by Katy Regnery
Fighting Irish
The Summerhaven Trio #1
Rory Haven and Brittany Manion knew one another as children…
…but it’s been a long time since their childhood summers at Summerhaven.
The Havens weren’t the children who attended the exclusive Summerhaven Camp for Children in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire. They were the children of the owners, expected to “pull their weight” and absolutely forbidden to fraternize with the paying guests. But that didn’t keep Rory from having a quiet, unrequited crush on gorgeous, popular, insanely rich Brittany Manion for four tortuous summers.
When all-grown-up, recently engaged Brittany books the off-season summer camp for her upcoming spring wedding, she immediately recognizes Rory as the scorching-hot boy who wouldn’t give her the time of day. Meanwhile, Rory, who senses that Brittany’s nuptials are less about Mr. Right and more about Mr. Right Now, launches the fight of his life to win the heart of the girl he’s always wanted.
FIGHTING IRISH
Copyright © 2018 by Katharine Gilliam Regnery
Sale of the electronic edition of this book is wholly unauthorized. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, by any means, is forbidden without written permission from the author/publisher.
Katharine Gilliam Regnery, publisher
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Please visit my website at www.katyregnery.com
First Edition: February 2018
Katy Regnery
Fighting Irish: a novel / by Katy Regnery – 1st ed.
ISBN: 978-1-944810-25-2
To be Irish is to know that in the end, the world will break your heart.
―Daniel Patrick Moynihan
For my mother and my grandmother and all the other Irish Americans who came before me.
With kind thanks to Melissa Molloy.
xoxo
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication.
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
Sneak Peek of Smiling Irish
Also Available from Katy Regnery
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Summoned via walkie-talkie to his parents’ bedroom the day before camp officially opened, fifteen-year-old Rory Haven knew what was coming, and not only did he hate this yearly ritual, but he resented it to the tips of his fingers and the soles of his feet.
He knew exactly what would happen.
His mother would tell her children to take a seat on the edge of her bed, and then, glowering at them, she would look each Haven triplet in the eye for a little too long, her stare searing in the vaguely terrifying, X-ray-vision sort of way that mothers around the world had perfected since the beginning of time. And when she was assured that her trí ciarde—or “three friends,” in her native Gaelic—were sufficiently focused, she would intone in her low Killarney burr:
There’ll be no fraternizin’ with the guests.
Not for Rory.
Not for Ian.
Not for Tierney.
Not a lot.
Not a little.
Not at all.
Am I clear, mo thrí chairde?
This dictate was no problem for Rory’s sister, Tierney, who was a little overweight, wore thick glasses, and spoke with a slight speech impediment. She was most likely to be found by the far side of the lake reading—a.k.a. hiding—from the campers whose parents paid a mint for their children to attend the exclusive summer camp. Tierney would nod emphatically, relieved to have an ironclad reason not to mix it up with the summer guests who so intimidated her.
On the other hand, Rory’s brother, Ian, with a sparkle in his emerald eyes that generally disarmed their mother, would smile at her, copying her thick brogue with a teasing wink. “Ah sure, go on, mam. Don’t get yer Irish up. No fraternizin’. Okay, then.”
Ian imitating their mother’s accent wouldn’t offend her. Most of the time, it just made her grin. But that wouldn’t be the case today.
“Ian. Ah, Ian. You test me, son,” she’d say, leaning down until her nose just about touched Ian’s. She would grimace at him because Colleen Kelley Haven knew her children well, and she knew Ian’d be most likely to break this rule, as he had last year to disastrous results. Her brogue would be stronger for her consternation when she spoke again, the words firing at her son like so many tiny pieces of short-range shrapnel. “If ye disobey me, Ian McAllister Haven, I’ll redden yer arse with a wooden spoon until ye’re screamin’ loud enough for t’whole camp to hear.” She’d pause to let this threat sink in. “Don’t think I won’t. I’m not havin’ another situation like last year, now.” And then, because she loved Ian, she’d soften her voice just a touch, her eyes beseeching his. “Tell me you understand, son.”
If Rory shot his brother a sidelong glance at that point, he’d see Ian’s smile fade as his lips tightened into an angry line, his eyes flattening to a flinty green as he lowered his head in submission. “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
She’d nod crisply, as satisfied as possible, before turning to Rory.
“And you? Are you gonna be good like your sister or trouble like your brother?”
She’d wait for his answer, nailing him with a hawklike gaze as he stared back at her.
Unlike Ian, Rory was a rule-follower by nature. But unlike Tierney, he was also a people-person, excited by ideas and places far beyond their tiny world of Summerhaven.
He and his siblings lived a quiet life in Center Sandwich, New Hampshire, from September to May, where the population decreased to 123 people, only 19 of whom were under the age of 18. Heck, in their elementary school, which included kids from two neighboring villages, there were only 67 kids enrolled in the whole of grades K-6!
As a year-round resident of a summer resort area, meeting new people with fresh ideas and different experiences to share was difficult.
