by Lyn Horner
“I’ll try not to antagonize her,” he said, getting the message. He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “Now, tell me what you meant about feeling trouble coming.”
“It’s hard to explain,” she said, studying the contents of her mug. “I don’t know if you believe in ESP, extrasensory perception that is.” Glancing up, she waited for an answer.
“I’ve never given it much thought.” Frowning, he added, “Although, I do have a friend who has an uncanny knack for … unraveling mysteries, let’s say.”
“That’s interesting. He very likely has a form of ESP.” A smile flitted across her lips. “Many people consider special powers of the mind to be hogwash, but I assure you it’s not. I and several members of my family are psychic in one way or another. My mother saw glimpses of future events. My sister can … .” She paused, eyes downcast. “Sh-she moves objects with h-her mind.”
Conn wondered what had caused her to hesitate and stammer, but he didn’t ask since she quickly recovered from whatever it was.
“As for me, I have an unpleasant ability to sense when I and those close to me are in danger.” She watched him as if expecting him to scoff at her statement.
“And you’ve been sensing you’re in danger lately,” he said, willing to believe her, at least for now. He was rewarded with her sigh of relief.
“Yes, and the feeling is growing stronger. I thought I’d escaped the Hellhounds, those who drove me from my home, but I fear they’ll soon discover where I am. If they do –”
“If they do, they’ll have to go through me to get to you, and they won’t find that easy.”
She set her mug on the table beside her chair, which she evidently used as a desk, judging by the pen, paper and small laptop computer sitting there. “I believe you’ll do your best to protect me, Connor. Otherwise I wouldn’t have begged you to take the job, even if it is only for a short time.” Dropping her gaze again, she picked at the folds of her skirt. “But I must be honest. You could be putting your life in danger by agreeing to help me. The Hellhounds are ruthless. As I said yesterday, they’ve already caused the death of someone I loved.”
“Sorry about that, Lara.” He swallowed a long pull of coffee. “Reckon I oughta be honest with you, too.” Catching her sudden wary expression, he hurried to explain. “I wasn’t always in the firefighting business. I spent eight years in the Army Special Forces.”
“Oh!” Her golden eyes grew huge and her lips worked, but no other words came out.
“Don’t mean to brag, but I can handle most anything that’s thrown at me. So you don’t need to worry.”
She gave a jerky nod. “Th-that’s good to know, Connor.”
“My friends call me Conn. Why don’t you try it.”
“As you wish … Conn.”
He toyed with his empty mug and eyed her curiously. “Now, I’ve got to ask, why do you call the bad guys hellhounds? Is that what they call themselves?”
She laughed bitterly. “I doubt it. My Uncle Malcolm called them that. In folklore, Hellhounds often guard the land of the dead. The most famous one is Cerberus, a three-headed dog with razor-sharp teeth and enormous strength. In Greek myth, it guarded the gates of hell.”
“Huh. Not a bad name for a pack of killers, and that’s what they are, right?”
“Yes, they’re vicious killers,” Lara said in a tone dripping with acid. She stared at him but was obviously seeing someone, or something, else. Her gold eyes glittered with hatred, bringing to mind a black panther Conn had once encountered while carrying out a rescue mission in a Central American country. The animal hadn’t made a sound and, after their silent standoff, it had melted back into the jungle, leaving him shaken.
Feeling much the same now, Conn cleared his throat. “You said you’d like to go into Killarney. How about today?”
She blinked and returned from wherever she’d gone in her head. Fingering the small silver pendant she wore, a gesture he recalled from yesterday, she nodded. “Today will be fine, I guess.”
“Good. I’ll bring the car around and wait out front while you get ready to go.” Rising, he grimaced. “After I drop my mug off with the she-wolf in the kitchen.”
Lara’s lips twitched. “Come now, surely a Special Forces veteran isn’t afraid of a middle-aged Irishwoman.”
Glad to see her good humor restored, Conn cocked an eyebrow. “I dunno, she looks like she could take a man’s head off with that rolling pin of hers if she had a mind to.”
