Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

  Trevor walked in, his face haggard, and the rest of her heart broke into tiny pieces. This was what she’d done to him.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as he came near her desk. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. See me like this.”

  He rested his hands on the surface, gazing at her. “Don’t worry about me seeing you like this. Oh, baby, why didn’t you tell me?”

  She inhaled a shaky breath before saying, “I was hoping a new treatment I was starting next week would help. And I was afraid to tell you.”

  Nodding, he looked down. “Did you think I would use it against you to get the land?”

  “At first, but not after you promised me you weren’t interested in my land. I did wonder if Connor might try something. Trevor, are your brothers here for it?”

  His breath was almost a growl in his throat. “Yes and no. They discovered I’d found another tract of land in Croatia without telling them—something I was planning to do tomorrow. They decided to come see about the situation and dress me down in person. Becca, I love you and plan to protect you and your land from them. I think they understand that now.”

  And it had broken his heart. “Oh, Trevor,” she said, resting her head in her palms. “I don’t want you to fight your family for me. Trevor, I know how much they mean to you.”

  “Becca—”

  “No, I mean it,” she said, touching his hand. “He can’t force me to sell, although he can try. This is my fight.” Even if it meant fighting him from her closet.

  Trevor worried his lips. “He’s gone off the deep end over Corey’s death. He said he’d use what happened today as ammunition. Christ, you have no idea how that makes me feel. Becca, I brought this to your doorstep. What happened today was my fault, and look what it did to you. Please, let me help you.”

  Connor was going to use her episode against her? She grew sick at the very thought. Could he prove she was unfit to own The Wild Irish Rose? “I have an uncle who’s estranged from me who might help Connor prove I’m crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy!” His words were emphatic. “You’re agoraphobic. Cian told me. Plus, your business has been increasing every year since you took over. No judge would buy that you’re crazy.”

  But people could be paid to lie, couldn’t they? “Has your brother used tactics like that before to make people sell?”

  Trevor’s jaw ticked. “Nothing illegal, but yes, we’ve found ways to make things happen in our favor.”

  Not reassuring. “My uncle was angry when my grandmother left this land to me, not him. Of course, he didn’t want to run The Wild Rose, just sell the land off and get rich. He’s the only way I see Connor coming at me. I’m square with the tax man, and the community is behind me—even if I don’t venture into town.”

  “Other family members will be talking to Con about backing off. Caitlyn and Flynn are squarely behind us. They’re still officers in the company and board members, although Con told them they could walk if they wanted to question him. If he and Quinn remain resolute, I’ll have someone keep an eye on your uncle. Becca, I won’t let anything happen to you or this land. Do you believe me?”

  She didn’t need to consider it. She simply reached for his hand and said, “Yes.”

  “Good. I was afraid…good.”

  Emotion clogged her throat, but she said, “We need to hire a wildlife expert immediately to see if we have any species on the property that would help us become a protected area. It’s a long shot, and I don’t know much about it, but Cian has seen an Irish hare before, and it’s an endangered species.”

  “What about historical preservation?” Trevor asked. “Surely this house is old enough.”

  “There are lots of houses this old and older,” she said, tapping her foot on the ground, nerves still dancing through her. “I looked into it briefly when I took over after my grandmother died. Being in the EU adds extra layers to Irish historical and cultural preservation. It seemed complicated and not worth the effort or the legal expense of checking into it.”

  “Perhaps we need to reconsider that just in case,” Trevor said. “I have a lawyer I use in Dublin I’d trust to look into it.”

  He was acting like a partner, one who had an equal stake in the outcome, and she had to force back tears. “Thank you. Trevor, I…”

  Leaning forward, he pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “What?”

  It was now or never. “If you’re set on helping me, I’ll willingly accept it. I’m smart enough to know I can’t fight your brother alone. But about us…after seeing me today and learning what’s wrong with me, we need to be clear that you’re only helping me as a friend. Of course, if you want some type of…consulting fee, I’m happy to oblige.”

  His face darkened like a thundercloud. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  “No, I’m being practical.” She released his hand and folded hers prayer-style on top of the desk. “I have a serious condition that precludes me from leaving this place, and for that reason, I think it’s time for us both to see things for what they are. This could never work long-term although it’s been…grand.” Heart-wrenching, soul-inspiring, and lovely was more like.

  “You’re still pissing me off.”

  She couldn’t let that stop her. “I thought this new psychiatrist Hargreaves suggested would be able to help me.” She had to swallow a thick lump before continuing. “But after my reaction today, I have to conclude I may never get better, and you deserve someone normal, someone who can leave this house without having a panic attack. Or finding refuge in this closet for weeks on end. Weeks, Trevor.”

  His verdant green eyes continued to gaze at her, and she noticed they were wet in the corners. His heart was breaking too, she knew, but that didn’t change the fact that she was right.

  “Do you know why I put you in the Oisin and Niamh suite? Because you’re Oisin and I’m Niamh. Trevor, this is my world, one I’m bound to, in my own way. If you stayed, you’d miss your family and everything the world has to offer. We’d both end up unhappy.”

