The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 1-4)

by Tricia O'Malley

  "You're a good man," she whispered.

  "So, what can you do?" Patrick asked.

  "A little bit of this…a little bit of that. I can kind of read minds, I'm sort of an empath, and I can kind of help with healing. I'm pretty much a mutt, actually," Morgan said.

  "Cool, so what am I thinking right now?" Patrick said, leering at the V in her blouse. She laughed and swatted him lightly.

  "I think that I could tell you that without having to read your mind."

  Impulsively, she reached out and hugged him. Pressing her face into his neck, she mumbled, "Thank you."

  "What's that?"

  "Thank you. Thank you for sticking with me. For not freaking out about this, thank you," Morgan said, inhaling his scent as she wiped her tears away.

  "I'm not going anywhere, Morgan," Patrick said.

  Morgan leaned back and met his eyes.

  "I think that I'm beginning to see that," she said softly.

  "Good, don't forget it. Now, I have to go to work or Cait will fire me and I won't be able to buy you nice things and take you to fancy dinners," Patrick said with a smile and kissed her once more before rising.

  Morgan lifted her chin.

  "I don't need that stuff, Patrick," she said, knowing that he was probably on a bit of a budget as well.

  "Yes, you do," Patrick said, stopping at her door to turn and wave. "And I'm the man to give it to you."

  After the door closed, Morgan just stared at it for a while, knowing that she probably had a stupid grin across her face.

  "Oh, dang it all. Besotted it is," she grumbled and stood up to put the soup in the fridge.

  Aislinn was never wrong.

  Chapter 21

  The days until Sunday passed in a blur for Morgan. With spring weather came tourists, and the gallery had been hopping. Between working extra hours for Aislinn and trying to help Flynn where she could, Sunday arrived before she knew it.

  Morgan stood in front of her closet, contemplating what to wear. She looked down at the deep red silk of her matching bra and underwear. She'd been paid on Friday and had taken a quick trip to the next town over to invest in a few new items for herself.

  It had been fun, she thought. To buy clothes knowing she would wear them for someone.

  She fingered a silky blouse that she had picked up on impulse. The vibrant purple and red hues of the pattern had sung to her, reflecting her current mood. Pulling it out, Morgan reached for her gray skinny jeans and favorite black pumps. Simple, but sexy, and dressy enough for any place that he would take her in town. She'd braided her hair half back again and now, all she had to do was wait.

  Patrick had stopped at the gallery yesterday to tell her that he'd be picking her up at six, but had given her no indication of where he was taking her. He'd even been deliberately thinking about her body when she'd scanned his mind to see if she could get a clue.

  And hadn't he caught her at that? Morgan huffed out a small laugh remembering how Patrick had waved his finger at her and called her naughty. He must have known she would try reading his mind.

  The buzz at her door made her jump and Morgan grabbed her small purse before clattering quickly down the wooden stairs.

  "Hi," she said, beaming at him. Patrick smiled down at her, looking handsome in a plaid button-down and gray khakis. His shoes shone and his hair looked slightly more tamed than usual. Morgan wanted to reach and muss it up for him.

  "You look great," Patrick said, leaning down to kiss her.

  "Thanks, I hope it is fine for where we are going," she said shyly, following him to his compact sedan parked in front of her building. A rusty brown, the car had seen better days. Patrick shrugged sheepishly.

  "Sorry about the car. It's all I can afford at the moment."

  Morgan smiled up at him as she eased herself into the seat. "Hey, you're talking to a girl who drives a thirty-year-old van. I get it."

  Patrick closed the door, the hinges protesting with a squeak and Morgan blew out a breath, feeling relieved. She wasn't sure if she could have handled a rich guy sweeping her off her feet. It was nice that she and Patrick were on the same level.

  "It won't be a long drive. We're going to the best place in town for dinner," Patrick said as he pulled away from the curb. "How's work been?"

  Morgan wondered if he was changing the subject but smiled at him anyway and began to tell him about her busy days.

  "Ah, the pub's been packed too. It's been good craic as we've had some great music. The tourist season has begun," he said as he pulled in front of a house.

