Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

  “No, I’d want to do this if I met you on the street,” Flynn said. “You have a good thing going on here, and the luxury market is ridiculous. Again, ask Caitlyn.”

  “I will,” she said, her head swimming. Did she want to expand that much? She hadn’t thought much beyond her dyeing in the old kitchen, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think bigger, dream bigger. It was how she’d gotten to where she was now. “Let’s join the others.”

  Cian picked up her cue. “I need to talk to Becca about some business. Why don’t you head back to the main house? Aileen will have some scones and tea. We’ll see you in a bit.”

  Trevor kissed her cheek, and the rabbit lurched into his arms. “Seems Margaret knows a good thing when she sees it.”

  Becca was laughing when she heard the chop chop chop of a helicopter approaching. Her entire body locked in place. Her mind flashed back to the large sleek black helicopters she’d seen in the war zones of her childhood. They’d brought soldiers and death and ferried the wounded off after disaster. That repetitive mechanical cranking sound had been present the night her parents had been shot and killed.

  Danger.

  Everything went cold and clammy as she started to tremble like the vibrations that were even now coming closer, getting louder. Something bad was going to happen. She fisted her hands together at her sides, squeezing her eyes shut as her heartbeat surged in her chest.

  “That’s a helicopter,” Flynn remarked. “That’s weird.”

  “Trevor and Flynn, why don’t you go see what it is?” Cian suggested.

  Someone’s hand was on her back, but she couldn’t move. She’d become a wall of stone. The sound reverberated in her ears, making her head hurt.

  “Becca,” she heard Trevor say, his warm hands on her arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “You and your brother should leave,” Cian said. “Now.”

  The pulsing was screaming overhead, and she could hear the blades whooshing. She sank to her knees, covering her ears, wanting to hide.

  “Becca!” Trevor called. He sounded panicked, but no more so than she felt. The sound was screaming in her eardrums now, the ground beneath her shaking.

  Someone put both hands on her shoulders. “Make it stop!” she shouted.

  “I have you, girl,” Cian called, pulling her against his chest. “Go and wave that wanker off.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Flynn asked.

  “She’s afraid of helicopters,” she heard Cian say.

  Her mind flashed to another day when a helicopter had hovered overhead. A barrage of bullets had struck their house. Wood and concrete had flown through the air, hitting her body and face in the closet where she was hiding. Through the blistered holes in the wood, she’d seen her mom and dad lying on the floor.

  They didn’t move when she screamed their names. Then blood had started to trail across the floor toward her. She’d crawled back into the corner of the closet, but the wetness had finally reached her, making her shake uncontrollably.

  “Becca,” Trevor said, urgent by her ears. “Let me help.”

  She was shaking too hard to reach out to him. She couldn’t reach out. Her arms wouldn’t move.

  “Go! Wave the eejit off. It’s the only way you can help her.”

  Trevor squeezed her hand and ran out of the enclosure.

  “She needs a doctor,” she heard Flynn say.

  “I’m a doctor!” Cian shouted, his arms fisting around her. “I have you, Becca. Hold onto me.”

  The shed shuddered with the force of the helicopter. It was like the entire earth was rumbling under her. She pressed her face into Cian’s chest and held on, the sound growing louder. “Make it stop. Please.”

  “Hang on, Becca. Just hang on.” Cian kissed her head, squeezing her with all his might.

  Heart beating, lungs screaming for air, she felt her muscles lock in place. Cian was rocking her, and she gripped his shirt to hang on, needing an anchor.

  “Let me take you back to the house,” Cian said. “Boru will be—”

  “No!” she shouted. Danger was out there. She had to stay here.

  “Okay, we’ll take a moment,” Cian said, his voice breaking. “As long as you need.”

  “Oh, Becca!” She heard Caitlyn and then slender arms were wrapping around her from behind. Boru was whining, his paw laid on her leg.

  She kept her eyes closed, the dark her only comfort.

  If she couldn’t see, she couldn’t be afraid. If she couldn’t see, she could tell herself she was safe.

  But today it was only lies.

