To Love A Wild Irishman

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-One

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Irishman!" Vincent bellowed.

Cassandra saw Finnegan's eyes light with mischievousness and she quickly clamped her hand over his mouth before he could say anything to further anger her father. It seemed the man lived to poke sticks at lions. "Papa, can we come in?"

"I thought I made my thoughts clear on your relationship with this man the last time we spoke," Vincent hissed, never taking his blue eyes off of Finnegan.

"Father, please..." If he heard her he gave no indication as he reached out and grabbed Finnegan by the shirt collar. Finnegan jerked Cassandra's hand from his mouth and gently pushed her back. She rolled her eyes when she realized her father seemed ready to punch Finnegan and her husband had simply been moving her out of harms way.

"I remember just how hard ya punch, Vinnie, and I'd rather not feel that again," Finnegan grinned. "Perhaps we should simply let the memory of that last punch tide us over, shall we?"

Just when Cassandra was certain that her father was going to loosen a few of Finnegan's teeth, her mother's voice filled the air. "Vincent Lawrence Little, you had been let those children in this instant. I have been far too long without seeing my daughter and this home is just as much mine as it is yours."

Vincent growled and released his hold on Finnegan before stepping back and making room for his wife. "Hello mother," Cassandra offered.

"Hello, Mrs. Little. Lovely to see ya again," Finnegan added as he adjusted his shirt.

Cassandra saw a blush color her mother's cheeks as she glanced at Finnegan. Cassandra was certain her mother didn't realize what she was doing as her hand went around to rest on her backside. "Won't you both come in? We were just preparing to sit down to dinner and you know Anya always makes more than is needed."

"Thank you, mother," Cassandra whispered. She wasn't sure why she was let down by the less than enthusiastic welcome. She shouldn't have expected her mother to squeal or throw her arms around her or kiss her hysterically. Isobel Little was the picture of poise at nearly all times. That was what had been expected of Cassandra. To become a perfectly styled, poised, ladylike, warm, charming woman.

It seemed that the apple did sometimes fall far from the tree...or in Cassandra's case a terrible wind had come and blown the apple to the hill where it proceeded to roll off, be picked up by a hungry squirrel and carried off to the little squirrel colony.

"Dinner sounds just about right then, doesn't it, love?" Finnegan asked as he put his hand on the small Cassandra's back and urged her forward.

"Love?" Vincent sounded as if he nearly choked on the word.

"Yes, dear, he said love and he was referring to our daughter. Does that surprise you somehow? I would think it would be obvious that the boy loves our daughter. I see no other reason that he would be here and putting up with your glares," Isobel stated quite elegantly. Her mother even knew how to insult with poise.

"I'm quite used to the glares, ma'am," Finnegan assured Isobel with a wink. "My brother, Seamus, he glares so much his face is stuck that way. Our mother tried to warn him but he's a stubborn lad."

Isobel's gaze softened as she led them into the house and toward the formal dining room. "Yes, your mother was always such a wonderful woman. We have truly missed her since she passed."

"Aye," Finnegan whispered tightly.

Cassandra glanced at him and saw the sadness in his brown eyes. She looped her arm through his to offer him what support she could and he stooped down and pressed his lips to her hair.