The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 5-7)

by Tricia O'Malley

  “You damn well know that you should have told me about the baby,” Sean shouted again, his eyes hard in the dim light.

  “You left me!” Margaret shrieked, surprised to find herself going toe-to-toe with Sean. “You knew that I didn't want to be in this town. And I certainly wasn't going to raise my daughter around this,” she waved at the cove.

  “You should have told me,” Sean insisted.

  “You left me. For over a month. You never came back for me. As far as I knew, you were done with us,” Margaret's voice cracked, and she was surprised to feel the old resentment bubbling up.

  “Aw, shite, Maggie. You've never heard of an Irish temper before? You know we hold our anger for a while.”

  “You could have come to Boston!” Margaret shouted, surprised at herself.

  Sean shook his head wearily. “Aye, Maggie. I was lost when you were gone. Torn up. I’d gone on a drinking binge. The thought of you with our baby…” His voice broke and he ran a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t handle not being able to see you. And, I’m not proud of myself, but I hated being alone. I…I just fell into the first safe woman I could find. It was a mistake,” Sean said softly, meeting her eyes.

  Margaret couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All those years she’d lain awake at night, wondering why Sean hadn’t come for her – why he hadn’t called her bluff. When she’d heard wind that he’d remarried, she’d closed the door on him forever.

  And yet here they stood.

  “I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out,” Margaret said stiffly.

  “I’m grateful for Aislinn and Colin, that I won’t ever regret. I shouldn’t have rushed so blindly into my relationship. And I should have come for you. I can’t believe I took your stupid letter at face value,” Sean swore again.

  “Stupid?” Margaret felt her blood heat, remembering the sheer terror that had coursed through her when she’d written the note. Her chin went up. “Well, you waited too long and lost out on a lifetime. If you don’t mind, I'd like to go,” Margaret said stiffly, moving to step past Sean.

  He blocked her path easily, looking down at her. Margaret stared at his tuxedo coat, refusing to meet his eyes until Sean brought a hand to her chin and lifted her face to his.

  “If you think this is over, you aren’t the woman that I once knew,” Sean whispered, before tracing his lips gently over hers once more.

  “You barely knew me then. And you certainly don't know me now,” Margaret spat out.

  This time when Margaret shoved past him, Sean let her go.

  Chapter 19

  “Good morning, love.” Fiona's voice carried from the bedroom door. Margaret pushed her hair from her face and rolled over.

  “Eww!” Margaret squealed when Ronan, Fiona's Irish setter, swiped his tongue across her face in greeting.

  “Ronan, come here,” Fiona chuckled. “I've got breakfast on. Keelin will be by in a bit to collect some of her gifts.”

  Margaret struggled to a sitting position, feeling desperately awkward in the room that she had grown up in and had vowed to leave forever.

  Her relationship with Fiona had evolved over the years – from awkwardness to quiet acceptance, then to the sort of resignation that comes from living in two different worlds, countries apart. It had been a comfortable distance for Margaret, but being back home was bringing up a slew of unwanted emotions. Most notably was that Margaret was realizing just how much she had missed her mother.

  “Thank you, I'll be out shortly,” Margaret said, offering a smile. She rose and stretched, moving across the simple room with white stucco walls, dark wood beams lining the ceiling, and a hand-stitched quilt that overlay the queen-sized bed. Margaret slid the door open to the tiny en suite bathroom and shook her head at the dark circles that mirrored her eyes.

  “And how was I supposed to get any sleep anyway,” Margaret huffed, brushing her teeth quickly before ducking her head under the warm spray of water from the tiny shower nozzle.

  Snapshots of Sean – along with images of the cove glowing – had haunted her dreams, causing her to toss and turn and have a few come-to-Jesus moments about the choices that she had made in her life.

  Margaret wasn't entirely sure where she stood as of yet, but there were only so many battles she could tackle at once.

  “One at a time,” she said to herself as she toweled off, leaving her blonde bob to dry naturally, and pulled on slim-cut jeans and a rose-colored t-shirt.

