A Light in the Window by Julie Lessman Page B

friends most of their lives, but never had he wanted to bloody that Roman beak of a nose more. His voice carried a warning. “So, you’re going to allow a woman to come between us?”
    The bristled plain of Sam’s jaw hardened while both a question and a challenge burned hot in his eyes. “No … are you?”
      Patrick slammed a fist to the counter. “Blast you, O’Rourke, no, but I’ll not cheapen her in a wager either, like so much loose coin. One of us has to back down.”
    Sam eyed him for several seconds, gaze pensive. Releasing a heavy exhale, he finally reached in his pocket and tossed a coin on the bar, lips crooking when it spun to a stop. “All right, Patrick, not a duel to the death, then, or even a tussle that will tear Marcy apart.” He quirked a brow. “But perhaps a toss to decide who shall woo her first? If you win, I’ll bow out and leave her completely vulnerable to your devastating, pretty-faced charm.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “And if I win, you’ll do the same, agreed?”
    Sweat licked the inside of Patrick’s collar as he stared, weighing the risk in his mind. He finally shook his head. “No, I’ll not chance it.”
    “You don’t have a choice,” Sam said evenly, his black eyes nearly piercing him through. “It’s either a toss or our friendship—you can’t have both.”
    Patrick met his gaze, realizing for the first time that Marcy’s pull on Sam was obviously as strong as her pull over him and he swallowed hard, suddenly aware he might well lose. He bludgeoned the counter again with a knotted fist and swore under his breath. Eyes itching hot, he seared the man with a look that might have to come to blows if not for their fifteen-year friendship. “I have a mind to spit in your eye and do what I bloomin’ well please.”
    Sam grinned. “But you won’t, because our bond is like blood.” He hoisted another toast, giving his friend a wink. “And we both know blood is thicker than lust.”
    Sam’s comment barbed, and that’s when Patrick knew Marcy meant more than a fling or a conquest, more than just the favors and affection of a pretty girl. His pulse seized for a split second when comprehension assailed his mind, as sweet and intoxicating as the scent of lilac water when she’d passed him at the rectory door. For some reason he couldn’t ascertain, she mattered more to him than just the race of his pulse over eyes as blue as the sky, more than the heady warmth when he lingered on those lush pink lips. More— far more —than mere physical attraction, and the very thought stunned because for the life of him, he didn’t know why. He scowled. All he did know was that the sound of the word “lust” in regard to Marcy made him want to blacken Sam’s eye. His voice came off as a hiss. “It’s more than lust this time, Sam.”
    “You’re right, Patrick—it is—and I feel it too. Marcy is …” He paused, eyes shuttering closed as if attempting to decipher the mystery of Marceline Murphy. “Unique, special, somehow different than most girls with whom we associate, almost as if she’s wiser, more caring.” His eyes opened to reveal a rare glimpse into a more vulnerable Sam. “A woman capable of eliciting great things from a man without ever letting him know.” His gaze trailed into a reflective stare. “And perhaps a woman who would love a man so much, he could almost love himself.” He glanced up with a melancholy smile, the effect somehow soft and so out of character for Sam O’Rourke, that Patrick could only blink. “We barely know this slip of a girl and yet here we are, the both of us, besotted over an ethereal beauty who is sure to steal our hearts as effectively as she has stolen our thoughts. A woman definitely worth fighting over.” He glanced up, the rake returning once again with a twinkle in his eye. “But we won’t. We will toss for the privilege of pursuit and cheer the winner on, eh?” He brandished his beer as if it were a call