Except…
Except every summer, several hundred kids from affluent families in Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and all over New England came to spend a few weeks at the highly respected Summerhaven Camp for Children. Some of these campers were third-generation attendees, their grandparents proudly delivering them to a cabin that had been their own “summer haven” fifty years before. Hundreds of rich kids arrived in stylish hoards to “rough it” and “build character,” bringing with them their flip-top phones, books, magazines, city ways, and slang.
And among them was one beautiful brunette with whom Rory had experienced a totally one-sided, from-a-distance love affair last summer: Brittany Manion, who was from Boston and the heiress to a hotel corporation that rivaled Marriott and Hilton.
Rory didn’t care about her pedigree. Not even a little bit. He liked the way her brown eyes softened when she looked his way, the way her sweet pink lips would tilt up in a tentative smile before he forced himself to look away. He liked the way she’d wake up early to read her book on the dock, her dark hair like polished mahogany as the sun rose. He liked the way she filled out a bikini, her teenage breas
ts fuller than those of her friends. He liked the way her hips swelled like a woman’s when so many fourteen-year-old girls still looked like boys. And he especially liked her laugh—low and soft—like she wasn’t sure laughing was allowed but wasn’t able to contain it.
He’d watched her endlessly last year, keeping his distance during the day while he dreamed about her every night. She was everything he wanted that he couldn’t have: temptation at his fingertips—this beautiful, sophisticated girl just beyond arm’s reach. And maybe, mixed with his teenage devotion to her, Rory hated her just a little bit too…because it hurt so much that he couldn’t have her.
Alas. “Fraternizin’” was strictly forbidden. And Ian’s shenanigans last year had only made their parents more exacting in the triplets’ compliance.
Since Rory’s great-grandfather, Truman Haven, had started the Summerhaven Camp for Children in the 1930s, every generation of Haven children had worked at the camp throughout their childhoods and adolescences, earning money and valuable work experience before leaving Center Sandwich for college.
It was well-established: Haven children weren’t the guests. Haven children were, at best, management and, at worst, “the help.” And with this much-despised annual ritual on the edge of her bed, Colleen Kelley Haven was reminding her three children of their place, station, rank, and responsibility.
Yes, indeed. He knew exactly what to expect of this annual summons.
“Hurry up, now,” intoned their mother’s voice over the walkie-talkie clipped to Rory’s belt buckle. “I’ve loads of things to do today.”
Rory huffed softly as he followed Ian and Tierney up the steps of the main administrative building, centrally located in the heart of Summerhaven.
On the first floor was the office where he and his parents worked year-round accepting camper applications and managing the large employee roster. For an exclusive camp the size of Summerhaven, there were grounds keepers who worked year-round in addition to tradesmen hired to fix and update camp buildings in the off-season, plus a veritable army of camp staff who were hired seasonally to run the kitchen, two dining rooms, cabin housekeeping, and laundry. Lastly, there were about twenty counsellors hired to both keep an eye on the campers and coordinate recreational and educational activities.
The office was buzzing with activity today, the day before camp officially opened, and Rory gave a lackluster wave to his father, who was on the phone, as he bypassed at the office and headed up the stairs to the Haven family apartments. Over the massive administrative building, there was a kitchen, living room, dining room, library, TV room, and three full-sized bedrooms—a huge apartment that Havens had called home for generations.
At the top of the stairs, Tierney opened the apartment door and beelined through the entry hall and living room to their parents’ bedroom, ready to assure their mother than she had zero interest in making friends with the bevy of rich kids who’d be descending on them early tomorrow morning.
Following her, Ian looked at Rory over his shoulder, winking at him like he knew a secret, and Rory groaned inwardly. He knew that look, and it meant the kind of mischief that would have the wooden spoon in their mother’s hand faster than you could say “Red arse.”
Rory held back for a moment, watching his siblings disappear into their parents’ bedroom and trying to think of a way to tell his mother that Center Sandwich was too small for him. That he loved his family—and he even loved Summerhaven—but that making friends didn’t have to mean making trouble. He just wanted to spread his wings a little. He just wanted to know what went on in Brittany Manion’s head and find out if she thought about him half as much as he thought about her. Was that really so wrong?
“Rory? Rory Kavanagh Haven, are you comin’, or am I meant to come’n get you, son?”
His leaden feet moved forward, step by step over the Persian runner that covered the creaky pine floor of the hallway.
“I’m coming, Mom,” he answered heavily, another wasted summer lying before him, pining for things he wanted and wishing for someone he could never have.
CHAPTER 1
Present Day
“Mrs. Toffle, can you get Joe Schooner on the phone? The floorboards at the entrance of the south dining hall are loose again. We can’t have people tripping. Can we get him in here to do a few repairs before the conference on Friday?”
“Yes, Mr. Haven,” answered Miranda Toffle, who was a lifelong resident of Center Sandwich and had been working as the receptionist at Summerhaven since 1975. Without needing to consult her trusty Rolodex, she dialed Joe’s number.
