Mel turns to the sound of my footsteps. “Well, top o’ the mornin’ to yer, lassie,” he says in a mock Irish accent. I can’t believe he’s in a good mood. He should be pissed as hell at me, but at least he’s alive and in one piece. He sets his fork and coffee mug down and rises from the table, grabbing me by the shoulders.
“It’s so good to see you!”
“You look like shit.” He leans forward to whisper close to my ear. “What’s the big idea taking off on me? I told you to stay on the bus. You may be the great Savie Starr, but that doesn’t make you invincible. Thank God you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. My boot is the only fatality.”
He looks me up and down just like a parent would do, checking for injury. He can’t see the ones on my heart that Ronan’s already managed to etch there. “You are all right, aren’t you? Do you need to go to a hospital?” He sniffs me, and his nose wrinkles. “Or a spa? Not that there’s either one around here. Why do you smell like a stable?”
“Never mind.” I sigh a huge exhale that takes a sliver of my mortification at this situation with it. “I’m fine, mostly. I should have stayed on the bus. Sorry about that, but I’m okay. I just want to get out of here. What happened? Is the bus getting fixed? When will it be ready?”
Mel motions for me to sit across from him. I slide onto the vinyl-padded bench and unwrap my scarf now that we’re partially obscured from view of all three other customers in the place. In a town of only a hundred, this must practically be the breakfast rush. I notice they’re all drinking beer, despite the morning hour.
“Well, they managed to get a winch truck from Drogheda, a bigger town a few miles up the road, dispatched very early this morning. I had to spend the night here. Cozy room upstairs.” He points a finger above his head.
“Here? In the pub?”
Mel chuckles. “This place is the pub, the diner, the bookie’s, and a B&B all rolled into one.”
My mind drifts to Ronan’s offhand comment about his sister running the only inn in town. I wonder if she’s over six feet tall and built like a warrior. Too bad I’ll be out of here before my curiosity is assuaged. “Never mind all that. When can we get on the road again?” Mel sips his coffee as though steeling himself for something unpleasant. I lean forward until he catches my eye. “Well?”
“I hate to break it to you, but we’re hooped for Glasgow. The transmission and drive shaft have to be replaced. The bus is toast. It’s going to be sent back to Dublin to the charter company’s repair depot. You’ll have to get all your wardrobe and gear off it. There won’t be another coach available for a few days. They’re booked up with holiday tours.”
I stare at Mel, heart racing, palms sweating. Not believing. “In a major city like Dublin? That’s nonsense.”
Mel shrugs. “I was on the phone with them this morning. There’s land lines here and some spotty cell service. I tried your number, but you never picked up.”
“No service where I was.” I can’t wipe the scowl I know is wrinkling my entire face. I should have checked my phone as soon as we got near town for a signal. I’m a superstar and a millionaire. What constitutes a no for normal people, doesn’t fly with me. “What did you tell them? Didn’t you tell them who it was for? Shit, there should have been a damn cavalcade of buses here by now, for Savannah Starr.”
Mel didn’t seem impressed. “Hey, I can’t change the facts. I called the Preach, he’s working on alternatives. He’ll call us back. There aren’t many airborne alternatives that you’d set foot on without tossing your cookies. There’s not enough Valium in the world for Savie Starr to stomach a prop plane or a helicopter.”
The thought of a small aircraft does turn my stomach. No fucking way. I’ve never been on one, and I’ll never get on one. Aliyah, Buddy Holly, John Denver. My mind reels with all of the singers that have died in small plane crashes. It’s almost like tiny aircraft have it out for anyone who makes their living in the music industry.
I slump on the bench and rub my eyes. This can’t be happening. The last twenty-four hours has been like a nightmare. Jerry “The Preacher” Cassidy, my manager extraordinaire, is a miracle worker. Hence his nickname. Surely, he’ll get us out of this. “What about the Glasgow show? What’s he doing about that, and what about Freddie and the others?”
“I got hold of Freddie. They stayed on the M-74 and got through on the ferry all right. They’ll stay for a couple nights at the hotel in Glasgow then meet us in Manchester on schedule.” Mel’s phone buzzes from inside his pocket. At last, some semblance of civilization. “That’s probably Preach now.”
