She shook her head. “Thanks. However, if I ever open my own business, I’ll do it on my own.” She gazed at him for a moment to make sure he understood, and then glanced at her watch. “Doesn’t your gig begin at ten o’clock?”
“There’ll be no guitar playing at The Ground Café this evening.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss on her hair. “The guitarist had a much more important engagement tonight rescuing a damsel in distress.”
Later on at her flat, after Seamus was settled on her couch, Clara went to her bedroom and dressed for bed. She tried to sleep. Instead, she stayed awake for hours listening to the rain drumming against her bedroom window. Despite her best efforts, the frightening image of her ex haunted her. Jack was supposed to be behind bars. He wasn’t. And because he wasn’t, her life had veered madly off course.
The hours passed and her thoughts swirled. Why was Jack in Farthing?
There’re some scores needing settling.
That same gut-wrenching slice of fear she’d felt earlier fairly hissed through the air.
She sat upright and slapped a hand on her forehead. Revenge. Of course. Jack wanted revenge, the man who had once-upon-a-time professed undying love. Now she knew better. He’d been professing a controlling, selfish love. Looking back, she realized that his declarations were an elaborate scheme to exert a tight hold over her.
Clara furiously plumped her pillow before abandoning sleep altogether. This situation with Jack was all her fault. How could she have been so thoroughly blind and gullible when the signs of his brutal and controlling nature were evident early on? She longed to retrogress and give that Clara from two years ago a hard shake. Why hadn’t she seen what was so evident to everyone else?
The moon was high overhead when Clara came to an irrevocable decision. She’d created her own twisted, difficult mess, despite her family’s warnings, and she’d be the one to rid herself of Jack for good. She’d ask about his whereabouts on the streets until someone led her to him. She knew his old hangouts. She’d start there.
And then, once she found him … then, what?
She took in a long breath, blew it out slowly. And then she’d order him to leave town. Surely he’d listen to reason when she reminded him about the restraining order. Violating that alone could send him back to prison for a long time.
Danny, on the other hand, relied on the garda. Although she appreciated his offer to help, he lived in a different, high-class Dublin world, far removed from the everyday life of common Irish folk. He didn’t understand the cold, calculated life of the streets. And if he’d once been there, he’d banished that existence a long time ago.
She swung her feet to the floor and padded to the window. The rain had stopped. She drew aside her lace curtains and peered at the empty, quiet streets.
Except the streets weren’t empty nor quiet because a hulking man, illuminated by a full moon, stood by the stone wall across from her flat.
Her breath hitched. The space in her bedroom filled her ears with a dull roar.
The figure moved, and she blinked for a second, disbelieving.
She rubbed her eyes and drew the lace curtains together. Her blood thrummed in her ears. She flew to her bedroom door and flung it open, fully intending to shout for Seamus.
His thunderous snores resounded from the living room couch, stopping her short.
She withdrew to her bedroom. Without making a sound, she closed the door. She wouldn’t wake him. Her dear brother had endured too many hardships already.
She went to the window and slowly drew back the curtains again, scanning the street for signs of movement. The sidewalk was bathed in the light of a clear moon. There was no man, not even his shadow.
She ran her hands through her hair and shook the tension from her neck. Clearly, she was becoming a raving lunatic. She was supposed to be moving forward in her life.
She sat on the edge of her bed and regarded her pale, thin face in her full-length mirror. Should she ring Danny and let him know?
And let him know what, exactly? That she’d imagined the hulking shadow of a man lurking in the dark streets near the stone wall across from her flat?
Adamantly, she shook her head. No, absolutely not.
You promised, a nagging voice reminded. Danny was there for you tonight when you needed him.
I didn’t see anyone for certain, she sternly prompted herself. Why get Danny all nettled up for nothing? Her mother had lectured her once on the wisdom of silence, quoting a traditional Irish proverb: Melodious is the closed mouth.
There was no disputing the fact that Danny Brady had extended himself for her and her family. He’d established a flourishing business and managed a stunning number of coffee shops and staff. Nevertheless, without a blink of hesitation, for the past three days, he put her catastrophes above his endless responsibilities.
