“Tell me about them,” she said.
So he did. He started with each of his father’s brothers, beginning with the oldest, and ending with the youngest. Then told her about the Connellys in Birch Falls, and the morerecently discovered branches in their ever-expanding family tree.
“Must be nice, having such a big, supportive family.”
“It is,” he agreed, feeling warm and full and satisfied in a way that was as much a result of the food as it was Morgan’s rapt attention. “What about your family?”
He’d done the research. Knew that besides her grandfather, she had a mother and stepfather in Philadelphia. No siblings. There was as much information available on her birth father as there was on Frank—which was basically nothing.
Her smile faded and she looked at her wine. Deciding, he thought, how much of an answer to give. “Not as big. Not as supportive.”
He smiled encouragingly and waited for her to open up a little. To trust him enough to do so.
“My mother remarried when I was seven. My stepfather—” she paused. “He’s… well, he’s a traditional Italian male. He has very clear ideas about how things should be, and I didn’t really fit into his ideals.” She shrugged. “It’s not like he was ever cruel or anything. We tolerated each other. My mother chose her marriage over most things, which I understand now better than I did when I was younger.”
“And your father?”
“I never knew him. I wouldn’t have known about Frank either, except I found a box shoved in the back of my mother’s closet with some pictures of my dad and Frank’s name and address.” She looked at the candle. “After I found it, I wrote him a letter. I didn’t expect him to respond.”
“But he did.”
“He did,” she confirmed. “He’s not what I expected,” she said, after a moment. “Frank, I mean. My mother described him differently.”
“What did she say about him?”
“That he was paranoid. Delusional.” The corner of her mouth moved, dry and affectionate at the same time. “She’s not entirely wrong. But it’s more complicated than that.”
Complicated was something he understood. “Try growing up in a clan of former Navy SEALs and Army Rangers.”
She laughed softly at that. “Probably not much different from my stepfather’sfamily.” She touched her index finger to the side of her nose in a meaningful gesture.
There it was. A quiet confirmation that her stepfather had mob ties.
“Well, you turned out well,” he said, “considering you had to do most of it yourself.”
She blinked. Then: “That might be one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me.”
“Then the bar has been set too low.”
She held his gaze for a beat, and something in her expression shifted—just slightly, just enough. She picked up her wine. “I met your grandfather, you know. That first night when I came to the pub. He reminds me a lot of Frank, but without the paranoid delusions.”
Patrick had wondered when she’d bring up Jack. “What did he say to you?”
“Not much. Told me he’d known Frank for a long time, and that he was a good man. Also said that Pine Ridge was a good place to put down roots.”
“Did he now?” Patrick mused quietly.
“He did. It was almost like he was trying to tell me something I didn’t already know.”
“Does that mean you’re not moving back to Philly?” he asked carefully.
“It means I have options. Don’t get me wrong. I love my job, and I’m good at it. But after everything that has happened, I might be better off doing it somewhere else.”
His heart leapt with hope, but his instincts kept him from pushing. Morgan would get where she needed to be on her own, and based on everything she’d said so far, she was one hundred percent on the right path.
“How about you?” She waved her hand gracefully to encompass the room. “I’m guessing you plan on staying in Pine Ridge.”
“I am,” he agreed. “I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”