by Aliyah Burke
The following day as she sat on the plane, she thought about the small figurine in her carryon. The one her father had brought from Ireland. A reed thin man with an impressive wooden carved cane, a dark green bowler on his head and cheeks red from either the cold or drink. Somedays she imagined cold, most she figured it was drink. The statue was smooth from all the times she’d rubbed her fingers along it.
A faint memory she had of her family, sitting on his lap, her mom to the side, humming a tune she could never find no matter how hard she looked. There was a fire in the hearth and the scent of fresh warm bread in the air. Darkness outside the small window but inside was full of love. He told a story of long ago when the wee folk loved to get in the lives of those around them.
Honestly, she didn’t remember much of the tale, but she wouldn’t ever forget the way her father’s lilting brogue washed over her and made her feel so loved and protected.
She closed her eyes only to open them moments later when a man claimed the seat next to her, wiping away her memory just as quick as that accident had wiped away her family. He smiled at her as he lowered his lanky body to the seat.
Emmie blinked, stared, then blinked once more. He’s like my figurine.
His smile was contagious, and she found herself responding. Part of her nearly reached out to touch him just to make sure there was flesh and blood there, instead of wood.
“Beautiful day for a flight. I’m going home. What about you?” His brogue was thicker than her father’s had been, at least in her memory and made tears burn the backs of her lids.
“Oh, I’d say I’m trying to change my luck.” Because my shit sure can’t get any worse than it is now. At least I don’t think so. But then, I’ve been wrong before. So, many times.
“Ahh, Ireland then is your end destination.”
He didn’t make it a question, but a statement. She gave him a smaller smile in response before settling in deeper to her seat. Part of her hoped he would let it go after that but to no avail. He canted his head as he clicked his seatbelt into place. All his attention, still focused on her.
“Where in Ireland are you headed?”
“County Kerry.”
He repeated it and she found herself listening to the cadence with which he pronounced it all. Sounded so much more exotic and lovely when it rolled off his tongue than hers.
“Wonderful, it’s such a beautiful place and full of lovely people. I’m sure you’ll have a beau or three in no time.”
“I’m not looking for a beau but it’s good to know they are nice there.” It’s not like I will have any allies where I’m going. Not that I had a lot where I was either.
The flight attendants began their preflight demonstration and she released her hair from the ponytail to allow it to settle around her shoulders.
“So you have a beau?”
She closed her eyes against the pain of finding Paul with his whore in her place. “Nope, not anymore.”
He tsked. “You shouldn’t be single. You will see, lass. There will be men falling over their feet to get to you.”
She angled her head toward him. “Still not looking.”
His smile increased the sparkle in his eyes. Damn if his cheeks weren’t even ruddier than she recalled. “Doesn’t matter. It’s Ireland. Have you been before?”
“Nope, never been out of the United States.” Does that make me sound pathetic? I think it does. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to travel, just been too much of a puss to go anywhere. Until now.
“Then why now? Why are you taking this trip?”
“Besides my need for luck and an apparent beau?” A smile accompanied her words.
“Exactly.” He waved off the flight attendant as she came by.
“I apparently inherited some business, so I’m heading over to see what it is.”
He nodded sagely and didn’t even ask what kind of business it was that she had inherited. “You will be so happy when you get there, you’re never going to want to leave.”
Tucking the blanket around her, she smiled again. “I hope you’re right.”
* * *
αβ
* * *
“Oh my God, I need to go home. That old man was wrong, so damn wrong.”
She stood with her few luggage bags at her feet staring up at the establishment that was hers now. The village name was Dunphy. Dung heap in her mind and that extended to the state of her business. Honestly, she was shocked the damn thing hadn’t collapsed into a heap of crumbled mortar, rotten wood and nails. Size wise, it was bigger than some of the houses she’d seen on the way through the village.
Figures because in Ireland they drink.
It didn’t stop people from being inside and apparently enjoying their drinks. They entered through a wide door that was propped open and to her untrained eye, looked as if it were about to fall from the hinges She didn’t trust it at all, personally. A two-story building with who knew what on top.
The green paint had peeled from more than one place, leaving it looking splotchy and completely all around unappealing. The windows on the second floor were either broken or had spider web cracks throughout them and of the four she could see from where she stood three were missing drapes. The one with them, it was crooked and holey.
At least the windows on the first floor were in one piece, even if they were filthy and made her long for a hot shower to wash the grime off.
And I’ve not even set foot in here yet. Some work was an understatement. This would take far much more money than she had to fix up. As it sat right now, it was nothing more than a lawsuit waiting to happen. Maybe she could just sell it and wash her hands of it all then run back to Pittsburgh and never leave the country again.
And yet, yet, she couldn’t help the tingle in her fingertips that begged her to make something of this place. Put her touch on it and show some pride in her own work.
There was a partial sign over the door, faded and broken, she could make out the word Myst, only because she knew what the bar was supposed to be named. Otherwise, no way in hell would she have managed to get that figured out.
