“Seems we have some more issues,” Liam said, tucking his hands in the pockets of the fleece jacket he wore.
“Morning, gentlemen. What seems to the be problem?” Dylan asked, smiling at each in turn. A few shuffled their feet, some hunched their shoulders, and, aside from the crew he’d brought with him, most averted their eyes.
“Well?” Dylan asked again, when the silence drew out.
“Ryan’s car won’t start. John has the flu. Derek had an allergic reaction to something he ate and is covered in hives. David’s tools are missing. Erik can’t find the keys to his toolshed or for any of his construction equipment. Ron’s power has gone out at home and the water isn’t running in Sean’s house,” Liam recited quickly, and Dylan was reminded once again why he’d hired this man to be a project manager. He doubted he would have been able to remember each man’s name so quickly, let alone all the particular worries that plagued each of them this morning.
“Well, now, that’s quite a litany of problems, is it not? Tell me… is a certain red-haired woman who lives near the cove bribing you to be coming up with these issues?” Dylan asked bluntly. The shock on their faces was enough to have his answer.
“No, sir. We need the money, that’s the truth of it. Look, I even came when I’m sick,” Derek said, pulling his shirt up to reveal a thick rash of hives that covered his stomach.
“And you still came in for work? That’s a good man,” Dylan commented and pulled Liam a few feet away.
“I’ve heard of this happening before. It’s like… I forget the name of it,” Dylan said. “But when the whole village believes something, they all get sick or they all think it is a curse, and things happen because they all believe it.” Dylan stopped, realizing that he was dangerously close to babbling.
“If you say so, bossman,” Liam said, still way too cheerful for Dylan’s liking.
“Just pay the men their day’s wage and send them home. Let them know I’ll contact them when the work is ready.”
“No problem,” Liam said, turning to speak with the men. They protested, for all of them preferred doing an honest day’s work for their wage, but finally Liam was able to convince them to take the money for their trouble and wrangled a promise of their future cooperation when the work was ready.
“Don’t even say it,” Dylan said, when Liam finally joined him where he stood, scanning the horizon for The Pirate Queen.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Liam mused, pulling a thin cigar from his pocket and lighting it, content to let the silence draw out between them as they watched the boats bobbing far out in the harbor.
Dylan’s thoughts whirled. Sure, his mother had always delighted in all things magickal and fae, but it seemed so far removed from reality. At least the reality he lived in.
“There’s an explanation for this. I suspect the village is just banding together to try and run us out of town,” Dylan finally spoke.
“And the hives?”
“Happenstance. An easy excuse,” Dylan said, shrugging.
“And if it’s not?” Liam asked.
“Then I know just the witchy-eyed woman to confront,” Dylan grumbled.
“That’s a lad,” Liam said, and clapped him on the shoulder.
Chapter 25
“If you’re certain, Grace, I’ll draw up the papers today,” Martin said, measuring her over his desk.
“Oh, I’m certain. Seeing as I shouted it in front of the of the entire pub the other night,” Grace said, and Martin was kind enough to pretend to be surprised.
“Is that so?”
“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t heard. I swear gossip travels faster than the speed of light in this town,” Grace said, plucking at a loose thread in her pants. She’d done nothing but field phone calls from various family members and friends all day long yesterday. The blessing had been finally getting a chance to speak with her parents, whom she’d assured several times that they didn’t need to leave their cruise. After she’d promised for the gazillionth time that she would have them come home if the situation escalated, as well as the promise to send them copies of all litigation-based paperwork, she was able to get off the phone with them. Cait’s daughter Fiona had taken a bit longer to persuade.
“Fi, you’re living it up right now. Do not come home,” Grace had insisted.
“Then you come to me,” Fi demanded.
“I feel like leaving now would probably be a bad idea,” Grace said gently, and laughed when Fi groaned on the other end of the line.
“Duh. You need to be there to kick his arse into line. And then to kiss his wounded male pride when you dominate him,” Fi decided. Grace laughed once again, picturing her friend drinking Limoncello on the Amalfi coast and having what she sincerely hoped were many a flagrant affair.
“I promise I’ll visit soon. Let me sort this out first.”
“Keep me posted on this Dylan. I think he’s the one for you, Grace. Don’t discount all the history you have,” Fi said, worry lacing her voice.
“I’m not discounting it. But I think I need to learn from it. It hurts too much, you see? I can’t love or live with the possibility of losing like that again. I’m happy with my life now. I love where I live, I love helping people, and I’m over the moon with everything going on with my business line in New York. I’ve no reason to muck it up with a man. You know I’m more than capable of scratching that itch when needed,” Grace said.
“Be that as it may, I think you’d regret not giving this a chance,” Fi said, and Grace could all but feel her worry push through the phone.
“Bulldozers, Fi. Remember them?”
“Right, right. Bulldozers. Got it.” Fi had signed off with the promise to call later in the week. Grace had spent the rest of the day ignoring her phone and working on the first stages of the battle she’d decided to enact against one Dylan Kelly.
“I’ll admit that I heard wind of an altercation,” Martin said, drawing her back to the conversation at hand.
