug and a kiss. Jeff had put himself through the wringer. On drugs, off drugs, politically wild—protesting everything from toxic waste to government spending. He’d survived. Cleaned up. He was still an activist, but one with temperance and vision. At least, she hoped so. She gave him a warm hug, along with the three other regulars, Sean, Peter and the odd man out, Ira, an Israeli.
“Did you notice me back here?” Danny asked her. “Or am I supposed to line up?”
“Danny,” she murmured, trying to sound as if missing him was an oversight. She kissed his cheek perfunctorily. “How could anyone ever forget you?”
He grinned, catching her after the kiss, hugging her tightly and planting a kiss firmly on her lips. She escaped his touch as quickly as possible. It was far too easy to underestimate Danny. The quick strength with which he held her belied the lean appearance his height afforded him. Energy always seemed to radiate from Danny. In a flash of time, she felt as if her flesh burned.
“Good to see you, Danny,” she murmured.
“Something light, fellows,” Jeff instructed the band members.
“‘Rosie O’Grady,”’ Ira suggested.
Stepping from the stage, Moira looked across the room to the bar—and froze. Josh and Michael were in the pub, standing behind the taps near her father.
They had arrived far earlier than she had anticipated.
Josh had a camera running. Michael was still applauding, meeting her eyes, a sparkle in his. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt as if she had been caught off guard. She was irritated with Josh, filming her unaware, and yet warmed by Michael’s presence and his never faltering support. She also wondered if Danny, pounding out a new beat, was aware that Josh had arrived with another man. She was sure that he had noticed; Danny always seemed to be aware of what was happening around him. And certainly, since Danny had apparently been there awhile, he had spoken with her parents and knew there was a man in her life.
She wasn’t given to effusive public demonstrations, but she smiled at Michael and hurried across the room, leaning past a bar stool to give him a welcoming, openmouthed kiss. Very emotional, she thought. And perfectly natural, despite the sound of her father clearing his throat. She hadn’t seen Michael in a while. He’d been traveling, making connections, when she’d made the decision to come here for Saint Patrick’s Day.
“Beautiful, babe,” he said softly.
“Thanks.”
“Very nice,” Josh agreed.
She gritted her teeth, wondering why she was so irritated with Josh for taping the performance and wondering just how much of it he had captured on camera. Why was she angry? This was the centerpiece of their planned coverage: an Irish pub in America. She was a performer; she was on a show almost every day of her life, vulnerable to criticism and ridicule. Part of the game. But this…
This was her personal life. Danny had kissed her on stage.
An old friend, that was all.
And she herself had opened this can of worms.
She lowered her head, counting for a minute.
Her smile was still forced when she looked at Josh. “Josh, you know my dad. And, Dad, I guess Josh has introduced you to Michael…. I didn’t know they’d be arriving so early.”
“I did all the introductions,” Josh said.
“Great. When did you arrive?” she asked him.
He arched a brow, knowing her well, and noting the tone of her voice when no one else did. “In time to tape the whole thing,” Josh told her.
“You know your partner,” Eamon said, making an attempt to speak lightly. She grimaced inwardly, aware that her father was a bit put out that she had greeted a man he had just met with such public affection.
“It was terrific,” Josh said, determined to show her that he was amused by her restrained annoyance. “A real demonstration of the diversity of Americana. You’ll like it—trust me.”
“How did you two manage get here so early?” she queried.
Michael slipped an arm around her, grinning. He had a terrific smile. Dimples. A square face that still offered a fine bone structure and a strong chin. He was tall, well-built, as gorgeous as usual in a handsome business suit. She loved the aftershave he used. Everything about him was perfect—perfect for her. She knew her own mind and who she should be with.
As long as Michael was there. As long as he stood beside her.
“Josh gave me a call at the hotel and said you’d left already, so he managed to get us on an earlier flight, as well,” Michael said. “I met him at the airport, then we came straight here.”
“Wonderful,” she murmured
“I can tell you’re thrilled,”