Broken Vows by Shirl Henke

to you yet, you ninny! She had about said, You mean you wouldn't ask me to be married in your church?
           “I've always been an indifferent Catholic at best—at least since I lost my family.” He shrugged. “I don't know, I guess it's always been a part of my identity—a tie to the old country and to my mother and father, my dead brothers. But since I left the orphanage and came west, I haven't seen the inside of a church. If it means that much to you...we could talk about it.” He placed his hand over hers as she fidgeted with the ruffled edge of her blue gingham skirts. “There's more, isn't there? It's the money. Your family wants a rich man for you, like Wells.”
           She looked up then, unable to bear the hurt in his voice. He had been willing to meet her more than halfway. “If only I wasn't so selfish and insecure,” she said passionately. “My family has always been poor, Rory. My mother and father only want something better for Leah and me. We always had to wear cast-off clothes and help Mama cook and clean, while all the other ladies and their daughters had fine new fashions and servants to do the work for them.”
           “Then why don't you marry Amos Wells and be done with it? He could give you everything you want,” he said angrily.
           “I could never love Amos Wells.” Her voice broke, and she bit down on her knuckle until she drew blood, trying to hold the confused, miserable tears at bay.
           “Could you love me if I was rich, Rebekah? I could quit my job with Jenson and go back to fighting.” His voice was detached, flat.
           Was he mocking her or was he so angry that he dared not let it show? She had hurt him, and suddenly Rebekah realized that hurting Rory Madigan upset her more than hurting anyone else in the world. “No! I don't ever want you to box again! You could be injured, even killed!” She threw her arms around his neck and held on to him, burying her head against his shoulder.
           “I could make a lot of money boxing. I have before, only I had no reason to hang on to it then.” He stroked her silken hair and pulled her onto his lap. “After a few big fights, I'd have enough of a stake to come back and ask your da to let me court you properly.”
           “No, Rory, please.” She sat back with her palms pressed against his chest. “I don't want to lose you. Those awful men who tried to drug you—there are others like that, aren't there? You might never come back.”
           “But if I'm just a stable hand, your family will never accept me. Boxing is all I know—that and horses.”
           “Surely in time Mr. Jenson will give you a better job. You said he was letting you work with his racers.” Her voice was hopeful now.
           He scoffed. “Time is right. It could take years—and I'd still be Irish, a foreigner with no social standing, no family.”
           “I'll wait for you, Rory. I'll wait forever before I marry anyone but—” She stopped abruptly. Her cheeks crimsoned, and her hand flew to her lips in embarrassment.
           A crooked grin slashed across his face; and he winked at her, his earlier somber mood broken. She loved him, and she would have no other! It would all work out. “You'll not marry anyone but me.” He thumped his chest in boyish arrogance and pulled her into his arms. “And I'll not marry anyone but you—somehow I'll figure a way for us to wed, Rebekah.”
           “But no boxing. Please promise me, Rory?” Her eyes were a fathomless dark green now.
           He sighed in capitulation. “No boxing. And now, if you don't want me to ruin what's left of your reputation, we'd best eat this lunch before another hunger wins out, and my baser nature takes over.”
           Rebekah scrambled off his lap, realizing that anyone could stroll by and catch them in such a compromising position. Opening the basket, she took out a