More important, he was caring. And intelligent. He’d said little about his family, off-handedly mentioning a brother and sister who lived in Dublin, as well as his parents and young sister, unexpectedly deceased. He’d kept his features carefully neutral while he’d spoken of them.
And then there was Danny, the musician. He’d framed clever, funny lyrics to his song, all geared to asking her out on a date to Dublin while diverting her attention from the upsetting events of the evening. Considering his jam-packed schedule, he hardly had enough time to devote to his coffee shops, let alone his music. However, despite his busyness, he’d treated her as if she were the most important person in the world.
She climbed into bed, mulled her thoughts around. There was definitely more to the man than she’d realized when she’d first met him at the bottom of Farthing Bridge.
So she’d go with him to Dublin. Someday, she’d look back on her date with one of the most eligible, famous bachelors in all Ireland and shake her head in disbelief. He wouldn’t be in Farthing long, so she might as well enjoy his consideration and attention.
She stared stiffly at the ceiling as unexpected tears welled. Why did the thought of him leaving create such an unexpected emptiness in her heart?
She yanked her night shirt to her ankles and brushed away her tears. She could scarcely understand herself anymore, let alone a successful, fetching Irishman with sharp cheekbones set off by eyes the color of a cloudless spring day.
She reminded herself that he was hardly a saint. He’d begun their relationship by choosing to keep his identity a secret from her. Sure, she’d been furious when the truth had been revealed. However, he was also the same man who made her laugh out loud at his teasing banter. And she hadn’t laughed, truly laughed, in a long time. And it felt so good.
Will you accompany me? I’m hoping you’ll consent. His eyes had sparked with devilish gleam as he sang that, before lingering on her lips.
There was no use in waffling. He wanted to be with her and, in truth, she enjoyed spending time with him. He’d chosen his life’s course as she’d chosen hers. So what if they were different? In the short time she’d known him, she’d come to believe in his honesty and integrity.
I will protect you, luv.
His lips had moved tenderly on hers.
Aye, he desired her, though if the tabloids were accurate, he desired many women. And she’d be the biggest fool this side of Sunday if she believed he cared. She was simply a diversion while he established his thriving coffee business in her economically depressed town. Still, no one could fault his generosity, earnest spirit, or easy smile.
She moved her musings ahead to Sunday. Perhaps he’d end their day together in Dublin with another kiss. Perhaps he’d write a love song for her.
She sank against the pillows and smiled. There was absolutely no substitute for a road trip to Dublin with a heartbreakingly handsome musician.
Chapter Nine
All week, artfully-arranged bouquets of light-pink roses had been waiting at the doorstep of Clara’s flat when she came home from work. One dozen roses. Every evening. She’d asked Danny why he’d chosen the lighter s
hade, and he’d responded that a light pink rose meant admiration.
“Do you like them?” he’d asked.
“I love them. The fragrance is exquisite.” She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, nor sound unappreciative by adding that one bouquet of a dozen roses would have been more than enough. Seven dozen was a bit extreme.
Her flat was beginning to smell like a florist shop, until Anna volunteered to help Clara disperse the flowers to a hospital in town.
The cards attached to the bouquets were always written in Danny’s confident scroll:
“So glad I’m in Farthing, luv,” one had read. “Ring me as soon as you read this so I know you’ve arrived home safely from work. Your favorite barista, DB.”
Their week together had been delightful, save for one ongoing disagreement. Danny had mentioned, much too casually at dinner that first evening, after he’d rescued her from Jack, that Ian would be escorting her to and from work each day. Ian was pleasant and loyal, Danny said, an asset to Danny’s company, but he needed more to do and—
She’d checked Danny’s suggestion in midsentence and flatly refused his offer. She could handle her affairs perfectly fine by herself, and, she’d added in a blandly polite tone, “A bodyguard isn’t necessary for a small-town woman like me. Thanks, anyway.”