  "Patrick, where are we?" Morgan asked, as she stared at the house. It was a lovely brick house, with a cheerful green trim and bright blue flower boxes.

  "Sunday dinner with the family," Patrick said, turning to smile at her.

  Morgan's mouth gaped open and she worked to breathe as panic slammed into her.

  "Patrick, I can't, I can't do family stuff…" Morgan began.

  "Sure you can. They're easy. Trust me, you'll be fine," Patrick said easily and got out of the car, rounding it and opening the door.

  Morgan forced herself to breathe normally, trying to quell the anxiety that threatened to overtake her. Families just weren't her thing, she thought.

  Patrick opened the door and looked down at her expectantly.

  "Patrick. I'm not good at this stuff," she whispered to him, making one last attempt to stop him.

  "That's okay. You'll learn," he said easily and grasped her hand, pulling her from the car. She stood stiffly next to him, not sure what to do, just knowing that she would feel like an outcast.

  "They're going to hate me," she whispered to him.

  "No they won't. They love everyone. Plus, they'll be too busy running after the kids to pay you much mind."

  Morgan gulped and stood at the door with him, wishing she was elsewhere.

  "Well it's about time he brought you." A round woman held the door open, cheerfulness vibrating from every inch of her. Despite her nervousness, Morgan couldn't help but smile. With her dark curls and laughing gray eyes, Morgan could see where Patrick got his looks from.

  "Mrs. Kearney, so nice to meet you," Morgan said automatically, holding her hand out.

  Morgan jolted as she was crushed into a hug, and she nervously patted the woman's back.

  "Feel free to call me Agatha," Mrs. Kearney said, pulling back to smile at her. "And aren't you just a picture. I've been dying to get to the gallery and meet you, but I've been over my head with work lately."

  "What do you do?" Morgan said politely.

  "She makes some of the finest lace this side of Ireland," Patrick said proudly, leaning over to kiss his mother's cheek.

  "Ah, go on you," Agatha said, swatting her son lightly and slipping her arm through Morgan's. "Come back, you must meet everyone."

  Morgan stiffened as Agatha began to lead her towards the back of the house where it sounded like a small crowd was talking and laughing. Spying a pile of lace on a long worktable, Morgan stopped.

  "Is that yours?"

  "Aye, I'm a bit behind."

  "Do you mind if I see it?"

  "Of course," Agatha said warmly and moved towards her work. Morgan stood by the table, astounded at the masterful work that came from this motherly woman. Placemats, table runners, and doilies were in small piles, packaged in clear cellophane. The lace was intricate and Morgan imagined it was painstaking to create.

  "These are lovely. Where do you sell through? I'd love to have some of this at the gallery," Morgan said, running her fingers over a napkin.

  "Really? I usually ship them up to Dublin, but it would save me some hassle to sell them here," Agatha said, beaming up at Morgan.

  Morgan found herself liking Agatha and wanted to help her.

  "Of course. I can't imagine that Aislinn would have a problem with it. We'll have to discuss price and what you'd be willing to sell, but I really see these selling well. In fact, we could maybe offer a few other items from town." Morgan tapp
ed her lip as she scanned the table again. "It could almost be a one-stop shop for local artisan crafts," she mused.

  Agatha blushed. "Go on now, I’m not a fancy artist like Aislinn."

  Morgan lifted the intricate lace napkin and held it in front of Agatha.

  "This is art. You're blind if you can't see that. I suspect you are probably undercharging as well. The Dublin shops probably triple what you sell it to them for."

  Agatha's mouth dropped open.

  "I'd never thought of that."

  "Don't worry. I'll make sure you charge what you're worth," Morgan said determinedly.

  "Wow, Patrick, you've outdone yourself this time."

  A booming voice from the back room brought her head up and Morgan blushed to see what looked like thirty people standing with their arms crossed, openly assessing her. Sweat broke out on her palms and she wiped them across her pants.

  "Okay, enough everyone. Go back to getting dinner ready. You'll meet her one at a time," Patrick ordered and came to wrap his arm around Morgan's waist.

