Only in My Arms Read Online Free Page A

the Marys made us stronger. Against a force like Jay Mac, it was necessary to band together." Half her mouth curved in a quick smile that also lighted her eyes. "Poor Papa, he's smart about so many things, but he's never quite learned how to divide and conquer his five Marys."
    If only a third of what Walker had written him about the family was true, Ryder imagined that five young Marys were a force to be reckoned with. "Why were you all named Mary?"
    "Mother's idea." She took a sip of milk. "Tradition, I suppose. She's Irish, you know. And Catholic, of course. But Jay Mac's a thorough Presbyterian, and then there's the problem of us all being bastards because Jay Mac didn't marry my mother until a few years ago." She glanced at him, wondering what Walker had revealed to him. "Did you follow that?"
    He nodded, but he was paying more attention to the fact that she had a milk mustache on her upper lip. Her youthful smile, the odd cropping of her red-gold hair, and now the milk outlining the shape of her upper lip made her seem as young as a schoolgirl. As innocent as one, too. He needed to remind himself of that. He cleared his throat and touched his own lip. "Milk."
    She understood immediately. "Oh," she said a bit self-consciously. She dabbed at her mouth with her linen napkin and then looked to him. "Better?"
    "You got it all," he said, not quite answering her question. "So you were all Marys."
    "Well, yes," she said, picking up the threads of her story. "But not really. I'm called Mary. Sometimes Mary Francis. My sisters were always Michael, Rennie, Maggie, and Skye. They only heard Mary precede their name if they were in serious trouble."
    Which sounded as if it had been rather frequent, he thought. "Who stole the cigars from the humidor?"
    "What? Oh, the cigars." Mary gave up any pretense of eating. She carried her plate to the sink and scraped the uneaten pancakes into a pail. "It was Michael. She actually liked the smell of cigar smoke."
    "What was your father's punishment?"
    Turning to face him, she leaned back against the sink. Her nose wrinkled with the power of the memory. "We smoked until our faces were the color of pea soup."
    "Michael, too?"
    "Michael, too. She lasted longer than the rest of us—which of course confirmed her as the perpetrator of the heinous crime in Jay Mac's eyes—but eventually she succumbed. Jay Mac was pretty certain she'd never pick up another cigar as long as she lived."
    "Did she?"
    Mary shook her head. "Not that I know." She gave Ryder a dead-on look and added dryly, "She gave them up for cigarettes."
    One corner of his mouth lifted slightly, acknowledging the irony and humor. He resumed eating while Mary collected the skillet from the stove, the crusty mixing bowl and dirty utensils, and began washing. She didn't hear him come up behind her, didn't know he was there until he slipped his plate into the dishwater. Surprised, she jumped a little. Before she could say that he had merely startled her, he was backing away as if he had been the one who'd been burned.
    "Don't worry," he said tersely. "I'm not going to touch you."
    Her forest green eyes regarded him curiously. "I didn't think you were. And I wouldn't jump if you did. You caught me unaware, that's all. I didn't know you were there. I'm not frightened of you."
    He was quiet, measuring the truth of her words. "Is it because you feel safe in that getup?"
    Her brows rose a fraction in reaction to hearing her habit described as a "getup." Her tone was patient but cool. "It's because I don't think you intend me any harm. You're Walker's friend, aren't you? Why would you want to hurt me?"
    "You weren't so confident back at the water hole."
    "Back at the... umm... the water hole I wasn't so confident you even knew Walker Caide." She turned her back on him and continued washing. "And, yes," she added softly, with almost pained honesty, "perhaps some of it has to do with my getup."
    Then it had nothing to do with him, he thought,