He couldn’t deny she stirred emotions in him that had lain dormant for so long he’d forgotten he had them. The aura of vulnerability about her generated a powerful urge to protect her from whatever she was running from. He was also amazed by just how badly he wanted to know what had caused the haunted look he saw from time to time in those amazing blue eyes of hers.

Hours later, he was still thinking of her at home alone on Christmas Eve as he drove toward the Sagamore Bridge at the entrance to Cape Cod. Yawning, he reached for his cell phone and was glad he’d thought to program her number in earlier. She answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m getting tired. Keep me company?”

“I’d love to. Where are you?”

“Almost to the Cape, and then I’ve got about an hour to Chatham.”

“Has your family always lived there?”

“Almost forty years, since right after my parents got married.”

Clare groaned. “Oh, God, O’Malley, you’re not even forty?”

He laughed. “Not quite. Is that a problem?”

“I’m six, no wait, almost seven years older than you?”

“Lucky for me you look about twenty-two.”

“Ugh, I should cut my losses and head for the hills.” In truth, he was thrilled to hear her acknowledge that “something” was going on between them. “This is just too embarrassing.”

“Have I told you I love older women?”

“Good save,” she said in the dry tone she did so well. “Tell me about your family.”

“That’s a story and a half.”

“I’ve got time if you do.”

“All right, let’s see. My parents, Colleen and Dennis, grew up on the same block in South Boston. My dad’s parents were Irish immigrants, but he was born in the city. My mom emigrated from Ireland with her parents when she was ten. Granny Fitz, my mother’s mom, swore to her dying day that my mother set her sights on my father on her second day in Boston. He was four years older than her, and from what we always heard, he never stood a chance.”

Clare laughed. “I like her already.”

“Yeah, she’s a pistol. Our favorite story about them happened when she was nineteen. She allegedly dragged our poor father out of a smoke-filled pub in Dorchester and issued an ultimatum on the sidewalk in front of his drinking buddies. ‘It’s either them or me, Dennis O’Malley,’” Aidan mimicked in a wicked Irish brogue. “‘Take your pick.’”

“She did not!”