by Sienna Blake
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The Cassidy Brothers:
A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance
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A Quick & Dirty Novel
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Sienna Blake
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The Cassidy Brothers: a novel / by Sienna Blake. – 1st Ed.
First Edition: February 2020
Published by Red Fox Publishing Limited
Copyright 2020 Sienna Blake
Cover art copyright 2020 Cosmic Letterz. All Rights Reserved Sienna Blake. Stock images: depositphotos
Proofreading services by Proof Positive: http://proofpositivepro.com.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Contents
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Orla
Aogán
Donncha
Orla
Tristan
Aogán
Orla
Donncha
Orla
Orla
Tristan
Aogán
Donncha
Orla
Aogán
Donncha
Orla
Tristan
Orla
Tristan
Orla
Aogán
Donncha
Tristan
Orla
Aogán
Orla
Orla
Aogán
Donncha
Epilogue
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Dear Readers
Excerpt of Three Irish Brothers
Excerpt of Irish Kiss
Books by Sienna Blake
About Sienna
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Orla
Orla:
[say: Or-la] means golden princess
I had heard it said that you can’t go home again. The passage of time changes things too much, transforming the place from your memories into something foreign. I couldn’t dispute that logic, but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
That was how I found myself in the back of a late-model Nissan, heading back to my childhood home with a couple of strangers who were kind enough to pick up a hitchhiker. I stared out the window as we made our way east, watching fat snowflakes fall from the grey sky.
“Can you believe this weather?” The woman in the seat in front of me, who had introduced herself as Mary, turned as she spoke, her voice a soft lilt. Her earth-brown eyes were crinkled with the kind of wrinkles that came from a lifetime of laughter. “John and I have lived in Monageer for twenty years, and I can’t remember the last time it got cold enough for the snow to stick like this.”
I smiled and nodded. The weather might be an interesting conversation topic to her, but for me it was another obstacle to deal with. I didn’t even own a coat. My few meager possessions were shoved into a well-worn canvas backpack at my feet. Shaking my head, I pushed aside my negative thoughts and tried to make conversation.
“If you live in Monageer, what were you doing in Kilkenny?” I asked.
Mary and her husband had picked me up there this morning. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was that they were heading south to County Wexford, the area where I grew up. My heart felt lighter with every kilometre I travelled, increasing the distance between me and the man that I was fleeing. In less than an hour, I’d see my childhood home for the first time since my parents died.
“Oh, we go there quite often to visit our son. He married a Kilkenny lass. We stuck around for a bit longer this time to spend more time with our new granddaughter.”
With a delighted smile, she pulled out her cell phone, showing me picture after picture of a baby girl that couldn’t be more than six months old. I found my hands drifting to my own stomach.
I oohed and awwed appropriately until Mary finally reached the end of her photos. She turned back around and started up about the snow again, this time talking her to mostly silent husband. I returned to staring out the window.
Black Rock Mountain domed in the distance, eerily beautiful with its snow-capped peak. The vast fields we passed, usually dotted with sheep and cows, were bare, most animals likely herded into barns to keep out of the cold. I should be feeling more relaxed as I neared the only place I ever felt safe. But my soul echoed, as stark at the landscape.
Finally, we rounded a bend and my chest tightened as a familiar town came into view. Creery was so small that it could probably qualify as more of a village, but to this little girl, it had been her world for the first fifteen years of her life.
It had been three years since I was here, but hardly anything had changed. The church was still the tallest building in town, its stone bell tower like clasped arms praying toward the sky. The main cobblestone street was lined with shops with their signs hand-painted in Gaelic type, accented with swinging flowerpots and old Victorian lamp posts. The rhythmic sounds of timpans and fiddles rolled out of the local pub, Anseo—meaning here and now in Irish—no surprise on a Saturday evening. A warm sense of belonging trickled into my empty bones. And for the first time since I fled Galway, I felt hope testing its long-unpracticed wings within my chest.
“Now, you said that your home was in the country just outside of town, right?” Mary asked.
“About four kilometres down this road,” I said, nodding ahead.
“That’s not far at all. How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
“Too long.”
“You must be excited to return home for Christmas.”
If only that were true. I wanted to be happy, but…I didn’t know what I would find when I reached the house.
Who lived there now? What would I say to them when I arrived? And tomorrow? And the day after that?
I had no money with me, barely any clothes. I hadn’t stopped to think about any of this when I slipped out of my foster father’s house in the middle of the night. I just…left, and headed for the only other place I knew.
