by Carolan Ivey
The lush, passionate canvas on the block at the moment nearly took her breath away, she who never lost her breath over anything that didn’t have a dollar sign sitting in front of it.
Steady, girl. Don’t be going soft, now.
The door next to her eased open, and a dark-haired man slipped quietly through it, catching it before it clicked shut behind him. The moment his grey-eyed gaze found the painting at the front of the room, an eyebrow went up in appreciation and he switched his numbered auction paddle to his right hand.
Good. I hope your wallet is as big as I think your package is, she thought, letting her approving gaze pass over his custom-tailored grey slacks and crisp white shirt.
She snagged a champagne glass from a passing waiter and watched the man out of the corner of her eye. He bid unobtrusively, without hesitation, seeming to have an almost telepathic connection with the auctioneer.
Kemberlee had hand-picked the auctioneer herself for his uncanny ability to sniff out the bidders who had the real money. This guy, whoever he was, had it in spades.
Yep, eating regularly was looking real good this year.
She turned to the far back corner of the room, caught Beith’s eye, and gave her two thumbs up.
Beith, sitting in a folding chair, chicly dressed in black and her hair pulled back smoothly from her disgustingly make-up free face, smiled back and raised her own champagne glass. Then her gaze moved past Kem, and her expression went blank.
Abruptly she set her glass down on the floor, bolted out of the chair and left the room.
Kemberlee, brow furrowed, set her own glass on a table and went after her friend. Just as she reached for the door, the gavel smacked down and the auctioneer declared the work sold to a Declan O’Neill.
Declan O’Neill?
Kem did an about-face, but the man was striding through the door, mobile phone to his ear. Making a frustrated sound, she about-faced again and went after Beith.
She found Beith in the interior courtyard, staring a small water fountain tucked in between some towering potted plants. She moved to stand beside her friend and client, reached into her handbag and brought out a small silver flask. Unscrewing the top, she offered it to Beith.
Beith’s eyes, which weren’t really seeing the fountain, shifted at the flash of silver. She snorted a breath out of her nose, accepted the flask and took a swig.
“You miss him.”
Beith shrugged and contemplated the flask in her hand, saying nothing.
“Your work is done for now.” Kemberlee poked Beith with an elbow. “Take a break. Get on a plane.”
Beith shook her head and handed the flask back to Kemberlee. “It’s been too long. He’s not the kind of guy to wait around.”
Aha. So she has been thinking about him. “You know this for a fact?”
“He’s reckless, and irresponsible, and…”
“Name one reason why you shouldn’t go to him right now.”
She threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know, Kem. How about the fact that I knew him for maybe twenty-four hours. Oh, yeah, then there’s that little thing about kidnapping me—”
“Please. Like that’s not every woman’s wet dream.”
“Almost got me killed on that motorcycle—”
“Mmm,” Kem said dreamily. “Harleys.”
“And…things happened, Kem.”
“What things?”
A long silence. “You’d think I was nuts if I told you.”
Kem leaned in, squinting at Beith. “He made you scream like a banshee, didn’t he?”
Beith blushed.
Kem pumped both fists in the air in a silent yesssss!
“Shut up.”
“The man’s brother shows up to buy your painting. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
Beith’s eyes rounded. “Declan bought it?”
“Hell yes, he did. What he paid for it will keep me in Jameson for a friggin’ decade.” She watched as a new light ignited in Beith’s eyes, then just as quickly faded.
Beith shrugged. “So maybe it’s Declan’s way of apologizing for his brother’s bad behavior”
“Shit, Beith, when did you become such an old lady?”
Beith’s mouth snapped shut.
Bull’s eye, thought Kem. She took a deep draught from the flask and took her time putting it away, planning her next words carefully.
“I think that for a little while, Kellan O’Neill made you remember who you were before the accident. The woman…” Kem ducked her head and cursed herself as her throat tightened. “My friend who was not only my partner in crime, but knows where all the bodies are buried. Hell, even helped me bury some of them.”
Beith laughed, a strangled sound.
“I miss that friend,” Kem said simply. “I want her back. And if knocking her in the head with a baseball bat and forcibly sticking her on a plane back to the man she loves is what it takes to bring her back, I’ll do it.”
If possible, Beith flushed even redder. “I don’t—”
“You can lie to me all you want, dearest. But for god’s sake, stop lying to yourself. You have all the signs of wanting that bad boy back. And can I tell you something else?”
Beith waved a hand. “Don’t hold back now, Kem.”
Want warred with caution behind Beith’s eyes, and Kem wracked her brain for the words that would give “want” the edge.
“Look. If Declan O’Neill is the kind of man who’d fly three thousand miles to buy your painting as an apology, maybe his bad-boy little brother isn’t as bad as all that. Maybe—and if you tell anyone I said this, I swear to God I’ll take out a hit on you—maybe he’s worth another chance.”
Beith shrugged a shoulder, and Kem grinned to herself. Her friend was fast running out of excuses.
Beith tilted her head, deep in thought. “Maybe I—”
“Miss Molloy.” From across the courtyard, a soft, Irish-accented male voice floated.
