Take Me Home KO PL

by Barbara Freethy

  Ian didn't say anything as the waitress set down their beers. He wasn't really sure what to say. Scientific discovery and a personal life didn't always go together. He'd had trouble maintaining any kind of relationship the past few years. He'd always put his work first. He kept telling himself there was plenty of time, but maybe that's what Seamus had told himself, too.

  "This was my family," Seamus said, taking a folded photo out of his wallet. "The picture was taken right before my wife left. My daughters, Jillian and Grace were nineteen and seventeen at the time."

  Ian took the picture, noting the family resemblance among the three women, all beautiful redheads. Seamus's youngest daughter Grace was particularly stunning. Her green eyes looked straight at him, and there was something in her expression that made him feel as if she wanted him to know something. What a crazy thought that was.

  He handed the photo back to Seamus, feeling oddly unsettled. "Have you reached out to your family? Maybe they'd like to reconnect with you."

  "I don't know if I should try again. The first few years I attempted to keep in touch with my daughters, but my letters were returned unanswered. I'm not even sure where they are anymore." He held up a hand. "And, yes, I know I could find them, but the last few years I've been working with some highly classified stealth technology, and to be honest, I felt better not having to worry about them. Sometimes what we do, our discoveries, are not used the way we intended. To be honest, that was another reason I quit. I don't like being used."

  There was a hardness, a cynicism, in Seamus's voice now, and Ian couldn't help wondering what the hell had happened.

  "Anyway, enough about me," Seamus added. "Eleanor wanted me to tell you about your great-grandfather."

  "Actually, I think her main goal was for us to meet," he said dryly.

  "So that you could see where your path might lead," Seamus said with a nod. "I thought as much."

  Listening to Seamus's regrets had made him realize that his grandmother was worried about him following the same path. He had been going after his goals with obsessive passion, but he was thirty-two years old and single. He wasn't abandoning a family. On the other hand, he was nowhere close to actually making a family with anyone, and that was probably what his grandmother was worried about.

  "Let me be the cautionary tale then," Seamus continued. "Your work will be important. You'll help many people, but don't forget to live your life, too. It won't be easy, but from what I understand you're brilliant, so I'm sure you can find a way."

  "Says a man whose brain power far surpasses mine."

  "Not when it comes to women. In that regard, I've been quite dense and far too stubborn."

  Ian raised his glass to Seamus. "I can drink to that." He took a sip of his beer, then said, "If I could return the favor and give you a piece of advice, it would be to reach out to your family, to your daughters. I have three sisters and a lot of female relatives, and I can tell you that when it comes to family, they're always there. But you have to give them a chance."

  "You might be right." Seamus sat back as the waitress brought their food.

  "This looks good," Ian said, picking up his fork.

  "I hope you enjoy it."

  "I'm sure I will. While we're eating, I'd love to hear how your career got started, if you feel like sharing."

  "What scientist doesn't want to talk about his discoveries?" Seamus asked with a laugh. "Of course I'll tell you, and then you'll tell me why your grandmother is so worried about you."

  "I wouldn't say she's worried."

  Seamus laughed. "She sent you to Ireland to see me. Trust me, she's worried."

  * * *

  "I am not going to dance," Burke said as he and Maddie watched a trio of dancers perform an Irish step dance at the local dance studio.

  "I think you are," she said with a laugh. She held up the latest clue they'd gotten on their treasure hunt around Kenmare. "It says you have to dance with the trio for one minute before you get your next clue."

  He shook his head. "No way. I have watched a bunch of women make lace. I have milked cows, planted potatoes and I drank whisky out of an old still called poitin that I'm still feeling the effects from. I cannot dance. I have to draw the line somewhere. This treasure hunt is crazy. I think we've done enough."

  "Are you finished complaining?" Maddie asked with an arch of her eyebrow. "Because we both know that when you commit to doing something, you don't quit in the middle. And as brave and courageous as you may be, there's no way you're going to disappoint your grandmother. So suck it up and follow me to the stage."

  "I really hate it when you're right," he muttered.

  "And I'm so often right," she said with a laugh, taking his hand. "Now let's see you do a little Irish jig."

  "Fine," he said with a sigh. "I can dance for a minute."

  "You can. Think of all the trouble your grandmother went to in order to set up these clues. She must have had some help, don't you think? Do you suppose your grandfather helped her do it?"

  "Maybe. Or she just used her friends here in Ireland, more likely. She hasn't lived in this village in over sixty years, but a lot of people still remember her."

  "They remember her joy of life," Maddie reminded him. "I think she wants you to find that same joy."

  "I have to admit I haven't thought about my hand in a while—well, except when I was milking that cow with one hand. She got pissed and tried to kick me in the head."

  Maddie laughed. "But you survived. Being at the farm was very cool. Life was a lot different when your grandmother was a little girl. They had to work so hard for simple things—things we take for granted."

  "Very true," he thought, thinking back to the feel of the soil on his hands as he'd planted potatoes. His grandmother had wanted him to have some of the experiences she'd had and while what they'd done had been set up for tourists, it had been interesting to catch a glimpse of her life.

