married a vixen.”
Sean chuckled as he reached for a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some milk. “Well, I’m no expert, sis, but I agree with Mitch. Why scheme to get Brady’s attention when other guys are lining up for a chance with you? Besides, Brady’s obviously not looking for anything more. As far as I can tell, he seems pretty content the way things are.”
Charity tossed her head and commenced with mashing the potatoes. She grunted with each thrust in the pot. “Only because he’s too stubborn to know when he’s not happy. If women didn’t use their God-given feminine wiles, most men would spend their lives alone and miserable”—she looked up at her brother and smiled—“like you.”
Milk sputtered from Sean’s mouth in a near choke. “Hey, I’m not miserable, and neither is Brady.”
“Well, just for the record,” Faith said, hoisting the roast from the oven, “Brady isn’t happy. He needs a woman like Lizzie.”
Collin reached to snatch a piece of meat. “Who says Brady’s not happy?”
Faith whirled around, her eyes as wide as the hole Collin had just put in the roast. “Why you did, last night, remember? You wanted to pray for Brady because he wasn’t happy.”
A pink haze colored the back of Collin’s neck. He gulped the meat down in one large swallow and tried to cover with an innocent grin. “What I meant was, Little Bit, that he’s obviously not as happy as we are.” He leaned in to nuzzle her neck before snatching more roast.
“Don’t you dare try to bamboozle me, Collin McGuire! You’ve told me more than once that you wished Brady would find a woman he could love because he wasn’t happy. Well, Lizzie’s a woman he could love.”
Charity bludgeoned the potatoes for good measure. “Well, I love Brady like a brother and you all know that. But if Lizzie’s the one God has for him, then we intend to do everything in our power to make it happen.” She smirked at her husband. “Whether Brady likes it or not.”
“Well, I can tell you right now, he won’t like it, will he, Mitch?” Collin asked with a wad of roast in his mouth.
Mitch drained his ginger ale and set the glass down. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. “Nope. And neither do I. But that won’t stop ’em. You should know that by now.” He glanced at his mother-in-law. “How does Patrick feel about this? Is he comfortable with all the female plotting going on around here?”
Marcy hefted a tray of biscuits from the oven. Wisps of blond hair, loose from a pretty chignon, feathered the neck of her pink percale housedress. She placed the tray on hot pads and wiped her hands along the contour of her slim, high-belted waist. “I’m afraid Patrick’s been a bit preoccupied with business at the Herald to be fully aware of what these three have been up to. You know how busy he’s been since taking the editor position.” She sent a tired smile in Mitch’s direction. “But I suspect he’d side with you men, being the stubborn Irishman he is.”
“Speaking of Father, why isn’t he home yet? It’s Saturday, for pity’s sake. I thought he intended to go in for just a few hours.” Faith pulled a carving knife from the drawer and handed it to Collin with a quick kiss. “Here, earn your keep by carving the roast.”
Marcy glanced at the clock. “He did, but you know how that goes.” She lifted her chin and hardened her tone. “But he did promise to be home by dinner, which I fully intend to put on the table in ten minutes, Patrick or no.”
Lizzie and her sisters exchanged glances. “We can wait, Mother, really. Brady’s not here yet, either.” Lizzie hesitated. “Are you . . . feeling okay?”
Marcy sighed. “Yes, I’m just tired. I think I’ll run upstairs for a moment and freshen up, if you girls don’t mind. Hopefully your father will be home by the time I’m done.”
“You do that, Mother.” Lizzie gave her mother a hug. “We’ll get dinner on
Sean chuckled as he reached for a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some milk. “Well, I’m no expert, sis, but I agree with Mitch. Why scheme to get Brady’s attention when other guys are lining up for a chance with you? Besides, Brady’s obviously not looking for anything more. As far as I can tell, he seems pretty content the way things are.”
Charity tossed her head and commenced with mashing the potatoes. She grunted with each thrust in the pot. “Only because he’s too stubborn to know when he’s not happy. If women didn’t use their God-given feminine wiles, most men would spend their lives alone and miserable”—she looked up at her brother and smiled—“like you.”
Milk sputtered from Sean’s mouth in a near choke. “Hey, I’m not miserable, and neither is Brady.”
“Well, just for the record,” Faith said, hoisting the roast from the oven, “Brady isn’t happy. He needs a woman like Lizzie.”
Collin reached to snatch a piece of meat. “Who says Brady’s not happy?”
Faith whirled around, her eyes as wide as the hole Collin had just put in the roast. “Why you did, last night, remember? You wanted to pray for Brady because he wasn’t happy.”
A pink haze colored the back of Collin’s neck. He gulped the meat down in one large swallow and tried to cover with an innocent grin. “What I meant was, Little Bit, that he’s obviously not as happy as we are.” He leaned in to nuzzle her neck before snatching more roast.
“Don’t you dare try to bamboozle me, Collin McGuire! You’ve told me more than once that you wished Brady would find a woman he could love because he wasn’t happy. Well, Lizzie’s a woman he could love.”
Charity bludgeoned the potatoes for good measure. “Well, I love Brady like a brother and you all know that. But if Lizzie’s the one God has for him, then we intend to do everything in our power to make it happen.” She smirked at her husband. “Whether Brady likes it or not.”
“Well, I can tell you right now, he won’t like it, will he, Mitch?” Collin asked with a wad of roast in his mouth.
Mitch drained his ginger ale and set the glass down. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. “Nope. And neither do I. But that won’t stop ’em. You should know that by now.” He glanced at his mother-in-law. “How does Patrick feel about this? Is he comfortable with all the female plotting going on around here?”
Marcy hefted a tray of biscuits from the oven. Wisps of blond hair, loose from a pretty chignon, feathered the neck of her pink percale housedress. She placed the tray on hot pads and wiped her hands along the contour of her slim, high-belted waist. “I’m afraid Patrick’s been a bit preoccupied with business at the Herald to be fully aware of what these three have been up to. You know how busy he’s been since taking the editor position.” She sent a tired smile in Mitch’s direction. “But I suspect he’d side with you men, being the stubborn Irishman he is.”
“Speaking of Father, why isn’t he home yet? It’s Saturday, for pity’s sake. I thought he intended to go in for just a few hours.” Faith pulled a carving knife from the drawer and handed it to Collin with a quick kiss. “Here, earn your keep by carving the roast.”
Marcy glanced at the clock. “He did, but you know how that goes.” She lifted her chin and hardened her tone. “But he did promise to be home by dinner, which I fully intend to put on the table in ten minutes, Patrick or no.”
Lizzie and her sisters exchanged glances. “We can wait, Mother, really. Brady’s not here yet, either.” Lizzie hesitated. “Are you . . . feeling okay?”
Marcy sighed. “Yes, I’m just tired. I think I’ll run upstairs for a moment and freshen up, if you girls don’t mind. Hopefully your father will be home by the time I’m done.”
“You do that, Mother.” Lizzie gave her mother a hug. “We’ll get dinner on
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