Wild Irish Rebel

by O'Malley, Tricia

"No, it's not. You've put your trust in me and I violated that by allowing this to happen here. I'm so sorry, Aislinn." Her lips trembled as she looked at her employer.

  "It's not like I found you stealing from the cash register, Morgan. Trust me, I've done way worse here. Hey, Patrick," Aislinn said, giving Patrick an easy smile, turning her head between the two.

  "Aislinn," Patrick said stiffly, his eyes on Morgan.

  Morgan turned to him, not meeting his eyes. Why couldn't he see that this was a big deal?

  "Please leave, and don't put my job in jeopardy again," Morgan said stiffly. She couldn't meet his eyes, knowing that she was hurting him, but unable to back down. She could read it all over Patrick, from the emotions he was projecting to taking a dip into his brain where he struggled to understand how someone so warm had gone so cold.

  "Morgan, that's unnecessary. This isn't a high-level government job. Ease up on the guy, would ya?" Aislinn ordered and Morgan felt shame creep through her.

  "I'm sorry, it's just that this job is really important to me," Morgan said softly.

  "And I've said you won't be losing it, haven't I?" Aislinn said sternly.

  Morgan nodded and finally faced Patrick.

  "Sorry," she said softly.

  "No problem," Patrick said. "I hope you enjoy the tea." With a brisk nod for Aislinn, he made his way from the store, embarrassment wrapped tightly around him. Morgan wanted to cry even more.

  "Hey, are you okay? What was that all about?" Aislinn moved forward and ran her hand down Morgan's arm. Morgan stifled her impulse to drop her head onto Aislinn's shoulder and lean in for a hug.

  "I just, I don't know. I didn't expect him to be here, okay? He surprised me with a cup of tea. We were supposed to just be friends," Morgan said, anger making her words come out in staccato jerks.

  "Okay…"Aislinn said, her eyes tracking across Morgan's face.

  "And, he just, he kissed me. Here, at my work. And my boss walked in. That's just…that's bad. If I lose this job and have to start over…I'd lose my apartment." Morgan's hands flew around her face as she punctuated each point, her breath coming fast, and panic winding its way around her lungs. She tried to calm herself down, knowing that paintings could start levitating any minute. "I need to step outside," she said and pushed past Aislinn to the back door.

  Outside, the afternoon sun filtered through a low cloud cover, casting a warm glow across the cozy courtyard. Morgan leaned against the back wall of the gallery, feeling the warmth from the stones seep into her back.

  "You didn't have to leave," Aislinn said from the door.

  "I was afraid paintings could go flying," Morgan said, her eyes closed as she counted to a twenty in her head and let the warmth of the sun seep into her.

  "Ah, okay."

  "Which is another reason that I shouldn't have let him kiss me in there. Anything could have happened to the paintings," Morgan said, keeping her eyes closed.

  "How so?"

  "It appears that I'm unable to control that particular ability of mine when I am being kissed," Morgan said stiffly. The sun really did feel good and was doing wonders to soothe her.

  "And you know this how?" Aislinn asked, knowing full well Morgan's history and her lack of kissing partners in the past.

  "Patrick kissed me the other night. And my pint levitated and dumped all over my lap," Morgan said morosely, rubbing her hands up her arms.

  A snort from Aislinn popped Morgan's eyes open and she turned to glare at her boss.

  Aislinn slapped her hand over her mouth, but the riot of curls shaking around her head gave away her laughter. Morgan narrowed her eyes at her boss.

  "You think this is funny?"

  "Oh, God, yes. I'm so sorry, but yes, I do," Aislinn wheezed, another undignified snort coming from her pretty nose.

  Morgan found herself relaxing. There was something about Aislinn's laughter that whispered of Morgan taking herself too seriously. She said as much to Aislinn.

  "Oh, Morgan, I know that our abilities are a huge deal. Truly, I get it. But, sometimes you just have to laugh at the awkward moments," Aislinn said. She came to lean against the wall next to Morgan, a smile still on her face.

  "It was my first kiss," Morgan said stiffly.

  "I know, I know. And, I know how you feel about it since your incident in the past," Aislinn said.

