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concerned by the refusal. “I know it’s sudden, but if you take a few minutes to consider, I’m sure you’ll come to your senses. There’s nothing I won’t be able to give you—the chance to see America, to meet powerful people in the music industry. Maybe somewhere down the road we could consider marriage, a home and kids. We’ve only had a week together, Sunday. I want more time with you to see where this could lead.”
    Patrick peered around the hedge, trying to see her face. While he couldn’t make out her facial expressions, her body language told him she was tense. Her shoulders were stiff, her posture rigid.
    “That sounds wonderful, but it’s not what I want.”
    Conall sighed. “Sunday, you weren’t made for a life in Killarney. You’re beautiful and charming…you’d thrive in America. I can take you to all the places you’ve never seen, set you up in style in the best hotels.”
    “What about my singing job at the pub?”
    “Just quit, of course. I have money. I can take care of you.”
    Sunday shook her head. “I like working.”
    Conall scoffed. “You can’t seriously tell me you like singing night after night in a dingy pub for a bunch of dirty farmers.”
    Conall said farmers as if he’d just swallowed something nasty. Patrick’s temper rose.
    “I have no problem with the pub or the patrons there. And I don’t mind working, Conall, if it would help my husband and family.”
    “But that’s just it, Sunday. If you come with me, you won’t have to get your hands dirty. I’ll rent you a big, fancy apartment and even hire a maid for you. I’ll be working with a very prestigious firm and I’ll need a pretty lady on my arm. We’ll throw the biggest parties for the cream of New York society. You’ll be the premiere hostess and other women will look to you as the one to emulate.”
    Conall made it sound as if the only thing Sunday had going for her was a pretty face and good manners. Patrick took a step closer, ready to call a halt to Conall’s insulting proposal, but Sunday’s response stopped him again.
    “I don’t want to give parties, Conall. I sincerely hope to God I have more to offer than rubbing elbows with rich snobs and looking down my nose at people who work hard to make a living. People who don’t judge another person’s character based solely on how much money they have in the bank.”
    Her tone was hostile. Even Patrick could hear the venom in each word. Her anger wasn’t lost on Conall either.
    “Christ. You sound just like Patrick Collins.”
    Sunday lifted her chin defensively. “I take that as a compliment. Patrick is an honorable, honest, hard-working man.”
    Conall’s eyes narrowed. “Are you in love with him?”
    Patrick held his breath and leaned closer. Would she admit it? Were her feelings toward him that strong?
    Sunday didn’t reply, but something in her face must’ve given her feelings away because Conall’s scowl grew.
    “You are! You’re in love with Patrick Collins. Jesus! I credited you with more intelligence than to fall for that ne’er-do-well. He’s a barkeep and a farmer with a bunch of big dreams that will never come true. Why would you tie yourself to a miserable existence with someone like that?”
    Patrick clenched his fists.
    Apparently he wasn’t the only one whose anger had been tweaked.
    Sunday exploded. “Patrick Collins is the finest man I’ve ever met! He’s compassionate and kind. How can you stand here and smugly criticize a man who’s had to work for everything he’s ever earned? You’ve had the world handed to you on a silver platter. There’s nothing special about that, Conall.”
    Conall leaned closer. “Is that what you think? Look what that hard work has earned him. Nothing but calluses and holes in his boots. You deserve more than that, Sunday.”
    “You aren’t fit to lick those boots!” Sunday planted her hands on her hips and turned slightly, allowing the streetlight to capture her face. Patrick