by Clare Austin
The notoriety, if not celebrity, of a potential bank fraud had brought reporters to the little village on the cliffs, where locals were more excited to tell the tale of the selkie pelt and Dervla’s rescue than they were of glorifying the crooked bank president.
The seashore and Muireann’s seals were safe.
Public opinion was on her side. After all, a fairy tree was involved. No Irish man or woman was willing to take a chance of further bad luck, especially since the economy was headed down the drain.
The McFallon trust was now eager to step in and assure the protection of the site they deemed crucial to the preservation of Irish history. Soon the Office of Public Works would collect five euro per person at a kiosk strategically located on the road to the old O’Malley fortress.
With a cold stab to his gut, Ty accepted the consequences. She did not need him to fulfill her dreams. Muireann had what she longed for and it was not him.
“Ahh…” Flann’s cry sent a chill up Ty’s spine and distracted him from his fruitless reverie.
“I’ve a call in to Aidan. No panic. He’ll know what to do.” Kerry set a cup of tea in front of Flannery. “He’s on duty at Mass General. When the traffic clears, we’ll get you there.”
Flann caught her breath enough to speak. “No, that won’t do.” She gritted her teeth and grabbed her belly. “My husband here thought it would be lovely if our baby was born in Cambridge. Cambridge, mind you, is thirty minutes from here on a good day.”
“It’s only twelve minutes from our house,” Cade defended. “I timed it.”
“You timed it, but not on the freakin’ Fourth of July.” Flann managed to squeak the words out before her lips pursed, her cheeks puffed out, and her color brightened to the hue of a ripe tomato.
“Breathe,” Cade commanded in an edgy whisper.
Flann rolled her eyes at him as if to say Shut yer face. You did this to me!
A knot formed in Ty’s gut and tightened with every spasm that hit his little sister. Flann was correct. Boston was in full party mode. On this Independence Day every street was clogged with parades, people, and cars.
No bus or taxi would be able to reach this corner of State Street until the parade passed and people headed to the Esplanade for the traditional Pops concert.
Miguel sashayed into the kitchen with a tray of dirty glasses balanced on one hand. “Chica,” he said as he set his burden down and went to Flann’s side. “You’re glowing.”
Flann managed to crack a smile. “Like an overdone roast? Just stick a timer in me and let me know when I’m done.”
He bent over her and fluffed her sweaty hair. “When it’s over, I’ll give you a hairstyle that screams fashionista.” He laid a kiss on her rosy cheek. “Call me if you need me. In Puerto Rico, I have five younger sisters. I know all about birthing babies.”
As he started to leave, Ty caught Miguel by the arm. “Wait a minute. First babies are supposed to take a while. Flannery will be in labor for hours…right?” he said softly so Flann would not pick up the panic he knew his question might convey. “They have plenty of time to get to the birth center in Cambridge. Don’t they?”
Miguel nodded. “No panic. She has lots of time.” He grinned and headed out to the dining room. Ty wondered how Miguel could be so calm.
Cade pulled Flann onto his lap and rubbed her belly. “I could put you on the back of my Ducati,” he said with an evil grin. “It’s parked behind the pub.”
If Flannery hadn’t been mid-contraction, Ty was certain she would have socked her husband in the jaw.
Jamie burst into the kitchen with a tray piled with dirty plates and empty beer glasses. “Hurry, Flann. I’ve got you a lift.”
A flushed faced young man wearing a Boston Duck Tours uniform followed Jamie into the kitchen. He tipped his orange duckbill cap. “Captain Morgan, at your service. I understand you have an emergency.”
Flannery rolled off Cade’s lap and stood with her hands on her hips. “Jamie, have ya lost the last of your brain cells?” She started toward the door to the pub and stopped. Her eyes grew wide, her hand went to her belly, and her mouth formed an O as a puddle formed at her feet. “God’s teeth, I’ve busted something!”
Kerry rushed to her sister’s side. “You need to lie down.”
Flannery leaned over and panted. More fluid rushed to the floor.
Cade appeared to be frozen to his chair.