  The incident she spoke of was something that Morgan didn't care to remember. It had happened at the last foster home she'd been staying in. Things had actually been going along quite well and Morgan thought that she would be able to stay there until she finished school and maybe went on to university. Unfortunately, she'd developed a desperate crush on their oldest son, a year older than her at school. He must have discovered her diary because one day he had snuck her outside of school. Morgan rolled her eyes as she thought about how stupid she'd been. Here she'd thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, as soon as she'd closed her eyes, he'd pulled her skirt down in front of a yard full of other kids. It was stupid and immature, but the other kids' jeers and taunting had left a mark on her. Morgan had packed up her bag and left that night, hitting the road. It was the final straw in a life full of insults. She'd made it on her own ever since.

  "You know then why this job is so important to me," Morgan said.

  "I know. But you can't always live like you are on the edge. Just because everyone in your past was awful to you, doesn’t mean that everyone in your future will be."

  "I like it here. I want to stay," Morgan whispered.

  "We want you to stay. Trust me, you're doing a fantastic job. A kiss from Patrick at the store is not going to ruin that for you," Aislinn said and squeezed her arm. "Now, let's get back in there and finish those orders."

  "Yes, ma'am," Morgan said, feeling lighter. She stopped at the back door and looked up at Aislinn in the back hallway.

  "I owe him an apology, don't I?"

  "He's a good guy," Aislinn said softly before going into the gallery. Morgan's shoulders slumped as she thought about how she would apologize to Patrick. She hated emotional stuff, which is why she strayed away from relationships. Feelings get hurt, things get sticky. Best to keep it to the friends path, then. Satisfied with her decision, Morgan pushed Patrick from her mind and went to work.

  Chapter Nine

  Sure, and it hadn't been that big of a deal, had it? Patrick wiped down the bar again, grumbling as he worked at a particularly sticky patch. It wasn't like Aislinn was going to fire the best thing that had happened to the gallery. Patrick shot a stormy glare at a regular who requested another pint.

  "I'll get to it when I get to it," he said stiffly and then cursed himself as the regular's smile fell from his face.

  "I've got you," Cait called and Patrick felt his back go up as his 8-months-pregnant boss eased under the pass-through of the bar and began to build a pint for the regular, chatting easily about the weather all the while. Cait shot Patrick a glare and Patrick returned it with his own.

  "I'll be in the stockroom," he said, slipping past her and ducking under the pass-through. It was still early enough in the day that she could handle the few customers that ranged along the worn wood bar. Patrick would take his temper out with some manual labor.

  An hour later, he surveyed his work. Not only had he unloaded all of the new inventory, but he'd reorganized the entire set of liquor shelves by type of liquor, and then in alphabetical order in their sections. With a nod, he turned to leave and jumped to see his pregnant boss standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her impressive belly.

  "You work your mad off yet?" Cait asked, shooting him a glare.

  "I'm fine," Patrick said, meeting her gaze.

  Cait sighed and rubbed her belly, and Patrick immediately felt guilty for leaving her to tend bar.

  "Let's get you off your feet. I'm sorry," Patrick said.

  Cait waved him away.

  "I'm fine. Though I'm happy with the organizing you've done in here, I've rarely seen you so upset. What
gives?"

  Patrick folded his arms across his chest and debated how much to tell Cait. Though he knew she could read his mind, he wasn't sure how much of his situation he should tell her or how embarrassed Morgan would be if she knew that he was repeating stuff back to Cait.

  Cait sighed. "I know it's about Morgan. I'll hear it one way or the other, so you might as well tell me."

  "I stopped by the gallery today to bring her a tea. I kissed her. Aislinn walked in. Morgan freaked out at me for putting her job in jeopardy. I left. End of story." Patrick bit out the words as he clenched his fists, furious at himself for not sticking to the "just friends" agreement.

  "Oh, well then," Cait said.

  "I mean…like Aislinn would fire her. Come on," Patrick scoffed and paced the small room. He was beginning to wonder why he was even mooning after this girl. At this rate, it would take him years to get close to her.

