All Our Luck: Complete Irish Reverse Harem Series

by Roxanne Riley

  “It’s a great big ole’ place,” the judge says, skeptically raising his eyebrows at me.

  “Well, eventually, my brother and will have… families… of our own,” I tell him, looking briefly at Delia and then back to the judge. “And we have been talking about potentially renting out other homes on the ranch to Irish people who, like us, would like to experience some of this fine state of Texas for a while, or who would like to work the land and get the humdrum of everyday life out of their minds.”

  “I like that idea,” the judge says, scratching his beard. “Introduce the restless souls of Ireland to us fine folk here in Texas.”

  “Something like that,” I agree.

  “Okay, then, you may take your seat,” he says.

  I return to the table, hoping I did well. My brother and Delia shoot me happy looks, letting me know that in their opinion, I did.

  “Alright, Mr. Irish Bigshot, here’s your time to shine,” the judge says, as he nods towards Brogan.

  Brogan jumps out of his seat and hurries up to the stand, carrying a large binder with him.

  “You sure came prepared,” Judge Brown says, furrowing his brow and looking at his watch. “I hope all that evidence in there is relevant. And that we can make it through it in enough time for me to have that patty melt I’m hankering for.”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I would like to present this evidence to show that the Donoghue Brothers and Delia have been having an illicit, immoral polygamous, incestuous relationship on Molly’s ranch and on Delia’s,” he says. “I have photographic proof.”

  The three of us at the other table gasp. I can’t believe the nerve of Brogan, spying on us like that. No wonder he was always snooping around, stalking us. I’m disgusted to learn that we only caught him peeping at us once.

  “Look, I already got the gist of your religious-based arguments,” the judge says. “You think that because Ireland is Catholic and doesn’t believe in divorce, that you’re Miss Molly’s husband, till death do you part, and that you should inherit the ranch, instead of her nephews.”

  “That’s right,” Brogan says, looking excited, as if the judge is agreeing with him, rather than just summarizing his arguments.

  “Let the record reflect that that’s your position,” the judge says, looking over to the court reporter, who gives him a thumbs up sign and says, “You got it, Billy Bob!”

  I can’t help but notice a smirk on Keenan’s face as she says that, and I try hard to hold back one from crossing my own face. Delia elbows both of us, as if we’re schoolboys misbehaving during a church service.

  “And now you’re alleging some kind of immoral activity that’s been happening on the property, is that correct?” the judge asks.

  “Yes, Your Honor. It’s downright unholy!”

  “Well, God blesses Texas every day and I don’t want to come across as not caring about religion. But this here isn’t a church house; it’s a courthouse. And this here is a hearing about who the property passes to- no one is on trial for polygamy, incest, or even divorce- which would be impossible here, and probably in Ireland too, since it’s not a crime. As for the rest, you’ll have to take those up with the local sheriff and see if he feels like the evidence you’ve got in that binder there is enough to interest him in pressing criminal charges. Then maybe you’ll be a witness over in Judge Broderick’s courtroom next door. You hear me?”

  “But… but… Your Honor,” stammers Brogan.

  “But nothing,” the judge cuts him off, clearly annoyed again, “And I just want to add to that that I’ve known Miss Delia her whole life and I see her at the church potluck every Sunday and so does the sheriff. I’m sure that whatever she has going on in her personal life is probably best left between herself and God.”

  At this, he pauses and looks at our table.

  “And, I may be a straight man myself, but I’ve gotta say that I can’t begrudge her desiring two strong, tall Irish lads like those standing on either side of her. I’d say let God judge her, or not, on that one- I only preside over simple matters like real estate disputes.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that one, but it’s what the judge seems to want us to do, because he chuckles some himself.

  “So, as I’ve already ruled, I’m limiting the scope of testimony and other evidence at this hearing to a determination of what’s been done by whom on the ranch, and who intends to do what with it. You took possession of the ranch a couple weeks ago, correct?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Brogan says, looking at us with a triumphant grin, as though this settles things.