“Let me talk to him.” I reach out, and Mel hands me his device. “Preach? It’s Savie. I don’t care what it takes, just get us to Scotland, like, yesterday. In spite of my Irish roots, I hate it here. Did I mention I hate it here?”
“Savie, thank Christ Mel found you. Gave me a fucking heart attack, girl. Now, calm down. I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
“Which do you think? And make it better than good.”
“All right. I can try to fly you to your next gig in Manchester, but I’m postponing Glasgow. We’ll re-book it for the last stop after the rest of the European dates.”
I hate flying at the best of times, but sacrifices have to be made. I’ll just get so drunk I can barely stand, and I’ll never remember any of it. “Why can’t you just fly us there today?”
Jerry blows out a breath so hard it crackles in the phone. “Savie, I’ve checked into every alternative. Firstly, there’s no airstrip even close to where you are and there’s another storm front in the area that looks bad. You’d still have to get to a bigger center to catch anything, even a twin prop, which I know you’d refuse to board. Even if you did, you’d be sicker than a dog when you landed. Plus, you’ve got all your gear, which means a bigger plane. Unless…”
I wait for all of five seconds. “Unless what?”
“Unless you’re willing to leave your stuff behind, even Helen. Just take what you need, and I can get you out by helicopter right now.”
I shudder, and feel what’s left of my still circulating blood drop into my toes. Oh hell, no. I’m not leaving without Helen and not on some crash prone whirly bird. There has to be a Hummer or something similar that can get me the hell out of here. Fuck, if I have to, I’ll call Gary Busey and see if he can commandeer a military tank.
“Helicopter?” I repeat, my voice barely above a squeak. Mel’s eyes widen as he eavesdrops on the conversation. He knows me too well. It’s a no-go.
“Are you okay, Savie?”
“Oh, Jerry.” I collapse back in my seat, pushing my hand through my hair, feeling my voice crack under the strain. “Tell me there’s another way. I can’t do that, you know I can’t.”
“I didn’t think so. Just wanted you to realize the difficulty of your situation. There’s no other airborne alternative from your current location. You shouldn’t have gotten off the motorway, but no point harassing Mel over it now. It’s history, and you’re stuck until I can get another bus out to you.”
“This place is shit, Jerry. I can’t stay here. Can you at least get me to a bigger center? I can wait for the bus to pick us up there.” I clutch onto the phone, trying to keep my voice low so I’m not overheard by anyone outside of Mel. Even though I don’t care for these people’s way of life, I don’t want to deliberately insult them. To my horror, I start to cry.
“That I can do. I can arrange for a limo, maybe a Land Rover or something big and sturdy to pick you guys up and get you to a proper hotel. It’s gonna be okay, honey. I’ll get you and Helen safely away. Please don’t cry.”
I inhale a deep breath, trying to pull my shit together. “Okay, Jerry. I trust you.” I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s worried about my mental state. I can’t remember the last time I cried and it sure as shit wasn’t in front of Preach.
“Hey, it’s worked out pretty well for us so far, kiddo. Chin up. Lemme talk to Me
l.”
I hand the phone back to Mel. Jerry’s got a point. I wouldn’t be where I am today without my brilliant manager. He’s never let me down, and he’s made both of us millionaires many times over. This fiasco is just a minor blip on the grand stellar scheme of my career. I should have faith, and be more gracious.
Huh.
That’s twice today I’ve questioned the workings of my moral compass. What have I turned into on the road to fame and stardom? Surely, not some entitled bitch they make fun of on daytime TV? Perhaps it’s time to re-think a few things.
Starting now.
Mel disconnects the call and pockets his phone. “Should be a car coming to get us by this evening. Where’d you stay last night? You said you made it into town with some Good Samaritan? But this place has the only accommodations, and I was lucky to snag a room.”
Ugh. I don’t want to think about last night, much less talk about it. “Someone happened by. I know you told me to stay put, but…the engine quit, and I was afraid to be alone in the dark and the cold. Animals were making noises, so I stayed at a nearby cottage.”
