Wild Irish Rose

by Ava Miles

  His mom patted him on the back as if to praise him for holding out an olive branch. Quinn and Connor shared a look—one that could have passed for the kind of silent communication Trevor had with his twin.

  “That would be great,” Quinn said. “I’ve been hearing about these incredible scones they serve.”

  “I ate a whole bunch the first day she finally agreed to let me check in,” Trevor said, smiling. “On my first visit, she grabbed the basket of scones away from me before I could try any when she figured out who I was.”

  “I love her even more,” Mom said. “That’s something I would have done.”

  “I know,” he said, nodding.

  They shared a look, and she linked her arm through his. “To The Wild Irish Rose then.”

  And to my Becca, he thought.

  Chapter 39

  Becca’s living room filled up with the Merriam family as the day went on, and she was mostly okay with it.

  Trevor’s mother embraced her warmly and said, “You can’t know how happy I am to meet you, Becca. Welcome to the family. And please call me Assumpta. You know I’m from an Irish neighborhood in Chicago, right? My mother was a Sims before she married, and her people were from Sligo.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you too,” she said. Then, not wanting to give his mother the wrong impression, she added, “but we’re still talking things through.”

  She waved a hand. “You’ll work them out. I’ll admit I’m partial, but he’s a keeper. Oh, look at your cat. She’s a Persian, isn’t she? What’s her name?”

  “Hatshep, after Hatshepsut,” she replied, watching as her beloved cat approached the man standing at the edge of room, twining around his ankles.

  “This is Quinn,” Assumpta said. “He’s a keeper too.”

  The man met her gaze before leaning down and picking up Hatshep, who stretched luxuriously in his arms. This was Connor’s ally? Maybe it was the Irish in her, but she trusted Hatshep’s judgment enough to take her behavior as a sign that all that was in the past.

  “I’m happy to meet you under better circumstances, Becca,” he said, crossing and holding out his hand. “I’m deeply sorry for what happened. More than you could know.”

  He seemed genuinely contrite. She shook his hand. “Thank you. Please, make yourself at home.”

  “Yeah, Quinnie boy,” Caitlyn said. “Come see my knitting project. It’s ambitious, but that suits me. If you’re extra nice to me about my new venture, I’ll knit you a sweater.”

  He winked at Becca before saying, “I can buy my own sweater, Caity girl. But show me your knitting.”

  The two of them huddled in the corner, bickering sweetly. Becca scanned the rest of the room. Flynn was playing tug-of-war with Boru with a dog toy, laughing with that easy way of his when Arthur noted that he’d lose a tooth or two if anyone did that to him. Clara was laughing as well, talking to J.T.—who did remind her a lot of Trevor, although they were fraternal twins—but Becca had caught her watching Assumpta earlier. She was still longing for a full reconciliation, Becca knew.

  Trevor walked in from the kitchen with more drinks. He seemed completely relaxed, and after he’d briefed her on his family meeting, some of her lingering tension had leaked away too. The Merriams had been knitted back together, and for all of them, she was glad. For her and her land here…she was beyond relieved.

  “Who needs more scones?” Aileen called, carrying in a steaming basket. “Oh, isn’t this a grand party? Trevor, I talked to the butcher in town, and he’s sending out his best steaks for dinner tonight.”

  He kissed her warmly on the cheek. “You’re a love. Thank you.”

  “Yeah, thank you,” Flynn called. “From me and my stomach. Aileen, dear, I need a scone.”

  “Right away, you fine thing,” Aileen said. “Assumpta, you have some handsome sons, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “They take after their father,” she said. “I hope he’ll fly over and join us. He wants to meet you very much, Becca.”

  Mr. Merriam too? Some of Becca’s tension came tumbling back. Perhaps it was time for her and Trevor to have that talk. “Maybe he should wait.”

