Ryan's Place - By Sherryl Woods Page 0,50

priest responded. “And because Rory is the only man I know who can make a decent Christmas pudding.”

“Then why are you so agreeable to missing it this year?” Ryan asked.

“Because we’ve had a better offer. Christmas pudding is not the most important part of the holiday, after all.”

“Besides which, I’m sure Rory agreed to save you some,” Ryan guessed.

“Aye, that he did,” the priest agreed unrepentantly.

A few minutes later Ryan found a parking space half a block from the O’Brien home. Judging from the number of cars in front of the house and lining the driveway, there was a full house. Even though he was likely to know almost everyone there, Ryan suffered a moment of panic at the prospect of facing them. However, one look from Father Francis had him cutting the engine and climbing out.

At the door Maggie greeted them warmly, reserving a smug grin for Ryan. “They’ve been taking bets inside on whether you’d show up,” she told him. “I believe my haul should be more than twenty dollars. Mother gets the other half.”

“Do you all bet on everything?” he asked as Father Francis laughed.

“Just about,” she said, standing on tiptoe to give Ryan a slow, deliberate kiss that made his head spin.

Before he could gather his wits, Ryan heard Father Francis mutter, “About time.” Then the priest disappeared in an obvious attempt to give them some privacy.

Ryan felt Maggie’s lips curve into a slow smile against his. When he pulled away, there was amusement dancing in her eyes. “What?” he demanded crankily.

“Nothing,” she insisted. “Did you hear me say a word?”

Ryan gave a nod of satisfaction. “Keep it that way. This situation is not amusing, Maggie. I can’t seem to make myself stay away from you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind. I’m the wrong man for you.”

She surveyed him so thoroughly he almost squirmed, then shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“You being wrong for me.” Her gaze lit on the small gift bag in his hand. “Is that for me?”

With a sigh, he handed it to her. A part of him wanted her to open the present right then, but a part of him dreaded it. He didn’t have a lot of practice picking out gifts, but this one had seemed so right. If she hated it, he was going to feel like an idiot.

Maggie had no such hesitations. She was pulling tissue from the bag with the excitement of a child. Her eyes lit up when she saw the small, square box. For a moment she fumbled with the lid, then impatiently handed it to him. “I’m all thumbs. You open it.”

“It’s your present,” he protested.

“Please.”

Ryan took the box, slit the tape holding it closed, then lifted the lid just enough to make opening it the rest of the way easy for her. “Okay, all yours,” he said, anxious to be rid of it. Even so, he couldn’t tear his gaze away as he awaited her reaction.

Maggie carefully unfolded the tissue in the box, then sighed. “Oh, my,” she whispered, her eyes shining. “Ryan, they’re beautiful.” She removed the antique marcasite hair clips from the box with a look of reverence. The clips were made in the shape of shamrocks, and each had a tiny emerald chip in the center that was the exact color of Maggie’s eyes. “I have to put them on.”

Ryan stood as if frozen while she moved to a mirror on the foyer wall. Once the sparkling clips were in her hair, she turned to him with a smile. “They’re perfect, the very best present anyone ever gave me. Thank you.”

Ryan didn’t know how to cope with either her gratitude or the too-obvious love shining in her eyes. It was all too much for a man who’d rarely been the recipient of either, at least not from anyone who’d truly mattered. Panic rushed through him. Not five minutes ago he’d told her that he was wrong for her, and now, apparently, she was more convinced than ever that they were exactly right for each other. He’d never realized before that a gift could speak volumes, could even contradict words, no matter how emphatically they’d been expressed.

“Maggie, I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” he said, turning toward the door. Before he could bolt, however, she stepped in front of him.

“Do what?” she asked.

He gestured toward the rest of the house, which was crowded with O’Briens. “The family thing. I’m no good at it.”

Her gaze locked with his,