His pretty boss burst out laughing as he walked out.
*
Lara gripped the arms of her chair while Conn wheeled her backward down the steps of the dress shop. Packed in a storage pouch at the back of her chair were a lovely skirt and top to augment the meager wardrobe she’d brought with her when she fled her Louisiana home. She was happy with the garments but glad to escape the curious customers and store employees, whose furtive glances at her scarred face she hadn’t failed to notice. She sighed in relief as her tall, dark and silent escort pushed her along Killarney’s High Street.
“You’re very good at this,” she said, doing her best to ignore the curious, pitying looks she received from passersby.
“I’ve had some practice. My mother is disabled. She’s been confined to a wheelchair or electric scooter for years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Conn. May I ask how she became disabled?”
“She has a hereditary disease, nothing you’ve ever heard of.”
“Hereditary? D-does that mean you may have it too?”
“No, I’m lucky. I didn’t get it.” He went quiet for a moment then added in a flat tone, “But my sister did.”
“Oh.” Thinking of her own missing sister, Lara needed no psychic ability to sense how hard it was for him to be the lucky one. “Is … is she also stuck in one of these?” She tapped her chair’s plastic armrests.
“Not yet. She wears AFOs – like the one you have on and gets around pretty well with a cane, but sooner or later … .”
“I see.” So he knew about the rigid plastic ankle-foot orthosis, commonly called an AFO, she wore on her injured right leg, did he? She was always careful to keep it covered under her long skirts, but she supposed he’d noticed it when he lifted her in and out of the car.
“Um, do you see them, your family, very often?”
“Tamara, my sister, lives on the West Coast, so we don’t get together often, but Mom still lives in Fort Worth, where I grew up. I make it back there every few months.” Slowing, he asked, “Do you want to go in here?”
Glancing at the drugist’s shop, she shook her head. “No, I’m not in need of any medications or toiletries just now. Oh, but I would like to stop in the record shop. It’s just around the corner and down a short way on New Street.”
“All right.”
Hoping to lighten their conversation, she said, “You mentioned you’re here on vacation, but what made you choose Ireland and County Kerry in particular?”
“Like I told you, my crew just finished a job in the North Sea. It was a rough one and I … I needed a break. Ireland wasn’t far away, and my mother’s been after me for a while to come over here and dig up our family roots. I promised her I’d give it a try.”
Lara gasped in dismay and twisted to look up at him. “I’m making you break your promise to her, Conn.”
He shrugged. “It’s okay. She’ll understand.”
“No, it’s not okay. I won’t be able to live with myself if I cause you to let her down.”
“Either I watch out for you or I go hunting for my ancestors and leave you in the lurch. Is that what you want?” He quirked one dark eyebrow.
“N-no.” Frowning, she faced front for a moment. Then an idea dawned and she again turned in the chair, heart suddenly racing. “I’ll help you! That way you can do both, be my bodyguard and fulfill your promise to your mother.”
He blinked and stared at her in surprise; then he frowned. “That’s not a good idea. I might get dis
tracted by, uh, the search. That could be dangerous for you.”
“But I really want to help you trace your ancestry and being away from the cottage might be a good thing, don’t you see? If the Hellhounds track me down, they won’t find me there. Not while I’m off somewhere with you.” She held her breath, watching his frown slowly lift. His mouth – his very nice mouth – crooked up at one corner, a habit she was growing used to.
“You’re mighty convincing when you want to be. Okay, we’ll see what we can do, although, to be honest, I have no idea where to start. The only clues Mom could give me were a couple names and the fact that our people came from County Kerry.”
She returned his grin. “I know exactly who to ask for advice – Una. She’s lived her whole life in this area. We’ll ask her how to go about the search.”
Conn cocked his head to one side and gave her a look that said she’d lost her mind. “That woman can’t stand the sight of me. You really think she’s gonna do anything to help me?”