  "No, I don't suppose that Aislinn would at that," Cait agreed. "Just…be gentle with her, okay? She's not like your regular girls."

  Patrick rounded on her.

  "So everyone keeps saying and yet nobody will really tell me what's so different about her," Patrick seethed.

  "She had a rough upbringing. You know this. It has to come from her, not us. Now either you decide to be patient with her and stick it out, or get over her, move on, and get the heck out of my storeroom," Cait ordered and turned, slamming the door, leaving him alone in the storeroom.

  Patrick threw up his hands. "I've had it with moody women today," he shouted through the door.

  "I heard that!" Cait called to him and Patrick winced.

  Chapter Ten

  "Why don't we call it a day?" Aislinn said a little while later.

  "But, we still have another two hours…" Morgan protested.

  "I know. I'd like to get some painting done though and I think that you could use the break. You know, Fiona mentioned needing some help with a few tonics that she was making," Aislinn said, keeping her eyes trained on the prints that she was stacking by the window.

  "You too?" Morgan asked. What was with everyone pushing her to go see Fiona?

  "It's a nice day for a drive," Aislinn said easily.

  "I can't just drive up there and surprise her," Morgan protested, feeling like her last excuse for hiding from Fiona was slipping away.

  "Sure and you don't think that you can actually surprise Fiona, do you? That woman knows everything," Aislinn grumbled.

  Morgan threw up her hands, frustrated with everything today, and snagged her purse. "Fine, I'll go see Fiona. Happy?"

  "Sure and she'll love the help," Aislinn sang after her and Morgan rolled her eyes as she stepped into the courtyard. Her rusty old van was parked by the fence. The door groaned when she opened it, stepping up to situate herself on the cracked leather seat. A rosary hung around the rearview mirror though why Morgan kept it there after what the nuns had done to her was beyond her. She supposed there was a small part of her that still believed in some sort of otherworldly presence…be it the Catholic God or not. Some nights, when things had been really tough, she would take the rosary down and run the smooth wood beads between her fingers while she tried to sleep in the back of the van and pretend like everything was going to work out just fine.

  She supposed it had worked out so far.

  Something in the engine squealed its protest as Morgan started the van and she waited a few minutes until the motor chugged to life. She knew that she would probably look at more reliable transportation, but this van had been the first home she could call her own and Morgan was reluctant to part with it.

  The day played through her mind as her van lumbered down the road leading out of the village and along the cliffs that jutted so proudly from the sea. Aislinn was right, it was a beautiful day for a drive. The warm light from the sun kissed the jagged edges of the cliffs and the sea gleamed a bright turquoise that begged for people to swim in it.

  Morgan had learned long ago not to be fooled by the whimsy of the water. It was still too early in the season for a true swim, though she loved watching tourists squeal in shock when they jumped in this time of year.

  She nibbled at her bottom lip as the events of the day caught up with her. After a session with Baird, she always felt a little emotionally depleted, as though a wound that was healing kept reopening. Though Morgan knew it was part of the process, it often left her on edge for the rest of the day. The situation with Patrick had just topped off the emotional upheaval that she could handle for the day.

  So what was she doing driving out to see Fiona? Morgan shook her head at herself. Maybe she was just a glutton for punishment.

  Or maybe she just had nowhere else to turn.

  A weathered sign tucked in a low stone wall indicated the turn for Fiona's lane and Morgan took it, bumping slowly up a gravel road as she approached a pretty gray cottage. Cheerful flowers were tucked in window boxes even though it was a bit early in the spring for them. It spoke of home and welcoming.

  Her eyes trained on the cottage, Morgan turned off the engine, and pulled the key from the ignition, tucking it in her sun visor. She stared at the front door as she got out of the van and stood there, not knowing what to do. On a sigh, Morgan turned and for the first time, she saw the view.

  It was like a punch to the gut. So raw, so stunning, that Morgan could understand the need for isolation. And yet, she'd never be lonely here. There was so much to see. Acres of green meadows rolled away from the cottage before falling off the edge of steep cliffs that thrust arrogantly into the sky. It was as though she stood at the edge of the world, and anything and everything was possible.