Both women nearly jumped out of their shoes and peered through the dim light at the figure standing in the door.
“Declan,” Beith breathed.
“May I speak with you a moment?”
Kemberlee squeezed her friend’s arm and stepped away.
Maybe she wouldn’t need that baseball bat, after all.
Beith focused on the man as he approached, then wished she hadn’t.
Declan’s smooth, athletic stride reminded her so much of Kellan, she suddenly felt as if something solid was lodged just under her breastbone. Something wild that had been stuffed down tight for four long months.
Oh yeah. Kemberlee was right. She still had it bad.
She caught sight of her friend lingering at the door, blatantly checking out Declan’s backside and fanning herself with one hand.
“Goodbye, Kemberlee.”
Kem winked and slipped out of sight.
Declan, startled look on his face, turned sideways in mid-stride, as if he didn’t want his back to the door Kem had exited. Beith couldn’t help but smile—Kem had a way of bringing out the deer-in-the-headlights in any man.
“That was Kemberlee?”
“Yes. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”
Relief relaxed his features. “My apologies, Miss Molloy. I didn’t mean to chase you away from your own celebration.” He slid his hands into his pockets, as if he wanted to offer one of them to her, but thought better of it.
Beith lifted her chin and stuck out her own hand. With a glint of respect in his eye, Declan shook it.
“Just caught me by surprise. What I should have done is thank you for buying the painting. The money’s going to a good cause.”
“You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.”
Beith crossed her arms. “For…?”
“You did what I’ve been trying to get my little brother to do for a very long time. Grow up.”
A bark of laughter escaped her before she could stop it. “I knew him less than twenty-four hours.”
�
��Whatever happened in that one day, well…” His mouth lifted in an enigmatic smile and he let the sentence drop. “But to buy your painting is not the whole reason I came.”
“Oh?”
“I’m here to offer you a job. If you’re willing to take it on, that is.”
“Uh…” It was the only sound she could make.
“Five minutes. I will consider it a favor if you just hear me out.”
For the first time, Beith noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the weary lines around his mouth. The cocksure CEO who had dealt summarily with his wayward brother in the castle kitchen was gone. The man who stood before her now looked like one who wanted a chance to make amends, but who wasn’t accustomed to coming right out and admitting he was wrong about anything.
Much like a certain Kellan O’Neill she knew.
The wild thing trapped under her breastbone stirred.
“I’m listening.”
Chapter Eight
Kel and Fionna stood back to admire the brand new lettering over the door of their office. Granted, the hole in the wall on the back streets of Galway was a bit spare, compared to the plush offices he’d shared with Declan in Dublin, but it was a start.
“The web site is up, and we’re getting calls already,” she said. “With luck, we should be solvent within a year.”
“I hope so. I have payments on a castle to make.”
“So, you’re no longer a renter, now you’re the landlord?” She poked him with her elbow.
He grinned and bumped her back. “We all have to grow up sometime.”
But the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. No smile had, not since the day Beith Molloy had walked out of his life.
A FedEx truck pulled up to the curb, brakes wheezing. The delivery man got out and opened the side door. “You Kellan O’Neill?” he called, hauling out a large, flat, rectangular crate.
“That would be me.” Kel signed for the package and peered at the return address.
“What’s this all about?” he muttered.
She helped him maneuver it through the office door and found a screwdriver to pry the crate apart. Inside it, they found something wrapped in brown paper. Kel held it while she tore the paper off.
“I believe you’d call it a peace offering,” she said. It was a canvas, an original. A flock of endangered little terns in flight over the Cliffs of Mòr. In the lower left-hand corner, small, slashing brush strokes spelled out Beith Molloy. Fionna watched Kellan’s expression with growing tenderness as his gaze devoured the painting, as if looking for something of the woman who had created it.
“Here’s a note.” She handed him an envelope that had slipped out onto the floor.
Kel opened it, and Fionna unabashedly read over his shoulder.
Every new business should have one brilliant piece of art. Makes clients think you’re respectable. Good luck. —Declan.
PS—Close your mouth and look at the back of the painting.
Kel snapped his mouth shut and tilted the canvas. A large manila envelope was taped loosely to the frame.
“What’s that?” said Fionna.
Kel opened the flap and looked inside.
For the first time in months, she saw a smile that reached his eyes.
He pulled out an x-ray film and held it up to the light. And laughed.
She peered at it. It was of a long femur bone, patched together with countless plates and screws. She gave a low whistle and stood back to watch as he angled his head to look at the Post-it note stuck on the top right corner, which he read aloud.
“Fionna told me about the alleged bullet hole in your ass. Get over here before she puts another chunk of rock salt in the other side.”
He turned to look at Fionna, who stood ready with his Harley keys dangling from her finger.
“Get out of here, ya wee chancer,” she said, silently thanking Declan for listening to reason when it came to his little brother. And the dreams that had told her that bringing Beith back into Kel’s life was the right thing to do.
Kel’s smile froze. She squashed the urge to laugh out loud. He had the look of a man caught cold between sheer joy and sheer terror.
