All Our Luck: Complete Irish Reverse Harem Series

by Roxanne Riley

I make another attempt to scramble out of bed, but the guys stop me yet again. “Please, Delia, just wait here, for our peace of mind?” Rowan says.

  With a sigh of frustration, I throw up my hands. “Fine, fine, go. You’ve got five minutes before I’m coming down there.”

  They scramble to dress and make their way downstairs. I throw on some clothes of my own and listen at the open door. I hear their voices from the front doorway, raised, but it’s too muffled for me to make out what’s being said.

  Screw the five minutes, I think, and I race down the stairs. The shouting grows louder, and I detect a third voice that makes my stomach turn. Brogan.

  “Why the fuck were you at the window, then?!” I hear Rowan roar, “If you had a question, why didn’t you ring the fucking doorbell like a normal person?!”

  “I’m not about to talk to your little whore. Just because she thinks she’s a farmer doesn’t mean she is, and I’m not about to ask her advice,” Brogan croaks.

  I’m ready to burst outside, fists flying, when I hear Keenan speak. His voice is low, dangerously quiet. “Call her that again and you’ll be picking your teeth out of my fucking knuckles, Brogan,” he says, “I don’t give a shit why you’re here, you’re not welcome. Get lost. You’ve got no fucking business spying on us.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” Brogan scoffs, “Why would I need to spy on you, anyone with eyes can see you’re nothing but a pair of godless heathens. Degenerates, just like that father of yours.”

  I hear a roar of rage and sprint into the yard in time to see Keenan tackling Rowan to the ground to stop him from wrapping his hands around Brogan’s ugly neck.

  “You have five seconds to get the hell off my land before I call the sheriff, Brogan,” I declare, folding my arms across my chest.

  Brogan sneers at me. “Your land?”

  “Five…”

  “You miserable little slut-”

  “FOUR…”

  “How dare you speak to me like this, you impudent-”

  “THREE!”

  With a snarl, Brogan finally retreats. My ears are ringing and my vision is blurred with rage, and I take several deep breaths to calm myself. Keenan finally lets Rowan get to his feet and they make their way back to me.

  “You all right, lass?” Keenan asks.

  I nod. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. But I swear, I’m calling the sheriff if he comes over here again. It’s that or I shoot him, myself.”

  “While both of us would love to see that, we’ll make sure that he doesn’t bother you again,” Keenan says.

  “What did he say he was doing here, anyway?” I ask.

  “He claims he was here to ask for help with a sick goat, but considering he was trying to look in the living room window, something tells me that’s not the case,” Keenan says.

  “No kidding,” Rowan grumbles, “I don’t know what the hell he was expecting to see, though.”

  “Anything and everything he might be able to use against you,” I sigh. “Not that there’s anything to see.”

  “He probably knows his case holds no water, so he’s grasping at straws,” Keenan theorizes.

  Rowan rakes his fingers through his hair. “Whatever. He’s gone now, let’s get to work.”

  I stand up on tiptoe and kiss Rowan’s cheek, stroking his arm soothingly. “It’s going to be ok,” I tell him softly.

  He relaxes slightly under my touch. “Thanks, love.”

  “Come on, let’s go get something to eat,” I tell them both, “Then we can get to work, ok?”

  We’re midway through breakfast when a knock sounds against my front door. The tension that had slowly begun to evaporate over our meal flares again and the guys get to their feet. “Relax, guys,” I croon, “Let’s see who it is before you start swinging.”

  I peek out the window to see who’s at my door, and I’m relieved to see that it isn’t Brogan. Instead, Barry, Cillian, and Seamus stand at my doorstep. “It’s your cousins,” I tell them with a sigh of relief as I swing the door open.

  “Morning, fellas, what can I do for you?” I ask.

  Seamus scratches his head sheepishly. “We actually did send our da over here to get your help,” he says, looking at each of us in turn, “We have a goat that seems to be sick. Da didn’t tell us what happened, but uh...obviously he didn’t manage to get help.”