  Chapter 31

  The look in her eyes would stay with him forever. Sheer terror.

  Trevor rushed outside to see a black helicopter landing a short distance from the shed. The Merriam name and logo were on the door, and he cursed. It could only mean one thing. His brother had lied about the three days.

  “Oh shit, is that Quinn and Connor?” Flynn asked, joining him.

  Both of them? Sure enough, the door opened, and he watched as their older brothers descended from the helicopter. He ran toward the cockpit, his thoughts flying to Becca. “Shut it down!”

  A pilot he recognized as Quinn’s regular waved at him. He knocked on the window. “Shut it off!”

  A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, and he turned to see Connor there, frowning at him. The judgment in his eyes wasn’t nearly as horrible as the fear in Becca’s gaze. “Come on.”

  He shook his brother off, banging on the glass again. “Kill it.”

  The pilot finally shook his head, pointing to his headphones. Trevor made a slicing motion to his neck. If he could have climbed in the helicopter, he would have killed the engine himself.

  “He’s taking off,” Connor yelled at him. “Let’s go.”

  He planted his feet. “No! I need him to stop the noise.” Becca was crouched on the floor like a frightened animal. “Tell him to cut the engine, Con. I mean it. We have someone with a fear of helicopters in there. Tell him!”

  His brother walked back to the door and stuck his head in to convey the message, thank God. Quinn was talking to Flynn out of range of the chopper, decked out in one of his fancy gray London-tailored suits. Shit. He was so screwed. If Con had flown all the way from California—and picked up Quinn along the way—he was in for the ass chewing of a lifetime.

  But all he could think of was Becca. What could he do to help her? He’d only walked out because she’d wrapped herself around Cian like a vine, and it had seemed of paramount importance to stop the noise.

  The engine died, and the rotors slowed. He put his hand against the side of the chopper, trying to gather himself. He wanted to kick the thing into the sea after seeing what it had done to Becca.

  He rounded on Connor. “You said I had three days, damn you! And then you show up in a fucking chopper? Couldn’t you and Quinn drive up like normal people—for once in your goddamn life? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  He tried to walk around Connor to the shed, but his brother slapped him back. “Are you kidding me? You’re jumping on my ass? After Quinn got a call that we’re in the running for an oil tract in Croatia? Fuck you!”

  “Fuck you, Con!” He shoved him back. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. Why do you think I asked for the extra time?” Done in by a leak. Talk about bad luck.

  Running past him, he entered the shed. Uncle Arthur had his arm around Aunt Clara.

  “What’s wrong with Becca, Trevor?” she asked, her brow line stark.

  “She’s afraid of helicopters,” he said, still in shock at the speed with which things had happened. How did one develop such a specific phobia? Then he thought about kids who feared vacuum cleaners and huddled in corners. Who could account for fear? All he wanted was to help her.

  “Get Aileen,” he said, and his uncle nodded.

  The woman was like a mother to her. Surely she would be of help. Cian had jumped into action immediately, like he’d had some experience helping allay h
er fear. But how often did helicopters show up in this part of Ireland? It seemed crazy.

  His aunt firmed her shoulders and said, “We’ll get her right away.”

  But there was no need. He caught sight of her running toward the shed. So she’d heard the helicopter and known enough to come on her own.

  Quinn was headed his way as well, his loose-legged stride like a cowboy in the Old West. Trevor knew what it meant. He was about to get fucked up.

  “Not now!” He pointed at his brother and disappeared farther into the shed.

  When he reached Becca, his heart seized up in his chest. Cian had Becca in his arms, and Caitlyn was hugging her from behind, flanking his woman. Boru lifted his head and stared at him, giving a pained whine. His heart rose up in his chest, and he felt tears fill his eyes. God! How could something do this to her? She was one of the strongest women he’d ever met.

  “What can I do?” he asked, his voice raw.

  Cian raised his head, and there were tears in his eyes. “Can you bring Aileen to our girl?”

  Jesus, he was going to lose it. “She’s coming right now.”

