Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

“Already started,” J.T. said. “I have a better way with the written word than you do, man.”

  He got choked up. “You’re writing my report? It’s like that history report on the Ottoman Empire in fifth grade all over again.”

  “Mrs. Prequire had it in for you,” J.T. said. “I couldn’t let my twin flunk and risk him being held back.”

  No, J.T. had thought it unjust, swearing he’d make sure his brother aced the final report. There was no way they were going to be separated in school.

  “Thanks for having my back then,” Trevor said. “And now.”

  “More like your ass,” J.T. shot back. “But regardless of the body part, I’ve got ya, bro. You sure you don’t want me to talk to Connor with you when you pitch it?”

  In a weak moment, sure, but he was a man and a professional. Mostly he was worried about letting Connor down. “It’s my job. It will be fine. I’ll do it tomorrow so I can have some practice time.” He’d even make up a few Power Point slides.

  “Positive thinking,” J.T. said. “I like it. Okay, I’m going to hang up and flesh this out. Give me a few hours to get it to you.”

  “How certain are you that we can get our hands on this land in the Dinarides?” Trevor asked.

  “I got an unofficial wink, which is by no means a guarantee,” J.T. said. “In a fair fight, we beat the Russians every time.”

  But the fights weren’t always fair, and they’d lost out before. “How fast do we need to move?”

  “It’s been kept quiet for a few weeks,” J.T. said. “They just finished the final exploration and mapped the tract out with geothermal. It could have leaked, but I don’t think so. Secrets are best kept when people are afraid they’ll get screwed, and in this case, the locals have that fear. Big time.”

  Great. Another cesspool working environment. Connor would love that. More than once, he’d said he couldn’t wait for the straightforwardness of Ireland. “Thanks, bro.”

  “You got it. See ya.”

  “Yeah, later,” he said, hanging up.

  The laughter in the closet hadn’t faded, and Trevor felt a wet nose brush his hand. He looked down to see Boru staring up at him. The dog gave a woof and laid his head against Trevor’s leg, as if comforting him.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he said, stroking the dog’s coat.

  It had to be.

  Chapter 30

  Flynn Merriam had been following Becca around The Wild Irish Rose all afternoon. Trevor had peeled off from them hours ago, claiming he had some work to see to. Surely it had something to do with his brother’s plans for her property, but she hadn’t asked and there wasn’t any time to dwell. Flynn reminded her of a determined rooster, pecking questions at her nonstop. But he’d already proven himself useful by suggesting a couple of technology upgrades to her online registration system and a new phone app to manage guest requests on the fly—connected to the kitchen, no less. Behind his Calvin Klein looks and shaggy hair beat the heart of a computer nerd. Who knew?

  She’d continued to feed him scones, hoping for more morsels of brilliance, as he combed over her operations.

  The trouble came when Flynn expressed an interest in seeing the rabbits. She’d only ventured out to the shed twice since they’d bought the rabbits. The first two times, she’d hyperventilated halfway there and had to squeeze her eyes shut and focus on her breathing before continuing. After only a peek at her new animals, Boru had led her back at a swift pace. And yet something had prevented her from denying Flynn’s request outright. It occurred to her that if she walked to the shed where they kept the rabbits ahead of time, meeting Flynn there, no one would notice her discomfort.

  She arranged everything with Flynn, but Cian insisted on accompanying her. “Are you sure you’re up to this, Becca?” he asked. They stood by the back door, preparing to make the journey.

  “If you’re with me, I’ll be grand.” Even if she had to grit her teeth the whole way. “Your wrinkles are more pronounced when you stare so,” she said, forcing a light tone. “In fact, your face might freeze that way.”

  The jest didn’t make him smile. “I don’t like this, Becca. It’s a risk, making yourself walk out that far with them around. What if they see you?”

  “Aileen is going to keep them occupied until we’re there,” she said, patting him on the arm. “This is important to me. I want to do this for Flynn.” And she wanted to prove to herself that she could do it.

  “We should have built the shed closer to the main house,” he said, shaking his head.