Ty’s mild concern turned to a tremor of fear from heart to legs. “Let’s get you upstairs,” he said in a voice of forced calm. Ty scooped his sister up and carried her toward the back stairs to his apartment. Flann’s head lolled onto his shoulder and she closed her eyes. “Tell that husband of mine he’d better get his arse up here and witness what he’s done to me.”
Cade shook himself and bolted after them. “I’m here, babe. Breathe.”
Ty put his sister down on his bed and she curled up into a ball, arms cradling the mound of her tummy. Cade sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his hand over her lower back.
“I love you, Butterfly,” he whispered.
Tynan felt a tug in his chest. Their da had given Flannery that nickname and it suited her well. He thought about Muireann and how she flinched when her friends called her selkie. But the endearment fit her like that wetsuit she wore when the sea was too cold for a sane person to want to swim in it.
He tried to shake off the pain, the knowledge he would not have the selkie woman in his life. She had been the one he’d waited for, and he couldn’t see himself with another.
Flannery emitted a throaty grunt. Ty snapped back into the moment. He jerked the curtain back and glanced out the window. To the right he could just make out the old courthouse. Crowds, bicycles, police on horseback, and the Salvation Army marching band filled the street. A siren wailed far in the distance. Most likely the Boston fire brigade had joined the celebration.
Kerry joined him. “I’m worried. What should we do?”
He wished he could reassure her. “I’m not sure.” His hope dimmed for a taxi getting through and his anxiety over Flann’s condition accelerated. “Make her as comfortable as possible and hope this takes a while, I guess.”
No one here had a clue about delivering a baby, should the eventuality arrive.
Jamie had joked about his experience with births but, when pressed, admitted his expertise was limited to sheep and puppies. Kerry had been pregnant but that had ended in disaster.
Cade put on a brave face, but the high color in his cheeks and the set of his jaw gave him away.
“I think I wanna push,” Flann gasped.
Cade bolted upright. “Don’t do that,” he commanded. “Please, babe, don’t do that.”
Her face flushed, teeth gritted, and she emitted an animal sound that sent a shudder up Tynan’s spine. “Is this supposed to happen?” he asked. “Flannery, you can’t do this.” His voice sounded like it was coming from a much younger version of himself.
His ears rang.
Wait. There was nothing wrong with his hearing. He heard sirens. Sirens? He did hear sirens and they were not going away. They were getting closer.
“Flann, hang on. I think help may be on the way,” he said and flung the curtain back to expose the view. Lights, red and blue lights atop a white, orange, and yellow Boston Paramedic ambulance. It was a beautiful sight.
“Thank God.” Kerry sighed and crossed herself.
Footsteps on the stairs shook the old building. The door swung open. Aidan Kennedy stood in the entrance of the room. He was dressed in his blue hospital scrubs and held a canvas sports bag emblazoned with the MGH logo.
Kerry rushed to her husband and gave him a quick hug. “You made it. She wants to push.”
Footsteps shook the wooden stairs and two paramedics appeared, their bulky bodies filling the doorway. “Dr. Kennedy, do you want to transport?” one asked.
Aidan was at Flann’s side, speaking softly to her, assessing the possibilities. “Lads, I think we’re out
of time. My sister-in-law isn’t inclined to wait.”
Ty took in the scene. This was typical serendipity in his world. The whole family was present. The three Sloane siblings, always close, were once again facing a life-changing moment. Not conventional, but somehow right.
Aidan was a man schooled from youth to take control in tough situations. “Kerry, bring us a stack of clean towels. Tynan, hand me that medical bag there,” he said and pointed to a canvas bag marked Stat OB. “Cade, get up on the bed behind Flann and let her lean back into you. Flannery, you’re gonna be just fine.”
“Just tell me what you need here,” Ty said to Aidan in a voice more steady than he thought was possible. He could hold that bearing as long as he avoided looking at the distress on his little sister’s face. Her cheeks were red, her eyes squeezed shut, and drops of sweat glistened on her brow.