  Assumpta ushered her aside. “I’m a frank woman, and I hope being Irish, you’ll appreciate it. I can’t begin to understand what it must be like to be agoraphobic, but J.T. told me he’d brought you the letters my mom and dad wrote each other during the war. I hope you’ll read them and let me tell you more about my parents. I see you’re wearing the St. Christopher medal my mother gave him during the war to keep him safe and strong.”

  Her throat closed up, and all she could do was nod, thinking about how the medal, which she’d treasured because it was Trevor’s, signified something more to her now: the kind of love that could transform and heal.

  “You think I’ll be able to be the kind of wife Trevor deserves?”

  A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Does your agoraphobia prevent you from loving my son with everything you are? Because that’s what marriage is.”

  Trevor had said the same. Perhaps this practical side came from his mother. “Of course it doesn’t. What about children? Can I be a good mother, with a condition like this?”

  “I don’t see why not, do you? You’ve made adjustments—successfully, I might add—to run your business. Did anyone think you were incapable of doing so because you were agoraphobic?”

  She’d feared as much in the beginning, but she’d overcome her doubts. “My grandmother never wavered in thinking I could. I wanted to run this inn more than I wanted anything else.” And now she wanted Trevor. She give anything to be with him, but she feared she’d become a burden to him in the end. Was she underestimating herself?

  “I’ll leave you with one last thing,” Assumpta said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they surveyed the room. “My dad was scared to marry my mom because he didn’t feel fully cured from his war trauma. She was having none of it, let me tell you, and eventually she showed him they were stronger together than they were apart. When you love like that, why ever would you choose to be apart? Besides, children can be helpers too. When I was little, I’d jump on my father’s back. He’d tense, but I’d be laughing, and soon the memories would retreat again. So you see, when you have family to help, you’re never alone.”

  Looking around the room, Becca could easily see that. They’d only made peace hours ago, but they’d truly forgiven each other. They loved each other, that much was clear.

  “Think on it.” She kissed Becca’s cheek. “Okay, I need to have me one of these scones. I’ll talk to you later, sweetie.”

  With that, she was off, and Becca walked over to the sofa because her knees were weak. My God, no wonder that woman had managed to mediate peace between her children!

  Someone cleared their throat behind her, and she spun around, caught off guard. Before her stood Connor Merriam, his face as wooden as one of the African masks that hung in the West Wing’s hallway.

  “Ms. O’Neill? May I speak to you for a moment?”

  She stopped short, not knowing where to take him. She hadn’t been able to leave her chambers yet. The bedroom was the empty space accessible to her at the moment, and she was reluctant to talk to him there.

  “Hey, Con!” Caitlyn called. “Come see my knitting project. I’m measuring Quinn for a sweater, and if you’re good, I’ll measure you too.”

  “In a minute, Caity girl,” he said, a smile appearing and then retreating as he looked back at Becca.

  She felt frozen, but she made herself move. “Follow me.” Her bedroom wasn’t ideal, but they could talk in the hallway and not be overheard if they spoke softly.

  Trevor glanced their way, and she made herself nod at him. She had to do this alone. The family feud had started with Connor, and it was time to end her part in it. Plus, it was almost an Irish fairy tale, her meeting Trevor as she had. The fates didn’t always send you what you expected. Many times, they knew better.

  In the hallway, she
stopped and crossed her arms, waiting for him to speak.

  His jaw was tense, and he unbuttoned his suit jacket before saying, “I owe you an apology, Ms. O’Neill. I shouldn’t have pressed after you turned down my offer. It’s only, I’m used to getting my way, and if the offer is large enough, most people…”

  He trailed off, and Becca watched as he looked off. Boru trotted into the hallway and took up sentry duty by her side. She hadn’t expected an apology from Connor, but she could respect it.

  “I’m deeply sorry about your cousin and the accident,” she decided to say. If he could be gracious, so could she.

  “Thank you.” He coughed. “It was a tragedy, the worst of its kind since I took over from my father as the company’s president.”

  His torment was so obvious Boru padded toward him and nudged his clenched fist with his nose.

