Page 4 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
“Have you?” Releasing Alana, their father extracted a handkerchief and mopped his face. He tucked the cloth carefully back into his pocket before lifting his gaze, the anger in his eyes dying.
“Perhaps you will give us grandchildren this time. Your mother always wanted grandchildren.” He turned toward the window as the coach slowed, murmuring about the town’s lack of greenery, then did not speak again.
When the vehicle stopped, the driver leapt down, opened the door, and offered Alana his hand as she exited the cabin. Aidan followed, turning to help his father step down, but his father slapped his hand away, grumbling he was more than capable of climbing from a coach.
Shaking her head, Alana turned, searching the people traversing the unpaved street for a red shock of Patrick’s hair. Like her and their father, Patrick had inherited the vibrant Flannery characteristic, quite the opposite of Aidan, whose black hair took after their deceased mother. The only shared trait between them was their brilliant blue eyes.
“Patrick!” she yelled.
Waving her hand, Alana jumped up and down when she spied him walking toward them from a tavern at the far end of the road. She ran through the crowd and launched herself at her brother.
His large hands closed around her waist, swinging her in a circle, a smile cracking his lips. Setting her back on her feet, he draped a heavy arm over her shoulders, and leaned his weight on her, his warm brogue encircling her.
“A pleasure to see you again.”
Grunting, Alana shoved him off.
“We brought Da,” she murmured, indicating the coach with a subtle gesture.
“How is he?”
“Better, worse, the same.”
“I see.” Heaving a sack over his shoulder, Patrick lumbered toward the coach, then called out to their father, forced happiness in his tone.
The elder Flannery lifted his head, searching for the familiar sound. When he discovered Patrick pushing his way through the throng, his eyes popped open wide. With a whoop, their father dashed toward them, Aidan trailing after, a sour expression on his face.
Enveloping his father in a bone-crushing embrace, Patrick’s free arm snaked out, and wrapped around Aidan, drawing him in too.
“Hello, little brother.”
“Patrick.” Aidan extracted himself from his brother’s muscular arm. “We have a schedule to keep.”
Patrick glanced at Alana, muttering loudly, “When did he become so proper?”
“Right after Ma died.” Flinging a scowl over his shoulder, Aidan stomped back to the coach, yanked Alana’s trunk from the rear, and slammed the chest to the ground.
“You got something you want to discuss with me?” Patrick’s face darkening, he stepped to Aidan.
“I have a lot that needs to be discussed.” Aidan’s fists clenched.
“Boys.” Their father hobbled between them, his stern gaze bouncing between the two. “There is no need for this hostility. Noreen doesn’t like hearing her sons fight, and I think it’s been far too long to continue this disagreement.”
“Disagreement?” Aidan exploded, slashing his arm at Patrick. “He deserted the family.”
Patrick clenched his jaw. “I had a job.”
“Which you did not need!”
“I happen to enjoy the sound of the ocean.”
“I gave up everything,Patrick.”
“I told you to hire a guardian.”
“Why, so I could be as happy as you?”
“I am happy.”