One step at a time, Orla, I told myself, just put one foot in front of the other, repeating what my ma used to say to me when I’d get anxious over upcoming school exams and dance recitals as a child. Things that all seemed so silly to worry about now. If only my worries were as frivolous now.
In a matter of minutes, we’d driven through the small town and the scenery changed back to farmland. Everything looked the same here. Fields outlined by bare trees and evergreen shrubs. The occasional grey roof of a country house. That was why I almost didn’t realise we’d reached my destination until we were driving right by it.
“Stop,” I cried out, straightening in my seat as my eyes scanned the area, searching for the house that should be there.
John slowed to a stop while Mary eyed me with concern printed across her face. “Orla? Are you okay, dear? You look pale.”
I couldn’t form a reply. Without thinking, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the car door, stepping out into the frigid air that cut straight through my sweater. Closing the door behind me, I didn’t look back as I took a few steps away from the Nissan. My heart was hammering so hard that I was sure I’d be able to hear it if the wind wasn’t blowing so hard around me.
It was gone.
&n
bsp; The only place I’d ever called home, a moderately sized house with a big front porch where my mom liked to sit in a rocking chair in the evening, sipping a cup of hot tea, and the barn where my dad started every day by milking the cows.
How can it be gone?
In the last three years, holding onto my memories had gotten me through my darkest days. Seeing an empty field instead of my country home shattered the last of my hope. The last of anything good left in this world. It felt like my parents had been taken from me all over again.
Mary appeared at my side. I hadn’t even heard her open the car door or approaching me. I ripped my gaze away from the spot where my house used to be. Staring at nothing wouldn’t make it reappear, no matter how much I wanted it. I turned to the older woman beside me and saw that her eyebrows were drawn together as she studied me.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the gentle tone of her voice making the last of my composure unravel like a loose thread.
“It’s gone,” I murmured. “It should be right here, but it’s…gone.”
I knew what must have happened. Prime farming land couldn’t just sit unused, not in this area. Someone must have bought it and torn the house down, maybe one of the neighbours.
At that thought, I turned my head to the east, seeking the only other place in the world where I had ever known happiness or love. Five hundred metres away was the Cassidys’ home. The two-story, stone-faced house was the country estate of a family that I had known most of my life. The three brothers—Aogán, Donncha, and Tristan—were a huge part of my life before I was sent away after the death of my parents. We spent our summers running wild on our properties. With my childhood home gone, the Cassidy house was probably the last connection I had to a happier time. And I needed that connection right now.
I had seen their names in the news over the last few years. The media loved to report on the wealthy siblings who worked together to run the company that their parents started twenty years ago before handing it to them when they retired to sail around the world. The Three Bears was a massively successful toymaker located in Dublin. So, naturally, that was where the brothers now lived.
An idea struck. It was probably crazy, but I’d come this far, so I might as well go for it.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Mary, trying to give her a small smile, even though it felt stiff on my face. “I just got confused. That’s my home, over there.”
I pointed to the Cassidy house in the distance, trying not to feel guilty for the lie. I didn’t think Mary would approve if I told her the truth…that I planned to break into my old neighbour’s house to lay low and figure out my next move. There shouldn’t be anyone there as the brothers lived elsewhere now. It was a gamble I was willing to take.
Mary ushered me back into the car and we continued down the road.
The Cassidy house was just as I remembered it, a renovated 19th century farmhouse with a pole barn and twenty acres of farmland and woods. I stood in front of the place for a long moment, lost in memory. The sound of the car driving off pulled my mind back to the present. I turned and saw Mary waving, so I returned the gesture. I watched them until they took a left turn. Once the car was out of sight, I made my way over to a tall tree at the edge of the yard. Approaching, I reached out for a small hole in the knot of the tree, hoping that they still hid it there…
“Jackpot.” I smiled to myself as I pulled out the silver key. Maybe my luck was finally turning.
I took the concrete porch steps two at a time, eager to get out of the cold. My long red hair was wet from the snow and my toes were frozen in my suede boots. Unlocking the door, I stepped inside and immediately breathed a sigh of relief. The heat didn’t seem to be running, but just getting out of the cold, cutting wind was a relief.
I hung my knapsack on a hook by the door and kicked off my shoes. The last thing I wanted was to leave wet footprints all through the house.
I was standing in a foyer with a high ceiling, a staircase directly in front of me. I turned to the right, heading into the living room instead. There was a big brick fireplace that looked incredibly inviting, and I promised myself I’d try to find some wood later. For now, I settled for using the thermostat to turn on the heat.
Walking past the overstuffed brown leather couches, I made my way to the kitchen. My stomach was rumbling, and now that I had shelter, food was the next priority.