“Inside there”—Aidan indicated the bag—“you’ll see a package of gloves. Open the paper cover and I’ll take them.” He pulled the gloves onto his long-fingered hands, being careful to keep them clean. “Flann, next time you feel like pushing, I want you to go for it.”
Flannery nodded her head and then let it loll back into Cade’s shoulder.
Cade’s eyes widened. “You mean…this is it?”
Aidan gave a short laugh. “Damn sure. No backing out now.”
Tynan had never thought the day would come when he would trust Aidan Kennedy with the life of one of his sisters. Aidan had proved his worthiness beyond Ty’s expectations a year ago when he protected Kerry’s life with no fear for his own.
Kerry sat down at Flann’s side and wiped her face and neck with a damp cloth. Tynan knew she was terrified, but she hid it well for her sister’s sake. The memory of Kerry and Aidan’s premature son dying in his arms burned deep in Tynan’s memory.
Flannery took a ragged breath and gritted her teeth. She kicked at the sheet Kerry had draped over her legs in a last attempt at some modesty. “Get this off,” she snapped and took another big breath.
“Good…big breath…just like that,” Aidan encouraged. “Now, relax. Okay, one more time.”
Ty tried not to look. He couldn’t help himself. “Is that…right?” he whispered to Aidan.
“Perfect. Cade, your son or daughter has lots of dark hair.” He looked up at Cade. “You should breathe as well,” he quipped.
There was a pop, a splash, and a big sigh from Flannery.
A little face, ears like tiny shells, dark hair pasted to a round wet head slid into Aidan’s hands. A weak whimper turned to a lusty wail of objection as pale skin turned deep pink and little legs kicked in newfound freedom.
“Perfect,” Aidan said as he lifted the baby, quickly wrapped a towel about the wiggling new life, and laid her on Flannery’s belly.
She stroked the wet black curls, touched cheeks, fingers, toes, and little buttocks as though inspecting a fragile work of art.
“Shhh,” Kerry said, trying to hush the frantic cries.
“It’s okay,” Flann whispered. “It’s her music. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.”
Aidan handed a pair of scissors to Cade. “Here, cut your daughter free of her umbilical cord.”
The new dad’s hands shook and tears streamed down his face, but he managed to snip through the tissue that had been the conduit of life support from his baby girl to the woman he loved.
Tynan’s heart lurched and hot tears filled his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
O’Fallon’s was quiet. Jamie had done the unprecedented.
He’d closed the doors early.
Tynan sat in a booth, his mando on his lap. A glass of whiskey warmed in his hand and in his belly. The excitement of the day played in a brilliant loop through his consciousness. His jaws ached from smiling.
He’d come down to the dining room to leave Ana Sloane Kincade asleep, cuddled in her mother’s arms, her little lips puffy from suckling, her now-dry hair a riot of raven ringlets like a dark halo against her translucent skin. The newness of her amazed him and he could barely take the scene in without tears stinging his eyes.
Jamie had welcomed the new life with a céad mile fáilte and a glass raised to long life and happiness. Miguel presented la niña with a tiny tiara he’d fashioned out of felt and sequins. “Get her started right,” he proclaimed.
Aidan pronounced the birth to be textbook perfect but gave the new parents the option of spending the night in the hospital. Flannery flatly refused. Cade didn’t argue. They would spend the night in the room above the pub and take little Ana home in the morning. Flannery said it “just seemed the right place to be.” She wanted her family around her. No one disagreed.
The new mother’s only request was for one of Jamie’s signature scones and a pot of strong tea.
Ty could hear cannon booms from the telly in the kitchen. Jamie hummed along with the Boston Pops rendition of the 1812 Overture while he mixed his buttery dough.
Perhaps due to the soporific effects of the whiskey, Ty was overcome with a sense of calm. His family was safe and whole. A new life had been added to the clan. Aside from having her father’s black hair, Ana was the image of her mam and gave twice the opinions in her first feisty orders to the rest of the world.