  "She's shy, Mum," Patrick said, smiling down at Agatha.

  "Of course, dear. Don't let the lot of them get to you. They all answer to me," Agatha said with a sniff before sweeping back to the kitchen. Morgan could hear her barking orders out to everyone and she grinned despite herself.

  "Patrick, there are so many people. How will I remember their names?"

  "Don't bother. You'll learn them eventually. For now, just relax and enjoy one of the best home-cooked meals you'll ever have," Patrick said and swept her along to the back room.

  As people enveloped her, Morgan felt like the room around her was growing smaller. Heat licked up her spine and she tried to smile politely at all of the faces grinning at her.

  This was going to be a nightmare, she thought.

  Chapter 22

  And she wasn’t far wrong, Morgan thought an hour later as they sat squished together at a long dining room table. Patrick's father, a striking image of what Patrick would look like when he was older, entertained with stories from his job in sales. Morgan hadn't even bothered trying to remember all of the siblings and their spouses who peered curiously at her over Agatha's Sunday ham.

  Morgan sighed quietly and took another sip of her wine. His family had been nothing but inviting, but it was just so much to take in at once. The questions, the names, the way they interrupted each other and talked over each other. She did her best to keep quiet and follow the conversation and prayed for dinner to end early.

  "So, tell us about your family, Morgan," a sister, Aileen, Morgan thought, said from across the table, her eyebrow raised in question. She was one of the younger ones, and a bit edgier. Morgan had kept her eye on her through dinner, expecting the worst.

  "I don't have a family," Morgan said softly and then cringed as the entire dinner table went quiet. Patrick immediately wrapped his arm around Morgan's waist for support.

  "What's that, dear?" said Patrick's dad, peering at her over his glasses.

  "I, um, I don't have a family. I'm an orphan." Morgan shrugged and took a sip of her wine, praying the cool liquid would soothe her hot throat.

  "How…interesting. I've heard you moved around a lot. What are you – a tinker or something?" Aileen smirked at her and Morgan felt the red sweep of anger rush over her. Calling someone a gypsy was no small insult, and the rest of the table gasped at Aileen.

  "I'm not, thanks, excuse me, I must be going." Morgan shoved away from the table, hating that she was giving Aileen the show that she wanted, but she felt suffocated, unable to get her thoughts straight, and she needed air. She turned to Agatha.

  "Thank you kindly for a nice dinner. I'm sorry that I won't be finishing it with you." With her back stiff, she turned and marched through the house, focused only on the freedom that the front yard offered her. A trill of laughter followed her and she caught Aileen's words…"Was it something I said?" just before she pushed outside, gasping for air, and desperately trying to control her impulse to dump Aileen's plate of food over her head.

  Morgan paced the yard, rubbing her hands over her arms, and forced herself to calm down. It wasn't the first time she'd been made a fool of, she thought. She could handle this. So why did it hurt so much, Morgan thought as she sighed and began the walk back into the village, wishing that she had chosen flats instead of pumps.

  "Morgan, wait, please." A voice sounded behind her.

  Morgan turned, surprised to see that Agatha had followed her outside and not Patrick. Patrick was probably too embarrassed of her, she thought with a sniff and forced herself to tamp the anger down.

  "I'm sorry. I know that it was rude of me to leave like that," Morgan said stiffly, looking over Agatha's shoulder.

  Agatha came to a stop in front of her and reached up to pat Morgan's arm softly. Morgan turned and looked down at the round woman, desperately wishing to be anywhere else but there.

  "You've nothing to apologize for. It's Aileen who needs to apologize. I'll say that I'm right sorry on her behalf. I've raised my children to be kinder than that. Patrick's always been her favorite brother and she's a might bit protective of him is all. But she overstepped her boundaries today and insulted a guest in our home and for that I'm sorry."

  Morgan gaped down at this sweet woman, surprised that she was siding with Morgan.

  "I…it's fine. Really, I'll live," Morgan said quickly.

  "You're welcome in my home, anytime, with or without Patrick. I suspect that you could use some mothering in your life, and it comes naturally to me. I hope you'll stop by for a cup of tea sometime."

