by Zara Keane
“Ain’t that the truth.” Fiona’s mind was racing, weighing her aunt’s words and their implications. Bernard was a loathsome toad. She’d never liked him, not even as a child. But would he stoop to defrauding his only sister and his orphaned niece of their inheritance? She had her answer before her brain formed the question. She sensed the truth in her gut, in all its acidic glory. “What about the land he’s using to build the shopping center? Was that part of my grandparents’ estate?”
Her aunt nodded. “That’s the only parcel of land he didn’t sell right after our mother died. He’s clung to it all these years, biding his time until he had the money and planning permission to build the center.”
Fiona visualized the vast stretch of land spreading out from her grandparents’ old farmhouse. Theirs had once been one of the largest farms in the area, back when farming was still a reasonably profitable endeavor. She thought of Bridie’s precarious financial situation and her own years of studying and working in order to scrimp and save to put a down payment on a one-bedroom apartment in Dublin, then of her struggle to put money aside for her world trip. In contrast, Muireann had never needed to do more than play at working as an interior designer and got to swan off to London, Paris, or New York on shopping trips. It was hard not to indulge her inner green-eyed monster.
A thought coalesced, faint at first, then gaining clarity. “Wait. Isn’t that where the fairy tree is?”
“Oh, aye,” Bridie said, shaking her head sadly. “They want to cut it down.”
The words lashed Fiona like a whip. “Bernard can’t do that. Felling a fairy tree brings bad luck to anyone associated with its destruction.”
“Bernard pays no heed to the old beliefs. His only concern is increasing his bank account.”
“Is there no way to stop him?”
“There’s talk of a protest, but I doubt anything will come of it. Everyone who’s anyone in Ballybeg has a stake in that shopping center.”
Fiona tapped the side of her cup in thought. “We could stop him if we could prove he tampered with Nana’s will.”
“You’d go to all that trouble to save the tree?”
“Hell, no. If my uncle cheated us, I want to know. And believe me when I say I’ll make the bastard pay.”
Her aunt gripped her arm. “Dwelling on what might have been is a mug’s game. Believe me, I’ve been there. I never should have brought it up.”
“If there’s nothing to prove Bernard did wrong with the will, there’s nothing we can do,” Fiona said. “But one way or another, I intend to look into it.”
“Be sensible, love, and leave well alone.” Bridie released her grip. “I’m sorry for getting maudlin. I rarely think about it these days, but it’s hard not to at the moment with Bernard gloating over his building project and me struggling to keep the shop going.”
“Don’t worry about it now. Concentrate on getting better.” Fiona rearranged her aunt’s pillows. “Are you comfortable? Or at least as comfortable as you can get?”
“I’m grand, pet.” Bridie gave her a wan smile. “You go off home, and please don’t do anything rash.”
Chapter Nineteen
GAVIN AWOKE TO sunlight streaming through his bedroom window and a dog farting in his face. “Ugh!” He shoved the dog off him and sat up in the bed.
The room spun. It was Sunday morning. He’d been out for a few drinks with Jonas the night before. Clearly, he’d had one too many. He’d have to rein in the drinking, and fast. He had enough problems at the moment without adding another to the list.
“Woof!” Wiggly Poo leaped off the duvet and pawed at the bedroom door. “Woof!”
Gavin rubbed sleep from his eyes. “How the hell did you get in here?” Memories of a whining puppy outside his bedroom door broke through his uncaffeinated haze. “Feck. Did I let you sleep in my room again?” He groaned and hauled himself out of bed. “All right, all right. Let me get dressed and we’ll go out.”
He grabbed an old T-shirt and shorts from his wardrobe and pulled them on. His reflection in the full-length mirror was not a pretty sight. Thick stubble lined his jaw, and his hair stood up in wild tufts. A shave and a hairbrush would take care of them, but there wasn’t much he could do about the dark bags underneath his eyes. He wasn’t sleeping well, and it showed.
The puppy dropped one of his running shoes on his toes.