Lara refused to be deterred. “Let me think about it. I’ll come up with a way to convince her.” With that she faced forward once more. Only then did she realize they’d stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking foot traffic. And people were eyeing them as they sidled past on either side, giving her those pitying looks she hated.
“We’re in the way. Let’s go to the record shop,” she said more sharply than she intended, cupping her scarred right cheek with her hand.
Conn sighed. “Yes, ma’am, whatever you say.”
Within moments they arrived outside Roxy Records, the small shop she’d spied from her car window on a previous trip into Killarney, with Una’s son, Riley, behind the wheel. He’d frightened her half to death with his reckless driving, and she’d vowed never again. Conn’s driving was calm and controlled, hardly what one might expect from a man who rode a motorcycle and dressed like a biker. Even now, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, which clung to his broad shoulders and impressive abs like a second skin, he still had a bad boy look about him.
He maneuvered her into the record shop and over to the classical music section as she requested. While she searched through CDs for something she might enjoy, he wandered off to look over the place. Twenty minutes later, she found him up front, leaning on the counter, talking with the clerk. He held a bag in one hand. He smiled and straightened when she approached.
“You found some music you like,” he observed.
“Yes, I think so. It looks as if you did too.”
“Oh, just a little something.” He moved out of the way, allowing her to lay her items on the counter.
The clerk, a young man who looked all of sixteen, took her money, gave her change and bagged up her purchases, glancing at her cheek several times, making her feel like something from a carnival sideshow. Anxious to get out of the store, she started to accept the bag from him, but Conn reached over her head and took it from the youth. “I’ll stow this in your tote,” he told Lara.
“Thank you,” she said curtly, annoyed by his action even though he was only trying to help. Once they were outside, she said, “I can do some things for myself, you know.” She tried not to sound cross but evidently failed.
He slowed their pace to a crawl and stopped. Setting the chair’s brakes, he walked around in front of her and squatted. His steel-gray eyes probed hers. “You’re angry. You didn’t like me grabbing the bag from that nosy kid before you could, is that it?”
She glanced from side to side. They were blocking the sidewalk again and people were eyeing her as they edged around her chair. Face growing hot with embarrassment, she hid her scarred cheek behind her hand. “Don’t do this, not here,” she said in a strained whisper. “Take me back to the car. Please.”
He muttered a disgusted curse but rose, released the brakes and pushed her steadily, silently along. Neither said a word until they arrived at the car park where they’d left her rented blue auto. He lifted her into the passenger seat, closed her door and stashed the folded up chair and their packages in the back, all without speaking. However, when he slid in next to her, he unleashed his tongue.
“Look, I didn’t mean to set a burr under your blanket. If you don’t want me to do little things for you, fine, but tell me so now. And for God’s sake, stop covering up your scar every time somebody looks at you. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
His words stung. Turning her head, she stared out the window. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you. It’s just that I don’t like being dependent on anyone.” She touched the scar and her voice grew raspy. “As for this, I feel like hiding away in the dark. It’s so ugly. I’m ugly.”
“Woman, you are not ugly.” He gripped her chin and made her face him. “We all have our scars. Some show on the outside, some don’t, and I’ve seen a hell of a lot worse than yours.” He traced the raised tissue lightly with his thumb. “Even with this, you’re beautiful.”
Lara jerked back, away from his touch. “Save your false flattery! I know what I look like, and I …” She gazed out the window again. “… I hate the sight of myself in a mirror.”
He sighed. “Then you’re either blind or a fool.”
She didn’t reply as he started the car. Not for a second did she believe he truly thought her beautiful.
CHAPTER THREE
Conn’s stubborn insistence that she was beautiful despite her disfigured cheek stuck with Lara through the night. Early the next morning, as she brushed her hair and braided it into a thick single braid, she studied her reflection in the old-fashioned oval mirror above her dressing table. Tying off the braid, she covered the scar with her hand and critically assessed the rest of her face.
