by Zara Keane
She was relaxing back into the pillows when a sudden blast ripped through her eardrums and rattled the windows in their frames.
Chapter Twelve
“WHAT THE HELL?” Brian leaped off the bed and ran to the window. “Jaysus, Sharon. Your uncle’s shed is on fire.” He snatched his mobile phone from the nightstand and hit the button for the emergency services while he threw on a pair of jeans. Pulling on a shirt, he raced down the stairs and out the door. “Stay here,” he yelled. “It might be dangerous.”
As he pounded down the pavement, it occurred to him that those words were more likely to send Sharon after him than persuade her to stay inside.
Out on the street, a crowd was gathering. Brian ran the length of a few houses until he stopped outside Buck MacCarthy’s shabby dwelling. It was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, and the roof was missing more than a few slates.
He scaled the wooden gate at the side of the house that separated the front from the back garden and gasped at the sight before him.
Buck’s shed was engulfed in a fiery ball. The man himself and his partner in crime, John-Joe Fitzgerald, stood on the grass, singed and filthy but otherwise unharmed. It would take an atomic bomb to fell that pair, Brian thought grimly.
“What the hell happened?” he yelled at them over the roar of the flames. He ran to the garden tap and switched on the hose. Aiming it at the shed, he angled himself close to the exit in case a quick getaway was called for. “Don’t loiter, lads. Start filling buckets of water.”
Thankfully Buck and John-Joe’s halfhearted attempts at hurling water on the flames weren’t essential. Even before they heard the sirens of the fire brigade approaching in the distance, it was clear that Brian and the hose were winning the battle against the flames.
When the last burning piece of wood had been extinguished, he stood back and wiped the sweat from his brow. “What the hell was in that shed?”
Buck and John-Joe shuffled on the spot, shooting guilty glances at one another.
“Out with it,” he demanded. “We’ll find out no matter what.”
After hacking phlegm, John-Joe found his voice. “Just a spot of the old poitín.”
“You eejits were making moonshine in Buck’s garden shed? Buck’s wooden garden shed?”
Again, the guilty shuffle and shifty glances. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Buck muttered. “We didn’t think.”
“When do you ever think?” Brian tossed the hose on the grass in disgust. “So that’s what you were up to at the Christmas bazaar. Did you pass any of the stuff on to customers?”
“A few,” muttered John-Joe. “Pat Dolan, Colm MacCarthy, and some others.”
“You’d better give me their names so I can check if they’re still breathing. I don’t trust the pair of you not to make a lethal concoction.”
The firefighters were trooping in now, Sharon hot on their heels. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed, running to his side and hurling herself into his arms. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said, returning her embrace, “but I’m going to get you filthy.”
“Shag that. It’ll wash off. When I saw the flames above the garden and knew you’d gone in there, I was terrified.”
“Well, Garda Glenn,” came the gruff voice of the fire chief. “Looks like you’ve done our job for us. Any idea what caused the fire?”
“Apparently, these fools were making poitín.” Brian shot a look of disgust at the perpetrators of the catastrophe.
“Good God.” The fire chief looked suitably appalled at the notion of John-Joe and Buck meddling with distilling equipment. “It’s a wonder the whole street didn’t burn to the ground.”
Two reserve policemen trooped into the garden and regarded the scene with appropriate horror.
“McGarry. Doyle. Help me get this pair of miscreants down the station. We need statements.”
“Right-oh, sir.” The two reserves dragged a by-now-subdued Buck and John-Joe out the gate and into the waiting vehicle.
Brian dropped a kiss on Sharon’s forehead, leaving a sooty smudge that was too adorable to erase. “I’ll see you later.”
She clung to his arm. “Will you be long?”
“Shouldn’t be too long. They’re too shaken up to be uncooperative.”
She flashed him a naughty grin. “I’ll be waiting.”
***
Four hours later, Brian opened his front door. “Sharon? I’m home. Can you come here for a sec?”
She appeared at the top of the stairs, clad in a negligee, spiky heels, and nothing else.
He gave a low whistle. “Hey, gorgeous. Come here and stand under this yoke before my arm goes numb holding it over my head.”
“Is that mistletoe?” she asked, squinting down at him.
“It is indeed. I nicked it from the station’s lobby. We were supposed to kiss under the mistletoe at the Christmas bazaar, remember?”
“Only my father came blustering in and derailed our plan.” Taking the steps carefully on her towering heels, Sharon descended to the hallway.
“Well, Garda Glenn, having been rudely interrupted earlier today, I hope you intend to make it up to me.”
“Why don’t I start by giving you that kiss?”
He leaned down and captured her mouth with his. Her lips were soft and supple and she tasted of red wine and peppermint toothpaste.
“Was that worth waiting for?” he asked when he released her.
“More than worth it.” She tugged the mistletoe out of his hand. “You can put your arm down now.”
“Before we go upstairs, there’s something I want to say to you.” He gazed into her warm brown orbs. “I love you, Sharon MacCarthy. I’ve been crazy about you for years, but I never thought it would work between us. These past couple of months have proven me wrong in the best possible way.”