  Making her way out into the main room, Margaret smiled at the spread that Fiona had laid out on the large farm table that dominated the living area of the house. Fiona's cottage was larger than it seemed from the outside, with grey stone walls, a cheerful red door, and flowers on the windowsills. Inside, the main room housed the kitchen, eating, and sitting area, all in one expanse. Shelves lined the wall over the table, holding hundreds of bottles and jars with tiny labels affixed to them. Margaret did her best not to look at the bottles, reminding her as they did of her natural aversion to her mother’s healing abilities.

  “This looks amazing,” Margaret said, surveying the contents of the table. Rashers of bacon, scrambled eggs, cooked tomatoes, toast, scones, and jars of marmalade and jam sat on platters with linen place mats below them.

  “Tea?” Fiona asked from where she stood by the stove.

  “It wouldn't be a proper Irish without it,” Margaret said with a smile, grabbing a plate and using a pair of tongs to pile food on. With all the nerves of Keelin's wedding day yesterday, she'd barely been able to eat.

  “What a beautiful wedding,” Fiona said on a sigh, settling onto the seat across from Margaret and placing a pot of tea between them.

  “It really was. I'm glad she decided to not go with a traditional wedding. And she really seems happy. I know that I had some reservations about this, but Flynn really is a stand-up guy,” Margaret said as she slathered strawberry jelly on her scone.

  “He's like a son to me,” Fiona said, gesturing with her cup of tea. “I can't count how many times he's helped me out in a bind.”

  Margaret knew Fiona didn't mean to sound accusatory, but it didn't stop the sting nonetheless.

  “Yes, and if I hadn't left you alone, I'd have been here to help. I get it,” Margaret said on a sniff, burying her nose in her tea.

  “That is not what I said,” Fiona said, raising an eyebrow at her.

  “Yes, well, I can certainly read between the lines. Let's not fight,” Margaret said, meeting her mother's eyes.

  “I'm not the one fighting,” Fiona said, tilting her head as she looked at Margaret.

  Damn the woman for always being right, Margaret thought as she sipped her tea and studied Fiona. At forty-seven years old, she still couldn't shake the sting of being scolded by her mother.

  And at forty-seven years old, don't you think that you’re adult enough to apologize? Her conscience scolded her and Margaret blew out a sigh. She supposed it was now or never.

  “Mom, I'm…I'm really sorry for leaving like I did. I shouldn't have left you here on your own. It wasn't right of me,” Margaret said softly, searching the weathered lines of her mother's face, hoping for acceptance of her apology.

  Fiona sniffed and waited a beat before responding.

  “I wasn't the one raising a child on my own. Why would you put yourself in such a position?”

  “I don't want to talk about it,” Margaret insisted, refusing to get drawn into a conversation about the power that lay buried deep inside her.

  “It's a valid question. But if you want to skirt the issue, that's on you,” Fiona said, shaking her head at Margaret. “However, if you would like me to accept your apology, I do. I've missed you – and have never stopped loving you for a moment.”

  Margaret felt tears blink into her eyes as she reached across the table for her mother's hand.

  “I've always loved you. You have to know that.”

  “I know that. You hurt me, Margaret. You really hurt me. It wasn't easy for me to let
you go. I can only hope that you'll find it in your heart to start fresh with our relationship,” Fiona said steadily, her words like arrows to Margaret's heart.

  “I know that I hurt you. I don't think I realized how much until Keelin took off for Ireland and never came home. There is an emptiness that comes with that. I never understood – not fully,” Margaret said, shrugging and picking up her tea again.

  “It's a horrible feeling to be a world apart from your only daughter. But to have one who left angry? And uncommunicative for a while? Well, that was awful. So many times I almost flew there to track you down and knock some sense into you.”

  “Why didn't you?” Margaret had always wondered why Fiona hadn't come to visit her in Boston.

  “We all have our own lessons to learn,” Fiona said softly.

  “I would have welcomed you,” Margaret argued.