“Martin, I don’t think there’s any way around this. He’s determined to have his land, and I’m determined to keep what’s mine.” Grace held her hands up in despair.
“Then I’ll be happy to draw up the papers for you. It will take a few days, and of course we’ll have to formally serve him and his counsel,” Martin said, then paused, his face lighting up.
“What?” Grace asked, looking around her.
“It just occurred to me – the man needs permits passed, no? For his building and whatnot?” Martin looked at her owlishly across his desk.
“And? I’m assuming he’s secured the proper permits,” Grace shrugged.
“Well, usually there’s more than one permit that’s needed. It’s a process as a build-out happens. Inspectors go out and so on.” Martin waved his hand in the air. “If there’s a challenge to the permit or, say, any litigation that’s brought before the Village Board… There’s a council meeting, you know. Anyone can go. And lodge a protest.”
“Well, now, would you look at you? I had no idea you had this side to you, Martin. I quite like it,” Grace said, delighted with the man.
“It’s all aboveboard, of course. I’m just calling it to your attention, if needed.” Martin cleared his throat, but a faint blush of pleasure tinged his cheeks.
“And what happens if the whole town goes to the meeting?”
“Depending on how many complaints there are and the like, it can go past a Board vote to a village vote. Frankly, I don’t think we’ve had a village meeting where we all voted in years,” Martin mused, rolling his pen between his fingers as he leaned back and thought about it.
“Sounds like it’s high time for another meeting, don’t you think?” Grace smiled sweetly at him.
“Well, we do so like to chime in with our opinions on matters,” Martin agreed, breaking into a smile.
“You’re the best, Martin. A saint among men. I’ll get the town gossips on this little tidbit right away,” Grace said and breezed out the door, bare
ly remembering to say her goodbyes to a pleased-looking Anne. Her first stop would be the pub, Grace decided, for it was just nearing lunchtime and she could at least get the ball rolling. It was only a short stroll from the solicitor’s office, and Grace all but danced down the street.
At Rosie’s sharp bark, Grace looked up to find a decidedly angry-looking man heading right in her direction, his long legs eating up the ground between them until he stood, a breath too close to her.
Refusing to step back, Grace raised her chin until she met Dylan’s eyes.
“Can I help you?” Grace asked, amused at the frustration she saw in those gorgeous sea-blue eyes of his.
“That’s kind of you to ask, Ms. O’Brien,” Dylan said, deliberately addressing her by her surname. “There is something you can help me with.”
“Go on,” Grace said, hands on hips, chin raised.
“I don’t know what little games you’re playing, but you’ve no reason to get the town to vandalize our equipment,” Dylan said, watching her closely.
“I didn’t,” Grace said, not missing a beat.
“You’re telling me that you aren’t responsible for our equipment breaking?” Dylan asked, his eyes narrowed.
“I’m telling you that I didn’t, and wouldn’t, encourage anyone in town to break your equipment,” Grace said, neatly sidestepping his question.
“But you aren’t saying that you’re not responsible?” Dylan asked, too smart to let her get away with that.
Grace looked away then, and noticed they were once again drawing a crowd. A group of women, ready for lunch at the pub, waited on the sidewalk across the street and watched them, avid interest on their faces.
“I’m responsible,” Grace said, knowing at heart she couldn’t lie to him.
“How?” Dylan demanded.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Grace said and took a step to move past him. When he grabbed her arm, she paused and looked down at his hand until he let it drop to his side.
“Don’t try to tell me it’s this enchanted cove curse nonsense. I get mysticism and magick and all that, but this is a bit much,” Dylan said, frown lines appearing in his forehead.
“Okay,” Grace said, with a small shrug, and began to walk. She was used to dealing with skeptics, and had found that instead of trying to explain or justify her beliefs or what she knew to be true, it was easier to simply let them believe what they wanted. It wasn’t her job to prove herself – to anyone.
“Wait, that’s it? Just ‘okay’?” Dylan said, blocking her once more as she tried to pass. Grace rolled her eyes and blew out a sigh.
“Yes, that’s it. Is there anything else?”
“Have dinner with me.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say, and it certainly seemed it wasn’t what he had expected to say, judging from the surprised look that crossed his face.
“No, thank you,” Grace said, politely letting him off the hook.
“You owe me,” Dylan demanded.
“I do not,” Grace argued, annoyed to find them once more facing off in front of a growing crowd of people.
“You admitted you’re responsible for my equipment breaking. For my part, I’m willing to let the cost and damages of that slide if you have dinner with me,” Dylan said.
“How would you prove that I damaged your equipment?” Grace tilted her head at him.
“Your word.”
Caught – Grace typically was an ethical person, though she wasn’t against some nefarious tactics in battle – she sighed.
“Fine. Come to the cottage for dinner.”
“Nope. I say when and where. I’ll be in touch.”
Frowning after him, Grace felt unsettled, like she couldn’t get her sea legs under her. Which was what the man wanted, she reminded herself, and turned into the pub, ready to spread the word about the town meeting. She was still at war, after all.