  "They're ready for us," Maddie said, as one of the men motioned them to the stage.

  Burke drew in a breath. "All right, but I warn you that dancing is not my thing."

  She gave him a teasing smile. "You've got moves. Just relax and let yourself go. You don't have to be perfect at everything you do, which is I think one of the things your grandmother wants you to discover."

  They moved up to the stage and met Tom, Nell, and Jodie, who showed them some steps and then started the music.

  Burke felt incredibly awkward trying to find the rhythm, but after some missteps and stops and starts, he began to enjoy the sharp staccato of the steps. Irish dancing was definite and purposeful, and he could relate to that. The Irish dancer took charge of the stage, commanded attention. Soon, he was feeling the rhythm, his Irish roots, a sense of history and community.

  He was only supposed to dance for one minute, but it was almost thirty minutes later when they stopped dancing and received a note from Tom sending them onto the next stop in their treasure hunt.

  "That was fun," Maddie said a little breathlessly as they left the stage. "You were amazing."

  "I was better than I thought," he admitted, pausing in the aisle.

  "And it was more fun than you expected?"

  "Yes, it was. I don't know what came over me. It was almost an out-of-body experience. It was like my Irish blood just leapt into action at the sound of the music."

  "You definitely caught the rhythm before I did. So where are we headed now? I'm thinking maybe some tasty Irish stew or fish and chips at the pub would be good about now."

  "No such luck."

  "So where are we going?"

  He read the instructions aloud. "For the next part of your adventure, you're not only going to have fun, you'll have to run. Drive to Kaleah Beach. Park in the lot and open the trunk. You'll find your next clue. Don't peek."

  "It's going to be hard for you not to look in that trunk," Maddie said with a knowing gleam in her eyes.

  "I have some discipline. It looks like we're going to get some exercise."


  "I'm not really dressed for running."

  "Too bad. We're in this together. And since we're going to the beach, my guess is we're going to be running on the sand, so bare feet will do."

  "I guess. Before we leave, let's take a picture." She snapped a photo of them with the stage and dancers in the background. "Your grandmother is going to be so happy to get these."

  "I hope she'll get to see them and enjoy them. I just never know when a good day is going to be the last good day."

  Maddie's gaze darkened. "I know." She put her arm through his. "But she wanted today to be good for you, so let's concentrate on that."

  As they walked out of the theater, he said, "I didn't realize that Grandma knew how upset I was about my hand and how uncertain I am about the future. I guess she sees more than I think."

  "When she's with it, she's pretty insightful. I'm sure your parents have talked to her about it, too. They're all very close."

  "I don't want everyone to worry about me, Maddie. This is my thing. It doesn't concern anyone else."

  Her gaze softened. "Of course it does. Your family loves you. I love you. With love comes concern. Don't try to fight it, because you won't win. We all worry about the people we love the most, you included."

  "I do worry about you," he said, words coming out of his mouth that he hadn't intended to say but now couldn't seem to stop. "I worry about the kind of life we'll have if I can't be a firefighter anymore."

  She looked at him in surprise. "Do you honestly think I'm concerned about whether you can provide for me? Have I ever been about money, Burke?"

  "No, but you're opening a restaurant in a few months, and I want you to have your dream, and that dream will take money."

  "I'll find the money, or I'll change the dream. You matter more to me than any restaurant. I want you to get well and go back to firefighting because you love it, not because I'm worried about losing your salary. I thought you knew me better than that."

  He did know her better than that. "I'm sorry."

  "You should be. I don't love Burke the firefighter; I love you. Your work is what you do, not who you are."

  "It hasn't been that way for me, Maddie. And it's not that way for most firefighters. It's a life, not a job. And it has to be that way because every call we go on could be our last. It's what we sign up for. We're willing to take the risk, because it's who we are and what we do."

  She took her hand in his. "I understand that, Burke. It's not like you push paper around. You save lives, and you're a hero every single day. But heroes don't just run into burning buildings." She paused, looking deep into his eyes. "You'll be a hero no matter what you do. You will always make a difference. That I know for sure."

  "I don't know how I would…"

  "You don't have to know right now. You may never have to know. But I have no doubts."

  The depth of love and truth in her eyes made his gut tighten. "I know something for sure, too, Maddie. As long as I have you in my life, I have all I really need. Anything else is just icing. You're the cake."

  Her eyes blurred with tears. "I love being the cake. I wouldn't mind eating some cake, too. I'm starving."

  He laughed. "Let's do the beach thing, and then we'll take a break and find somewhere to eat. Surely, this treasure hunt is almost over anyway."

  "What do you think we're going to find at the end?"

  "I have no idea."

  Six

  Emma opened the door to the small church and stepped inside. There was a center aisle leading up to the altar, with ten pews on either side. Sunlight filtered through the dozen stained-glass windows that ran around the interior of the chapel. It was probably the smallest church she'd ever been in and yet it felt very sacred. She couldn't quite explain it.

  "It's beautiful," she whispered.

  Max nodded. "This is where your great-grandparents got married?"

  "That's what Maeve told me. It's probably where my grandmother was baptized, too. It feels old."

  "Everything in Ireland feels old," Max said.

