Looping her arms around his neck, she gave him a huge smack on the lips. "Which you love, Mr. Wainwright."

"Hmm. Give me another."

Before she could, the door burst open and in walked Thorn, aka Jack Thornton, Clays chief of staff. His face colored when he saw the two of them. "Oh, Ill, um, just...."

"Come on in, Thorn." Bailey slid off Clays lap and he swatted her a.s.s behind the desk, which covered his action. "Im not staying. I just wanted to see my husband for a few minutes."

"Im sorry, Ms. ONeil, but something important needs to be addressed..." he glanced at his watch. "Now."

Her pulse sped up.

"Is it serious?" Clay wanted to know.

"You have to go to Russia for the Trade Summit."

His brow furrowed, Clay tensed. "I thought we agreed I didnt have to."

"The Russian president announced this morning hed only attend if the United States is represented."

Giving Bailey a doleful look, Clay shook his head. "Im sorry, Bay." To Thorn, he added, "Baileys fortieth birthday is in two days."

"d.a.m.n."

"I understand." But she felt bad. "And Thorn, if you dont start calling me Bailey, Im gonna slap you upside the head."

He chuckled.

Clay said, "I have an idea. Why dont you go home for the days Ill be gone?"

"Theres a lot to do for Mich.e.l.le, Clay."

"Anything that cant be put off for a while?"

Bailey mentally reviewed her meeting with Lucy. "Well, there is a fundraiser in New York for Mayor Jacobs that Lucy wishes youd attend. I can go in your place and then get to spend time with my family." She gave him a half smile. "Its the consolation prize, but if I cant have you here on my big day, at least I can celebrate with the boys."

"Be good, Bailey Ann."

"With my brothers? Hardly. But I think I will go."

"You have to leave tonight, Clay," Thorne interrupted.

"Then get out of here while I kiss my almost over-the-hill wife good-bye."

Thorne exited and Clay pulled Bailey back into his lap. "I am sorry, love."

"I know. Now, kiss me properly so you can go make nice with the rest of the rulers of the universe."

"Hows it going, Dyl?" Sophie asked the question from behind the bar at the pub. G.o.d, she looked good-happy, healthy, satisfied. Hed seen her car in the driveway this morning, so a roll in the hay with his brother must have put the joy on her face. Now her hair hung in a messy braid down her back, and her eyes were alight with good cheer.

"Hanging in there."

"Listen, about this stuff with Rachel Scott."

He stiffened. He adored Sophie and hoped she wouldnt give him a hard time.

"I wish you would make peace with her." Frown lines marred her brow. "I hate all the tension. I want everybody to be as happy as me."

"I know. Im trying."

He wondered briefly about happiness. Would he ever feel like Sophie? A quick flash of Rachel, looking up at him in the doorway two days ago when he confessed the truth about his family made his heartbeat quicken. Hed seen her twice, for another static story and another about the now-infamous governor. But hed left her as soon as the work was done so he didnt get caught in her web again. Hed made a promise, after all, to stay distanced.

"Why are you here, anyway?" she asked. "Youre off a couple more days."

"Im on another story. Im meeting some people today to interview them for my column on KPRAY."

"Here? How come?"

"Its a public place. Well-known. I think they feel safe."

"Are these the first people youve talked to?"

"No, I had two other meetings when you werent here. Both were middle cla.s.s, earnestly devout, and seemed to have spent their money well. One guy was a soldier who found G.o.d in a foxhole."

She wiped down the bar as she talked, and the low hum of some soft rock spun out from the jukebox. "Do you think donors would tell you if their contributions hurt them?"

"I ask insightful questions, woman. Tricky ones."

"Ill bet."

The door to the pub opened, letting in frigid March air.

Sophies eyes widened. "OMG, is that one of them?"

Dylan turned to see a woman cloaked in furs and a fancy hat sweep into the place. His mouth dropped when he caught sight of the white stretch limo out front. This must be Mrs. Robert Windham.

"She doesnt appear hard up to me," Sophie commented.

"Yeah, I see." Rising, he crossed the room. "Mrs. Windham? Im Dylan ONeil."

"I know who you are, young man. Youre in the news, because of your sister."