Mel leans back, a slight frown on his face. “As long as you’re all right. But didn’t your mother ever tell you never to go off with strangers? Jesus, Savie. No security personnel, no background checks? Anything could have happened. You’re lucky it’s not already plastered all over TMZ’s website.”
Yeah. It sure could of, and it isn’t going to happen again. Mel’s mentioning of my mom reminds me what I’ve left behind.
“Helen!” I’m glad to hear that my voice is calmer now. “I have to get Helen and my performance wardrobe from the bus.” I shuffle my feet under the table, wincing at the blisters that have formed with clomping all over hell’s half acre in heels—heel—that were never meant to see the outdoors. “And another pair of damn shoes!”
Chapter Nine
Ronan
“Mornin’ to yer, Sal. What’s the craic?” I nod to Sally Reardon as she shuffles about behind the bar. The lady’s nearing seventy but can always be found lending a hand to someone. She’s the kind of lady I respect and admire above all else. A lady like my ma. Occasionally, her good deeds occur at any local business in need. Today, it’s behind the taps of O’Farrell’s pub. She nods her graying head, still thick with wavy curls. Like me, she’s never cut it since she was a wee lassie.
“Aye, and mornin’ to yer, Ronan.” She slaps a hand on the wood. “What brings yer here so early? I expect the roads were a right fright after that storm. Why, Mateo must ‘av clear sunk to his knobby knees.”
“Oh, just a few errands. Nothin’ like a snowstorm to remind yer to stock up on things.”
“Aye. Yer fancy some breakfast, then?”
“So I do, Sal. And a pint. One for yerself too, if yer in the mood to share some conversation with a youngster such as meself.”
Sal cackles and flaps a wizened hand at me as she moves to the taps. “Go on, yer lippy laddie. A tad early for me. Yer wouldn’t be tryin’ to get a gal tipsy and take advantage, now would yer?” She gives me a saucy wink.
“Aw, Sal, hardly need to get yer tipsy now, would I? Yer know yer the only lassie for me.” I play along, enjoying the way her eyes dance like a schoolgirl’s.
She laughs again. “Caris will be pleased to see yer. I’ll pull yer that pint right quick ‘afore I go back to the kitchen, so I will.”
I nod and slide the weekly paper over from the corner of the bar to look it over. From the corner of my eye I watch Savannah talking with someone in the far corner booth. Not that it’s that far away. The pub has only three of them. The rest of the room contains just a few freestanding tables with chairs and stools at the bar. Must be this Mel fellow she’s been speaking about since I found her.
She’d quickly ducked inside as I held the door for her upon our entrance. It wasn’t obvious we were together, but the few of my folk who’d noticed intermittently hoked a knowing eye toward me. Nothing escaped notice—or gossip—in Wintervale. The bane of being the Bard of a small town.
Before I can tear my eyes away from Savannah, a major pain in my arse appears in the doorway. He’s a friend, so he is. Most days, I wonder why.
“What’s the craic, me boy,” Cosgrove Magee stomps into the pub, and slaps me on the back so hard I almost spit my Guinness on the mahogany bar top. “Yer usually not about this early in the morn. Yer must be here due to the townie I been hearin’ about. Heard she’s a right feckin’ rosspot, so I did. Puts me in mind to doin’ a line.”
His beady eyes scan the perimeter and when they land on Savannah, they light up like an oil lantern.
I shake my head at him. “Yer long-sufferin’ wife would serve yer arse on a platter, so she would, thicko.”
I watch Cos scan Savannah’s body up and down. Something deep inside me roars to life from a long-neglected spot that I haven’t shone a light on in years. My fingers itch to grab my lippy friend by the back of his scraggly neck and shake him until his teeth rattle.
“Best yer get yerself gone afore Caris catches yer in here.” My sister doesn’t give Cos the time of day, and right now, neither do I.
At the sound of the swinging doors to the kitchen popping open, Cos flees the scene. Caris would blister his ears and he knows it.
“Ach, yer look some touch, yer hulkin’ oaf,” a familiar lilting voice says. “Give us a kiss, now.” Caris leans over the bar and tugs on my beard to draw me close enough to plant one on me. “Yer made it back to the cottage all right? I know yer set out for gatherin’ yesterday.”