  Mist clouded her eyes and Morgan pinched herself, surprised to find that tears were welling up. A bark startled her and she turned as sixty pounds of fur and slobber bounded around the corner and skidded to a halt in front of her feet.

  "Oh, aren't you just a darling?" Morgan choked out, swiping the backs of her hands against her eyes. Helpless not to, she crouched and wrapped her arms around the dog. When he stayed still and turned to lick her face, something cracked inside Morgan.

  Tears poured from her as she pressed her face into his soft fur, hugging the dog as though her life depended on it. Morgan didn't know what she was crying for. It was as though everything had come to a head in her life, both good and bad, and she had no idea how to handle people's expectations of her. Or even her own expectations of her. A part of Morgan was tempted to hop in her van and move on, living the life of a transient, never having to form bonds or deal with messy emotional entanglements.

  "Thanks, buddy," Morgan whispered to the dog as he continued to swipe his rough tongue across her cheeks, cleaning her tears.

  "Ronan's a good shoulder to cry on."

  Morgan's shoulders tensed at the voice and straightening she turned to see Fiona leaning against the cottage. The old woman wore an oversized men's button-down shirt, work pants, and had a straw hat on her head with a cheerful flower tucked in the brim.

  "Perhaps I should get a dog then," Morgan said stiffly and stroked Ronan's soft ears.

  "Perhaps you should," Fiona agreed, "though that would require you to form an attachment, you know."

  Morgan rolled her eyes at Fiona and sighed.

  "Sorry to bother you, Fiona; Aislinn suggested that you might need help with some tonics so I drove out here."

  "Is that why? Hmm," Fiona said, her warm eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile.

  Morgan shrugged, feeling helplessly uncomfortable and not sure how to proceed.

  "Well, come along then, I've got some bread just out of the oven for you and a nice stew."

  So, Aislinn was right. The old woman did know everything.

  "Can Ronan come inside?"

  Fiona laughed and opened the door; Ronan raced inside and did several circles in the corner before he settled onto a pile of blankets with a bone.

  "He's been a lovely companion for me," Fiona murmured as she stepped inside, motioning for Morga
n to follow.

  The cottage was essentially one large room, with two doors off of it leading to what Morgan presumed were bedrooms. It was larger inside than she had originally taken it for. The piece de resistance was a long wood farm table that dominated the middle of the room; it seemed to beckon to her to come sit. Long shelves lined the walls behind it and were cluttered with every size bottle imaginable, all labeled in a delicate script. Tall windows lined the wall to her left, leaving an uninterrupted view of the sea. To her right, a little alcove jutted off where a wood-burning stove and a few chairs were tucked. A few books were stacked next to the chair and Morgan imagined it made for a cozy reading nook.

  "Tea? Whiskey?" Fiona asked, turning from the counter where she was slicing a loaf of brown bread. Steam rose from the bread and Morgan's mouth watered. There was nothing quite like a fresh loaf of Irish brown bread, she thought.

  "Tea, please, though the whiskey is tempting," Morgan admitted.

  "Tea it is, then. Go ahead, have a seat," Fiona instructed and Morgan moved to the long table and sat, looking at the pile of herbs and twine that covered the table.

  "What are you making?"

  "Ah, just drying some herbs for some creams. I've yet to get started on my tonics. Most likely I'll be doing those by moonlight."

  "Why?" Morgan asked, looking up at Fiona.

  "A touch of magick, of course," Fiona said with a smile and placed an earthenware bowl of stew in front of Morgan along with a napkin-lined basket of brown bread. She followed it up with a crock of butter and a sparkling glass of iced tea. Morgan was in heaven.

  "Go on, eat. I don't have enough people enjoying my cooking these days," Fiona ordered and Morgan did as she was told, grateful for a reprieve in the conversation. She wasn't going to touch Fiona's comment about magick with a ten-foot pole, she thought. Fiona chuckled from across the room and Morgan raised an eyebrow at her.

  The old woman moved with a grace that belied her years as she poured herself a dash of Irish and then brought her own bowl of stew to the table. Easing herself into her seat, she eyed Morgan across the table.