After several heated disputes, Danny had reluctantly agreed.
Since Danny’s shop had opened, her shifts at work had doubled. The factory supplied local restaurants, and The Ground Café was placing large orders. She had gladly accepted the overtime hours, hoping to use the money to help pay off Seamus’s gambling debt. Anna had volunteered to stay with Seamus when he wasn’t working so he wouldn’t be alone.
Adding to her hectic week, Clara had filed another restraining order against Jack, although he’d disappeared. She’d checked some of his old hangouts and no one had seen him. She held on to the guarded hope that perhaps he’d forgotten about her and taken himself back to Cork.
At the end of the workweek, Clara was walking the two short blocks from her flat to the coffee shop. The air was unseasonably warm, the rain a light misty sheet. Her car’s brakes still weren’t fixed, and the mechanic had explained it was a bigger job than he’d first estimated. Her car would be in the shop at least another week.
She pulled the hood of her quickly mended quilted jacket over her head and checked her wristwatch. Nearly eight o’clock. Seamus would be finished with his shift. Tonight, Danny had invited them to stay on at the coffee shop, enjoying dinner and desserts, while he sang Clara the song he’d recently composed.
“I’d appreciate honest opinions,” he had joked, adding, “Keep in mind that musicians are fragile, so don’t say anything too honest unless it’s complimentary.”
Five minutes later, she’d arrived at the shop. As always, the exterior was well-lit, the pot of gold mounted on Kelly-green signage and illuminated by a strong spotlight.
Seamus stood smoking near the entryway. He adjusted a brimmed plaid tweed hat to sit lower on his forehead.
“Nice hat,” she acknowledged.
“Thanks. It’s from Donegal.”
How and when had Seamus been able to travel to Donegal? she wondered. The town was several hours north of Farthing.
“What’s the craic?” She pecked a kiss on his cheek, surprised when he recoiled.
“No craic or fun to be had working in a hot kitchen all day.” He threw the cigarette down and ground the butt into the grass.
She gestured to the cigarette. “Your boss won’t approve. Danny enforces a strict no smoking policy in his coffee shops.”
“We’re outside,” Seamus said. “The nicotine calms my nerves after being around those chirpy employees all day.” He fidgeted with the buttons of his jacket. He’d seemed edgy the past few days.
“The employees are cheerful because they’re working for a good, fair boss.”
“Mr. Brady has favorite employees and I’m not one of them. He works me too hard.”
She arched a brow. “I’ll tell him to ease off. He knows what you’ve been through.”
“Won’t do any good.” Seamus lit another cigarette, hoisted his pants over too-skinny hips and tightened the worn belt around his waist. He’d lost weight. She’d encouraged him to eat more, although from what Danny had mentioned, Seamus enjoyed two good meals at the coffee shop every day that he worked.
“Ian is probably Danny’s favorite employee. I know they’re good friends,” she told him.
“I haven’t seen much of Ian. However, Kathleen, the gorgeous barista, is never far from Mr. Brady’s elbow. Is she his personal assistant?”
Clara struggled to keep a bland expression in place. “I don’t know. I only met her once.”
Dazzling, sultry Kathleen and her devastatingly handsome employer. Kathleen knew everything about his business. She had started with him on the ground floor when he’d begun establishing his coffee empire. They shared a past, a history together.
Feeling an unexpected jolt of jealousy, Clara dragged her gaze from her brother’s smug smile.
“Sometimes,” Seamus went on, “Mr. Brady and Kathleen disappear for hours and go upstairs.”
“Danny’s boardroom, offices, and computer are all on the third floor.”
“He keeps a small flat on the third floor. I thought you ought to know, sis, before you became too involved with him. I don’t want to see you made a laughingstock again, like when Jack was seeing other women while he was controlling you like a marionette.”
“Danny Brady and I are just friends. He can do whatever he pleases.”
“He certainly has the money for it.” Seamus flicked the cigarette ashes on the ground. “Any word on Jack Connor?”
