by Maggie Cox
‘Now, love …’ Carefully arranging the groceries in Karen’s large wicker basket, Mrs Kennedy rang up the amount on the old-fashioned till—another charming relic from long ago. The cosy corner shop set-up was much more appealing to Karen than a soulless supermarket. As the elderly lady counted out her change, her watery blue eyes seemed to consider her unsmiling expression sympathetically. ‘Please forgive me if you think I’m being too forward, but I get the distinct feeling that you could use some cheering up—and I have a suggestion. There’s music and dancing down at Malloy’s Bar just off the high street on Saturday night, and you’d be made as welcome as if you were one of our own. Why don’t you come and join us? I’ll be there about eight or so, with my husband, Jack, and we’d love you to come and sit with us. Sure, a bit of music and dancing would do you the world of good. Put the bloom back into those lovely cheeks of yours.’
Music … Inwardly, Karen sighed with longing. How she had missed it. But how could she return to it with any enjoyment after what had happened to Ryan? It had been eighteen months—eighteen long months since she’d even picked up her guitar. What if she couldn’t sing again? What if the tragedy had robbed her of her voice for good? What was the point anyway? Karen’s singing career had been her and Ryan’s joint dream. Now that her husband was no longer living, she didn’t have the heart to pursue it on her own. ‘Tragic Princess of Pop’ the local papers had dubbed her. Maybe that would always be the case. That was one of the reasons why she had eventually fled to Ireland—Ryan’s homeland—selecting the most westerly and rural location she could find, where no one would have heard of the singer who had been starting to make a name for herself back home in Britain.
Now she sighed out loud, wishing with all her heart that she didn’t feel so emotionally ambushed by a simple kind invitation to an evening out. If only she could be normal again—if only she could reply easily and with pleasure at the thought of being amongst people having a good time again. Her gaze focusing on the neat row of canned baked beans and tinned tomatoes behind Eileen Kennedy, she willed herself to say something. Anything. Before the kindly shopkeeper concluded she had lost her manners. But the lady behind the counter didn’t seem in a hurry for a reply. All the shopkeepers Karen had met here had easily transmitted to her that there was nothing they liked better than passing the time of day with a customer.
Finally, sighing again deeply, she found the words she was searching for. ‘I don’t think so, Mrs Kennedy. It’s very nice of you to ask me, but I’m—I’m not very good around people just now.’
‘And sure, no one will expect anything different, sweetheart. They understand you’ve come here for your own private reasons. My guess is to get over something … or someone, maybe? No one expects you to be the life and soul of the party. If there’s any nonsense from anyone my Jack will give them short shrift and no mistake! Come on, now—what could it hurt?’
That was the six-million-dollar question as far as Karen was concerned, and one she still hadn’t figured out the answer to. What was certain was that she definitely wasn’t ready to socialise yet—the way she was feeling she’d sooner jump out of a plane without a parachute. ‘I can’t. I appreciate you asking me, I really do, but right now I.I just couldn’t.’
‘Fair enough, dear. You come and join us when you’re ready. We’re always at Malloy’s on a Saturday night, me and Jack, so we are.’ Eileen rubbed her hands down her wraparound apron, its worn cotton fabric quaintly adorned with sprigs of red berries on a faded pink background, and smiled.
‘Mrs Kennedy?’
‘Yes, my dear?’ The old lady leaned across the counter at the unexpected lowering of the younger woman’s voice, resting her well-covered forearm on the scratched wooden surface.
Karen cleared her throat to give her courage. She respected everybody’s right to privacy, she really did—she hated hers being invaded—but she suddenly had an imperative need to know about the man in the woods. The ‘big bad wolf’, as he’d sardonically dubbed himself.
‘Is there a man in the area who owns a huge fawn-coloured dog? A Great Dane, he said it was.’
‘Gray O’Connell,’ Eileen replied without hesitation. ‘His father lived in the very cottage you’re staying in.’
‘His father? You mean his father is Paddy O’Connell?’ Karen frowned as a wave of shock shuddered through her.
‘Was, you mean … Yes, Paddy was a fine man until the drink did for him—God rest his soul.’ The old lady crossed herself, then leaned conspiratorially towards Karen. ‘His son owns practically everything of any worth around here—including your cottage, of course. Not much pleasure it brings him, either. ‘Tis a wonder he hasn’t gone the way of his father himself, with all that’s happened. But there, I expect he finds solace in his own way, with his painting and such.’
‘He’s an artist?’
‘Yes, dear … a good one, too, by all accounts. My friend Bridie Hanrahan works up at the big house, cleaning and cooking for him. If it wasn’t for Bridie we wouldn’t hear anything about the man at all. Turning into a real recluse, he is. ‘Tis true that money doesn’t buy happiness. More than true in Gray O’Connell’s case, I would say.’
Karen said nothing. It wasn’t her business to pry, or to try and tease more information out of the effusive Mrs Kennedy. She’d heard enough to know that the man had good reason to keep himself to himself, and she of all people could respect that.
