Running from Fate Read online

  Running from Fate

  By

  Rose Connelly

  Running from Fate © 2012 by Cassandra Connolly-Brown

  Writing as Rose Connelly

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is dedicated to my beta readers, especially Arwen and Kyla, who read multiple versions and weren’t afraid to make suggestions and give me the unvarnished truth

  And to my wonderful sister and fellow writer, Maryska, for listening to me brainstorm, for giving me the encouragement to keep going, and for designing the perfect cover

  Thank you all

  Table of Contents Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Prologue

  Mira Sweeney was seven the first time she saw James Kelly. It was summertime in Boston and the big white fans in her parents’ house whirled quietly as they sullenly stirred the thick air. Mira had heard some people call her daddy frugal and others call him a cheapskate. All she knew was that her friend, Mary Kate, got to have air conditioning and she didn’t.

  Her stockings had been itchy and hot and sticky after her snack so she had taken them off. As she crept toward the stairs, drawn by the knocking on the front door, she diligently prayed that her mother didn’t catch her. Then she would get a ‘talking to’ for being indecent and exposing her legs.

  She glanced down at herself, wondering what it meant to be indecent. She wasn’t wearing shorts like some of her friends and as far as she could tell her dress was pretty long. Why she could barely see her knees. Uh oh. She stopped and bent down, almost toppling over in the process. There was blue chalk on the bottom of her dress. It must have gotten there when she was drawing earlier. Her mother was going to be mad.

  Maybe if she changed her clothes and hid the dress at the bottom of her toy box no one would know. She turned around, intending to do just that, when she heard voices. Dress forgotten she continued her journey toward the stairs, curiosity drawing her.

  She could tell one of the people talking was her daddy because his voice was different than the way most Americans sounded. Sometimes, especially when he got mad, he sounded like a bear, but it never scared her cause, even then, the way he talked made him sound like he was almost singing the words.

  Her daddy and mommy had come from a different country. Her daddy had always called her his Irish Rose and, when she was younger, it had made her giggle, but she was older now and had started school two years ago. Ireland wasn’t a silly flower, it was a whole country. Her parents had come from there, but she was born in America so she couldn’t be Irish anything.

  She walked closer and snuck down to the landing, leaning over so she could see into the hall. The boy talking to her daddy could have been an Irish something, she decided, because he talked in the same funny way that her parents did. She sat on the stairs and watched through the banister.

  The boy probably wasn’t any older than Amy’s brother, who was only 14, but he sure looked different. Why his wavy black hair was a long as a girl’s and it curled around shoulders that were already starting to show muscles. He could have been the hero from one of those silly books her mommy was always reading. She sighed dreamily, imagining him riding on a beautiful white horse as he came to rescue her from an evil witch.

  Her young heart softened as she noticed that his shirt was so thin she could almost see through it and his pants came up to his ankles. She peered closer and noticed that his hands were clenched and his forehead was sweaty. Why he was scared. He was the one who needed rescuing. She could be the knight, but first she had to know what the danger was. She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands content, for now, to wait.

  His voice floated up to her, the lyrical Irish brogue beautiful, but his words painfully correct as if he were forcing himself to speak properly.

  “Mr. Sweeney,” he said. “My name is James. I’m Patrick Kelly’s son. I’ve come to tell you that my father fell and hurt his back yesterday. The doctor told us that he has to stay in bed for a while so he won’t be able to come to work.” He swallowed audibly and shifted his weight. The truth was worse than that, he thought. Patrick Kelly had fallen off a ladder while trying to reach the jar of household funds that his ma had hid in the top cabinet. His dad had sworn that he would stop gambling, but James had known it was a lie. It always was.

  “I’m very sorry to hear that son,” Sean Sweeney said sympathetically. “The men will miss him at the site. He’s my best foreman,” he sighed, “but I suppose I can find someone to take over until he gets better. Well now, give him my best and tell him to stay off his feet.” His eyes brightened. “I’ll come round later to see him,” he promised, “Now off you go lad, as I’m sure your ma will be needing your help.” He turned and headed to the kitchen muttering about bringing a spot of whiskey round for Pat.

  James loudly cleared his throat, causing the older man to turn. “My family is the problem, sir,” he said. He hated to plead, but there didn’t seem to be any other option. “The doctor cost a lot of money, sir, and we can’t even afford food. I don’t think we can manage for weeks without a pay.” He felt tears building behind his eyes and fought to hold them back. A man didn’t cry. Still, his throat wanted to close and he had a desperate urge to turn and run. His ma’s gaunt face and his own rumbling stomach forced him to stay.

  “Did Patrick send you to beg then?” Sean scratched his head, looking confused. “No that doesn’t sound like something he’d do. He’s no a man to ask for charity and I’m sure he knows he’ll be getting his wages while he’s laid up.”