“Thanks,” he said dryly. He laced the shoes and clipped Wiggly Poo’s lead to his dog collar. “Come on. Let’s face the world.”
The dog raced out the cottage door and down the garden path, dragging Gavin in his wake.
“Wait up, mate. I’m supposed to be taking you for a walk, not the other way around.”
Someone snorted from the neighboring garden. “Haven’t you realized he’s in charge?” Fiona was leaning against the gate to Bridie’s cottage. Her dark curls were pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore workout gear. Her green eyes flashed with annoyance at the sight of him.
His stomach lurched. He’d put his size twelves in it yesterday. He ran a nervous hand through his short hair and took a step toward her. “Listen, about what I said yesterday—”
“It’s grand,” she said, bending to stroke Wiggly Poo’s curly fur. “Forget about it.”
“It’s not grand. I was an eejit. And selfish. You’re absolutely right on that score. I hadn’t thought it through.”
She sighed. “I wish I hadn’t said anything about our marriage. I wish I’d ignored that piece of paper, not let Olivia look us up in the online registry.”
Gavin took a step closer. This time, she didn’t move. “But you’d have known,” he said softly and stroked her cheek. “You’d have known I was committing bigamy. Plus you were giving me the choice of what to do. You weren’t to know Bernard would barge in right at that moment.”
She looked up, paralyzing him with her electrifying green gaze. She wore no makeup, and her freckles stood out more than usual against her pale skin. “What would you have done?” she whispered. “If Bernard hadn’t barged in?”
He took a ragged breath and stepped away from her. He looked out over the beach below. “I don’t know. My mind was in turmoil, bouncing from one decision to another. In hindsight, I hope I would have done the right thing and told Muireann the truth.”
“Fair enough.” She fell silent a moment, then said, “I have something for you. Wait a sec.”
She darted inside Bridie’s cottage and reemerged with a plastic bag. “You forgot these,” she said, handing him the bag, careful to avoid touching him. The sleeve of her workout shirt slid up to reveal a beautiful vine tattoo.
He peeked inside the bag. It contained several books—the ones she’d picked out for him yesterday. “Thanks, Fiona. I’m looking forward to reading them. What do I owe you?”
“On the house. Consider them reimbursement for letting us borrow your coffee machine.” She tugged down her sleeve, concealing her ink. He wondered how far up her arm it extended.
“That’s a gorgeous tattoo,” he said. “I’d like to get another one, but Muireann was always on at me to get rid of the two I’ve got.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. They suit you.” She blushed and her eyes dropped to her scuffed running shoes.
Wiggly Poo whined and tugged at his lead.
“Were you planning to go for a run on the beach?” He yanked on Wiggly Poo’s lead as the dog tried to trot across the road to the stone steps leading to the beach.
She bent down to give the puppy another scratch, giving Gavin an excellent view of her Lycra-clad legs. “I was thinking about it. But it’d be more of a power walk in my case. Jogging’s not ideal with my leg. Plus I’m out of shape.” She motioned to his cottage. “Jonas and Luca not staying with you?”
“No. They stayed over with Jonas’s parents last night. Luca is going through a phase of having night terrors. Nuala—his grandmother—is great at calming him back to sleep. So what about that power walk?”
Her face split into a small
smile that evaporated into uncertainty a second later.
“Come on,” he urged. “Come with us. Wiggly Poo will put us both through our paces.”
She was still for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. As long as you promise not to drive me to the point of collapse.”
They took the route west, out toward the caves at Craggy Point. The caves were perennially popular hangouts for local teenagers and the site of many a secret tryst. Depending on the tides, they were partially submerged, but the water rarely got so deep as to be dangerous. Gavin and Jonas had enjoyed plenty of cookouts in the caves during their youth.
“I haven’t been out to Craggy Point in years.” Fiona bent to catch her breath. “Not since I was in my teens.”
“Am I going too fast for you?”
“Compared to Wiggly Poo,” she panted, “We’re both snails.”
“How’s your leg?” he asked, indicating her right leg. “To be honest, I’d forgotten all about it until you mentioned it earlier.”