  “You never invited me. The stop sign was loud and clear with every phone conversation that we had,” Fiona argued right back. Margaret couldn't help but smile. She absolutely knew where her stubborn streak came from.

  “So where does that leave us now?”

  “I suppose we have a lot of years to make up for,” Fiona said.

  “I suppose you're right,” Margaret murmured.

  Fiona reached across the table and patted her hand.

  “We'll go for a walk later today and talk about breaking down walls. For now, I hear Ronan barking, which means Keelin is here.”

  Margaret groaned internally, knowing that the walk later in the day would be unpleasant. Hadn't she gone to therapy and broken down enough walls? Knowing that she was about to be put on the chopping block made her shoulders stiffen. Pasting on a smile, she turned towards the door.

  “Keelin!”

  Chapter 20

  Margaret jumped up and crossed the room to crush her daughter in a hug. Leaning back, she took Keelin's shoulders and surveyed her face.

  “You're positively glowing,” Margaret said.

  “I'm happy,” Keelin said simply.

  “Then I'm happy,” Margaret said, stepping back to let Keelin inside. Fiona moved around the table to hug Keelin, and Margaret smiled as Flynn's tall frame filled the doorway.

  “Fiona has a breakfast for you both,” Margaret said.

  “Great, I'm starving,” Flynn said, dropping a kiss on Margaret's cheek before moving to the table. Margaret's chin went up as another shadow fell across the doorframe.

  “Sean,” she said stiffly.

  “Maggie,” Sean said, deliberately using his nickname for her. Before she could stop him, he bent and brushed a kiss over her lips, then sauntered to the table to crush Fiona in a hug.

  Margaret felt like swatting him across the back of his head, but, tamping down on her anger, she turned and smoothed her hands over her pants, praying that everybody's backs had been turned.

  And came up short to see both Fiona and Keelin grinning madly at her.

  “Nothing out of you both,” Margaret hissed as she breezed past them to refill her teacup, studiously ignoring Sean.

  He looked good today, his dark hair still wet from the shower and curling slightly at the ends, a plaid button-down shirt rolled on his forearms. A workingman, Margaret thought with another sniff, far from the cultured elite she was used to dating in Boston. She turned to talk to Keelin.

  “Keelin, what a wonderful wedding. Everything was perfect,” Margaret said and saw Keelin's smile cross her face.

  “It really was, wasn't it?” Keelin gushed, reaching for a scone.

  “When do you leave for the Aran Islands?”

  “Right after breakfast. We'll head up the coast and take a small plane over. I've got a nice surprise waiting,” Flynn said with a smile. He laughed when Keelin turned and poked her finger into his side.

  “No more surprises! You've already done enough.”

  “Never enough for you, my love,” Flynn beamed down at Keelin. Their banter made Margaret's heart happy. She had worried when Keelin first told her about Flynn, but after many conversations over the months and finally meeting him in person, Margaret had lost her reservations.

  “Sean, when do you go back to Dublin?” Fiona asked. Margaret turned to take her plate to the kitchen counter, signaling that she wasn't listening.

  Not that she cared when he left.

  “After breakfast as well. I've got some business to get in order before the week starts,” Sean said. Margaret rolled her eyes as she washed her plate, looking out the window above the sink. The rolling meadow fell away into sky and ocean, and Margaret could only imagine what price this view would command back in Boston. She couldn't help herself from thinking in real estate terms even when she wasn't working.

  “How's business?” Flynn asked. Sean and Flynn each ran similar fishing enterprises at different ends of Ireland. Both men were successful – from what Margaret had heard – and often worked together when larger orders came up.

  “Good, I certainly can't complain. Though I think we'll need to be upgrading some of our business systems soon. New software, new website, that kind of stuff,” Sean shrugged and shook his head.

  “Ah, yes. Tough to keep up with that side of things, it seems,” Flynn agreed.

  “It’s certainly been a shift,” Sean agreed. “Everyone wants to arrange stuff online and over emails these days. Not easy being attached to a computer and out on a boat all day.”

  Margaret rolled her eyes. Had the man never heard of a smartphone before?