  “You have a good dog here,” he said, rubbing Boru under the ears. “I hope you won’t hold my actions against me. For what I said to Trevor, I’m…deeply ashamed. He’s—”

  She waited while he took his time clearing his throat.

  “He’s a good brother and a valuable asset to our company. I might have disagreed with Trevor over this, but I still want him to be happy, and it seems you make him so. Caitlyn was right. I saw it the moment I walked in. He does look at you like Dad does our mom. I…welcome to the family.”

  Oh, good heavens. Her throat hurt, his words were so unexpected. “Thank you.” Her reply came out more as a rasp.

  He nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I hear your scones are excellent.”

  With that, he walked away from her. She rested her hand on Boru’s head, stroking it softly. Well, today seemed to be a day of surprises.

  Trevor appeared in the hall. “Everything okay?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He traced her face. “What did he say, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He apologized, said you were a good brother and a valuable asset to the company. Then he welcomed me to the family.”

  Trevor scratched his head. “I’ll be damned.”

  “We need to talk, you know.”

  He put his hand to his ear. “What? I can’t hear you. I gotta run and see Caitlyn’s knitting project. She’s gathering measurements for everyone’s Christmas presents. How does everyone coming here sound? I thought an Irish Christmas might be nice.” He dashed off with a wicked smile.

  She let him go.

  An Irish Christmas did sound lovely, at that.

  * * *

  Clara found herself itching to move around the room, but instead her feet seemed to be made of clay. Seeing Assumpta Merriam like this…

  Well, it might as well have been yesterday when they’d parted despite the fact that the passing of time had left them with gray hair and a few wrinkles. They hadn’t spoken much at her wedding to Arthur, although Assumpta and Shawn had both offered their congratulations. But it was time to forge a new path. She knew it.

  “Get on with it, Clara,” Arthur leaned down and whispered in her ear. “No more dillydallying.”

  She poked him, and he jumped. “You’re a pain sometimes, but you’re right.”

  “I tell you that every day, my love.” He winked. “Call me if you need me. I’ll come to your rescue if she takes a bite out of you.”

  Assumpta Merriam wouldn’t take a bite out of her, she knew, but she didn’t know if the woman still held a grudge against her. It was high time she found out. She could feel all the Merriam children watching her progress as she crossed the room.

  “Clara,” Assumpta said, moving toward her. “You beat me. I was coming to you, but I got delayed talking to Becca. Isn’t she wonderful? I’m so happy for Trevor.”

  “They’re both wonderful. It’s been a joy to get to know Trevor, Assumpta. And J.T., of course, and Caitlyn and Flynn. They’re terrific children. I imagine Quinn and Connor are as well, although I haven’t had the opportunity to get to know them yet.”

  Hopefully she would after today. Caitlyn had filled her in on the situation when she’d come to the cottage to tell them the family was congregating in Becca’s chambers. She’d raised her eyes heavenward, only to hear the tearing of paper. Arthur had ripped up his Op-Ed, a relieved smile on his face.

  “I expect there will be a lot of opportunities for us all to get reacquainted,” Assumpta said. “I know there’s a lot of water under the bridge, Clara, but I want you to know, I’m past it. Shall we start over?”

  She appreciated her frankness. “I’m sorry for what happened all those years ago. I was married to a total ass, but he was my husband, and I let my hurt turn into pride, something I deeply regret. Does Shawn feel the same as you?” She had to ask.

  Assumpta’s face softened. “His hurt turned into pride too, but I’m not sure he’d admit it out loud. He regrets things too, Clara. More than you can know. But he’s really grateful for the help you’ve given our boys.”

  Clara’s diamonds were tinkling softly, and she realized her hands were shaking. “I hope to do whatever I can for the rest of them. I missed their childhood because of my own stubbornness. I don’t plan to miss any more time.” Flynn and Caitlyn had told her that she and Arthur would be welcome to visit any time. She was going to take them up on it.

  “Caitlyn mentioned we have Hargreaves to thank for Becca’s new psychiatrist,” Assumpta said, winking at someone from across the room. “I’d hoped he’d be here so I could thank him.”

