Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  Chancey clamped down tight to keep the emotions from welling up.

  “Nah, I’ll tell her you’re busy.” He took a steadying breath, tried to calm his racing heart. “Maybe in the summer?”

  “Maybe,” Seamus said uncertainly. “Just me and Michael are up to our eyes in it, getting the place running right now, though he’s a daft eejit. He’s got his own Skype account. On the computer all the time, he is.”

  “Who’s he calling?”

  Seamus chuckled. “A friend he made in the States.”

  <<< >>>

  Chancey parked Layla in front of the house and killed the engine. Dee had been as quiet as ever, only muttering ‘fine’ when he asked her how dance went. But as Chancey put his hand on the door, she said, “Can I talk to you?”

  “’Course, darlin’.”

  “Did you call Seamus about my birthday?”

  “I did,” he said. “It’s short notice, so he’ll have to pass. Maybe he can see us later in the year instead.”

  Dee sighed. “S’OK. But…”

  “But?”

  She shook her head, changing tactics. “Are…you OK, Daddy?”

  Chancey turned to look at his daughter, and she stared back. She was growing up so quickly. No longer his little girl, she’d blossomed into this beautiful—if not frustrating at times—young woman with a world of personality. Her concern for him read in her dark eyes.

  “It’s just you’ve been singing ‘The Race is On’ all the way home.”

  Shit. Had he? He couldn’t remember.

  “I’m fine, darlin’.”

  He hated lying to her, especially as the lie struck home. He could read it all over her, knew she knew he wasn’t OK. The cab of the truck was too small—he had to get out, or she was going to know all of his secrets.

  “Are you and Seamus…um…all right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even though we haven’t moved?”

  “I love him, darlin’. A little distance doesn’t change that for me, and it doesn’t change it for him.”

  “I…like him too,” she offered.

  “That makes me very happy, Deidra.”

  With a heavy, almost frustrated sigh, Dee said. “Look, I don’t know how to say the right words, OK?”

  “That’s fine. Just say whatever’s on your mind.”

  Right words? That had never stopped his little tornado before.

  “They don’t have rodeo in Ireland, I don’t think. Least ways, I can’t find it online.”

  It definitely wasn’t the reply he was expecting, but Chancey shook his head. He’d done a bit of research as well, hoping he could find something on the internet that might hint at an Irish group—even a disorganised one.

  “But I found something last night. There’s a British association and they have a junior membership.”

  Chancey nodded slowly, not even daring to jump ahead of her teenage logic. He didn’t think he could stand another turn on the Dee roller coaster of emotion, and disappointment lay the way of assumption.

  “If we did…move…could I go to England sometimes? Show ’em what American rodeo is all about?”

  Chancey nodded, too choked up on emotions to manage words. When he could finally speak again, he said, “Of course. We’d do everything we could to make sure you still get to rodeo.”

  “You think I’ll get an accent?”

  “Darlin’, you already got an accent.”

  “But an Irish one? You think I’ll sound like Seamus if we move?”

  “Probably not. Maybe some sort of hybrid.”

  Dee wrinkled her nose.

  “Are you…considerin’ it?”

  She nodded slowly. “I don’t like that Seamus can’t come to my birthday, y’know? And I’m going to miss Stills, but she was saying she doesn’t want to do team roping next year anyway. And I don’t know if I want to keep up with dance. I don’t know, Daddy. It’s like, maybe there’s something different I can do in Ireland?”

  “Probably.”

  “But I need to come back to Kansas sometimes and see my friends. And maybe Momma.” She rolled her eyes. “I know she’s a pain in the ass, but she’s still my mom.”

  “You ever gonna grow out of this potty mouth?”

  She grinned. “If we move, can I get a whole bunch of things ’cause you feel super guilty?”

  Chancey snorted a laugh. “Oh yeah, like what?”

  “Like…a horse?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And I can go with Seamus to the pub?”

  “No.”

  “Can we get a cat?”

  “We’ll talk about it.”

  “Can I still drive around?”

  “You can’t even get your licence until you’re seventeen over there.”

  “What?!”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, do I get my own room at least?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And you swear I can go to England and rodeo?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Can we wait until summer to move?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we have a huge going-away party? With all my friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I curse all the time without you saying ‘potty mouth’?”

  “Hell no.”

  As Dee spoke, her requests became grander, more bold until she was just being silly. Chancey enjoyed it, this moment where they were laughing and joking with each other. He still couldn’t believe she’d finally made her decision, and the truth hadn’t quite washed over him.

  “Can I be the one to tell Seamus we’re coming?” she asked, finally winding down.

  “I think that would make both of us very happy.”

  “Can I be your best man? In your wedding?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Dee asked, looking a little askance at his reply.

  Chancey reached out and pulled his daughter into a huge hug. He whispered into her ear, “You can stand beside me and be my best girl, though.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six:

  One Call to End Him

  The yard was treacherous, an ice pathway marking the route between the farmhouse and the lambing sheds, the consequence of Seamus and Michael’s constant trudging back and forth, compressing the snow, which had thawed and frozen again overnight, so today it was lethal. Seamus’s left leg went from under him and he over-compensated, toppling headfirst through the shed doorway.

