A Light in the Window by Julie Lessman Page A

Brannigan’s Pub, his elbows limp on the cherrywood bar while he twiddled the mug in his hand. “ Now , in my life, as soon as possible.”
    All around him, the buzz and hum of people conversing and laughing filled the smoky air along with off-key singing to the lively piano tunes of Tommy Thomkins while couples danced and flirted. But Patrick didn’t hear a thing. His mind was so foggy he didn’t know if it was the alcohol or if he was in love, but either way, his body buzzed at the mere thought of Marceline Murphy. He tossed back another swallow of beer, then pushed the half-empty glass away, his taste for alcohol suddenly as flat as his desire for other women. He peered up at Sam out of the corner of his eye. “I never believed in love at first sight, O’Rourke, but I gotta tell you—something about that woman took me down the minute I laid eyes on her.” He shook his head, a grin sprouting at the mere idea of Marcy wanting him too. “What can I say? She’s ruined me forever.”
      Sam’s eyes narrowed as he nudged Patrick’s beer back his way. “I’ll say—I’ve never seen you turn your nose up at a beer before.” He took a swig of his own, troubled eyes appraising Patrick over the rim of his glass. Setting it back down, he shifted on the stool to face him, tone droll as his thumb absently glazed the side of his mug. “The lass doesn’t appear to be taken with either of us, Patrick, which is part of the attraction I suppose—a woman who plays hard to get.” His lips took a slant. “And that’s the dilemma, my friend—she’s not playing, she is .”
    “Doesn’t matter,” Patrick said with a firm press of his jaw. “I want her in my life, Sam, and I mean to have her.”
    Sam’s mouth curved in challenge. “As do I.”
    Patrick tilted his head, studying his best friend through eyes as thin as his patience. “What are you talking about, O’Rourke? I saw her first.”
    Upending his glass, Sam guzzled the rest, then clinked it down to signal Lucas for another. His grin edged toward predatory with just a touch of tease. “Not technically.” He canted against the bar, long legs stretched out. “She’s been sleeping in my house since she was six years old, remember?”
    “So have I,” Patrick said with a scowl, “but that’s irrelevant since neither of us paid her any mind until now.”
    Sam slid him a hooded gaze. “No, what’s irrelevant, my friend, is how you or I feel. It’s not up to us, it’s up to Marcy to decide who she’ll allow to darken her door.”
    Patrick straightened on the stool, back square and Irish up. “We’ve been friends a long time, Sam.” A nerve flickered in his jaw. “I’m asking you to stay away.”
    Sam regarded him carefully with the barest of smiles. “Why? Afraid to lose?”
    Patrick laughed outright. Snatching his half-empty beer, he downed it in one furious gulp, then slammed the mug on the counter. He nodded his thanks when Lucas delivered two more and held his aloft with a broad grin, foam slithering the sides of his glass. “I’ve never lost yet.”
    A low chuckle rumbled in Sam’s chest as he raised his in salute. “Ah, but then we’ve never gone head to head before, now have we?” He took a long swallow of brew, gaze fixed on Patrick as the beer glugged down his throat. Swiping the side of his mouth with his sleeve, he angled his head, the glint of a dare glittering in dark eyes. “So she’s to be a contest, is she now?”
    The smile faded from Patrick’s lips, the thought of Marcy as the prize in an unsavory competition not settling well. “No,” he whispered, shoving the beer away a second time. “That’s not what I want. I’ll not have her hounded by the likes of us, torn in two different directions in some unholy tug-of-war.”
    “What, then?” Sam said. “Because make no mistake, Patrick—I mean to have her as well.”
    A nerve pulsed in Patrick’s temple as he stared, fist clenched on the bar. He and Sam had been best