The kitchen was pristine, with white cabinets and black granite countertops. I rounded a large island in the centre of the room and pulled open the refrigerator, not expecting to find much of anything. It was a pleasant surprise to see it partially stocked.
I was too hungry to overthink it as I grabbed a carton of milk. It smelled fresh, so I poured a big glass. A moment later, I had fixed myself a sandwich of wholegrain bread, thick slices of Wexford vintage cheese, and ham. I settled onto a tall stool at the island and tore into the sandwich with my teeth, my stomach growling in anticipation for the first morsel.
When my stomach was full, I rinsed out my glass and plate before backtracking through the living room. I felt safe here. Safer than I’d been in years.
I looked over the family pictures on the mantle, some of them including me. So many afternoons after school I came here, so many dinners eaten on the large dining room table, the sound of Mr Cassidy’s hurling or Gaelic football in the background. The comfort of this place washed over me like a security blanket and the need to rest forced my heavy feet to the staircase.
On the second floor, I slipped into the first bedroom I came across. It was large, and my eye was immediately drawn to the king-sized bed on the opposite wall. Peeling back the black duvet, I slipped under the sheets. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep.
Aogán
Aogán
[say: Ay-gon] means fire
“Are you kidding me?” My words seemed to echo in the interior of the vehicle I was driving, my brothers in the passenger seats. I took a right turn a little too quickly, and the back tires of my SUV slid along the ice for a tense moment before finally catching traction.
“Watch it, man,” Donncha said reproachfully from beside me, bracing himself with his hand against the dashboard. I ignored him.
“You’re not coming to the country house?” I asked, addressing the cell phone sitting on the centre console but keeping my eyes on the road.
“We’re coming. Just not for a few weeks,” our ma said, exasperation clear in her voice as it came through the speakerphone. “Really, boys, there’s no need to be dramatic about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Donncha grumbled. “We’re almost to the house now. Turning back to Dublin is going to mean another two hours on the road.”
I frowned, not liking the sound of that. I would never admit it out loud, but I wasn’t very comfortable driving in the snow, as it didn’t happen very often. The roads were icy and these country roads were full of single-lane sections and windy bends.
“Don’t turn back,” Mom replied. “Just go ahead to the house as planned. Spend some quality time together.”
“When exactly will you guys be joining us?” Tristan asked from the backseat.
“Two days before Christmas.”
“What?” I cut in. “You insisted that we meet up at the country estate for the whole month of December, and here we are, holding up our end of that arrangement, but you two aren’t showing up?”
“Don’t give your mother attitude,” our da’s voice rumbled over the line. “We’ve decided to map out a less direct route back to Ireland and need some time to complete it. You can’t rush these things, you know.”
I sighed. Our parents had retired two years ago, stepping away from corporate life and handing the family company over to me to run. I had brought on Donncha as head of marketing and Tristan was our top toy designer. With the three of us taking care of business, our parents had bought a boat and started sailing around the world. I hated that we didn’t see much of them these days, but they were b
oth ridiculously happy, so I accepted it.
“You guys go to the house and enjoy yourselves,” our mother added. “You’ve earned a break from work. Besides, Paddy already stocked the house with food for our arrival.”
Paddy was the man that we paid to take care of the house when we weren’t there. He maintained the grounds and dealt with stuff that needed fixing.
“Okay, Ma,” Donncha agreed, always the momma’s boy.
I knew we were all going to agree. It was Christmas, after all, and despite our differences, all three of us deeply loved our parents. If they wanted us to spend a few weeks bonding before the holiday, which I suspected had been their plan all along, we were going to do it. I just hoped they didn’t expect any miracles.
“We’ll see you in a few weeks so,” Tristan chimed in.
I said nothing, but Ma seemed to take that as acquiescence.
“Great! I can’t wait to see you boys. Be sure to decorate the house together, okay?”
“Grand, yeah,” I said, trying not to sound too displeased. “You guys mind take care. Mind yourselves.”
“We will. Love you.”
We all responded in kind and the call ended. As soon as the line was silent, Donncha picked the phone up and buried his face in the screen. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Tristan relax back into his seat, staring out the window with a pensive look on his face. A heavy awkwardness filled the small space, making me feel tense. Now that we weren’t talking to our parents, the friction loomed, as if it were a physical presence pressing down on each of us.
This is going to be a long four weeks.
The car was silent for the rest of the ride.
I wasn’t sure what it was that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but as soon as I parked the car in front of the house, a feeling of wrongness gripped me. There was something out of place, something seemed off…
“Are those footprints?” Tristan asked, pointing at the snow-covered ground.