“And can you also call the AT&T technician? I feel like the Wi-Fi is running at half speed. I don’t want any more bad reviews on Yelp.”
Mrs. Toffle nodded, acknowledging Rory’s second request, as she greeted Joe on the telephone and booked him for an afternoon of repairs tomorrow.
Grabbing the two ghost keys to the Oxford and Cambridge Row cottages, Rory gave Mrs. Toffle a smile of thanks then turned, tucking his clipboard under his arm as he headed out of the administrative building to check on the cottages one last time before this weekend’s conference.
As he headed up the Summerhaven main path toward the lake, he passed the north dining hall and wondered—as he had thousands of times in the six years since he’d returned home to run his family’s camp—How the hell did I end up back here?
After attending the School of Hotel Administration at Cornell University on a full scholarship, Rory had had big dreams about starting a chain of camps not wholly unlike Summerhaven in appearance but with cutting-edge conference amenities: high-speed Wi-Fi; a business center with the most updated technology for guests’ use; presentation and break-out facilities; rustic-looking cottages furnished with top-of-the-line furniture, linens, and decor; gourmet food in the dining halls; a helicopter and small jet landing strip—the works. Everything a large corporation would find attractive in a place to meet for conferences, team-building weekends, global meetings, and multicompany mergers.
His business plan had won accolades from his senior-year professors, and his academic advisor had gone so far as to set Rory up with some VC, or venture capitalist, firms in New York City to start raising capital. And that’s precisely where his fairytale had unhappily ended. While on the train from Ithaca to Manhattan a few weeks before graduation, Rory had received a text from Tierney.
Mom had a stroke. In intensive care at Dartmouth. Come quick.
Frozen with fear, despite the balmy May temperatures, Rory had disembarked the train in Albany, New York, rented a car, and driven to Hanover, New Hampshire, straightaway. He’d never even bothered to cancel the appointments in New York, his thoughts totally focused on the tragedy that had beset his family and hoping against hope that his mother wouldn’t be gone by the time he arrived.
It turned out that Colleen Kelley Haven wasn’t ready yet to “meet her maker.” She survived the stroke, though it was brutal in its attack. Initially unable to breathe or swallow on her own, rehabilitation had helped greatly in these areas over the last six years. But the sad fact was that their once-vibrant mother was left mostly paralyzed on one side of her body, confined to a wheelchair, her speech slurred and her spirits low.
But the one thing that she was able to communicate clearly in the days following her stroke was that one of the Haven triplets needed to take care of Summerhaven.
Ian, who had already been in court-ordered rehab once for his all-too-frequent benders, was not a contender. From what Rory could tell from looking at him, rehab hadn’t “stuck”—Ian’s bloodshot eyes and gaunt face speaking volumes about how he was spending his time during his final semester at Boston University.
And while Tierney, who was about to graduate from Dartmouth, where she’d double-majored in classics and art history, was fully capable of running Summerhaven, Rory knew, with a triplet’s intuition, that it would make her miserable. Pushing her thick glasses to the bridge of her nose, she’d looked at Rory desperately, sil
ently begging him not to leave Summerhaven’s management to her.
“I’ll take care of it, Mom,” Rory had said, pushing his mother’s dark hair from her forehead and lowering his lips to her freckled skin. “Don’t worry, yeah?”
Her eyes had closed then, and while Rory had taken some pleasure in seeing the weight of the camp fall from her shoulders, he’d suddenly felt it heavy on his own.
But then, who was better equipped than he to keep the old place afloat? He was graduating with a bachelor’s in hospitality from the best program in the country in just a few weeks. Surely he could manage Summerhaven until his mother was better and his parents were ready to take back the reins. Right? Right.
Except one summer turned into two, turned into three, turned into six.
Rory’s mother was still confined to a wheelchair, though her speech was now intelligible, and she could eat unassisted. And their father, who’d pledged to stay by his wife’s side “in sickness and in health,” wouldn’t dream of leaving Hanover, where Colleen attended physical therapy twice a week and where he was now the assistant coach for Dartmouth University soccer and baseball.
Which left Rory.
Left him, literally, at Summerhaven.
His walkie-talkie beeped loudly. “Go for Rory.”
“Mr. Haven,” said Mrs. Toffle, “can you hear me on this thing? Oh, for heaven’s sake. Mr. Haven? Are you there? Over.”
Sighing, he answered gently, as he always did, “Loud and clear, Mrs. Toffle.”
“Oh! There you are! Joe will be in this afternoon to fix the floorboards, and AT&T is sending a technician tomorrow morning. Over.”
“That’s fine, Mrs. Toffle. The guests won’t arrive until four or five.”
“Also, you had a call. Over.”
He’d mentioned to Mrs. Toffle, about a hundred times, that she didn’t need to say over after every sentence like they were in a live-action performance of M*A*S*H, but she couldn’t seem to break the habit.