  “Maybe I can come help?” Keelin asked. Margaret turned to watch how Sean responded to Keelin. From her conversations with Keelin, Margaret knew they had been slowly working on their relationship over the course of the past year.

  Sean reached out and ran a tender hand over Keelin’s hair, causing Margaret’s heart to clench. For a moment she could imagine that this happy family image was real, that she and Sean had raised Keelin together. Clamping down on her emotions, she pursed her lips and didn’t say anything as Keelin smiled up at Sean.

  “You just enjoy being a newlywed. I’ll hire someone to help,” Sean said. Turning, he caught Margaret’s eye. “I’d like to speak with you outside, Margaret.”

  It was more of a demand than a request, and Margaret raised her eyebrow as she stared him down.

  “Or we can do this right here,” Sean said sweetly.

  Margaret’s typically polite demeanor almost slipped as a string of Gaelic curses stopped short on her lips. Nodding curtly, she breezed past Sean, her head held high.

  Stepping outside into the sunshine, Margaret stomped around the side of the house to where a table and chairs sat, overlooking the gently rolling green meadow. Ronan followed her, a stick in his mouth.

  “Sure, I’ll throw that for you,” Margaret said, leaning down to tug the stick from Ronan’s mouth and launched it into the air. She sat down and watched, smiling, as Ronan tumbled over himself to race across the fields in pursuit of the stick.

  A shadow crossed over her and Margaret kept her eyes on the thin line where the water met the sky, suddenly feeling irrepressibly small and uncertain of where she stood in this world.

  “Come to Dublin.”

  Margaret's head jerked up; she shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up to meet Sean’s eyes.

  “Excuse me?” Margaret asked, her mouth dropping open.

  “Come with me to Dublin. I know your flight leaves from there,” Sean insisted.

  Margaret just shook her head at him, overwhelmed by indecision and the inability to process her thoughts. For so long she had led a neat and orderly life, one in which she had total control; now she didn't know what to do with this messy rush of feelings that clawed at her stomach.

  “Damn it, Maggie,” Sean swore and paced in front of her. “You owe me. I deserve a chance.”

  “I owe you?” Margaret’s words sounded shrill, even to herself. A warm rush of anger flooded through her.

  “Yes. You owe me. You took my daughter from me…” Sean began and Marga
ret jumped up, going toe-to-toe with Sean, her body shaking with rage.

  “I owe you nothing! You left. I raised her on my own. Without your support. Without any support. If anything, you owe me,” she spat out, her fists clenched at her side.

  “Fine, I owe you. I’ll make it up to you if come to Dublin with me,” Sean said softly, warmth infusing his words. His eyes dilated as he looked at her, sheer need etched across his face.

  Well, she’d just walked right into that one, hadn’t she, Margaret chided herself as Sean’s emotions pounded at her, making her breath hitch in her chest.

  “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, stepping back.

  Sean watched her for a moment before he wiped his face clear of emotion. Nodding, he dipped his hand into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, reaching inside for a business card.

  “Door’s always open,” Sean said curtly, handing her the card. He leaned down to brush a soft kiss over her cheek before stepping past her to walk around the corner of the house.

  Margaret instinctively turned, wanting to call out after him, wanting to say something to soothe the hurt she'd heard in his words.

  But her voice came up empty.

  Defeated, she slumped into the chair, bending over to rub Ronan’s soft ears as he shoved his head between her knees with the stick.

  Perhaps it was best to leave the past in the past after all.

  Chapter 21

  “You okay?”

  Margaret jumped as Keelin wandered around the side of the cottage to where Margaret had been staring listlessly at the ocean, dangerously close to feeling very sorry for herself.

  “Of course, sweetie, I’m fine,” Margaret said automatically, patting the bench next to her. Keelin slid onto the bench and Margaret opened her arm, pulling Keelin in so her head rested on her mother's shoulder. It wasn’t a customary embrace for them, but in this moment it felt natural.

  “Why don’t you go after him?” Keelin asked. Margaret pulled back to look down at her daughter.