  “No, we shouldn’t have. We didn’t know if the rabbits would smell in the summertime. Plus, we didn’t want guests to be uncomfortable with the presence of so great a warren.”

  “Or have them take the rabbits out of the cages and play with them like pets,” he said. “I know, I know. All right. Let’s go. Boru! Come.”

  The dog trotted over to her, his red leash in his mouth. Cian wrapped the end around her palm. She gripped it tightly, trying to smile.

  “You focus on Boru here,” Cian said. “I’ll be right beside you.”

  Her heart was already racing as she turned to face the back door. She reached for it before Cian could. It was important that she do it. The door flew open with her firm push and banged against the stone, much like her heart beating in her chest. The land stretched out in front of her, like an endless carpet of green and sea and sky. There was so much of it, and she was so small in comparison. Something could happen to her out there. It was so far, and…

  No, she was going to make it.

  The breeze rushed over her face, and every hair on her body stood up, fear covering her like sticky spider webs.

  Who was she kidding? She was vulnerable out there. God, she was going to hyperventilate again. Boru barked.

  Breathe.

  Another bark sounded from Boru, and he nudged her hard in the thigh with his nose. She looked down. His big brown eyes were staring at her, demanding attention. He barked again.

  “Okay,” she said, shaking like a leaf. “Let’s go.” It was now or never.

  That first step outside was always the hardest. One. Two. Three. She continued to count. There were three hundred and eighty steps to the shed.

  Best not think about that, she thought. Just keep counting one at a time.

  Sweat pooled between her breasts, on her temples, and slid down her back. The hand holding Boru’s leash grew damp. When she reached one hundred, Boru barked, and Cian whispered, “Way to go, love. Just a little bit farther.”

  Her gaze slid up past the grass punctuated by moss and stone. She saw the flat, empty stretch ahead, the shed punctuating it like an exclamation mark. Anxiety splashed over her like a wave. It was still so far away. She couldn’t do this. Seeing stars, she stopped, her knees giving out.

  Cian caught her as she was sinking to the ground. “I’ve got you, love. Hold onto me and Boru.”

  She placed one hand on the dog’s back and the other around Cian’s waist. Her lungs screamed for more oxygen as her heart pounded double-time in her chest.

  “Breathe,” Cian said, his voice as steady as his hands. “You can do this. You’re a brave girl. Always have been.”

  That firmed up her muscles. Yes, she was brave. Down to her bones. She’d made it this far. She thought of Trevor and all the visions she’d had of them holding hands, walking about the land. She would do this.

  “Let’s continue,” she said, forcing resolve into her voice.

  One hundred and one. One hundred and two. Boru gave three consecutive barks and seemed to increase his speed. For a moment, it was like she was in a sled being pulled by a team of Alaskan huskies in the Arctic. Yes, she was a famous explorer, facing perilous conditions, but she continued her trek.

  One hundred and nine. One hundred and ten.

  She felt the reins around her hands as if they were a part of her. She heard Cian’s steps along the stone and moss at her side. When the wind brushed her body, she squared off against it. You’
re not going to stop me, she thought.

  At two hundred, the feeling of victory sparked to life inside her, so rare and precious, she almost wept. She increased her speed, everything quickening in anticipation. Boru started to prance, and then she was racing forward over the stones and shades of green under her feet, chugging like a steam engine.

  In this moment, she felt certain nothing could hold her back.

  “Three hundred and three,” she called out loud, her mind calculating only fifty more steps to go. She kept her focus on the ground flashing under her feet, and then she saw the shadow of something. The shed! She raised her gaze and sank to the ground in relief.

  Wrapping her arms around Boru’s neck, she wept. Cian’s hand stroked her hair, and she reached for his hand.

  “Oh, you’re a brave one. The grandest of us all, dear Becca.”

  His words were a hot blade cauterizing the pain in her heart. She’d made it. And this time, she was going to stay out here. See and hold her very own animals. Give Flynn his tour. Perhaps she would even dare to look up at the sky and the long horizon back to her home. She dreamed about the view of the main house from vistas on her land. Sometimes she looked at the pictures she’d had taken by a professional photographer, the ones she’d put on the website, and longed to see the glorious sight in person.