“Fine, yeah. Snug as a bug, sis. I found yer Skimmia by and by. Woulda brought it but left in a bit of a hurry this mornin’, so I did. I’ll dry it for yer and bring it over next time.”
“Brilliant,” Caris says. “Alban Arthan is less than a week away. I hope we don’t get another storm the likes of this afore then.” She touches me on the arm. “Some excitement here last night, don’t yer know.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
Then I’ll tell yer mine.
“A fellow, an American so he was, came strollin’ in out of the snow last night, lookin’ for a…um, tow truck, he called it. For a motor coach stuck on the highway, not far from yer place. Did yer hear anythin’?”
“Another pint, please if yer not too busy.” It isn’t a lie, more of an avoidance tactic. I hadn’t really heard the motor coach until I’d stumbled across it.
“A’course, love.” She takes my mug from the bar top and turns to the taps. “I rung Declan straight away, and he made arrangements from the garage in Drogheda. The beastie’s here now, dead as a doornail in front of his place, it is. There’s nothin’ for it, he says, and the coach company’s goin’ to be around to collect it. Lucky for Mel I ‘av a vacant room upstairs.”
“Yer spy any badgers causin’ trouble of late? In yer rubbish bins, or somethin’?” I ask, steering the topic askew for a moment.
“Badgers?” Her excitement is immediately dashed. “No. Why do yer ask? I hate those foul creatures. Scary as feck, so they are.”
“Well, somethin’ was pokin’ ‘round my cottage early this mornin’. Snarlin’ and scratchin’. Upset Mateo. Didn’t get a good look at it, but it has dark fur and big curved claws. Like a bear, apparently. I saw the tracks leadin’ into the woods.”
“Sounds a lot like a badger,” Caris agrees, setting another foaming pint on the bar in front of me. “But they’re not about this time of year. They’re in winter sleep.”
“Well, this one must ‘av woken up.” I hoist the mug and take a grateful sip of the bitter but tasty house ale. After everything that’s already transpired this morn, day drinking seems the most sensible way to calm my overwrought nerves and numb my throbbing cock. After Savannah’s screaming orgasm, my wee head hasn’t stopped to consider much else.
“Perhaps so. Mayhap he’s lonely like yer, lunkhead, and yer startled him out of hibernation with yer horny moans in the night as yer be pleasurin’ yerself.” She gives me a saucy smile a
nd a wink.
That’s my Caris, never missing an opportunity to get a rise out of me, metaphorically speaking. If she only knew what I’d been about today. I shoot her my best side-eye, warning her away from the subject with the strength of my gaze. “Oh, yer a bag of laughs.”
“Well, it shouldn’t be long now, brother, for yer to find that wife of yers. The Cailleach Baere said she’d be along durin’ Yuletide, remember?”
I force myself not to look in Savannah’s direction. “Ach, and the old crony said Wintervale would prosper too. Seems she’s a might touched, so she is.” I take another sullen sip from my glass. I still feel I should be doing something about it. But what?
“Ach, she’s never wrong with her prophecies.” Caris shot me another wink. “There’s still time.”
“Nay, not usually. But things can’t be too prosperous if she’s helpin’ yer pull pints and cook hotpot in yer kitchen, now can they?”
“Sally just likes to be of use, aside from her official duties. ‘Tis good for her. And I can always use an extra pair of hands.”
“I suppose. This American fellow, Mel. That him over there?” I nod toward the corner booth.
Caris glances over in that direction, her auburn hair bobbing about her shoulders. “Aye. Who’s that with him? He was alone just this mornin’.”
“’Twas my houseguest last night.” I swill more of my ale. “The most vexin’ creature on Earth, I do swear.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Houseguest?”
“I was out gatherin’, like yer say. Went as far as the ditch on the highway, and there ‘twas, banjaxed. Didn’t see what ‘twas ‘til I was almost on top of it. Engine idlin’, stinkin’ up the forest. The most arse ugly hunk of metal beast I ever saw.”
Solstice Song (Pagan Passion Book 1) Page 8