  Hargreaves had suggested that Becca contact the man? That was news to her. “He never accepts invitations to family celebrations. He’s an old-fashioned butler that way. I’m going to check in with him so I’ll pass along your regards.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Well, I’d better get in line for Caitlyn’s measurements. When that girl gets something in her mind, there’s no stopping her. She gets that from me. I’ll see you later, Clara.”

  Clara thought it a Merriam trait, but she figured a child could get such a trait from both parents. Assumpta walked off, and Clara smoothed her hands down her dress. She felt Arthur’s eyes on her, and she turned and smiled at him. He blew her a kiss, a romantic gesture for him. He certainly had his moments. She could sure use a real kiss, but first she needed to see Hargreaves.

  When she arrived at his door, he immediately opened it. Bowing, he asked, “What can I do for you, madam?”

  His private quarters had always been off-limits, and she’d respected that. Living in someone else’s home couldn’t be easy, so he’d had to carve out his own space. She hadn’t expected him to invite her in.

  “Assumpta Merriam sends her regards,” she told him. “She’d hoped you would join us.”

  He gave her that bland stare of his. “Please give her my regards, madam.”

  She hadn’t expected anything else. “Hargreaves, she mentioned we have you to thank for Becca’s new psychiatrist. How did that come about?” The man was resourceful, she knew that better than anyone, but this seemed beyond the call of duty.

  “I’ve had his name for some years,” he responded, his uncommonly polite yet warm smile fixed on his thin lips.

  “Whatever for?” she asked.

  He paused as if he were considering whether—and how—to respond. Goodness, prying information out of the man was like pulling teeth.

  “Hargreaves.”

  “Yes, madam, I had acquired the doctor’s name when I thought you might be in need of his services.”

  That stopped her cold.

  “I concluded his were not the services you needed in the end,” he finished.

  She stared at him. “Why ever would I need his services? Hargreaves, really.”

  “You didn’t leave the house for some time, madam,” he said in that same even voice. “At the time, I suspected you might share Ms. O’Neill’s affliction.”

  He did? She’d never known. “I was depressed, Hargreaves. Not agoraphobic.”

  “I realized that in the end, madam.”

  Standi
ng there, they looked at each other. He’d been her constant companion since she was twenty years old, hired by Clara herself when her father had told her he’d give her a butler for her birthday. They’d been in London, and she’d thought it might be fun. Who hadn’t seen My Man Godfrey and loved the movie?

  Hargreaves had turned out to be a lot more than her butler. He’d been her steadfast friend, the only person she could count on until recently, when Arthur and the Merriams had come back into her life.

  “Thank you, Hargreaves. For taking care of things above and beyond anything I could ever imagine. What would I do without you?”

  His mouth twisted, almost a sly smile for him. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out, madam. Is that all?”

  Yes, you silly man. He wasn’t into emotional scenes, as he called them. And yet, the man listened to opera. Still waters, if you asked her, but she never pressed. He hadn’t pressed her.

  “Becca finished your scarf today, and I think it’s wonderful.” Take that, you silly man. A scarf was pure love.

  “I can’t wait to see it,” he said, bowing. “It’s good you’ve taken to knitting. Those Colorado winters are cold, and Master Arthur does like his sweaters.”

  They shared a conspiratorial look. “He does, indeed. If you’d like, I can knit you something as well.”

  He paused and then bowed grandly, as if receiving the Queen herself. “I would be honored, madam.”

  A concession for sure, and one that bespoke of their unacknowledged friendship. “Well, good night, Hargreaves.”

  “Good night, madam.”

  She walked down the hall, filled with the promise of new adventures with her old and new partners in crime and a whole fleet of Merriam children.

  No, she sure as hell wasn’t depressed anymore.

  Chapter 40

  Trevor stood at the door to Becca’s chambers the next afternoon, J.T. and Caitlyn beside him.

  “You ready?” J.T. asked, socking him in the shoulder.