  Today she could.

  Today was a new beginning.

  Cian left her, and she shakily rose to her feet, wiping away tears. He came back to her with a fat brown rabbit cradled in his arms, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

  “Oh, you’re a darling,” she said, holding her hands out and letting Cian transfer the rabbit to her.

  “This is Margaret the Hospitable,” Cian told her, crushing her heart with his sentimentality. “I like to think you’re a modern Margaret O’Carroll of Éile. Medieval queen. Patron of the arts. A builder. What say you?”

  “You’re going to make me cry again,” she said, pressing her face into the bunny’s soft fur to gather herself. “No queen surely, but I’ll take the others.” Oh, the grand plans she had for this land. She could feel her grandmother at her back and all her other ancestors who’d loved this land.

  “I figured you’d like knowing I named some of the rabbits and sheep,” he said, his grin downright fairy-like. “Not all, of course, but some of the animals aren’t only animals.”

  No, they were both Irish enough to know the souls of special people resided in certain animals. “I love it.”

  He grinned. “Your party is coming. Seems Flynn wasn’t the only one interested in the rabbits. The whole Merriam family is on its way. Even Clara and Arthur.” She was turning her head before Cian’s hand stopped her. “Let them come to you. Focus on me and Margaret and this grand dog.” Boru barked, and she transferred the rabbit to one arm so she could stroke his head.

  Yes, let them come. She was ready for them.

  Their laughter reached her ears, and she smiled at their gaiety as her eyes tracked over all the rows of rabbits. Sixty rabbits required a lot of space, and God knew, she and Cian wanted them to have room. They multiplied quickly.

  “How many rabbits do you have here?” Flynn boomed out as the Merriams reached them.

  “My God, it’s like Alice in Wonderland exploded all over the Irish countryside,” Caitlyn called, rushing forward. “Oh, look at this one. Can I hold it?”

  The furry gray rabbit was adorable, what with its pale nose twitching.

  “I’ve got a rabbit in mind for you, Caitlyn,” Cian said, crossing to one of the cages. “This is Osiris, and he’s as dark as the Egyptian god he’s named after and as calm as he is clever.”

  “Sounds like me,” Trevor said, coming to stand beside Becca.

  Their eyes locked, and his entire face was transformed by his ear-to-ear smile. Her chest grew warm, looking at him. Oh, to be this free, to be outside with him and on her land, surrounded by his family. This was her future.

  No, she corrected. This is your present.

  “I want a rabbit,” Clara said, planting her feet on the ground. “Arthur?”

  “I gave up everything rabbit-related in 1987 after watching Fatal Attraction,” he said, popping a red hot in his mouth.

  “Oh, yuck!” Caitlyn made a gagging sound. “That’s so disgusting. I hated that movie.”

  “And you aren’t even a man,” Flynn said, tapping the side of his head. “That movie will mess with your mind. Becca, run me through things.”

  “Cian runs the show out here,” she said, gazing at him fondly. “When we started this new enterprise, he said he’d care for the animals and work with some local farmers who have experience with the shearing. It’s been a match made in heaven.”

  “You have a lot of space for them,” Flynn said, stroking Caitlyn’s rabbit. “More than I expected.”

  “If you’re going to claim ethically sourced yarn, you need to meet certain conditions. We conform to the Responsible Wool Standard.”

  Trevor plunked a fluffy white rabbit down in Flynn’s arms. “She’s so sexy when she talks business.”

  “You can get a room later,” Flynn said, stroking the rabbit’s fur. “Tell me more about your operation, Becca. I think I’m getting in touch with my inner farmer.”

  Caitlyn laughed. “Yeah, you really strike me as Old MacDonald. Becca, you should start rabbit yoga out here.”

  “Cian already mentioned it,” she said.

  “I mean, seriously! There isn’t a good yoga studio in town. Believe me, I checked. My muscles have been begging for it.”

  “Can’t you just bend over in that down dog thing anywhere?” Arthur asked, chuckling under his breath. “Clara, dear, you’re going to have fur all over you.” She held two rabbits, one in each arm.