Emerald Myst my ass, more like Hepatitis Headquarters. Are you not infected? No worries, step right on through, we are happy to accommodate your request. Your choice as to how it is delivered. Rusty nail? Broken glass? A bit of both. We aim to please and do our part to ensure you don’t leave here until you’re infected.
A few men and women went in and out, looking at her oddly as she stood in the falling mist, staring at her inheritance. The one she gave up everything in her old life to come and discover. Everything.
If it was her coloring that had them tossing questionable looks in her direction, she wasn’t sure. Hell, it could be the fact she had two suitcases at her feet as well as a carryon. Perhaps it was the fact she was getting drenched, mist or not, if one stands there long enough and it will soak you. Even a combination of all three.
“Fancy meeting you here again. Are you looking for a place to stay, lass?”
She turned to find the man from the plane standing there, his sharp blue eyes watching her with concern. That same ruddy look in his cheeks were there and his bowler cap had droplets of moisture hanging from the rim.
He gestured to the building before them. “This is a pub, not an inn.” The skies opened up and it was no longer mist she stood in but actual rain.
“I’m aware of that.” Her words were sharp and she closed her eyes, trying to rein in on her temper. “I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated.”
He chuckled, apparently not at all put out by her attitude, and picked up all her bags then carried them inside the rundown building.
“You shouldn’t be out in the rain. Canna be tracking down your inheritance if you are sick.” He tossed the words over a thin shoulder as the darkness swallowed him up.
She hastened after him, not wanting her bags out of sight. Even so, she couldn’t help but hesitate as she stepped over the threshold to her bar. What if I enter here but
never leave? Like Hotel California?
She really needed to stop reading so many horror books.
I shouldn’t be here in Ireland.
“McSweeny why for all the green in Ireland, are you dragging a wet bedraggled woman into my bar and with a wee bit of luggage? I figured you’d forgotten about this country and were staying over there in America.”
Emmie’s knees buckled at that thick, deep Irish brogue that skirted along her skin akin to heated velvet dipped in a side of sexual promise.
“Now, now, Brannon. Is that anyway to greet your grandfather? I don’t believe so. Your father may have been an ass and a drunkard but we both know your ma would put a switch to you for acting like that. Plus, I wasn’t about to allow this lovely young lass to remain out there. It’s raining in case you didn’t notice. Bring her a towel.”
Her mind whirled with everything she’d just heard, trying to ingest and make sense of it all. A man strode into view. Nope, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t striding. He swaggered.
Oh my God.
Her reaction had to be given her exhaustion. Right? Because no way she was looking and drooling over a man she’d just seen move into her line of sight.
Short dark hair cut around his face and settled against his neck, reminded her of razor sharp points. Lining his squared jaw sat about two days’ worth of growth and holy hell it gave him a look that tempted her to just hand over her panties. I mean really, why make him ask for them when I’m perfectly happy to hand them to him.
He wasn’t even close enough for her to smell and yet she had already created this wild, outdoorsy scent for him. His gaze was a clear bright blue that sliced over her skin as he took in her appearance.
Raggedy for sure. An over the ocean flight and standing outside in the rain, she knew she wasn’t the most well put together. Even now, her ponytail dripped down her back, adding to her increasing chill.
Without a word to her, he tossed the large towel in her direction then focused on the old man beside her, drawing him into a big hug and pounding him on the back. He didn’t seem to mind the man was wet as well. Their speech flowed so quickly she didn’t have any way of following it, the brogue between them was far too thick.
Closing her eyes, she put the towel over her face to wipe off the rain. At least it was a thick towel and clean. Soft too, if she wanted to think about it. Allowing herself a moment to regain her composure, she was almost ready when a strong hand gripped her wrist and lowered the hand and towel from her face.
Almost was a word she hated, because she hadn’t been ready, not for this man.
Those amazing eyes watched her from behind lowered thick, curved lashes. He was every sexual fantasy she had come to life, even ones she’d not experienced yet.
“And who might you be, lass? And why are you in my pub with your wee luggage?” His blue gaze raked over her and it may have been her lightheadedness or exhaustion, but she thought she spied some heat in there for what he was looking at.
I shouldn’t be proud of that but at least someone may find me passably attractive.
She didn’t like confrontations and she desperately wanted to hide until her backbone would come out from wherever it had gone on vacation to. She didn’t have that choice.
Emmie lifted her chin, dug deep for all those courses she’d done in the privacy of her own place and replied, “This is my pub. I’m the owner.”
Chapter 2
Finn Brannon blinked a few times as the noise around him in the pub fell silent. All the regulars ceased their conversations and had tuned in to the one that had included him. This small wisp of a woman comes in here, carrying luggage and announcing to him this was her place?
No way. He didn’t think so.
“Now lass. I will admit while full of shit, that’s an interesting claim.” He dismissed her with nothing more than a look and focused back on his wily grandfather. “You put her up to this? Is that what you created while you were over there in America, nothing but another ploy of yours to get me married off?”
She emitted a sharp gasp, but he couldn’t look at her right now, because behind all the false bluster she projected there was this fear and he wanted to wipe that from her.
