“You always such a smart ass?”
“I am just curious where you became a lawn epicure.”
“A lawn epi—pffft.” He snorted. “You’re really something.”
“Why thank you. A compliment that warms the heart. And you’re not answering.”
His expression turned deadly serious. “I didn’t do that. Put a drug like that in a girl’s drink. But here’s the thing, if I had, I wouldn’t tell you, would I?”
“You wanted to be a priest once, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. For a hot minute. You think I have Catholic guilt.”
“Or morals.”
He heaved one shoulder in a half shrug. “I wanted something bigger than myself.” He reached up and idly pulled out the chain he wore around his neck, clasped his fist over the Saint Anthony medal. “But I’m not cut out for that life.”
“Why?”
“Because how could I help people if I couldn’t help the one person that I loved more than anybody?” The words were ragged, the pain so raw that she felt them as a visceral pain.
“Your mother.”
“I was her son. All she had. She gave me this medal and said Saint Anthony was the patron saint for lost things. And yet, I lost her. Got into enough trouble that eventually the state moved me to a foster home. And without me there... she had no reason to try at all. And then she was lost for good. And no medal was ever going to bring her back.”
“So you joined the seminary.”
“I’d have made a terrible priest, just like I made a terrible son.”
“I’m not going to pretend to be religious with you. I don’t know what I believe. But I do know this. To live in this world... we need to have a little faith. And when I look at you, I see a guy that I can trust. That I can believe in. I don’t think you tried to drug a drink. I think that lawyer is lying.”
“Shit.” Patch covered his face and from behind his hands, Margot listened to his truth. To what he saw in The Jury Room, the two vulnerable young women, and how he felt a desperate desire to help. How his anger flared at the man who wanted to hurt them.
When he was done, they sat in silence.
“I have just one more thing to say,” she said.
“Shoot.” His voice was still husky with emotion.
“When I look at you, all I see is a good man. A great man. The best man.”
He feigned staring around the room as if looking for someone else.
“Yeah, I’m talking about you.” She knocked his foot with hers. “And actually I have a question too. But if you aren’t ready to answer, there’s absolutely no pressure.”
“Got it.”
She took a deep breath. “Patrick Donnelly, would you mind if I took you to my bed? I’m not going to say I’m going to make a man out of you, though. Because honestly, you’ve done a great job of that all on your own.”
He glanced down at the teacup. It looked almost like a toy in his big hand. “And here I was hoping I’d get to hang out and sip hot grass juice.”
She should have expected his speed, his agility, his complete control of his body. After all, she’d watched him play countless times. But it felt like a heartbeat and he was standing, and she was in his arms, cradled to his broad chest.
“Is that a yes?”
“Where do you want me to take you?”
She waggled her eyebrows. “I like that you’re open. But for this first time... I think we’ll both feel more comfortable on my bed.”