  “Jesus, Mary and…Mike. You in here again, son?” Stupid question, Shay.

  “Aye. Just checkin’ on the wee ones.”

  Seamus chuckled and shook his head. There had only been two births so far—at least another ten to come—and all was well, or it would be once it stopped snowing. For now, Michael and Tess were on ‘vigil’, which was to say the wi-fi reached as far as the shed, and Mike could watch the lambs arriving at the same time as chatting on Skype, or playing Candy Crush, or whatever the hell it was he did, Seamus didn’t know and didn’t want to know either. It worked out well all round, because trying to engage in conversation took too much energy.

  That’s how it had been all through the winter, and Seamus had to accept some of the responsibility for Michael pursuing online friendships. More than some, truth be told. They still got out to the pub from time to time, but mostly they were holed up in the farmhouse, physically exhausted from long days in the bitter cold, too much time to think and so many thoughts to keep at bay. They circled him day and night, like vultures ready to swoop in and clean up the battered remains of Seamus Malachi Williams, but he refused to be beaten. What good would it do if he gave up the fight and fell apart? There’d be nothing there for Chance to want.

  So he kept on keeping on. Up at five thirty, cleaning pens, feeding pigs and sheep, fixing up old buildings if they were salvageable or knocking them down to make space for new ones. They’d cleared all the fly-tipping from the top field, re-fenced the paddock and, on
ce spring arrived, they’d set about building the new stables, because…well, it wouldn’t be a ranch without horses now, would it?

  And Michael had been a godsend. he’d thrown himself into it, getting on with the job, no complaints, doing what needed to be done—most of the time without having to be told. Seamus’s right-hand man. The lad was saving every penny, bless him, still determined to make his road trip across America. He seemed to have found a friend in Jill’s brother, Harrison—a good friend, if not a shockingly serious one. All the while they were over at Thanksgiving, Seamus didn’t think he’d seen Harrison smile once, although Michael seemed to have broken through since, if the disembodied laughter coming from his tablet was any indication.

  Honestly, Seamus had no idea how he was going to manage once Michael left, and at his present rate, he’d have enough saved by the following summer at the latest—nowhere near long enough to get by until Dee was of an age. Four years and counting… God, he didn’t want to wish her childhood away on her, but it had been three months, and the hole in his soul was still expanding. He’d left a girl behind in Pennsylvania when he’d moved to Kansas, and they did the teary farewells, or she did, and Seamus did miss her at first, but the promised visits and pursuing their relationship from afar? It never happened. Rather than making the heart fonder, absence killed whatever romance there was between them. If he’d ever doubted his feelings for Chancey were anything but true love, then the rawness of being apart would have confirmed it for him.

  “So,” Michael said, pulling Seamus out of his doldrums in the nick of time, as always. It was too easy to get caught in that downward spiral, where one thought led to another. The next thing he knew, he’d be blitzed on whatever spirits were to hand, only to wake up on the sofa several hours later, bleary-eyed…and snug in a blanket, because his right-hand man deserved a sainthood.

  “So…?” Seamus asked.

  “Are you up for Return of the King tonight, then?”

  “Could do.”

  “No whiskey though, Shay.”

  Seamus waved him away and turned to leave, muttering under his breath, “If I want to drink meself into a coma, then—”

  “Ye damn well won’t, because I won’t let you.”

  “Christ, Mike, you’re worse than me mam.” Rather than risk slipping again, Seamus stepped onto the softer snow and walked back across the yard. Tess ran ahead; Michael followed behind them.

  “What if there’s an emergency? You know, if one of the girls has trouble delivering?”

  “We’ll call Peter in.”

  “He won’t get down here in this weather.”

  Seamus peered over his shoulder. “He drives a feckin’ Land Rover. He’s not goin’ to get stuck in snow in that, is he?”

  “He…might,” Michael hedged. They reached the house and stopped to take off their boots. “I just…you know…”

  “You worry about me.”

  “I hate seeing you so miserable, Shay. I wish I could do something to help.”

  “Oh, Michael.” Seamus grabbed him and pulled him into a bear hug. “You help in so many ways. I’m sorry, and you’re right. I am miserable and I need to get my act together, pronto.” He released Michael and gave him a warm smile. “Think I’ll have a quick shower to warm up.” He started to walk away. “You want me to leave it running.”

  “Yes, please. And I’ll pour you a whiskey.”

  “No. Just stick the kettle on. We’ll have a cup of tea, some bickies, get that movie on the go. Sound good to you?”

  “Sounds fantastic! Pizza?”

  “Even better.” Seamus started up the stairs, smiling for what seemed like the first time in ages; judging from the ache in his cheeks it probably was ages too. Maybe the fog was lifting a little, because he could see now how unfair it was on everyone else that he was moping about the place, like Barry’s ghost had got a hold of him. Christ, he’d been one miserable old so-and-so, although his accounting and record-keeping was exceptional. All those times Seamus and Paddy had talked to him—being typically arrogant lads and telling him how one day they’d buy him out and turn it into a ranch with livery stables, cattle, and so on—they’d been talking out the top of their heads. Or so they’d thought, but Barry had written it all down: his justification for leaving the farm to Seamus and Patrick Williams, in the absence of a hereditary heir.