  “All the more to pick off later, my dear,” she said, grinning outright.

  Flynn laughed. “Man, I want to still be having sex at eighty. You guys give me hope. Before I thought getting old sucked.”

  “It does,” Arthur said, rubbing his hip dramatically. “But the sex is still good if you make it.”

  Becca laughed as she brought Flynn deeper into the shed. Cian joined them, pointing out various details only he would know, letting her answer questions more in her wheelhouse, including the fact that two rabbits needed to be sheared to make one sweater, for example.

  Margaret the Hospitable snuggled against her chest, and Boru walked with them, stopping to sniff at some of the rabbits sniffing back at him from inside their cages. Becca liked the feel of the rabbit on her hands, but even Margaret’s silky soft fur couldn’t compare with the warmth of Trevor’s hand on her back.

  “We’re still experimenting with the best cruelty-free methods of obtaining fur,” she told Flynn, who was a human sponge for information. “We’ve done shearing so far, which combines both long and short hairs, not ideal. Cian has been thinking through brushing.”

  “What’s that?” Flynn asked.

  “Well, as you can see from my hands,” she said, holding one up, “Angora hair comes off easily. If we brush each rabbit, we’ll get only the long hairs, which is the best for what we want in our wool. Cian suggested we need to look into pet therapy. What if we brought rabbits into hospitals and hospices and had the patients brush them for therapy? It would help the people who are ill, and we’d have natural helpers in expressing more fur.”

  “That’s genius,” Flynn said. “Not everyone likes cats or dogs, right, but rabbits for pet therapy? Perfect. Like Caitlyn said, they use them in yoga. Surely that’s a sales angle.”

  She loved Flynn’s open-mindedness. Before coming here, he likely had never considered the ins and outs of yarn production, but here he was asking questions and suggesting ideas for further growth. “I’m reconsidering the yoga studio, Cian. It would bring more people to The Wild Irish Rose.” They could convert the old barn after making some improvements perhaps.

  “Maybe Aileen could become an instructor,” Cian said, stretching his arms up overhead like he
was doing some crazy yoga pose. “I wouldn’t mind her getting more limber.”

  “Oh, you’re terrible,” she said, laughing. “Arthur is rubbing off on you.”

  “Arthur should rub off on everyone, my dear,” Cian said. “He’s taking a second honeymoon directly after his first at eighty.”

  “Enough said.” Trevor met and held Cian’s gaze as they all stopped. “Right, Cian?”

  Her friend only took a moment to regard him before answering, “Right.”

  As an olive branch, it wasn’t much, but her heart melted anyway. Whatever Cian’s remaining concerns might be, he’d softened with the arrival of Trevor’s family. Aileen had confessed he’d been downright humbled at the way they’d opened their arms to Becca.

  “Okay, how much for a pair of, say, rabbit mittens?” Flynn asked. “Of this quality.”

  She did the calculation in her head. “Only Angora? About two hundred and thirty Euros.”

  “That’s two hundred and sixty dollars,” Flynn said, whistling. “Nice. But you need more rabbits, Becca. If you only made mittens, that would be fifteen thousand per year. Chump change given all the work you’re putting in.”

  “What?”

  “He means it’s small potatoes,” Trevor said. “Flynn, leave the woman be. She’s only just starting. Plenty of time for expansion.”

  “Yes, but think about the market potential,” Flynn said. “Ask Caitlyn about the luxury fur market. That’s her jam. Seriously, Becca. You need a capital investor, and I just might be it.”

  A capital investor? She clutched the rabbit in reflex, and it squirmed. “Sorry, Margaret. Oh, Flynn…”

  “No, I’m serious here,” Flynn said. “Caitlyn loves what she’s been seeing, and so do I—although we bring two different lenses to this. She’s in love with your final product, and I’m in love with your original product. Seriously, are you open to me thinking up some ideas and putting them down on paper?”

  She looked at Cian, whose face was unreadable, and then at Trevor. There was a slight smile on his lips. “Flynn doesn’t talk about capital investment unless he’s dead serious. And in case you’re wondering if it’s because I’m in love with you, don’t.”