  “And what sorts of things have you been doing to help out with the ranch?” the judge asks next.

  “Err, umm, I’ve, um, milked a cow,” Brogan says.

  The judge is looking at him expectantly, so he rattles off some more things that are clearly pulled out of his ass.

  “I’ve weeded the garden. I’ve tended to the animals.”

  “Well,” the judge says, throwing his hands up in frustration. “This is a whole lotta nothing. Obviously you’re going to sit here and say you did all this stuff to take care of the ranch, and your own sons here will agree with ya. And those two over there just said they did a whole lotta stuff on the ranch, and I’m sure Delia will offer testimony to back that up, too. Won’t ya, Delia?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Delia replied.

  Now, it’s clear that we have come to a standstill. I think the judge is going to rule in our favor, simply because he seems fed up with Brogan, and seems to know that Molly truly wanted us to have the ranch. But he’s right that this is all boiling down to a he-said, she-said type of scenario, and I’m not sure sure quite how he’ll rule.

  All of a sudden, the judge looks at his watch, and this seems to perk him up and get things rolling again.

  “Do you have any photos in that big ole binder ya got there, that show yourself milking that cow, or doin’ anything else around the ranch?” he asks Brogan.

  “No, Your Honor,” Brogan says.

  “I thought not,” the judge responds.

  “Excuse me, Your Honor?” says someone at the other table.

  We turn our heads to see Seamus O’Leary standing up and holding out his index finger, as if he’s just had a brilliant idea cross his mind.

  “I usually don’t tolerate outbursts from witnesses, but I’m hoping you can contribute something to this whole mess that’ll help me make up my mind,” the judge tells him.

  Seamus smiles kindly and says, “Your Honor, I think I might be able to do just that.”

  Brogan is smiling a cat-ate-the-canary grin and I figure that we’re toast, now. I’ve thought that Barry has been an articulate, intelligent soul- I’m not sure how, when he’s descended from Brogan’s genes- and I’m sure the judge will pay attention to what he has to say.

  “Alright then, out with it,” the judge says. “My patty melt ain’t gonna order itself down at Cindy’s.”

  “Of course, Your Honor. If you’d quickly take a look at some of those photos my dad has, I think they’ll be very illuminating.”

  Brogan smiles even bigger and the judge starts to protest, already having ruled on the issue, and I think that Barry must have lost his mind or that I’d misjudged his character, if here he is pushing for something the judge already ruled against.

  But then he says, “Your Honor, I promise this is relevant. If you’ll allow me some leeway, please? And if I may approach the bench?”

  Barry must have been watching some Judge Judy, too. Or maybe even some Law & Order.

  “Okay,” the judge says. “But make it fast.”

  Barry takes the binder from his dad’s hands and then he opens to a page towards the middle. Then he holds it up for us to see. All three of us are beaming, and there’s a look of love in our eyes.

  Shit - this is really going to help prove that polyamory claim, I think. But at the same time, the judge had dismissed all of that anyway, so I’m not sure how it can hurt us.

 
; “Here, your Honor. This is when my dad was trying to snoop around on Delia and the guys, and caught them milking a cow. And here’s”- he turns the page- “them tending to Molly’s garden.”

  “I see,” says Judge Brown. “It clearly appears from these photos that the Donoghues were taking good care of the ranch and its animals and vegetation. But doesn’t this support their claim more than your father’s?”

  “Yeah, son, what’s this about?” Brogan asks, shaking his head.

  “It does, Your Honor,” Barry answers. “But I just couldn’t sit there listening to him lying anymore. This is a court of law, and you’ve done a damn fine job keeping it respectable and efficient.”

  “Thank you,” Judge Brown says, beaming.

  “And I couldn’t disgrace it with more lies from my father,” Barry continues, surprising me and everyone else. “The truth of the matter is that he is not the rightful owner of the ranch, and he hasn’t been taking care of it, either. He’s just been trying to get dirt on the Donoghues so he can win this case and sell the ranch. The only things he’s done to help around the place have required help from the Donoghues and Delia. And he only did those things so that it would be in good enough shape to get the best profit from the future sale.”