  “Maybe next time y’all should just come get me, unless you feel like draggin’ your daddy’s carcass off my porch. I don’t take kindly to folks peepin’ through my windows,” I tell them.

  They all look at me with wide eyes. “I’m so sorry for his behavior,” Barry says solemnly, “We would never have sent him if we thought he would do something like that, we genuinely thought he cared about trying to keep these animals alive when he offered to be the one to come ask.”

  “You three seem like decent fellas, I don’t think you’d endorse that kind of nonsense,” I tell them, softening into a smile, “I can come help y’all out with the goat, just keep Brogan far away from the three of us, would ya?”

  “Of course,” Cillian nods.

  Cillian makes his way back to the house to keep Brogan occupied, and the five of us remaining make our way to the barn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rowan

  At first, I was sure that Brogan’s sons were here to ream us for threatening their father, and even as we trek to the barn, I’m not convinced that this isn’t some kind of trap.

  But once we’re in the barn, even my untrained eye can see that something is amiss.

  One doe stands off to the side, and I recognize her immediately as the one Delia had told us was pregnant. Her tail is crooked at an odd angle, and she’s got her head pressed against the wall of the barn.

  Delia smiles. “Looks like you’re about to have a new little addition here,” she says, “This goat’s in labor. We should move her into the kidding pen.”

  She instructs us on which pen to get the goat into and runs home to get a few supplies. She comes back with towels and a large black bag. She spreads the towels down around the doe, explaining that while the hay on the floor is perfectly acceptable for the kid to land in, it’s easier to clean the baby up a bit right off the bat to keep mildew-causing moisture from gathering in the bedding.

  “So what do we do now?” Seamus asks, looking a little frantic, “Do I need to go boil water or something?”

  Delia looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “What would we need boiling water for?” she asks.

  Seamus shrugs and smiles sheepishly. “I don’t know, someone’s always running to boil water in the movies when stuff like this happens, I guess I thought it was important.”

  Delia laughs, sitting down beside the goat and stroking her side gingerly. “Y’all can just pull up a seat. Right now, there’s not much we can do but wait, until she starts pushing. We just need to keep an eye out to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  Keenan and I sit with Delia in the pen, and Seamus and Barry grab a pair of folding chairs, sitting outside the pen.

  The doe bleats pitifully and Delia strokes her head.

  “Yeah, I know, sweet girl,” she croons, “It’s all right.”

  The five of us engage in quiet conversation while we wait, occasionally interrupted by the baleful bleats of the doe. Delia continues to stroke her, murmuring softly to her to comfort her.

  “Hey, I think I see something!” Barry says suddenly, pointing at the goat.

  Delia shifts so she can see better, and her expression changes.

  “That’s a hoof,” she says, sounding worried, “Might be a breech birth.”

  She reaches into her bag and pulls on a long pair of gloves. Kneeling behind the goat, she observes for a few minutes. The doe is definitely struggling, pushing with all her might, but the kid doesn’t budge.

  Delia jumps into action, explaining to all of us what she’s doing as she works, as if she’s teaching us a class. Her voice is low and soothing, trying to keep the doe calm whi
le she’s helping her.

  To all of our amazement, a few minutes later, a baby buck is blinking up at the barn lights and the doe is licking him clean while Delia cleans up the rest of the mess. Finally, she strips off her gloves and shoves them in a trash bag with everything else.

  She smiles, watching the new baby nursing for the first time.

  “Thanks, Delia,” Barry says, looking a little misty-eyed at the miracle, “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

  She waves him off, “I’m happy to help. Well, help you guys, at least.”

  “We should probably get out of here before Cillian loses his grip on Brogan,” Keenan says, resting a hand on Delia’s shoulder.

  Delia nods in agreement. She rattles off a stream of advice for Barry and Seamus, and makes sure they have her number, with their promise that it won’t be passed along to our uncle.

  We walk Delia home in silence. I can’t speak for Keenan, but I’m still marveling a little bit at our intrepid girl and the miracle we witnessed. She just jumped right in, calm and collected, and probably saved that baby’s life.