Chapter 26
“You want me to meet you at the harbor?” Grace asked, pulling the phone away to look at the screen in confusion. She hadn’t given the man her number, but someone – and she could imagine a few sneaky someones – had given it to him.
“Yes, at five o’clock, please,” Dylan said.
“That’s a tad early for dinner, no?”
“You’ll survive,” Dylan said, and ended the call quickly. The man was obviously still annoyed with her for the havoc she’d wreaked on his equipment and his crew, but Grace didn’t feel bad about it.
Granted, when it came to her magick, she usually stuck with the centuries-old practice of harming none. Causing the flu and hives to hit her fellow villagers was technically harming someone – however, she’d remedied it straightaway and had even added a boost of extra magick to speed them on their recoveries. She’d gone around herself to both of their homes and made certain they were right as rain. In turn, and as penance, she’d taken the illnesses into herself and had then suffered the consequences of both the flu and hives on her body. She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, and had a miserable night, but had woken with no sign of either illness except for the deep shadows under her eyes. Fiona hadn’t bothered to stop by while she was sick, but Grace was actually thankful for that.
She didn’t need someone pointing out her stupidity, thank you very much.
She wasn’t perfect, Grace thought, as she spent the morning running some rituals over a new cream she was concocting to soothe colic. A friend of hers was struggling with a particularly colicky baby and Grace felt better for being able to do something positive for the world. Truth be told, she didn’t feel good about enacting the magick she’d done yesterday. Even though she’d paid the price for it, it sat uncomfortably on her soul.
“I suppose I’ll need to fight fair moving forward, Rosie,” Grace said to the dog, who was chewing on her bone, happy as could be. Grace needed to learn to be more patient. If she’d only waited to enact her magickal pranks until after she’d met with Martin, she would have had a smarter and more ethical way to fight Dylan on his own level. Now she’d had to deal with a nasty bout of the flu, was operating on little sleep, and would have to eat crow and apologize to the man at dinner. A dinner that she wouldn’t have been guilted into going to if she hadn’t caused trouble to begin with.
Pleased with the way the cream turned out, Grace bottled it and put it aside to drop off at her friend’s on the way to dinner. Glancing at the clock, she realized she’d have just enough time for a wee nap before getting ready for dinner. Grace wasn’t at her best after a night of no sleep, and it probably wouldn’t be smart for her to arrive at dinner even more on edge than she would normally be. Making up her mind, she invited Rosie into her room and quickly slid into sleep.
She was delighted to awake from a dreamless sleep, refreshed, and with just enough time to get ready for dinner. Grace wasn’t sure she could have handled another dream of Dillon before dinner tonight.
Dress for the elements, the man had said.
She didn’t want to overthink it, Grace decided, as this was most definitely not a date. It was best she go in with a business attitude, find out what he was up to, and then get out. She pulled on skinny jeans, a bright blue sweater that highlighted her eyes – she wasn’t opposed to using some of her wiles – and a necklace that had been passed down from Fiona through Keelin, and now once again resided with her. Grace held the amethyst to the light, admiring the stone and remembering the ancient healer woman who had pressed it into her hands centuries ago. As stones went, it probably held very little monetary value. But the power it held and the love it was infused with were priceless.
“You’re here for the night, my love. But I’m sure Fiona will stop by to visit with you,” Grace said, tucking a few treats into the toy bone Dylan had brought and giving it to a delighted Rosie, who sauntered off to curl up with her prize. Winding a scarf around her neck and slinging her canvas coat over her arm, Grace looked down at herself.
“That’s as good as it’s going to get.”<
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On the drive to town, Grace found herself unaccountably nervous, which wasn’t a feeling she was used to, or frankly allowed herself to feel. She’d spent her whole life plunging headfirst into anything she wanted, without giving a second thought to any consequences. It was always act first, consequences later. But this? This felt important, like something she could very easily screw up. Failure was not something Grace would accept.
She almost breezed her truck right past him, so lost in thought was she. Ignoring the little jump in her stomach when she looked at him, Grace eased her truck to a stop and hopped out.
“Going sailing?” Grace asked lightly, with a nod to the harbor where they stood.
“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Dylan said, walking toward her, his handsome face serious. He looked wonderful, Grace thought, with a heather grey sweater, dark jeans that she was certain would make his bum look amazing, and his tousled blond hair. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and his light beard completed the look of a man comfortable at sea. It took all her power not to sigh in longing.
“You don’t just buy boats, then, you run them as well?” Grace asked, thanking him when he took her coat and wound his arm through hers. There were the nerves again, she thought, as they strolled like a companionable couple down the planked walk that led to the docks.
“I suspect you know that I sail. What with all your research on me,” Dylan said. Ah, Grace thought, someone was still mad about that. For some reason it cheered her, knowing she’d gotten under his skin.
“One must research one’s opponent. You’re a businessman. You can’t tell me you don’t put considerable time and effort into researching your competition,” Grace said, tilting her head up to look at him.
“I can’t say that I don’t,” Dylan admitted and Grace drew to a stop, pulling her arm out from his and turning to look at him. She needed to get this out of the way – opponent or no – or she’d let the evening slide by without apologizing.
Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7 Page 11