She supposed her brownish gold, wide-set eyes, surrounded by thick dark lashes, were rather pretty. Her nose wasn’t bad, although she’d always wished it tilted upward at the end in a more dainty fashion. Her mouth was an average width, but her lips were rather thin compared to the full, sexy look some women resorted to surgery and injections to attain. Still, her lips seemed to fit well with her square, not over-wide jaw and rounded chin.
All in all, she wasn’t bad looking, but she would not call herself beautiful. Then she removed her hand. The effect was immediate and painful. All she saw was the crooked red scar, and she knew very well that’s all everyone who looked at her saw. Except Conn?
No! She refused to believe he truly meant what he’d said. He’d simply tried to make her feel better about herself. Kind of him though it was, she mustn’t take his flattery seriously. She’d fallen for false kindness and flattery once before and had paid for it with a broken heart. She wouldn’t fall into the same trap again.
Besides, he didn’t know that every time she saw the scar or was reminded of it by pitying strangers, she remembered the day she’d lost Uncle Malcolm. The tragic memory was burned into her brain. That was the true scar, she realized.
Shoving it to the back of her mind for now, she left her private quarters and wheeled toward the kitchen, slowing at the sound of Conn’s voice. She halted short of the doorway and listened, stunned to hear Una’s girlish laughter. Pushing on into the room, she found her big, tough bodyguard sitting next to the trestle table, coffee mug in hand and chuckling, while Una bustled about, gathering breakfast ingredients from the pantry and refrigerator, the whole time chattering like a magpie to the man she could hardly stand to look at the previous day. Catching sight of her, the older woman beamed a greeting.
“There ye are, Miss Lara. I was just about to come and wake ye, but ye saved me the trouble. Come and see what dear Mr. Conn brought me from town,” she said excitedly.
Lara glanced at ‘dear Mr. Conn’ and met a wicked grin. Rolling past him, she gaped at the metallic red portable CD player and fistful of CDs Una picked up from the table to show her.
“Isn’t it the prettiest little thing?” the usually dour woman gushed. “And the music! Such lovely Irish tunes, and Mr. Conn bought me these, too, so I can listen the whole day while I work.” Danglin
g from her fingers were matching red earbuds. “Isn’t he the dearest man?”
“The dearest,” Lara muttered, turning her gaze to Conn. She realized the CDs and player were his purchase at Roxy Records yesterday, and she guessed their purpose.
“Like I told Ms. Una, it’s just my way of saying thanks for putting up with me around here,” he said. Shifting in his chair, he crossed one booted foot over his opposite knee and winked at her.
The devious devil! The gift wasn’t a simple thank you; it was intended to soften up Una so she’d guide them in their search for his relations. Narrowing her eyes, she let him know she saw through his scheme. He merely smiled.
“My goodness, I’d best be gettin’ breakfast on the table before himself there faints from hunger,” Una declared, laying aside her new treasures. Scurrying to the stove, she set a heavy iron skillet to heat and began cutting thick slices of Irish bacon, similar to Canadian bacon. Clearly, ‘himself’ had bribed his way into the woman’s good graces.
“Una, did Mr. Conn tell you he’s here in County Kerry to find his relatives?” Lara asked, watching him waggle his eyebrows.
“No! Well, isn’t that a grand thing. There bein’ so many O’Sheas in these parts, I’ve no doubt ye’ll find your people, sir,” the cook said as she set the bacon to fry.
“I’ve decided to help him, but I have no clue where to start.”
Una sent her a casual glance and began to crack eggs into a cream colored ceramic bowl with blue stripes painted around the middle. “Och, that’s easy. Start with the churches. They’ve records of all the births, deaths and marriages for centuries back.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Lara said, exchanging a surprised look with Conn.
“’Tis as well ye have me to advise ye then.”
“Yes, it is. Thank you, Una. Can you suggest which church or churches to begin with?”
“Mmm, I should think St. Mary’s would be the best place to start. That’s the grand cathedral in Killarney.” Whipping the eggs vigorously, she added, “’Tis on New Street as I recall, but if ye have trouble findin’ it, just ask anyone ye meet. They’ll know where i’tis.”
