Irish Secrets

by Paula Martin

  Irish Secrets

  Paula Martin

  Irish Secrets

  Presented by Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery

  Copyright © 2016 Paula Martin

  Cover Art Copyright © 2016 Katrina Gillian {Judge Your Book By Its Cover}

  Editing Copyright © 2016 Charlotte Raby

  Executive Producer Karen Michelle Nutt

  Design Consultant Laura Shinn

  Front cover photograph: “Nursery at Sean Ross Abbey, County Tipperary, reproduced under a Creative Commons Attribution license, by permission of Adoption Rights Alliance/Brian Lockier.”

  Licensing Notes

  All rights reserved under U.S. and International copyright law. This ebook is licensed only for the private use of the purchaser. May not be copied, scanned, digitally reproduced, or printed for re-sale, may not be uploaded on shareware or free sites, or used in any other manner without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Irish Secrets is a work of fiction. Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

  With grateful thanks to Margaret, Miriam, and Lyn for all your help and support.

  Irish Secrets

  While working at Mist Na Mara Arts Centre in Ireland, Kara Stewart embarks on a search for the birth parents of her mother, who was adopted in 1960 by an American couple. She soon realises the task is not as simple as she anticipated when she meets with a wall of secrecy surrounding Irish baby adoptions at that time.

  Taxi driver Ryan Brady is also hiding the secret of his real identity but, when he offers to help Kara trace her Irish family, the mutual attraction between them grows and deepens into love.

  As the secrets are gradually revealed, they drive a wedge, not only between Kara and Ryan, but also between Kara and her mother.

  Can they find a way to heal the rifts and heartbreak created by all these secrets?

  Chapter 1

  Kara Stewart let out a frustrated huff as she descended the three uneven stone steps from the front door of the Western Adoption Agency. So much for her expectation that someone would open a file and give her all the information she needed. The task she'd set herself was obviously going to prove more difficult than she anticipated.

  She glanced across the street at the coffee shop on the corner. Maybe a large Americano would help her wrap her mind around everything the Agency secretary had told her. After checking to her left for oncoming traffic, she stepped into the road.

  A squeal of brakes and the harsh blast from a car horn made her jump. Turning quickly, she clapped her hand to her mouth. She'd come within inches of being hit by a dark blue taxi.

  The driver jumped out. "What the—? Are you trying to commit suicide or something?"

  "I'm so sorry! I looked the wrong wa—" Her thudding heart jerked as she recognised him. He'd driven them several times from Mist Na Mara into Clifden. "Oh, it's you."

  Wide-eyed surprise replaced the man's frown. "Kara? I didn't expect to see you here in Galway."

  "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking and forgot to look right instead of left."

  "No harm done, fortunately." He took a step nearer her. "Are you okay? You look a bit shaken."

  "I'm good." Her pulse still galloped, but she nodded toward his car. "I'm just grateful for your good brakes."

  "Reflex action, but I'll admit you gave me a scare."

  "I'm sorry," she said again.

  "Where are you heading? Can I give you a lift?"

  Momentarily, she considered asking him to take her to Salthill, but the need for coffee prevailed, if only to calm her nerves after the near miss. "Actually, I was aiming for the café across the road."

  "Sounds like a good plan. Mind if I join you?"

  Surprised, but with a tickle of pleasure scuttling through her veins, she nodded. "Sure, but only if you let me buy you a coffee. My way of thanking you for not knocking me down."

  "Okay, if you insist. I'll park up and join you there." He glanced over his shoulder. "Road's clear for you to cross now without giving anyone else a heart attack."

  Kara crossed, walked a few yards along the street to the door of the coffee shop, and waited while he reversed into a space between two parked cars.

  She allowed herself a small smile. What were the odds of meeting Ryan Brady here in Galway? But it had happened, and now she was about to have coffee with him.

  Her friend Liz's words echoed in her mind: Tried to flirt with him once, but got no response. Probably means he's married with half a dozen kids.

  Perhaps she was about to find out if that was true.

  “What drink would you like?” she asked as they entered the small, crowded café.

  “I’ll get them. See if you can find a spare table.”

  “Okay, but you must let me pay.” She handed him a twenty Euro note. “A large Americano for me, and whatever you want."

  She claimed an empty table near the window and watched him as he crossed to the counter. Tall, over six foot, she guessed, with broad shoulders encased in a mid-blue polo shirt. His biceps and forearms were firm, not too hairy, but definitely masculine. Her glance slid down to where his shirt was tucked into well-fitting black pants. The words nice ass came into her mind, and she suppressed a smile. She didn't usually survey men's bodies, but Ryan Brady's certainly ticked all the right boxes.

  When he turned and rolled his eyes at the slowness of the service, she grinned. He smiled back, revealing small dimples in his cheeks which only added to his good looks. Not movie heartthrob gorgeous, but still attractive, even though she wasn't usually a fan of men with beards. At least his was short and neatly trimmed, unlike his thick and somewhat unruly dark hair. His outstanding feature, though, was his Irish blue eyes. She'd noticed those the first time she saw him a few weeks ago. Beautiful eyes, the colour of a spring sky.