  “What in tarnation?” Brogan shouts out, apparently reverting to a last-ditch effort to sound like a local Texan so that the judge would give him the ranch. “Y’all local yocals have done lost your minds. My own son can’t be testifying against me like this there that one just did. Ask the other ones! They’ll set the record straight, you betcha.”

  “Mr. O’Leary, are you making fun of my accent?” Judge Brown asks him, blinking as if to take it all in better. “Or my entire manner of speaking?”

  “No, sir, I mean, Your Honor,” Brogan starts to say, but Judge Brown cuts him off.

  “Or are you making fun of the entire great state of Texas?”

  “No-” Brogan says, but then the other two O’Leary boys are standing up.

  “Judge Brown,” says Seamus. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just want to say, in response to our father’s request, that our testimony would be the same as Seamus’.”

  “What? No!” Brogan yells.

  “It’s true, Da,” Cillian says. “Even if we have to come out and live on the ranch- like that idea that one of the Donoghue boys had mentioned when he was on the stand- because you’ve disowned us, we need to do what’s right and tell the truth.”

  “Heck, if I was you boys, I’d be moving in right now, anyway,” Judge Brown interjects. “Because it seems that your dad is completely lacking in any kind of moral fiber, despite his protests to know all about them by virtue of being a proud Irish Catholic.”

  Hmm, maybe that is a good idea, I think, as I look over at the O’Leary boys and find them looking over at us.

  But I don’t have time to explore the thought further right now, because the judge bangs his gavel down and says, “Alright, it’s time for my ruling, and then it’s time for my patty melt. Hear ye, hear ye, let the record reflect that this shall be my official opinion on this case.”

  “You got it, judge!” The court reporter calls out.

  “It will be transcribed and sent as an Order shortly,” Judge Brown continues. “Both parties will have seven days to appeal, but I would warn you in advance not to bother, because I might be a local yokel, but I have a perfect track record with the esteemed justices of the Court of Appeals up in San Antonio, which I think should count as real civilization, even to someone from Ireland.”

  I bumped elbows with Delia slightly, already knowing from those jabs Judge Brown was getting in for Brogan’s sake that the ruling would be in our favor.

  “The ranch shall belong forever more to Keenan and Rowan Donoghue, and the Last Will and Testament of the much-beloved Molly shall be honored,” Judge Brown announces. “Brogan O’Leary is not to trespass in any way upon the property; nor is he to bother the Donoghues or Miss Lambert by sneaking onto the property, spying, snooping, stalking, or impersonating locals by doing bad Texan accents.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor!” The three of us cry out.

  “All rise!” the bailiff shouts, and we stand up while the judge gets up.

  I want to pick Delia up and swing her around in a victory dance. I want to give Keenan a high five. I want to walk over and thank the O’Leary brothers and invite them to stay on our ranch.

  But first, I have something much more pressing to attend to.

  “You Honor?” I ask, just as he’s about to exit the courtroom.

  “Yes,” he says, sounding rather testy.

  “Enjoy your patty melt. And make sure to ask Cindy to make it the way I showed her last time I was down there.”

  “Oh, and how’s that?” he says, smiling now.

  “You’ve gotta have her use the real Irish soda bread, instead of the Texas toast she was using before. I know you might not think it will taste as good, but believe me, it’ll be totally authentic, and I promise you’ll be surprised.”

  “Why thank you, Mr. Donoghue,” the judge says. “I knew I made the right ruling, but this just cements my feeling that Miss Molly’s ranch is safe in your hands.”

  As Brogan stalks from the courtroom, leaving us to our victory, I can’t wipe the grin from my face.

  I guess the luck of the Irish was with us. Makes sense, today of all days. St. Patrick himself must have banished this snake from our home.

  Epilogue

  Delia

  When Keenan pops the top on a bottle of champagne, all the rest of us duck to avoid taking the cork to the face, laughing. “Watch it!” Rowan exclaims.