  Cian closed his eyes as if offering up a prayer. “Good. Can you go get my car then? It’s a red Volkswagen Golf. Corner of the parking lot. Keys under the seat. Drive it straight up here. We need to get Becca back to the house.”

  He nodded and turned around, only to run directly into the hard frame of Connor. “That’s the owner of this place?”

  “Get out of here, Con,” Caitlyn said, her cheeks wet with tears.

  “We need to talk,” his brother said to him. “Right now.”

  Did his brother not see Becca huddled on the ground like that? Did he even care? No, his brother had called her a “piece of ass.” She was nothing to him. Irrational anger burned a hole in his gut, and he pushed his finger into his brother’s chest. “Get out of here! I don’t want you to see her like this.”

  Grabbing his brother’s arm, he hauled him back a few steps before Connor shoved him. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I need you to get out of here right now,” he said, his voice hard. “Your helicopter messed Becca up.”

  “Where is she?” Aileen asked, her face white.

  “Down the row and to the right,” he said.

  “I’ll show you,” Flynn said. Quinn had trailed him into the warren, and he turned to look at him and said, “I say this with love, but you and Con need to leave.”

  The brothers drew up in their suits. “You grounded our chopper. Where are we supposed to go?”

  “I don’t care,” Trevor said, “but get the hell out of my way.”

  He dashed past them, running out of the shed. The parking lot was on the other side of the house, and he was breathing hard by the time he reached Cian’s car. He fumbled for the keys under the seat and punched them into the ignition. He hadn’t been in a car this old for ages, but he started it just fine and punched the gas, heading to the edge of the lot and then onto the flats. Aunt Clara and Uncle Arthur were walking back to the house, and even though they lifted their hands in greeting, he kept his hands on the steering wheel. Every fiber of his being was anxious to get back to her. To help her. To comfort her. He was single-minded in his approach.

  At the shed, he put the car in park and left the engine idling. The pilot was walking around the now-silent helicopter. Trevor still couldn’t take it all in. Minutes ago, everything had been fine, and then his brothers had shown up in the helicopter, and now Becca was having some sort of an episode.

  He ran to the shed, passing Quinn and Connor, who were arguing with Flynn.

  Becca was still shaking when he arrived. Aileen was on the floor beside her, along with Caitlyn, God bless her. The older woman was singing to Becca. His throat stopped up, and he couldn’t breathe. She looked like a crumpled piece of paper, not anything like the woman he knew.

  “The car’s outside,” he rasped out.

  Cian stood up, but remained hunched over Aileen and Becca. Caitlyn unwound and hurried over to him. Still crying, she hugged him and whispered in his ear. “What’s wrong with her?”

  He put his arm around her and kissed her hair. “We’ll fix it.” He moved toward Becca. “Honey, I’ve got the car outside.”

  Her limbs were shaking so hard he was afraid the bones would shatter.

  “Come on, acushla,” Aileen said, lifting Becca to her feet slowly.

  Boru whined and put his nose on her leg, like he was lending his strength. “Let me help, Aileen,” Trevor said, stepping forward and lifting Becca into his arms.

  She latched her arms around his neck, gripping so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

  “Oh, Trevor. Don’t let me…go,” she said, the words a choked plea.

  “I won’t. Ever.”

  He hadn’t even noticed the older couple preceding them out of the building, but when he reached the car, Cian was already standing by the now-open back door. “Lay her inside. Aileen, get in before her.”

  “I know the way of it,” the woman said, ducking her head and sliding across the back seat. “Give her to me.”

  Trevor kissed Becca’s pale cheek, his heart breaking as Cian peeled her hands from around his neck.

  “Get in the front with me, Trevor,” Cian said after he lowered Becca gently into the back.

  “That’s the woman you’re ‘in love with’?” Connor asked, almost a scoff. “She’s crazy.”

  “Shut up, Con,” Flynn said in a hard tone.

  He thought about lunging toward his brother. Punching him repeatedly in the face. But Becca needed him. Instead, he met Connor’s eyes as he walked to the passenger door. He shook his head once. Flynn tucked Caitlyn close as she pressed herself to his side, crying. But Connor and Quinn continued to look impervious to it all. He almost hated them in that moment.