"I am." He bit his tongue at the slight. Hed done some good writing, too.

"You look older than in the photos."

She was old, too. In her late seventies.

Raising her chin, she scanned the bar. "Id like a cup of tea, please. And a warm place to sit."

"I have a table for us over by the piano, where its the warmest." He turned to Sophie, who was gawking. "Soph, could you get us some tea?"

She nodded. And didnt say Dylan never drank tea.

He led the woman across the room and pulled out her chair.

"Manners, I see."

"My mama taught me well."

Peeling off leather gloves, she loosened the fur and shrugged it off her shoulders. "So, you want to talk to me about KPRAY."

Which was going to be a bust. She obviously had more money than G.o.d and could afford to donate to the station. "Yes, I did. As I said on the phone, Im investigating them."

"I read that despicable column you wrote. You simply dont have the facts."

"Then give them to me."

Sophie approached the table and set down tea for them. Dylan snagged her arm. "This is my almost sister-in-law, Sophie Tyler, Mrs. Windham."

"Nice to meet you."

Mrs. Windham studied Sophie. "Have we met before?"

Sophie bit her lip, trying to contain a giggle, he guessed, because they didnt run in the same circles. "I dont think so."

"Ive seen you on television, not too long ago."

Dylan intervened. "Shes one of Americas Bravest."

"Ah, well, thank you for all you do for the city."

"Youre welcome." To Dylan, Sophie said, "If you need anything else, call me over."

When he turned back to his guest, Mrs. Windham was staring hard at him. "You have such an accomplished family. Why do you go around and pick on good, solid organizations that do G.o.ds work?"

There was nothing else to say but the truth. "Im trying to find out if people are exploited by the station, if they give more than they can afford, if they get suckered into spending money they need for food or college tuition."

"What if they are? G.o.d will take care of them, I always say."

"I think people should take care of each other."

"I do, too. KPRAY fulfills spiritual needs."

"Look, I know you dont have to worry about money, but most people do and I-"

She held up her hand. "You dont know that about me. Despite my trappings, I could be poor and putting on a front."

"Why would you do that?"

"To get you off KPRAYs back. Show you that not all, if any, people are being milked by them."

He laughed. "You might, but then you wouldnt have warned me."

A smile turned up the corners of her mouth, which she tried to hide by sipping her tea. "Thats right. I can afford my contributions."

"I understand."

"And, Mr. ONeil, KPRAY doesnt need to cipher money out of the needy. They have old broads like me who are leaving them half my wealth when I die. And Im not the only one doing that."

Pay dirt! Dylan thought and sat back and smiled.

Chapter 11.

At seven that night, Dylan, his Pa and brothers stood in the corner of the pub, where his mother played the piano. Even the two teens, Hogan and Cleary, had come to join in the fun. Dylan basked in the lilt of all their voices as they sang an old Irish folk tune. Pat was the best singer among them and had a solo section, giving Dylan a minute to let his mind wander.

Hed gotten some important information on KPRAY donors today, not d.a.m.ning but significant. He wondered what Rachel would say about the situation with the radio station if he told her about it. Often, he found himself wanting to confide in her about his work, get her opinion on things.

Aidan nudged him. The whole group was singing again, and Dylan threw himself into the last bars. The piece ended with a bang, and the patrons clapped.

"My boys," Pa said, grinning as he stepped away from the mic. He loved when they performed as a family for regulars. "Especially these two handsome devils." He clapped Hogan and Cleary on the backs.

"Thanks, Grandpa." Hogans hair was finally growing out and beginning to curl again.

"Can we go down to the rec center for a while?" Cleary asked Liam.

The brothers exchanged looks. The center was only a block away. "Yeah," Liam answered. "Need money?"

"We still got our allowances." Hogan spoke for them both. He often orchestrated activities for the cousins.

They kissed their grandma and headed out.

"Two hours," Liam called after them.

"Theyre all so talented, arent they, Paddy?" This from his ma, who turned back to her sons.

Liam suggested he was the best baritone. Aidan claimed the accolade, too, and Pat shrugged. "You aint got nothin on me."

There ensued another of what Dylan called their one-upsmanship sessions.