  Morgan's heart warmed at her words and impulsively she bent down and hugged Agatha.

  "I sure do appreciate that. I really would like to talk about getting your lace into the store."

  "Come by this week. We'll talk. I'll make sure it's just you and me. No bother. Or perhaps I can come to the gallery? I haven't been there since you've taken over management."

  "I'd like that," Morgan said with a smile and then looked up at the sound of the door closing behind her.

  "Patrick, you need to take Morgan home. Or for a nice walk as the sun sets," Agatha called behind her, knowing who stood at the door without looking.

  "I'm going to, Mum. I just had to give Aileen a stern talking to is all."

  Patrick stomped towards them, anger radiating from his every movement. Morgan felt her back go up and wasn't sure what to do.

  "She's not allowed at any more Sunday dinners," Patrick said furiously down to his mother.

  "I'll talk to her, Patrick. I've already told Morgan how sorry I am."

  Patrick finally turned and saw the sheen of tears in Morgan's eyes. He cursed and shook his head, before bending to kiss his mother's cheek.

  "We'll talk this week," he said and reached around his mother to grab Morgan's arm and drag her towards the car. Morgan went, mainly because she didn't relish walking back into town in her heels. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle the messy emotional scene that was about to come and she put her walls up to protect herself in advance.

  Patrick didn't say a word as he started the car and pulled away from the house, while Morgan stared out of the window, her body turned away from him.

  "You don't have to act like I've beat you," Patrick shouted after a few moments of silence and Morgan jumped, her hand trembling in surprise.

  "I'm not," Morgan said, glaring at him.

  "Sure and you are! You're all but curled up in a ball, turned away from me. What gives?"

  Morgan felt her eyes growing wider as she stared him down. He pulled the car into a spot in front of her apartment.

  "Thanks for a great dinner. Let's never do it again," Morgan seethed at him and slammed the car door, all but running to her door.

  "Oh no you don't," Patrick shouted and followed her through the door, pounding up the steps to her apartment after her.

  "I didn't invite you up," Morgan said, standing at her door with the key in the lock, her ch
est heaving, anger pounding through her.

  "You're not pushing me away again, not this time," Patrick swore and grabbed her hand, turning the key and shoving her inside. Morgan almost tripped over her feet as she was pushed through the door and then turned, her mouth gaping open at him, as Patrick slammed the door and locked it, blocking her way out.

  "Excuse me, but who do you think you are? This is my space. Mine! You don't get to say who comes in here. I do. My space. Just leave me alone!" Morgan shrieked, surprising even herself with the ferocity of her words.

  "So it's like that then? Every time you get upset, you'll just shut me out? Run away and hide in your space?" Patrick shouted back at her, equally as angry.

  "You don't get it! You don't get what it's like for me, Patrick!" Morgan screamed at him and then turned, hating that this was happening, hating that they were going down the road that she had imagined they would.

  "Then tell me, damn it. Make me understand!" Patrick shouted, desperation in his voice. Morgan closed her eyes, hearing under the anger and hurt his kindness and love. He really wanted to know.

  And it was her fault that she hadn't let him in.

  Morgan took a few deep breaths, trying to force her anger down so she could speak. Walking further into her apartment, she reached her bed and sat down, finally raising her eyes to look at Patrick.

  He stood by the door, his arms crossed, his skin flushed, his eyes never leaving her. And in that moment, Morgan felt her heart crack open completely. She knew that she loved him then. It washed over her in a way that nothing had before, leaving her warm, scared, and for the first time, seeing Patrick with new eyes. This was a man she could be with. Not just date or have fun with, but really be with, she thought.

  "So, I know you thought you were doing well tonight…because hey, what girl doesn't want to be taken home to the family? But it was too much for me. All of them, all at once like that…it was, God, it kind of felt like back when I walked into a foster home for the first time. The family would stare me down, ask questions, judge me. It was never a good experience for me. I guess that I've just built up a lot of anxiety around that type of experience." Morgan shrugged, pleading with her eyes for Patrick to understand her.