Her soft lips curved. “I usually forget myself. It bothers me in colder weather or if I run without warming up. Other than that, it’s fine.”
“Here.” Gavin tossed her his water bottle.
She caught it and straightened, then took a long drink. “I remember this cave.” She pointed at narrow entrance just visible beyond the next boulder. “It was always my favorite.”
He grinned at her. “What did you get up to in there? Or is it too scandalous to share?”
“Don’t be daft.” She swatted him with the water bottle. “The most I ever did in the caves was share a drunken snog.”
“So why’s it your favorite? I don’t remember anything special about it in comparison to the others.”
Indecision flickered across her face. Finally, she shrugged. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
They clambered over fallen rocks and made their way to the cave’s entrance. The tide wasn’t long out, and the cave floor was slick with seaweed and seawater.
“It’s toward the back.” She stepped gingerly over a clump of seaweed.
He followed her in, Wiggly Poo dancing at his heels. Why couldn’t he find something to focus on other than her backside? Ever since the dress-splitting incident, he associated Fiona with fabulous female buttocks. He blinked and shifted his focus to his feet. If he didn’t watch his step, he’d be the one flat on his face with his arse in the air.
“Here.” She stopped in front of a section of cave wall and smoothed her palms over rough rock. “Do you have a torch?”
“Yeah.” He fished his torch out of his back pocket and handed it to her.
Fiona switched the light on and shone the torch at the wall. “Look,” she said, pointing at two faded names carved into the cave wall. “Michael and Cathy Forever. August 1980. My parents.”
“Wow,” Gavin said. “They knew each other way back then?”
“Yeah. They met in primary school and were a couple by the end of secondary school.” Her voice broke on the last words of the sentence.
“You must miss them very much,” he said gently, giving her shoulder a tentative pat.
She bit her lip, and her eyes shifted to the carving on the wall. “I miss them every day. My little brother, too. They say time heals, but I don’t agree. I’ve reached the point where I don’t burst into tears every time something reminds me of what I’ve lost. It’s easier in Dublin. No shared memories. But it’s hard not to think of them when I’m in Ballybeg.”
“I can understand that.” His touch on her shoulder turned into a caress. “You’re very brave, you know. Much braver than I’d have been in your position.”
She shook her head. “I’m not brave, Gavin. I only wish I were. I wish I were confident and able to take on the world with a smile, no matter how crappy I was feeling.”
“You, not confident? If you’re not, you’re very good at faking it. Besides, you’ve done pretty well for yourself, from what I can see.”
“I was daft enough to marry you.”
“True.” They fell into an awkward silence, neither knowing how to break the ice. The mention of their Vegas madness put a dampener on every conversation.
“Come on,” he said finally. “Let’s get out of here before we freeze. And I’d better get home. I need to make a few calls about jobs.”
“Any luck with getting interviews?” she asked, navigating the slippery ground with care.
He grimaced. “None so far. Nor have I found a buyer for Clonmore Lodge. Bernard’s tentacles extend far and wide.”
Not to mention the looming deadline. Aidan Gant had left several messages on his voice mail. The first few were amiable, asking if he’d decided what to do about the agreement. The latest message saw Gant’s cordiality slip several notches. He was curt and to the point: Gavin was to be at his office at five o’clock on Friday the 17th of October. Bernard had ‘graciously’ extended Gavin’s deadline to accommodate Gant’s busy schedule. This wasn’t an invitation. It was a bloody order. One way or the other, Bernard Byrne intended to bleed him dry, and there wasn’t a damn thing Gavin could do to stop him. He ground his teeth in frustration.
“Oh!” Fiona gasped, slipping on a piece of damp seaweed. Gavin caught her in the nick of time, breaking her fall. Her face was millimeter from his, those adorable freckles visible even in the faint light of the cave.
He should draw back, cut the cord of temptation. His heart slammed against his ribs, and her ragged breathing mirrored his own.
His focus was riveted on her nose. That adorable, freckle-smudged nose he’d been so keen to lick just a few days ago.