Her eyes grew moist, and she gave him a wobbly smile. “I love you too, Brian Glenn. And it scares me. I don’t want to screw this up. I keep thinking you’ll come to your senses because I’m so—”
“So uniquely you? That’s exactly what I love about you.” He pulled her into his arms and inhaled the sweet scent of her shampoo. “I don’t want you living on campus, in a flat with Naomi, or anywhere that’s not here. Will you move in with me?”
“Officially?” she said with a laugh. “As opposed to having all my stuff crammed into your guest room and taking up half your bedroom wardrobe?”
“More than half.” He tweaked her nose. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you sneak those dresses onto my hangers.”
“Busted.”
“So will you come and live with me?”
Her sunny smile could melt an iceberg. “Of course I will, you eejit. You’ll never get rid of me.”
He took her hand and tugged her toward the stairs. “I can’t imagine I’ll ever want to.”
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Excerpt from the Ballybeg Chronicle
The staff at the Ballybeg Chronicle wish to extend their heartfelt congratulations to local police sergeant, Brian Glenn, son of James and Geraldine Glenn (Cloghan, Co. Donegal), on his marriage last Saturday to child psychologist Sharon MacCarthy, daughter of Colm and the late Molly MacCarthy (Ballybeg). The wedding ceremony took place in St. Mary’s Church, with the reception held at Clonmore Castle Hotel. The bride wore a gown of fuchsia silk and was attended by two bridesmaids (Naomi Bekele and Marcella MacCarthy) and four flower girls (Sally Glenn, Stacey O’Driscoll, Blánaid O’Driscoll, and Lucy MacCarthy). Best man was Detective Inspector Seán Mackey. After a honeymoon on the island of Santorini, Greece, the couple will reside in Ballybeg.
—THE END—
•Thanks for reading Love and Mistletoe! I hope you enjoyed Brian and Sharon's story. Did you know you can lend this book? Please consider sharing it with a friend.
•Want more Ballybeg? Love and Leprechauns is out now and Love and Shamrocks will be out in Spring 2015! Turn t
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Love and Leprechauns (Ballybeg, #3)
Tattooed in Tipperary…True Love in Ballybeg
Olivia Gant is determined to escape her abusive husband and build a new life. Only desperation drives her to rent business premises from Jonas O’Mahony, the man who tattooed her behind and broke her heart. Can she maintain a haughty distance?
Jonas is a struggling single father. The last person he wants next door is the beautiful-but-infuriating Olivia. A childcare crisis forces him to strike a bargain with her: the lease to the cottage in return for babysitting. Can he resist her allures?
When Olivia’s ex is clobbered to death with a garden gnome, the fickle finger of suspicion points to Olivia and Jonas. Can they prove their innocence, or is their happily ever after doomed?
Out Now!
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OTHER BOOKS BY ZARA
THE BALLYBEG SERIES
Love and Shenanigans (Ballybeg #1)
Love and Blarney (Ballybeg #2)
Love and Leprechauns (Ballybeg #3)
Love and Mistletoe (Ballybeg #4)
Love and Shamrocks (Ballybeg #5) Coming 2015
ABOUT ZARA KEANE
Zara Keane grew up in Dublin, Ireland, but spent her summers in a small town very similar to the fictitious Ballybeg.
She currently lives in Switzerland with her family. When she’s not writing or wrestling small people, she drinks far too much coffee, and tries—with occasional success—to resist the siren call of Swiss chocolate.
Zara loves chatting to people. You can reach her by email or on social media: Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Goodreads. You can also sign up for Zara's Newsletter and be the first to know when she has a new book out.
ZaraKeane.com
THE BALLYBEG BELLES
I'd love to have you join my Facebook reader group, The Ballybeg Belles. I'll chat with readers, share snippets from upcoming books, and host special giveaways. You'll also be given the opportunity to read early review copies before the books hit the stores! To join, click on the link or search "Zara Keane's Ballybeg Belles" on Facebook. I hope to join you for a virtual pint very soon!
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Love and Mistletoe was one of those rare stories that seemed to write itself. Nevertheless, a number of people helped me to polish it before publication.
Many thanks are due to my wonderful critique partner, Magdalen Braden, for her insightful comments; to Rhonda Helms, editor extraordinaire, for working her magic on the manuscript; to Trish Slattery and April Weigele for beta reading the final draft; and to Anne and Linda at Victory Editing for the thorough proofread.
Finally, thank you to my readers for supporting the Ballybeg series. I wish you a wonderful festive season and a Happy New Year!
COPYRIGHT
LOVE AND MISTLETOE
Copyright © 2014 by Sarah Tanner
Published 2014 by Beaverstone Press GmbH (LLC)
ISBN-13: 978-3-906245-10-2
Cover design © Kim Killion
Cover photographs The Killion Group Inc. and Patryk Kosmider at Bigstock
Formatting by Zara Keane
Amazon Kindle Version 1.0.
All rights reserved. Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants permission to strip any DRM which might be applied to this work. Similarly, the author grants permission to share this work with family and personal friends. In all other cases, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