Ty closed his eyes and breathed in the cool air of evening that drifted in from the open door. The street outside was quiet except for the occasional laughter of straggling revelers or the clip clop of a horse-drawn tourist carriage as it made its evening rounds in this historic part of Boston.
Without forethought, he picked out a tune on his mandolin. He was several bars into it before he recognized the same melody that had run races in his head two weeks past, out on the West Clare cliffs. He stopped at the sound of footsteps behind him.
“You never did tell me the name of that tune.”
Ty’s head whipped up. His eyes tried to focus. His pulse raced. “Muireann?” Was he hallucinating? Was it the long day, the adrenaline rush, low blood sugar?
“Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.
“Jaysus. Muireann? What’re you doing here?” He’d waited for her, prayed she would appear, longed to hear her voice. Now, she seemed a party crasher, a cold reminder of what they had lost.
“That doesn’t sound very friendly. Is that how you greet tourists in America?”
“Sorry, I—I guess I’m just surprised.” Gobsmacked, more like. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”
She slipped the travel bag from her shoulder and set it down next to her as she took a place across the table from him. “I’m good.” Her eyes closed for a long moment before she spoke again. “I guess this is what they call jet lag.” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “Then, I get in this taxi and he takes off down the wrong side of the road, cars coming at me in all the wrong directions. It made me seasick.”
“Welcome to America. That’s why I don’t drive a car here.”
Muireann was dressed in jeans and a wine-colored, long-sleeved blouse that reflected amber lights in her deep brown eyes. She seemed to lack her usual spark and her eyes had a tired glaze, but she was smiling that slow, mischievous way he’d missed these last weeks.
Tynan wasn’t sure what to do next. Not long past, he would have pulled her into his arms. He’d been naïve then. Now he knew her sting as well as her honey. He didn’t want to get his hopes up just to have them dashed again under a sea of deception. She remained silent, and he knew he should say something.
Muireann beat him to it. “Cat got yer tongue?” She raised an eyebrow in query.
“Yes—uh, no. I’m…It’s been a humdinger of a day here. My sister, Flannery, just gave birth to a little girl.”
“Did she now? How lovely. Are you off for a visit then?”
“No, I mean—yes, she’s just upstairs.” It might have been the stress of what had transpired this day, the whiskey gone to his head, or Muireann’s sudden appearance, but tears filled his eyes and threatened to overflow.
Muireann rea
ched across the table and touched the back of his hand. Her fingers were warm and Ty watched as they played over his knuckles.
His heart raced and Ty’s libido stirred. That response in itself, especially considering his impaired state, did not warrant a confession of undying love, but the truth could not be denied. Love her he did.
As he studied their hands, her fingers seeking to entwine with his, another realization gripped his heart, a picture as lucid as the one of her standing naked on the strand with her skin glistening with salt water.
He desperately needed to know her feelings. However, confessing his love once again and being rebuffed would only reopen the painful wounds he had tried to sooth. Tynan took her hand and stood. “Come with me.” They exited the pub and walked a short distance where horse-drawn cabs parked near the old courthouse on State Street.
Muireann turned to him with a wide grin. “What are we doing?”
“I’m going to show you Boston in style.” He approached an open carriage decked out in red, white, and blue bunting. “Are you still taking fares?” he asked the driver.
A wizened gentleman in an Uncle Sam costume bowed and smiled. “Never turn down a fare on a lovely night like this.” He indicated they should mount the carriage.
Tynan gave Muireann a hand up the high step, even though he knew she was more than capable of leaping the distance with no assistance. He just felt very eighteenth century at the moment. He joined her on the cushioned seat and held her hand as the carriage made its way from State Street down Merchants Row. “Now we can talk.”
“We’re not exactly alone, Ty,” Muireann said with a raised eyebrow toward the crowd that filled the square adjacent to Faneuil Hall.
“They’ve all been temporarily deafened by fireworks, the horse won’t care what you say, and I will bet you this driver has heard everything there is to hear between lovers.” The word lovers had just slipped from his lips. The corners of Muireann’s mouth lifted into a whisper of a smile. “And friends,” Ty added.