In the time frame of forever.
He wanted to pull her close and tuck her beneath his chin, an act allowing him to bury his nose in her hair.
Women didn’t affect him like this. He had one on them and he liked it that way. He could get what he wanted, made sure they were pleased and go on about his business. But as far as they were concerned, he went to them when he wanted one and left when he was done. Not her. She stood there, shivering in her wet clothes, the cotton, adhering to her body, showing not just him, but everyone there, her full chest.
Finn clenched a fist ever so briefly. He wanted to warm her on so many levels. And this reaction didn’t make the slightest bit of sense to him. It made him feel out of control and the one thing Finn Brannon wasn’t, was a loose cannon. He didn’t let things get the best of him.
Until now.
“I didn’t put her up to anything.” McSweeny crossed his thin arms and glared at him. “I had the pleasure of sitting beside this lovely thing on the flight. She told me she was coming to…” he trailed off. “Change her luck.”
What is the old man up to now? “Why are you glaring at me. This isn’t her place.”
“Her, is still here and doesn’t appreciate being talked about as if she were incapable of holding a discussion with two men.” Her words were crisp and perfectly clear while being drenched in anger.
Okay, that did it.
He snapped his focus back to her and instantly regretted it. Grateful for the half apron he wore to help hide the proof of the thickness in his jeans growing, he raked his gaze over her once more.
Smooth skin the color of golden brown butterscotch, had his mouth watering to see if it tasted as good as it looked. Her black hair hung past her shoulders, plastering to her head because of the rain as well. Her light grey shirt allowed him to see a bit of her bra strap, not as much as he wanted to see. Medium blue jeans and white tennis shoes completed her outfit, yet she still shivered.
“What do you want to contribute to the conversation then, lass?” He cocked an eyebrow as disdain leeched into his tone. Hell, it was the only way to keep his hands, and lips, to himself. Touching her skin when he moved her wrist had been just a small experience of which he craved more.
So much more and on an entirely grander level.
She narrowed her gaze at them both then dropped to her knees before him. A few gasps and titters came from the crowd and she snapped her head to glare at them into silence, before she unzipped a pocket of her luggage and pulled out a stack of papers. Pushing back to her feet, she smacked him in the chest with them.
“Just that.”
Finn gripped her hand and held it against him before allowing her to pull free, leaving him with the papers. He unfolded them, and anger surged through him. Looking at his grandfather, the old man was actually not paying him any mind, but instead using the towel on the woman there, helping to dry off her hair. Speaking to her in a low soft lilt of his words.
“Excuse us,” he said seconds before he snatched her hand and pulled her through to the back and up the stairs to the second floor. The entire level had been converted into the living space, granted it wasn’t the best but there were nights he crashed on the side that didn’t have the hole in the roof over it.
“What the hell are you doing? Stop pulling me around like I’m a piece of meat.” She smacked at his hand until he released her. Then she rubbed her hands over her upper arms, reminding him again that she was soaking wet and if he didn’t get that taken care of she would be sick and it would be on him. Not likely but that’s how it would play out.
“Where did you get this paper?”
She drew back from the venom in his tone, but he didn’t try to make her feel any more at ease.
After swallowing a few times, she lowere
d her hands to her sides, fingers curled into fists. She lifted her chin. He had to give her credit. Woman had moxy, there was no disguising her fear but she didn’t back down.
“A woman named Mrs. Garcia tracked me down in Pittsburgh to give them to me. Do I have the wrong Village Dunphy and bar, excuse me, pub named Emerald Myst?”
Fuck she was sexy when she was being snide and patronizing. His hands itched to touch her, yank her flush to him and ravage her. See how condescending she could be when her feet couldn’t touch the ground because his cock was so far in her it wasn’t happening. A thought his dick was well onboard with.
Then her words fully sank in.
He shoved a hand through his hair. Shit. Shit. Shit.
This pub had belonged to Patrick Donaghue, but when the man headed for the States, he gave it to Finn’s father to keep an eye on. Finn’s old man was much better suited to being on the customer side of the bar than actually running it. When Finn had gotten word his father had passed he had returned home. The establishment had been like it was now, he had plans for it, but he was working on getting it back up and in the black as opposed to bleeding red like it had been when he arrived.
“Where’s Patrick?”
“My parents died years ago.” She flicked the tip of her tongue over her lips before continuing. “It took Mrs. Garcia a while to find me.”
Don’t tease me lass, not sure how much I can take before I sample those full lips of yours.
He crossed his arms and looked down his nose at her. Fuck, she was goddamn adorable. He wanted to pull her close and show her how perfectly they would align to one another. “Apparently. Patrick left thirty years ago. I am sorry for your loss but why wait so long once she did find you to come claim this place?”
Something dark sparked in her eyes. “I’ve known for less than two weeks I inherited this place. And it’s all I have left in the world.” Her voice cracked a bit on that but she forged ahead. “So I’m not going to be run out of here by someone who wants to believe he owns it yet has done a shitty job about upkeep.”