  His jaw was granite now.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, pressing her hands into her lap to contain her riotous emotions.

  He lifted up her chin. “My turn.”

  No, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t fair. She owed him the freedom to speak his mind. “All right.”

  His chest lifted as he took a deep breath. “Does your inability to leave this closet or this house stop you from being able to love me?”

  She gasped at his directness.

  “Well, does it?” he pressed, coming around the desk and sinking onto a knee in front of her.

  “That’s not the point,” she said, trying to push her chair back to escape his body heat and presence. “I told you. You deserve someone normal.”

  “What’s normal anyway?” he asked. “Becca, I want an answer. Does you being agoraphobic stop you from loving me?”

  “Don’t make me say it.”

  He pulled her chair closer and put his hands on her knees. “Does it?”

  “You know it doesn’t.” He was going to be stubborn. Well, he couldn’t do stubborn like an Irish woman could. “That’s not what I’m saying. Short-term, this was good. Doable. Long-term, it’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  Was he going to break her heart all over again and make her tell him?

  “Tell me, Becca.”

  “Do you really want a wife you can’t take on a honeymoon or even a date?” She bit her lip before continuing. “Who can’t take your children to school or the doctor or even a football game should they decide to play? Trevor, I may never be able to leave this place, and that’s something I live with every day. I won’t condemn you and any children we might have to that kind of death sentence.”

  He sat back on his heels. “Loving you isn’t a death sentence. It’s a joy, a goddamn miracle. So maybe you can’t leave this place. Big effing deal. It’s pretty damn great here, if you ask me.” Something flashed in
his eyes. “Ah! I get it. You decorated this place with things from around the world because you were bringing the world to you. The restaurant. The music on the weekends. Everything you’ve done has been to create a world here because you can’t visit the one outside these walls.” He pulled her forward and kissed her on the lips. “Becca, you’re brilliant.”

  Warmth shot through her heart. No one had ever understood her so well, and without her saying a word. “You’re missing the point.”

  “No, I’m not.” He stood and pulled his St. Christopher medal out and took it off before placing it around her neck. “Oisin and Niamh. No offense, but that’s total bullshit. This is our story.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, pushing his hands away.

  “I’m giving this to you,” he said, pulling her hair out of the way. “Stop fighting me.”

  “I don’t want your necklace,” she protested.

  “Honey, I’m a man. We don’t wear necklaces. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” He gave a victorious ah-ha, and she felt the medal fall onto her chest. The weight of it seemed to rest on her heart, and she could feel tears welling up inside her at the gesture. It was the first tangible thing he’d given her, and she felt the weight of that.

  “I never told you about this medallion or why I wear it.” He sat on the edge of the desk and looked at her. “My Grandma Anna sent it to my Grandpa Noah when he was fighting in WWII in Europe. My grandpa was best friends with her brother, but he died in the war. They started writing each other letters afterward, and she sent her St. Christopher medal to Grandpa to keep him safe. My mom gave it to me to wear when I started to travel to some dangerous places, saying it made her feel better. But this medal has a lot more significance. It’s a symbol of love and courage in the face of great adversity.”

  Tears streamed down her face.

  “It strikes me that we need a better model for our relationship than Oisin and Niamh, so I’m going to tell you what happened next. My Grandpa Noah returned from the war with PTSD, and he tried to talk Grandma out of marrying right away. Said he wanted to make sure he was going to be normal, to use your word.”

  She could do nothing but reach for a tissue to blot her tears. Oh, he told a story well, and it was hitting all the marks.

  “When Grandma Anna heard his plans, she was pissed, to use my word. She loved him, they were going to get married, and that was that.”

  His full-blown grin shocked her. How could he grin at a time like this?

  “Did I mention my Grandma Anna has a strong dose of Irish in her and grew up in Chicago’s Irish neighborhood?” He pointed to himself. “That blood flows in these veins, Becca. Anyway, Grandpa Noah would always tell us kids Grandma Anna’s tireless love saved him.”

  Oh, Trevor.

  “I’ve always imagined that’s what love is,” he said, reaching for her hand and pressing it against his massive chest where his heart beat steadily. “Becca, I love you like that, but if you think I’m going to let your agoraphobia keep me away, you don’t know me at all. I’m here, Becca. All the way. In the closet. In your chambers. In this house.”

  She didn’t want the tears to flow, but they ran down her face anyway, as unstoppable as Irish rain.

  “Wherever you are,” he said, raising her hand from his chest to his lips. “That’s where I want to be. For always.”

  He stood and put his hands on his hips, towering over her.

  “Get used to it.”

  Then he headed to the closet door. Since she didn’t know what to say to him, she didn’t stop him. Her chest was tight from grief, yet his words had surrounded her—a warm, protective halo she didn’t want to leave. When he’d said for always, he’d meant it. She needed to regroup.

  He turned, saying, “I’ll get going on the wildlife expert and call my lawyer about the historical preservation. Do you want a pot of tea? Some scones? I expect Caitlyn and Aunt Clara will want to check on you. Oh, and my Uncle Arthur volunteered to write an Op-Ed for The Irish Times on onshore oil exploration to stir up public opinion.”