“Nothing.” She rubbed her arms to stave off the sudden chill in the air. “Danny nearly ran Jack over with his Mercedes the other night. Jack may have been scared off.”
Seamus’s fists tightened. “The Donovan family doesn’t need no fancy Mercedes to scare off Jack Connor.”
“Please, Seamus. Control your temper or you’ll make a complete mess of a good thing. Your life is finally changing for the better.” She peered at her brother’s rough face, the dark circles under his eyes, the tufts of burnt-orange hair poking from his chin. “Are you sleeping okay?”
He rubbed his neck. “Why?”
“The last few nights I heard you pacing the living room. And I thought the front door opened and closed around two in the morning.”
His brows pulled together. He drew a last drag, threw his cigarette on the grass and grabbed a fresh one. “You’re mistaken, sis. I always—”
“I assumed you’d gone outside for a smoke,” she interrupted.
Like Danny, she enforced a strict no-smoking policy in her flat, and Seamus had agreed to smoke outdoors. However, that was the only request Seamus respected. She usually came home after work to a pile of dirty pots and pans in the sink, as well as his soiled wash strewn in the bathroom.
It was okay, she reminded herself. Small stuff. Everyone went through hard times. Seamus required all his strength to recover from his sadness over Fiona’s death, plus recover from his addictions.
He dragged more nicotine in his lungs. “I sleep like a newborn babe at your place.”
“You’ll always have a home with me, because we’re family.”
Despite his punched-tight body language, a smile lit the creases on his freckled face. “You’re a fine, pretty thing, you know?”
“You’re mistaking me for Anna.” She linked her fingers together and regarded her navy-blue jacket and khaki slacks. Her plain wardrobe lacked color and style, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d purchased anything new for herself. Perhaps, using some of her overtime money, she’d purchase a fashionable outfit for her upcoming date to Dublin. Something light and bright. The weather forecast for the weekend called for sunshine.
Regretfully, she shook her head. Perhaps in Danny’s world a woman could shop on a whim, but certainly not in h
ers. She couldn’t afford a new outfit of any sorts. Seamus still owed the bookies over five hundred euros, a near fortune on their combined salaries.
He had become unnaturally quiet and covered a yawn. “Mind if I head to your flat? The boss spent the last half hour looking out the shop window waiting for ya, and he saw enough of me for one day.”
She hesitated. “We agreed someone will stay with you at all times.”
Seamus shifted from one leg to the other. “Aww, Clara, trust your big brother. What will I be tempted by? One of your lemon scones? There’s no liquor in your flat.”
Several customers exited the coffee shop talking and laughing, but then sneaking uneasy glances at Clara and Seamus. Danny followed the last customer through the entry, and stood on the threshold to his shop, his arms crossed.
He regarded Seamus and Clara before he spoke. “Am I interrupting something?”
“My younger sister is being overprotective, telling a grown man he can’t be left alone for a couple hours. I can’t talk to her without getting lock-hard, unsolicited advice. She’s making me feel like a child.” Seamus threw his cigarette on the grass. “That’s not the way to help a man, is it? She’s stealing away my self-confidence.”
Danny frowned at the smoldering cigarette. “Did you tell your sister you received your first paycheck today, Seamus?”
“I was just getting around to that.” Seamus did a change about. “Sis, I made—”
“Congratulations, Seamus! Your first paycheck in over a year,” Clara broke in.
Despite his unmistakably unwelcome body language, she hugged him.
Seamus stood stiffly and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. “I figured on walking to the city centre and buying you a gift with some of the money I earned. You’ve ruined my birthday surprise for ya by all your harping.”
She dropped her hands. “Seamus, I’m sorry.”
Danny looked at Clara. “You’re celebrating a birthday?”
“Not for a while. My adoptive parents decided to celebrate my birthday on Saint Joseph’s Day, which is two days after Saint Patrick’s Day. The Italian orphanage didn’t have a record of my actual birth date. My parents wanted to honor my Italian heritage in an Irish country so they chose Saint Joseph, the Italian saint. Too much information, right?”
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