  The shower worked wonders, soothing the aches away and cajoling the blood back into Seamus’s extremities—he even risked a brief thought for what Chance was up to while he was in there, and peered down at the effect. Good to know it still works.

  Back downstairs again, Seamus turned his laptop on, leaving it to start up while he checked on the pizza and set up the film. He’d been avoiding talking to Chancey where possible, because it was too hard. Whether it was Michael’s words that had given Seamus the kick up the arse he needed, or Chancey calling to say Dee had invited him over, or the nearness of spring, or the new lambs, he didn’t know. Of course, he couldn’t go anywhere at this time of year, but her invitation had lifted some of the weight from his chest. He could breathe again. He could smile again, and suddenly everything seemed so much brighter.

  Murphy’s Law would have it that as Seamus grabbed the baking tray with an oven-mittened hand, the ring of an incoming Skype call startled him, and he almost dropped the pizza. He quickly shoved the tray on the hob and dashed back to the living room, freeing a hand to answer the call, the oven gloves dangling from his other hand. Video call from Chancey? They hadn’t done that in a long while.

  Except…

  “Good evening, young Deidra.”

  “Hi, Shay. It’s…ten p.m.?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Cool. Is it dark outside?”

  “Aye, it is, although it’s been snowing, and it’s a full moon.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure you can. Hold on there, I’m liftin’ you up.” Seamus unplugged the laptop and carried it over to the door. “Don’t know how well this’ll work, mind…”

  “Wow. That’s awesome!” She was overplaying it; Seamus could tell. He wondered why but decided to leave her to get there in her own time.

  “It’s the same moon, Dee.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And you get at least as much snow as we do.”

  “But it’s not Irish snow.”

  Seamus grinned. “It’s as cold as any other, that’s for sure.” He shivered and shut the door again, going through to the kitchen. “Mike and I are about to watch a film.”

  “Oh. You want me to call back?”

  There was the muffled sound of someone forcing a cough at Dee’s end of the line.

  “Your dad’s there, is he?” Seamus asked. His heart started pumping faster, his hands shook, and for the second time that evening the pizza almost came to a terribly messy end on the kitchen floor.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Chance replied, ducking down so that he was caught on-screen behind his daughter, the pair of them wearing big wide matching grins. Seamus watched them out of the corner of his eye while he collected the pizza cutter and tried to look busy. They were up to something, and he was hoping it didn’t involve the surprise purchase of a return flight to Kansas for the fourteenth of February. However much he wanted to go, he couldn’t, and he was already thinking of how best to tell them, to minimise their disappointment.

  “Dee’s got news for you,” Chance said.

  Here it comes.

  “Daddy! You said I could tell him!”

  “So tell him, darlin’.”

  Three…

  “Well, I…” Dee frowned and chewed her lip, thinking, or getting the words straight, Seamus thought. “I wanted you to come to my birthday.”

  Two. Seamus nodded and put down the pizza cutter. The way his hands were shaking he was getting nowhere fast, and he was going to do himself an injury.

  “But Dad said you couldn’t because it’s too soon, and you got the ranch and, well…I really wanted you to come
, Shay. And not just for me, although I like you…a lot.” She started to jiggle in her seat and put her head forward so that her hair obscured her face.

  “Oh, hey, Dee, come on now,” Seamus began, praying she wasn’t crying. He didn’t know what he was going to do if she was. And he’d been starting to feel a bit better. “I’m sorry I can’t come, but it’s lambing time, and I can’t leave Mike on his own to look after them all.”

  She remained with her head down, and apart from Chancey’s hand, which Dee was gripping tightly, he was out of shot.

  “How about I make you a promise,” Seamus said, hoping it would be enough for all of them to keep going. “In summertime—”

  “We’re moving to Ireland,” Dee announced, cutting him off. He gulped and near choked himself.

  “You’re…”

  Slowly, she lifted her head and smiled right at him. Chancey ducked down again, his lopsided grin once again turning Seamus to a heap of mush.

  “If you’ll have us,” Chancey said.

  Seamus stared at them, dumbfounded, the news gradually filtering through his brain until it finally clicked into place. The tears sprang from nowhere. Happy tears, and he was laughing with pure joy.

  “You’re coming to Ireland,” he said, quietly and then shouted at the top of his voice, “They’re coming to Ireland, Mike.”

  There was a rapid thump of feet on the stairs, and Michael came skidding in his socks, across the kitchen tiles.

  “They’re what now?”

  “We’re emigratin’,” Dee said.

  “No way!”

  “Aye,” Seamus said, grabbing Michael and jigging him around the room while singing an unidentifiable reel. When he came to a stop again, he was panting breathlessly, but still grinning. Chancey, however, was not smiling, but it made Seamus laugh all the more.

  “Still jealous, is he, Dee?”

  “Yep. He’s a dumbass.” She thumbed in Chancey’s direction.

  “And you’ve still got that potty mouth of yours, I hear.”