  It took several minutes before he brought a tray across to the table, placed the mug of coffee in front of her, and offloaded a teacup, stainless steel teapot, and small jug of milk. "Sorry for the delay," he said, as he sat opposite her. "There's a trainee barista behind the counter, and the poor lad hasn't a clue what he's doing. Anyhow, have you recovered from your fright?"

  "I think my heartbeat's returned to normal now." Not entirely true, but she couldn't tell him why it still beat faster than usual. "How about yours?"

  "Oh, I'm used to it in Galway, with eejits stepping into the road without looking." He held up his hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean you were an eejit."

  She laughed. "Yes, I am. By now I should know to look right before I cross a road, shouldn't I?"

  "I have the same problem whenever I'm in France. I end up looking both ways half a dozen times before I risk crossing. Anyhow, what brings you to Galway?"

  "Oh, you know, shopping and some sightseeing."

  "If you head through the park from here to Eyre Square, you'll see a bronze bust of one of your Presidents. JFK was here in Galway about six months before he was assassinated. And then, if you turn left into William Street, you'll find plenty of shops there, and that leads straight into Shop Street, which is pedestrianized, by the way, so you won't need to watch out for any traffic."

  His soft Irish accent was part of the attraction which played havoc with her pulse rate, but she shot an amused glance at him as she stirred her coffee. "You're not gonna let me forget this morning's error, are you?"

  He laughed. "Probably not. Did you dri
ve here today?"

  "Whoa, no way! I've driven my cousin's car into Clifden a few times, but I'm not confident enough to drive in a city yet. I came by bus, so I could relax and enjoy the scenery. Connemara is such a wild and beautiful area, with all the hills and lakes."

  "Loughs," he said.

  "Sorry, loughs. Everyone laughed at me at first when I said loffs. I didn't realise it's pronounced like the Scottish lochs." She raised her coffee mug toward his teacup. "Sláinte! At least I've learned how to pronounce that correctly."

  Ryan clinked his cup against hers. "Sláinte! How long have you been here in Ireland?"

  "Just over four months. I came over here at Christmas."

  "And I assume you're working at Mist Na Mara Arts Centre?"

  She nodded. "I'm part of the Living History group. We do costumed plays in the Victorian part of the house."

  "So you're an actress?"

  "Not a trained one, no, but I did some drama at school, and I acted in a few plays at college. I enjoy it, but I'm not very good."

  Ryan's throaty chuckle sent a ripple through her. "At least you're honest, and not claiming you appeared on Broadway or starred in a Hollywood movie before coming to Ireland."

  "I never had any yearnings in that direction. I majored in chemistry, and worked for the New York Police Department for five years."

  His eyes widened. "You're a police officer?"

  "No, forensics. You know, all the gory stuff. Analyzing DNA and hair and body fluids, etcetera."

  "An essential job in any police department. Why did you quit and join an acting group?"

  "I – erm – I wanted a change." No need to tell him about Captain Mark Rankin of the NYPD, whom she'd dated for six months before discovering he was married with two kids.

  "A change, is it? Well, forensics to acting is a big change in itself, but to move from America to Ireland is an even bigger change. Why Ireland?"

  She hadn't told anyone her real reason. It was too soon to share details about her search when she had no idea whether she would find any answers.

  Realising Ryan was waiting for an answer, she gave him a quick smile. "My cousin Guy and his wife Jenna own Mist Na Mara House, so I asked them if I could join their team here. I may have slightly exaggerated my acting abilities, but I wanted to visit Ireland anyway." She hesitated for a moment. "Actually, I think I have some Irish ancestry."

  "Is that right? Do you know where they came from?"

  "A small town called Ballykane in County Tipperary."

  He nodded. "I know it. Driven through it a few times on the way to Nenagh or Roscrea. An ordinary little place, very typical of our small Irish towns. One main street, a couple of churches, the usual small shops, and half a dozen or more bars. Have you been there yet?"

  "No, but I'm hoping to visit sometime." She glanced at his left hand as he raised his teacup to his mouth. No ring on his third finger, but that didn't mean anything. So far, she'd not really learned anything about him, but she balked at asking him directly if he was married. She took a quick sip of her coffee and decided on a more subtle approach. "Do you know anything about your ancestry?"

  He shook his head and shrugged. "I assume they're all from Dublin like me. Jackeens, as everyone here in the west would call us."

  "How long have you lived in Clifden?"

  "Not long, but I like the town, and its surroundings. It has the coast, the mountains, and history, too. Have you ever been out to Derrygimla?"

  "Where's that?"

  "Couple of miles south of Clifden. The first non-stop transatlantic flight ended there in 1919. They thought they were landing in a green field, and instead they pitched nose down into a good old Irish bog."