He kissed it, then drew back and heard her intake of breath. Her lips parted, revealing very white teeth and the tip of her very pink tongue. As if drawn to the magnet of her lip ring, he touched her lips with his.
The kiss was tender at first—tender and tentative. Then she leaned into him and took control. Her tongue sought his. She kissed him as if their lives depended on it, shoving his back against the cool cave wall. He felt his pulse quicken and his erection harden. Every sensible thought of why this was a very bad idea went on hiatus, leaving his hormones in the driving seat. Jaysus. This woman would be his undoing.
He hadn’t kissed like this since school. Back in those long-gone days when a kiss was all a boy could expect from a date and he made damn sure to maximize its potential. A lost art… one he wanted to practice more often. He drew her closer, matched her intensity, beat for passionate beat. And then it was over, as abruptly as it had begun. She pulled back, stumbling.
They stood there a moment, staring at one another, breathing heavily.
“I’m sorry,” she said, drawing a ragged breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No.” He pulled her close and nuzzled her hair. “I kissed you first. And I’m not in the least sorry. Maybe I should be, but I’m not.”
“Woof!” Wiggly Poo inserted his hairy snout between them.
Fiona laughed and scratched his neck. “Looks like someone’s bored with the cave.”
“Yeah.” Gavin took a deep, shuddery breath. “We’d better get going.”
“Please make it a more sedate pace this time,” she said. “I’ve got a stitch in my side.”
“Wimp. I’ll bet you can jog if you try alternating it with a minute’s walking.”
“Sadist. If I collapse in an undignified heap, you’re responsible for carrying me home.” She gestured to her figure. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m no lightweight.”
He pressed his tongue into the roof of his mouth and let his gaze roam over her curves. Yeah, he was doomed. “I think I could manage to lug you for a bit.”
Chapter Twenty
FIONA CRUNCHED UP THE GRAVEL DRIVE to Fatima House, the nursing home where Bridie had been transferred two weeks previously.
September had faded into October, bringing an abrupt end to the horde of holidaymakers in Ballybeg. Tourists, she’d discovered, were good news for the Book Mark. They popped in f
or a coffee and a freshly baked scone and stocked up on reading material for the beach. Now it was time to implement her plans to lure extra locals into the shop. The first Children’s Story Hour was scheduled for next Wednesday afternoon, and the inaugural meeting of the Ballybeg Book Club would take place at the end of the month.
Despite throwing herself into Plan Save the Book Mark body and soul, she couldn’t stop thinking about Gavin Maguire.
That kiss… that crazy, impulsive, hormone-altering kiss. If she hadn’t pulled away, what would’ve happened? Would he have called a halt? Stopped them from ripping each other’s clothes off and making love on the cold cave floor? And if he hadn’t, would the sex have been as soul-searing as it had been all those years ago in Vegas?
She fanned herself, exhaled in a whoosh. Her body temperature increased by a few degrees merely thinking about it.
Since the day in the cave, she’d been avoiding him and ignoring his texts. It was the cowardly route. She knew this, but her head was spinning. This wasn’t mere sexual attraction—on her side, at least. The feelings that had lain dormant were showing signs of life. Over the years, she’d had several boyfriends, but none had impacted her the way he had. She’d had better sex since their night in Vegas and longer relationships. But no one had come close to penetrating her heart.
She parked the car in the last available space and took the short flight of stone steps leading to the entrance of the nursing home. Inside, the marble-floored lobby was quiet.
“Is Bridie Byrne back from physiotherapy?” she asked the gray-haired lady sitting at the reception desk.
The woman smiled. “Wait a moment. I’ll call and see.” A couple of minutes later, she replaced the receiver. “You can go on upstairs. Bridie’s finished her lunch.”
Her aunt was reading in an armchair by the window of the small room she shared with two other women. She glanced up when Fiona came in. “How’s my shop?”
“Still standing,” Fiona said with a smile.
“You and Sharon haven’t come to blows?”
She laughed. “Not yet. Ask me after we get through next week’s Children’s Story Hour.”