  “Tell you what, lass,” Keenan says, “Why don’t you go clean up and relax a bit? We’ll handle your herd.”

  I nod in agreement.

  Delia looks up at us. “Y’all sure?”

  “We insist, love,” I tell her, bending down to kiss her forehead. “You go kick back and take the afternoon. You did all the hard work over there, and you’re letting us stay with you while we deal with fuckface. The least we can do is get you caught up here.”

  She smiles at us both. “You two are sweet,” she gives us each a kiss, “If you insist, I’ll take the afternoon off. But come grab me if you need me, for anything, ok?”

  “Oh, we need you for plenty,” I tell her, reaching around her waist to give her ass a squeeze, “But I think the things we have in mind would be more fun in your bedroom than the barn.”

  Delia laughs. “I don’t know, a “roll in the hay” doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

  “I feel like that would end with some straw in some uncomfortable places,” Keenan muses.

  “...A valid point,” Delia admits, cringing.

  The three of us laugh and Keenan and I chase Delia inside to go take her afternoon off before traipsing off to the barn to work.

  Keenan and I sit in silence for a while as we milk the cows. Finally, he speaks up.

  “You really think he’s gonna be able to snake the ranch out from under us?”

  I shake my head. “There’s no way. Molly left it to us, and no matter what that idiot says, her will is valid.”

  Keenan nods. “I hope so. She’d be horrified if we lost the place to that prick.”

  “We won’t,” I say firmly, hoping I sound more sure than I feel.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keenan

  I was dreading this day- the day of the hearing, on which we’ll find out the fate of dear Aunt Molly’s ranch. To top it all off, it’s St. Patrick’s Day. I guess we’ll see what luck has in store for us. They say St. Patrick banished all the snakes from Ireland. Maybe he can purge the sneaky serpent from our lives.

  For the past two weeks, everything has been going well and the three of us have been living happily together, at Delia’s place. But I’m anxious to get back into our ranch- the one my brother and I, with Delia’s help, had up and running well, before Uncle Brogan showed up and made a mess of things.

  Brogan and his sons are seated at one table, and Delia, Rowan and I are seated at the next one over. We’re all nervously awaiting the judge. I can only hope that the law here is in our favor, even though I have no idea about Irish law, even, let alone American law.

  “All rise!” calls the bailiff, who is one of the only two other people present in the courtroom- the other being the court reporter.

  We obediently stand up, and the judge walks in, wearing a cowboy hat along with his robe, I kid you not. I guess things are done very casually in this small Texas courthouse.

  “We call the matter of O’Leary v. Donoghues, CV-TX-2019-76589, your Honor,” the bailiff announces. “You may be seated.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I recollect seeing these very Irish looking names on my docket, and I’m familiar with Molly and her ranch, so this case piqued my interest,” the judge says, nodding his head as we sit back down.

  He is older, but not elderly- with dark brown hair and a kind but weathered, semi-wrinkled face, as if he spent all day looking over the plains of Texas and smiling into the Texas sun. The placard in front of him says the Honorable William Robert Brown III. I have to wonder if his nickname is “Billy Bob.”

  “I read over all the pleadings this morning. Doin’ my homework and gettin’ prepared. Now, why don’t one of you Irish brothers who claims you inherited this ranch please come up here and take the stand? I’d got some quick questions I’d like to ask you. But I’d like to be outta here by lunch time. One a’ the local diners, Cindy’s I think it is, is serving patty melts for St. Patrick’s Day. I’m sure they’re not as good as the original, but maybe I can ask y’all for the secret recipe while you’re up here testifying, and pass it on over to Cindy. I’ll tell her ya swore on the Bible that it’s the original Irish ingredients.”

  He laughs at his own joke, and so do I, as I stand up and say, “I’ll do it.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” Brogan interjects. “I object to you hearing their side of the story before-”

  “I don’t have to excuse nobody,” the judge says, glaring at him in annoyance. We’re already off to a good start, I think, and my cheek muscles twitch, threatening to curve up in a smug smile. “It’s ‘Your Honor,’ not ‘Sir.’ And you can’t object to my own decisions. I don’t know how it’s done back there in Ireland, but here in Texas, this is my courtroom, and what I say goes, ya’ hear?”