  James straightened his back and looked the bigger man in the eye. “My da didn’t send me,” he fumed. “I came by myself and I’m no looking for charity.”

  “What is it that you want then?”

  “It doesn’t sit right for you to pay my dad’s wages when he’s not working.” Especially when it was his da’s own fault. He turned and started to pace. “I know I’m young, but I like to build. I can cut wood or use a hammer or anything you want. If you just give me a chance I can do a good job.” His voice rang with both boyish pride and determination as he stopped and waited for Sean to say something. A flash of movement made him look up.

  The boy’s deep, blue eyes locked on hers and Mira felt as if her breath had stopped. Something strange stirred to life inside her.

  James stood rooted to the spot, hearing Sean’s voice, but not understanding it. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the small girl who watched him. Something about her stare made him feel strange. It was too intense, almost intimate, but he couldn’t make himself look away. She was pretty, he supposed, in her own way, with her emerald green eyes sparkling and her brown hair sticking up in all directions. She smiled and he found himself smiling back. A throat cleared and he jerked his eyes away.

  The expression on Mr. Sweeney’s face was sad and somehow
guilty. Before he uttered a word, James already knew the answer.

  “I’m very sorry son,” he said, “but you’re just too young for the job. I wish there was something I could do, but—.”

  “Surely, there’s something he could do, daddy,” Mira piped up. It was time to ride to the rescue. She flew down the stairs and stopped next to her father. Looking up at him, she batted her long lashes. “Please?”

  Sean Sweeney sighed and looked at James.

  It was clear from his resigned, but doting expression that he couldn’t deny his young daughter.

  “I could use an assistant,” he finally said, “but this will be on a trial basis only,” he warned. “Come by tomorrow after school and we can arrange things. Wait here for a minute.” He turned and headed for the kitchen.

  As soon as Mr. Sweeney was out of sight James glanced toward the bottom of the stairs where the little girl still stood. She was winding a strand of brown hair around her finger and staring at him. At that moment, he fiercely resented her. While happy to have a job, it hurt his pride to know that it was only because this girl — a baby really — had interfered. Glowering at her, he opened his mouth. Before he could speak, however, Mr. Sweeney came back. He held his hand out to James.

  “This is an advance,” he said. “Take it straight home and give it to your ma.”

  James reluctantly glanced down at the paper. He gasped as he saw the amount. Five hundred dollars was more money than he had ever seen, but it would buy a lot of food for the family. Although it went against his upbringing to accept charity, he put the check in his pocket and vowed to be the best assistant ever. “Thank you, Mr. Sweeney,” he said. “You won’t regret this.” He turned around and walked out the door, imagining the joy on his mother’s face when he gave her the news. By the time he had reached the end of the walk, he had completely forgotten the strange little girl.

  Inside the neat, brick house Sean turned to his daughter. “Is there any reason why I gave a non-existent job to that young man?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Mira answered with a faraway look in her green eyes. “He’s mine and someday I’m going to marry him.” She threw an impish grin at her father and, turning, danced back up the stairs.

  Chapter 1 September 6th, 1995

  St. Catherine’s Prep School

  The room was a mess. The floor was covered by shoes, clothes, magazines, empty chip bags, CD cases and everything else that three teenage girls needed to survive. Somewhere under the clutter was an old writing desk covered, not by books, but by jars and bottles and liberally dusted with spilled blush and eye shadow.

  Single beds with wooden frames sat against three of the walls. Two of these beds were empty, their occupants away on a shopping trip into the city. Mira sat on the third bed surveying the destruction. It was nothing like home, which was always ordered and pristine, but she loved its unbridled enthusiasm.

  She hadn’t appreciated anything when she first got here four months, too angry over her abrupt removal from home. She was still pissed off at her mother as she was the one who had talked her dad into sending her. What did it matter if her daughter spent more time at the office or shadowing the construction sites than she did trying on clothes or worrying about makeup? She was planning on becoming an architectural designer anyway and her daddy didn’t seem to mind if she showed and interest in his company.

  She smiled as she thought of the last letter he had sent her. It had seemed one of his suppliers was selling him sub-grade wood. If he hadn’t discovered it in time it could have really hurt his reputation and maybe even caused someone to get hurt. Sean Sweeney, though, hadn’t brought the matter to the police. Oh no, in true private-eye fashion—he was always reading those detective books—he was investigating the man himself. She wished she could be there to help him.

  Still, some good things had come out of it. The classes at St. Cat’s weren’t a total bore and Lily and Sarah were great roommates. Plus, she looked down at herself and grinned, the school had a great track team and, after a few horrible, exhausting weeks, she had discovered that she absolutely loved running. The unsightly pounds that had settled around her waist years ago and refused to budge were finally coming off. And — her grin widened — her breasts were actually starting to grow. She was now a solid A cup and had grown out of her ‘pea holders’. She still wasn’t the willowy beauty she wanted to be, but it might be enough to make James stop treating her like a little sister.