  "Oh yes, there are some old newspaper articles and photos about that in Murphy's Bar." Aware he'd diverted the conversation away from himself, she went on, "I've never seen you in Murphy's. Do you have a favourite bar in Clifden?"

  He grinned. "I've tried them all, but Coyne's is the nearest to where I live."

  "Where do you live?"

  "In a flat above a shop on Bridge Street, but don't be imagining it's anything like your apartments in the States. The whole of my flat would probably fit into the living room of an American apartment."

  "Some apartments are very small, you know, especially in the cities."

  "I was in New York one time, and stayed with an – with a guy who had a huge apartment in Brooklyn. I suppose I imagined all apartments were like his."

  "One of my friends had a studio apartment in Hoboken that was even smaller than my room at Mist Na Mara."

  Ryan laughed. "And here's me thinking all Americans lived in palatial apartments or huge houses. Have you always lived in New York?"

  "I was born and brought up in New Jersey, but I shared an apartment with a friend on East 33rd Street for a couple of years. What did you think of New York?"

  "I thought Galway traffic was bad, and Dublin even worse, but driving in New York scared the pants off me, with all those impatient cab drivers blasting their horns." He drained his cup of tea, and glanced at his watch. "Well, it's been grand to chat, but I must go now. I'm meeting a friend in about ten minutes. Can I give you a lift back to Clifden later? No charge, by the way, because I'll be heading back there anyway."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Fer sure I'm sure. What time?"

  "Whenever's convenient for you."

  "Four o'clock? That'll give you plenty of time for your shopping, won't it? There's a taxi rank on the far side of the park. Wait somewhere near there and I'll pick you up."

  She flashed him a quick smile. "Thanks, Ryan. I really appreciate that. See you later."

  * * * * *

  Garda Detective Ryan O'Neill blew out his breath as he crossed the road to his car. He'd almost slipped up when he was about to tell Kara he'd stayed with an NYPD officer in Brooklyn, especially as she said she'd worked with the New York police. After a month of undercover work, masquerading as a taxi driver with the assumed name of Ryan Brady, he couldn't afford to make errors. And definitely not when he'd finally started to piece together some possible evidence about the stolen goods racket that had plagued the Connemara area since the beginning of the year.

  His detective instincts, however, had already alerted him to something intriguing. Kara had come by bus from Clifden to Galway. They only ran every three hours, so she must have caught the nine-fifteen bus which arrived here at ten-forty-five. Why had it taken her until eleven-thirty to reach the place where she stepped out in front of his car? This street was less than three minutes' walk from the bus station, and even if she'd stopped to ask for directions, that didn't explain the forty-five minute time difference. As he opened his car door, he glanced around. No shops or other sights to see here, just an ordinary street with a hotel and some office buildings.

  Curiosity gnawed at him as he negotiated Galway's congested one-way streets, and he tried to suppress it. Although he'd love to get to know her better, this was the wrong time. He couldn't risk any distractions from his current assignment. The Chief wouldn't forgive him a second time.

  Chapter 2

  Kara waited until Ryan drove away before leaving the coffee shop. She checked the sketch map Josie Flynn, the secretary at the Adoption Agency, had drawn for her, and followed the directions along the side of the small park to the bus stop. It occurred to her that maybe she should take a look at the bust of President Kennedy, in case Ryan asked her about it later, but the decision was taken out of her hands when the Number 401 bus approached the stop.

  During the twenty-minute journey to Salthill, the seaside area of Galway, she tried to formulate the questions she wanted to ask when she reached the Calvary Hospital, but her mind kept drifting to Ryan. Was it her imagination, or had he deliberately steered the conversation away from himself? She gathered together the few crumbs she'd learnt about him: his family came from Dublin, he hadn't been in Clifden for long, whatever that meant, and he had a small apartment in Bridge Street. Not muc
h to go on, except he said I and not we, even when he mentioned France and New York.

  But Mark Rankin had always been careful in the same way. He called his New York apartment his 'bachelor pad', and only gave her vague information about his past life. Not for one minute did she suspect he was married, and she'd been naïve enough to accept his excuse of 'working on a case' for the weekends he spent away from New York. Until the day Joanne Rankin turned up at HQ on a surprise visit to her husband.

  Perhaps she was being paranoid, but no way was she going to make the same mistake again.

  She jerked back to the present when the bus reached the promenade at Salthill, and alighted near the Calvary Hospital.

  Not that she held out much hope of learning anything from the Sisters of Calvary who, according to Josie, once ran the mother and baby home at Ballykane, and now owned the private hospital here in Galway.

  "Ye'll have to be very persistent," Josie said. "It's difficult to get any information from them, but don't be fobbed off. Once the scandal about all the baby adoptions was highlighted in the media, the religious orders clammed up. Honourin' their guarantees of confidentiality, they call it."

  The hospital, a modern two-storey building, was set in spacious, well-maintained grounds, and she followed the signs to the reception area. At the desk, she explained briefly the reason for her visit and asked to speak to someone who might be able to help her.