  “Yes, your Honor,” Brogan mumbles, looking upset.

  I take the stand and smile politely at His Honor, not about to say a word until he asks me a question. I’d watched enough reruns of Judge Judy on Aunt Molly’s old TV back at the ranch to know that if I’m not losing, I shouldn’t say anything.

  “Now, which one are you? Y’all look alike,” the judge says to me.

  “I’m Keenan, Your Honor,” I tell him. “Keenan Donoghue.”

  “Alright, Mr. Keenan Donoghue. I read in your Answer to Mr. O’Leary’s Complaint that you moved here from Ireland after your aunt Molly passed away, correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” I tell him. “I mean, Your Honor.”

  “Very well. And tell me how and why that came to be.”

  “When we found out our Aunt Molly had died, we were read her will and that let us know that she had left us the ranch,” I tell him. “So, we came out here to come take care of it, as we knew that’s what she would want us to do, and we were also curious to see the great state of Texas.”

  The judge beamed at this, as I’d hoped he would. I wanted to get as much “home field advantage” here in this court room as I could, since he had said he called the shots, and obviously Brogan had gone and started things off on the wrong foot.

  “And whattaya think of it?” he asked.

  “It’s a real beauty, Your Honor,” I tell him, thinking of Delia as I say it, and wishing I could wink at her. “We liked it so much we decided to stay and live in the ranch- that is, until Brogan showed up.”

  “I see,” the judge says thoughtfully. Then he adds, “I reckon it has something to do with the fact that Texas has the most beautiful women in the world. Ain’t that right, Miss Delia?”

  Now, he really does wink at her, causing her to blush, and Rowan and me to laugh. Brogan mumbles under his breath, his froggy face turning purplish and visibly frustrated, but he knows better than to say anything again.

  “Alright, and I saw Molly’s Last Will and Testament that y’all attached to your Answer,” Judge Brown says, suddenly all business-like again. “It looks pretty standard to me. I don’t know a thing about Irish law and I don’t car
e to. Like I said, all that counts is the law of the state of Texas, and how I choose to apply it here in my courtroom, ya hear me?”

  “Sure do, Your Honor,” I tell him, smiling up at him like an angelic schoolboy. “Sounds fair to me.”

  “Alright then, so what I’m going to go by is whichever one of you has taken better care of the ranch and truly intends to live here. I knew Molly pretty well, and my condolences for your loss. I know she would only give it to someone she knows would take care of it. I don’t want people coming here from foreign countries- no offense, just to ruin our great Texas land or sell it off to strangers who don’t care.”

  “Of course not, Your Honor,” I tell him.

  “Okay then, I’d like your brother up here on the stand next,” he says. “Let’s see what he can contribute to this fact-finding mission I’m on.”

  “Sure, Your Honor,” I say.

  As I get down from the stand, I nod at Rowan, wishing I could give him a thumbs up sign. I think we have this in the bag, but I’m nervous to find out what kind of lies Brogan will inevitably make up. All I can hope is that this streak of St. Patrick’s Day luck we seem to be having will continue.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rowan

  I was glad that Keenan had gone first, because walking into his courtroom had made me uncharacteristically nervous. But now that I’m taking the stand, I feel a bit more confident, since the judge seems to be on our side.

  “You must be Rowan,” the judge says.

  “Yes, Your Honor, I am.”

  “And what have you been doing to contribute to the farm?” he asks.

  “My brother and I were running everything, with Delia’s kind help when she at first showed us the ropes,” I tell him.

  “And what are your intentions with the property?” he asks me. “Were you just fixin’ to sell it to the highest bidder, give up on your ole aunt Molly’s legacy and dreams?”

  “No, of course not, Your Honor,” I say. “It’s our intention to continue living in it. We feel it’s home now.”