  Shutting the door gently, he didn’t bother with a seatbelt. Cian put the car in drive, but the seatbelt indicator started to chime as they drove back to the main house. Beep. Beep. Trevor slapped on the belt quickly, anything to stop the noise. He would have ripped the guts out of the car to make it stop. Aileen was singing to Becca, the words in Gaelic, a song he didn’t recognize.

  At the house, Cian opened the back door. He bent to pick up Becca, only to step back and gesture to Trevor. He didn’t need an invitation to see to her. He leaned in and picked her up, her frame slight and shaking and more vulnerable than any human form he’d ever seen.

  Aileen stayed by his side, almost like she was one of those medics who wheeled patients through the emergency room on stretchers. A few guests stopped short as he blew into the main hall. He headed to Becca’s chambers, Cian throwing open the door for him. He took the stairs two at a time, Aileen and Cian right behind him.

  When he reached the bedroom, Aileen called out to him. “In the closet.”

  He turned, Becca in his arms. “What? Why?”

  The older woman opened the door. “Bring her in here, son.”

  He followed her, not understanding but trusting she knew better. Aileen pulled out a featherbed from a chest, and he watched as she prepared it. When she pointed to it, his muscles seized up. He didn’t want to put Becca on the floor. In a freaking closet. She was too precious for that.

  But then she moaned and leaned out of his arms, as if seeking the haven Aileen had created. He laid her down, his heart in ashes at his feet.

  “You can trust me with her,” Aileen whispered, lying down next to Becca, who’d curled into the fetal position. “You go on now.”

  This was over a helicopter?

  He wandered out of the closet and closed the door, dazed. Cian was sitting on the bed. He stood uneasily, weaving on his feet. “She lost her parents when she was thirteen in Angola.”

  Merriam Oil & Gas worked there. He’d visited many times. The conflict in the nineties had been horrible, he’d heard.

  “Why was she even there?”

  “They were doctors in Médecins Sans Frontières. I was too. They were killed
in an assault, and it changed her.”

  My God! He rocked back on his heels. Why hadn’t she said? “And the helicopter?”

  “Was overhead,” Cian said, putting his hand over his mouth a moment before adding, “She was in the closet. Her parents used to put her there when there was danger or fighting around.”

  Oh, Jesus, no.

  “She’s agoraphobic,” Cian said. “Has been since I brought her back here to her grandmother.”

  The words rolled over him, and he sunk onto his haunches. Agoraphobic? He racked his mind. Didn’t that mean she was afraid to leave her house? “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “She doesn’t tell anyone,” Cian said, his voice shaking. “Not even Chef Padraig. She’s made her whole world here. So when you and your brother came here, trying to take her land, it stirred everything up again.”

  He turned to stone. “No.”

  She couldn’t leave her home.

  He’d tried to take it away from her, and now his brothers had come to finish the job.

  Chapter 32

  Arthur hadn’t seen Connor and Quinn in years—their schedules had kept them from the wedding—and this certainly wasn’t the way he’d wished to remake their acquaintance.

  Both men stood in the living room of Honeysuckle Cottage, looking inscrutable in their gray suits while Caitlyn cried softly in Flynn’s arms. He and Clara were seated on the sofa, too wiped out to stand with the rest of them. They’d come here at Arthur’s suggestion after seeing Trevor, Cian, and Aileen take Becca inside.

  “Pull yourself together, Caitlyn,” Connor said, putting Arthur on the defensive.

  “She’s upset,” he barked. “It’s understandable.”

  “Who’s that afraid of a helicopter?” Connor scoffed. “It’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s certainly an unusual fear,” Quinn said. Flynn stared at his brothers in a way that told Arthur the affable young man could be serious when the situation required it.

  “Fear isn’t rational,” Clara said, her eyes filled with challenge. “Also, this is a bed and breakfast with guests. Why would you bring a helicopter unannounced anyway? It’s inconsiderate.”