  She met his gaze. "I know, right? I'm not a Rafferty or a Callaway. I'm not even sure where my bio father's family came from—somewhere in England, I think—but here I feel very Irish."

  "I do, too, and I'm only about ten percent Irish. The rest is French and English and I think some Portuguese."

  "You're a mutt, babe," she said with a laugh.

  He grinned back at her. "No pedigree for me, that's for sure."

  "Me, either, but today we'll be Irish."

  A side door opened, followed by footsteps, and then an older white-haired man wearing black pants, a black shirt, and a priestly collar stepped into the church.

  "Hello," he said with a friendly smile, a thick Irish brogue added to the simple word. "Can I help you?"

  "We're just looking around. I'm Emma. This is my husband, Max. My grandmother, Eleanor Rafferty, grew up down the street. Maeve said we should come and visit the church, that it was one of my grandmother's favorite places."

  "You're Ellie's granddaughter? I heard she had family coming to town. I'm Stuart Flanders. Your grandmother used to watch over me and my sisters when we were little and our parents would get together with her parents. She had the best imagination of anyone I knew. When she came to sit with us, we always had a good time. We'd make forts out of chairs and tables or make a tent with my mother's fine linens. She was never too happy about that."

  "My grandmother used to make forts with me and my siblings when we were little, too," Emma said. "She'd tell us the scariest ghost stories. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night, and my mother would always tell her to stop scaring us, but she just couldn't help herself."

  "How is she? I heard she was ill."

  "She's hanging in there. She wanted to come with us, but she didn't feel up to making the trip, so I came with a brother and a cousin." She paused. "Would you mind if I take a photo with you? I know my grandmother would love to see us together."

  "Of course not."

  Emma handed Max her phone, and he took a picture of her and Father Flanders. "Thanks."

  "So, which of Ellie's children do you belong to?"

  "Jack," she said.

  "Her oldest," Father Flanders said with a nod. "I remember him. She brought him and some of her other kids back for her father's funeral. We had it right here."

  She looked around the church. "It's so strange to think of all the events in my family that happened here: weddings, funerals, baptisms. There's a lot of history in these walls. I wish they could talk."

  He smiled. "You'll find many people in Kenmare willing to talk; you don't need these walls. Just stop in at the pub and have Michael pour you a Guinness, and you'll soon hear a story about someone named Rafferty."

  "I will do that," she said. "I can't imagine what it was like to grow up in such a small, tight-knit village. Everyone knows everyone."

  "We all look out for each other. It makes my job easier. I don't have to urge people to care; they do care. Sometimes they meddle, but always out of love."

  "Probably why my grandmother is meddling now," she said with a laugh. "She gave me a set itinerary of what to do today and sent my brother and cousin off on adventures particular to them. I'm not exactly sure what her overall plan is, but I know there is one."

  "You're the police detective, right?" Father Flanders asked.

  "Actually, that's Max," she said, putting her hand in her husband's. "I'm a fire investigator."

  "Oh, of course. You both solve puzzles though, don't you?"

  "We do."

  "And Emma loves a good puzzle," Max added.

  "Maeve is hoping you might be able to help her find her great-granddaughter's father. Did she tell you that?"

  "She did," Emma said, her stomach tightening at the mention of Shannon.

  "Shannon is a sweetheart of a child. Pretty, imaginative, bold, funny, but, oh, so lonely. She needs parents, young ones to guide her and to play with her and to love her. Maeve and Ailee
n try their best, but their time is passing. We've been looking for someone here in the village to take Shannon in, but times have been hard in recent years. A lot of the younger families have moved to the cities to find more work."

  "I told Maeve we'd try to find Shannon's father for her, but I guess she's concerned he may not be a good person."

  "She worries about that. But she also doesn't want to leave Shannon with strangers. It's a difficult situation. We've prayed together many times about it. We asked God to send us an answer." He paused. "I hope you can help her, help them both."

  A tingle ran down her spine. She felt as if Father Flanders wanted her to do more than just find Shannon's father, but that was a crazy thought.

  "It was nice to meet you," Father Flanders added.

  "You, too."

  "Stay as long as you like."

  "Thanks."

  As the priest left the church, she looked back at Max and saw an odd look in his eyes.

  "What?" she asked.

  He started to open his mouth, then shrugged. "Nothing."

  "He got to you, too," she said knowingly. "Father Flanders made it sound like they'd prayed for a miracle, and we were it."

  "Because we have the resources to find Shannon's father," he said evenly.

  "Or, maybe…"

  "Emma, don't get carried away."

  She met his gaze. "Am I doing that? Or am I just listening to all the voices around us?"

  "I'm not hearing any voices."

  "Really? Because I feel like there's a chorus going on in here from all the people who came before me, and I know that is just as ridiculous as anything I've said, because I don't even share Grandma's bloodline. But I still feel them around me."

  "You need some air. Let's go outside."

  She sighed. "You're right. I do need some air." As they walked out of the church, she added, "I'm glad you're here, Max. You're my anchor."

  He frowned and stopped on the steps. "I want to be there for you, Em, but I don't want to hold you down. I don't want you to think of me as the person who stops you from going after things."