“Where the hell am I going—and what do I say to her when I get there?”
Fionna rolled her eyes. “You, at a loss for words? That’ll never happen. And if you can’t find one wee woman, we might as well close these office doors right now.”
“But—”
Patience wearing thin, she gestured toward the painting. “Look at the evidence.”
She waited while he crouched in front of the canvas, and knew the exact instant he figured it out. Without a word, Kel grabbed her shoulders, planted a solid kiss on her cheek, snagged his keys and charged out the door.
Fionna smiled.
Kellan O’Neill would shortly have all he’d ever needed.
If he didn’t wreck his feckin’ bike on the way.
The Cailleach stretched and smiled as a familiar set of motorcycle wheels raced across her curved back.
The magic stirred, growing ever stronger as he closed the distance between himself and his love. A magic that had lain cold for a while, but sparked anew the moment the woman had made the decision to set herself free.
She shuddered, pressing the long, smooth mountains of her thighs together in anticipation of the night to come.
Smiling indulgently, she flicked one bit of fingernail casually in the direction of a speeding lorry approaching the motorcycle at a right angle from a blind curve. Its tire flattened, and the vehicle shuddered to a stop just before the Harley streaked by, missing it by mere feet.
The Hag closed her eyes and whispered to the wind, knowing it would carry her words to the right ears.
Prepare yourself, daughter. It’s your time to fly.
Kellan stood at the top of the rise, looking down past the cottage he had seen in Beith’s painting. She had obviously counted on the fact he knew this land like the back of his hand. She had been right.
She stood at the tip of the headland, her back to him, wrapped in a green ruana. The fringed edges of the garment whipped in the wind, echoing the way it lifted her hair, which was lighter than he remembered it.
She must have been spending more time out in the sun. She had been eating better too, he noted as he ran his appreciative gaze over the fuller curves of her body under the tightly wrapped shawl.
The he frowned as she leaned forward a little, letting the strong sea wind support her body. She was too close to the cliff; one wrong step would send her tumbling into the waves below. He opened his mouth to call to her, but the words died in his throat.
Best not to startle her, he reasoned. If she jumped at the sound of his voice, her bad leg might trip her up. That was the reason he’d parked his Harley on the other side of the rise. So he’d not startle her.
Yeah, he’d go with that.
He refused to consider that she might have locked her door at the sound of the Harley’s growling engine. That he might not want to see the look on her face should she catch him coming down the fells toward her. That it might be better to wait until the last moment—like ripping a plaster off quickly instead of peeling it in slow, painful increments.
He wasn’t sure what to make of the hollow sensation sitting in the pit of his stomach.
This must be what fear feels like.
He quashed the feeling, shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and stepped off down the long slope, boots swishing through the thick, tall grass.
A grazing sheep raised its wooly head to look idly at him as he strode by. He narrowed his eyes at it.
“What are you lookin’ at?”
The sheep belched and went back to grazing.
Beith leaned into the cold October wind as it bit at her ears and carried a faint whisper to the back of her mind. She let a smile lift the corners of her mouth.
I hear you, Old One.
A delicious shiver ran over her skin, and it had nothing to d
o with the chilly air. The scent of the ocean, crashing far below at the base of the cliff, seemed to fill her entire body. She drank it in and sighed deeply. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to the late afternoon sun, which held little warmth, but lit the back of her eyelids with red and gold.
Without looking, she knew the thatched-roof cottage behind her would be glowing like a dollop of new snow on the still-green slope, so bright as to hurt the eyes. She knew, because in the short week since she’d rented the place, she’d photographed and painted it as it stood bathed in all kinds of light. Even at this time of year, Ireland was rich with colors she could find nowhere else.
If Kellan never showed up—and there was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t—she wouldn’t regret a thing. Not her decision to return here, and not the short time she had spent with him. She curled her toes toward the earth and silently thanked the Cailleach for the magic that had brought them together. Those electric twenty-four hours in his arms had stimulated more healing within her body and soul than an army of therapists could have achieved.
Her bones were stronger. She was stronger.
If she was lucky, she might get another session. If not, she would live.
Oh yes, she would live.
In her next breath, the hard wind supporting her body abruptly died. Her eyes flew open and Great Blaskett Island reeled past her eyes as she lurched forward. Intellectually she knew she had a good six feet of solid ground between her feet and the cliff’s edge, but still her heart rocketed into her throat.
What felt like two hot bands of steel coiled around her body and pulled her backward. She heard a muttered “Whoops” and the world tilted again. His scent—remembered, cherished—enveloped her, augmented now with the rich aroma of a leather jacket.
Laughter bubbled up in her throat before the two of them even hit the ground.
“Oof!” Kel grunted as he sat up, one arm still around her and the other hand rubbing his stomach. “You’re not nearly as portable as you used to be.”
“Now there’s a fine greeting after all this time.” She leaned back on his supporting arm, her gaze devouring his face. The north-star dimple on one side of his mouth was the same, as was the sparkle in his eye. But the devil-may-care air he’d always carried about him had been subdued by a steady, quiet confidence. Her mouth watered.