  Keenan pours each of us a flute of bubbly, passing them out.

  “To turning our luck around,” I offer as a toast, holding out my glass.

  “And to St. Patrick,” Barry adds, clinking his glass against mine.

  There’s a chorus of murmured agreements and tinkling glass as all five Irish guys tap their glasses to mine in celebration.

  “So,” I ask Rowan, “Did you mean what you said? About wanting to turn some of the land into a place for rental?”

  He nods. “I did. And obviously it wouldn’t have to be just for bored Irishmen, but it’s a place to start, you know?”

  “I love that idea,” I tell him, smiling.

  “Well, Keenan and I actually had another idea we wanted to run by you,” he admits.

  I look from Rowan to Keenan. “Oh? And what would that be?”

  “Well, we were thinking, since you’re with the two of us, maybe we should join our ranches together,” Keenan says, “You could move in with us and join our herds and whatnot.”

  I tilt my head, thinking. I expect to be awash in fear at the idea of sacrificing my freedom to live with them, but all I feel is excitement to start a life with them. “I like that idea, too,” I admit. “Would you rent out my place, then, too?”

  “We were thinking about it, but we might have a better solution,” Rowan says, then looks at his cousins, “These three don’t really have a place to go back in Ireland, and they said they’ve been having fun out here. Maybe they could take over the place, make it their own. If they want to, of course.”

  All three of the O’Leary’s faces light up. “Hell yeah, we want to!”

  “What do you think, lass?” Keenan asks.

  “I think you two have thought of everything,” I tell him, smiling, “And I think it sounds perfect.”

  I give Rowan and Keenan each a kiss without much thought, and then it hits me that we haven’t really clarified our relationship to their cousins. I turn slowly to face them, expecting judgement and vitriol, but to my surprise, their expressions remain comfortable and relaxed.

  “So your father was right about one thing,” Rowan admits, “We are in a polyamorous relationship with Delia.”

  Each of them coils an arm protectively around my waist, as if daring their cousins to say something negative about it.

  Barry snorts. “Yeah, we kn
ow. You guys aren’t exactly subtle. But as long as you’re happy, we don’t care.”

  “Hell,” Seamus pipes in, “It sounds kind of cool.”

  “We might try it, ourselves, if we met the right girl,” Cillian adds, “You guys seem…balanced. Like the three of you fit together in a way that’s just uniquely yours.”

  I think of Lucy and her teasing about sending a hot Irishman her way. Who knows? Maybe I can send her three.

  We finally chase the O’Learys out around midnight, knowing that we still have to get up at the crack of dawn. Celebrations don’t matter to the chickens wanting to be fed, or the cows needing to be milked.

  “So, I think it’s time for a little more…private celebration. What do you think?” I ask.

  “We thought you’d never ask,” Rowan says with a grin.

  I flash him a grin in response before zipping up the stairs with Keenan and Rowan hot on my heels. Keenan catches me just inside my bedroom, grabbing me around the waist and spinning me around to kiss me.

  I melt into him and his nimble fingers drift down to the buttons of my shirt, making quick work of them and tossing the shirt to the floor. Rowan, behind me, unhooks my bra while Keenan shucks off my pants. There’s a flurry of motion and clothes flying everywhere as they strip me bare and I return the favor.

  Rowan pulls me to him and takes his own turn with my lips, kissing me hard and backing me up until the backs of my legs hit the edge of the bed. I lose my balance and go sprawling backward onto the mattress, but I’m quickly met with a lover on either side of me.

  Each of the brothers takes a nipple between his lips and tortures my breasts with delicious pleasure. I writhe on the bed under their onslaught, my pussy aching with need.

  “Can we-“ my words are choked off my a gasp as Rowan’s teeth graze my nipple, “Ah-um, could we t-try something?”

  They reluctantly cease their teasing to let me speak.

  “And just what is it you want to try, lass?” Keenan asks.

  My face reddens. I’m embarrassed, but with Keenan and Rowan, I feel safe. They’re open to my desires, ready and eager to satisfy me.