  Plus, she had even received another letter from him today. Perhaps this one would have something personal in it, more than complaints about all the extra work he was doing now that he was in grad school. She couldn’t wait to read it.

  Propping a pillow behind her back and settling more firmly against the wall, she pulled the slightly wrinkled envelope from her pocket. Unconsciously, she fingered the simple heart-shaped locket that James had given her for her last birthday. Granted, it didn’t look like it had cost much money, but it was still a piece of jewelry.

  With her tongue held between her teeth, she carefully opened the flap and pulled out the two handwritten pages. It wasn’t as long as she would have liked, but she contented herself with the fact that it was the third letter he had sent her in four months. She blithely chose to ignore the fact that she had probably sent him three times as many.

  With hungry eyes she devoured every word, almost hearing his voice as he told her about his mountains of homework, his latest project, and his new friends. He spent two paragraphs describing a new class that he was attending on green building and sustainable development. The enthusiasm that came through made her smile. She skimmed down and laughed with delight at his detailed description of one of his more eccentric professors. He finished the letter by saying that he missed her sweet smile and her humor. It wasn’t a declaration of love but hey, she consoled herself, at least it was something.

  She finished the second page and was seriously considering re-reading it when she heard a commotion in the hallway. She quickly put the letter back in its envelope and hid it in her top drawer. Lily had made fun of her for a week when she had gushed over James’ last letter. She didn’t want to deal with that again.

  “I don’t understand how you could think that man was sexy. He was old.” The voice came from just outside the door.

  “Honestly, Sarah, you’re such a prude. Anyone over 20 is old to you,” Lily Parsons said as she sashayed into the room. She came to a halt in front of Mira and propped her right foot on the bed. “So, Mira, how do you like them?” She bent down and rubbed an imaginary smudge off the toe of her boot.

  Mira tilted her head slightly and carefully considered her answer. The ‘them’ that Lily was referring to were a pair of lipstick red, patent leather boots that came up to her knees and sported three-inch heels. On anyone else the outrageous footwear would have looked ridiculous, especially paired with green and blue stripped stockings, a short, dark blue skirt, and a flowing, gypsy blouse of emerald green. At 15, however, Lily had already developed her own, unique style and, with her honey blond hair, leggy height, and sparkling blue eyes, she had all the boys, and some of the men, within a 50 mile radius panting after her.

  “Well,” Lily purred in her husky voice. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” Mira said, “that they are exactly you.”

  “See,” Lily taunted as she lowered her foot and swung around to face the doorway. “That is precisely the type of comment that you should have made.” She turned her head to look at Mira. “Do you know what Sarah said? She said that my new boots were loud and obnoxious.”

  “Yeah,” Sarah retorted as she walked into the room dragging two large shopping bags. “Just like you.”

  Lily bent down and grabbed a discarded shoe from the floor.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Sarah clasped the bags to her chest and danced toward her bed. “I’m still holding all your new clothes.”

  Lily dropped the shoe and darted forward. She snatched the bags from Sa
rah, hopped onto her bed, and immediately started pulling things out.

  Mira looked at her two friends and thought of how strange it was that they had all become so close considering how different they were. She came from an upper-middle class Irish Catholic family and her father’s business was pushing them into the upper class. Her hair was nice and thick and her eyes weren’t too bad, but she wasn’t exactly pretty.

  Lily, on the other hand, was a striking, Nordic beauty. She came from a very affluent family and she had never lacked for anything. Despite this fact she was one of the most loyal, offhandedly generous people Mira had ever met. She was also flamboyant, highly artistic, and was already going through boyfriends like they were water.

  Sarah Mason was her polar opposite. Where Lily was tall and blond, Sarah was short with glossy black curls that hung down to her waist. Her darker skin tone, inherited from her Spanish mother, set off deep brown eyes that were surrounded by thick, curling lashes. Currently, she was a little chubby, but she was starting to develop the kind of curves that would one day make men drool.

  She had come to St. Catherine’s on a scholarship and her parents were solidly working class. They lived and worked on a large ranch where her mother did the cooking and her father worked in the extensive stables. Sarah seemed more interested in learning as much as she could than obsessing over boys, but she was a hopeless romantic who teared up during movies and sometimes wept over commercials.

  The hopeless romantic was currently sitting cross-legged on her bed rubbing her feet. When she noticed Mira looking at her, she shrugged her shoulders and grinned good-naturedly.

  “You’re really lucky that you decided not to go with us,” she said. “Lily made us walk all over New York City searching for just the right boots. My feet are killing me.”

  Lily was sitting on her bed methodically taking the tags and stickers off her new clothes. She paused in her work and glared at Sarah. “What are you complaining about? I did buy you that pair of earrings that you wanted so much and my parents took us out to lunch at the Russian Tea Room. You should have come, Mira, there was this one guy…”