  “He did?” she sputtered.

  “It’s like Uncle Arthur said to J.T. a while back. When family is in trouble, you circle the wagons.”

  She imagined that must be some Old West saying, but she understood the sentiment.

  “You’re my family now.” His voice was as steady as his gaze. “Get that through your thick Irish skull.”

  She stared at the doorway after he left, conflicting emotions bouncing around inside her. He’d gone against members of his own family for her. Surely that would cause a deep rift between him and his siblings. How was she to bear that? Besides which, she couldn’t be sure her agoraphobia would improve. He might not want to be realistic about a future with her, but she had to be. How could she be a true wife if she couldn’t leave The Wild Rose?

  Still, she couldn’t help touching the medal he’d placed around her neck and pray his tireless love could save her.

  Chapter 34

  After leaving Becca, Trevor headed to his room and called J.T. again. His brother insisted on flying to Ireland at once—Caroline was staying to help her sister, Natalie, with her new baby boy. He didn’t object. Instead, he asked him to bring the letters Grandpa Noah and Grandma Anna had written to each other during the war. Their mom had given them to J.T. for Caroline to read, and now it was Becca’s turn.

  Oisin and Niamh. What crap. He wasn’t going to live out some dark Irish fairy tale.

  He’d be grateful to see his brother. There was a come-to-Jesus meeting brewing between Connor and Quinn and the rest of them, and while J.T. was no longer working with the company or serving on the board, it affected him too. Too bad Michaela couldn’t make it, being in the Amazon and out of sight.

  He heard a discreet knock at the door and rose to answer it. Caitlyn stood in the hallway, her face pallid. “How’s Becca?”

  “Calmer, I suppose,” he said, letting her precede him inside before shutting the door.

  She placed her hand on his chest. “Are you going to be okay? Your whole world was turned upside down today.”

  He still hadn’t found his footing, but his head was clear despite it all. “I love her. As for Connor, he’s wrong all the way. Am I thrilled he fired me? No, but if he’s embracing dirty tactics, maybe it’s for the best.”

  “It’s not,” she said, leading him over to the sofa in the sitting room. “For anyone. I talked to Mom. She’s super upset. Said she’d talk to Dad and then regroup.”

  So the family telephone game had started. “What about me? Why haven’t I gotten a call?”

  Caitlyn smiled mirthlessly. “I told her to give you a while. Said you’d had a day. She was sorry to hear about Becca’s condition. For both of you.”

  Leave it to Mom, he thought.

  “Thanks for calling her. I don’t want to be the cause of a feud in the family.”

  “She knows that.” Caitlyn lifted her head heavenward. “We all know that. I told her how Con acted. You’ve always done your job, and it was wrong of him and Quinn to treat you like that. If we can’t trust each other after all this time, what the hell do we have left?”

  Nothing, and that cut him to the bone. “Where’s Flynn?”

  “He asked Quinn to meet at the pub. He hopes they can hammer out something reasonable. Otherwise, it’s going to be a standoff.”

  Flynn knew which way the wind was blowing. This one would come to blows—he suspected there was no avoiding that. “J.T. is coming. Caroline’s staying to help with her new nephew.”

  “I hoped he would.” Caitlyn popped up like she couldn’t sit still any longer. “He should be here too. I hate that he’s not on the board anymore. He’s a Merriam.”

  “He was protecting the family from his ex-wife. Didn’t see another choice.” And that made him want to beat Connor up all over again. He’d attacked J.T. too, after all, and over a mistake J.T. had long since copped to making.

  “I’m going to see Becca,” she sa
id, bouncing on her heels. “Anything I should know? Say?”

  He lifted the collar of his shirt aside. “I gave her my St. Christopher’s medal. Told her the story about Grandpa Noah and Grandma Anna. J.T. is bringing their letters.”

  “Oh, Trev, you’re such a sweetheart.” She shook her head. “I feel so bad for Becca. Agoraphobia is a little like PTSD in some ways. I looked it up after I left Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara.”

  He would need to do his research too, after he addressed a few of the items on his to-do list. “She wants to push me aside,” Trevor said, pressing his hand to his forehead as pain shot through his skull. “I told her I wouldn’t let her.” Something niggled at him. “She mentioned Hargreaves had given her the name of a new psychiatrist. I need to go talk to him. You go to Becca. She’ll be happy to see you.”

  His sister hugged him hard before heading to the door. “She’s worth fighting for, Trev.”

  “I know.” He went to her, poking her nose like he used to when she was little. “You’re an angel.”

  “Some days,” she said, kissing him on the cheek and heading toward the stairs.

  Trevor left the door open to his stupid Oisin and Niamh suite—he was going to have to mentally rename it to something like Lovers Across An Open Sea in honor of Grandpa Noah and Grandma Anna, perhaps—and crossed the short distance to Hargreaves’ room. Knocking, he waited until the man opened the door. Ever presentable, the butler folded his arms behind his back.

  “I wanted to thank you,” Trevor began, “for giving Becca the name of a new psychiatrist. I imagine you’re aware of today’s events.”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “Mistress Clara called me. She’s quite upset, as is Mr. Hale.”