‘Well, I’d better be going now. Thanks for everything, Mrs Kennedy.’
‘Do you mind if I ask why you wanted to know about Gray O’Connell?’
Colouring hotly at the question, Karen let her glance settle momentarily on the fat barrel of rosy-red apples by the door, their overripe scent filling the shop.
‘I take an early-morning walk in the woods sometimes. I bumped into him and his dog, that’s all.’ She wouldn’t tell the other woman that she had been scared out of her wits at the sight of the pair of them.
‘He’s an early riser, too, so I hear.’ Eileen shrugged one plump shoulder. ‘I daresay he managed to keep a civil tongue in his head?’
‘Just about.’ Karen’s expression was pained for a moment. ‘I don’t think he was feeling very sociable, either.’
‘That sounds like your man. Don’t pay any mind to his dark ways, will you? Once upon a time he was an entirely different kettle of fish, I can tell you, but tragedy has a way of knocking the stuffing out of folks, and that’s the truth. Some are never the same again.’
I can vouch for that, Karen acquiesced silently. ‘Well … thanks again, Mrs Kennedy. I’ll be seeing you.’
‘Take care of yourself, love. See you soon.’
And with the clanging of the bell behind her, Karen stepped out of the snug little shop, climbed into her car, and hurriedly headed home … .
She didn’t venture into the woods over the next few days. Instead she walked along the deserted beach, wrapped up warmly in sweater and jeans, waterproof jacket and gloves. It rained most mornings—a fine, drizzly affair that the locals lyrically referred to as a ‘soft’ rain—and the truth was Karen didn’t let the weather bother her. It suited her sometimes melancholy frame of mind, and if she waited for the day to be fine she’d never get past the front door.
She’d taken to collecting shells here and there. Her gaze naturally gravitated to the delicate pretty ones, but lately she’d added a couple of bigger specimens to her collection. Taking them back to the cottage, she’d arranged them on the window-sills, and she swore the scent of the sea still clung to each one. But mostly she just walked along the fine white sand until her legs ached, with nothing but the infinitely wise music of the ocean and the gulls screeching above to keep her company.
Often, her thoughts turned to Ryan. Most days she thought sadly how much he would have loved sharing her morning walks. How he would have been keen to share his knowledge of local plants and wildlife with her and fuel her hungry imagination with tales of old Ireland, of kings and storytellers,
of myths and magic. She learnt afresh that she’d lost her best friend as well as her husband and manager.
One morning on the beach she discovered she wasn’t alone. Transfixed by the huge paw-prints dug deep into the sand, Karen felt her heart start to gallop. Shielding her eyes with her gloved hand against the diamond-bright glare of the sun, she glanced up ahead. There they were, just on the horizon, the ‘big bad wolf’ and his sidekick, Lurch. Karen grinned. She hadn’t found much to laugh at during the past interminable few months, and it was strangely exhilarating feeling this sudden desire to dissolve into mirth.
Grinning again, she kicked at some seaweed, then strolled slowly across the wide expanse of sand to the edge of the beach. As the foamy sea lapped at her booted toes, she determinedly resisted the urge to glance up ahead again and see if the man and his beast had gone. Instead, she fixed her sights on the horizon, on the pair of little boats that bobbed up and down on the waves—fishermen, most likely. Men who regularly braved the vagaries of the sea to make their living. There was definitely something heroic about them, she decided. After idly watching them for a while, she silently wished them a good day’s catch and turned to go.
She sucked in a surprised breath when she saw Chase pounding across the sand towards her. Behind him strode his master, and even with the distance between them Karen could see he was not best pleased. Tough, she thought, bracing herself for another terse encounter. But she was completely amazed and almost bowled over when Chase came to an abrupt halt just inches away from her. He sat back on his haunches with a look of such expectancy in his great dark eyes that Karen actually found herself smiling at the beast.
‘You silly hound,’ she murmured, reaching out to pat his head. To her relief, he didn’t try and bite her hand off, but instead made a sort of contented gurgling sound in his throat almost like a cat purring. It made her laugh out loud.
‘So … Little Red Riding Hood tames the beast.’ Gray O’Connell stopped about a foot away from them to regard Karen with a half-amused, enigmatic glance.
Immediately wary, she stopped fussing over the huge dog and dug her hands deep into her waterproof. All of a sudden the urge to laugh at anything suddenly deserted her.
‘Which beast are you referring to?’ she asked boldly.
A dark eyebrow lifted mockingly. ‘It would take more than a slip of a girl with pretty blue eyes to tame me, Miss Ford.’
‘You know who I am, then?’ Ignoring what she thought of as a distinctly backhanded compliment, Karen frowned.
‘I should do. You’re staying in my father’s old cottage. I’m your landlord.’
If he’d thought to shock her, Karen had the advantage—thanks to Eileen Kennedy. ‘So I learned the other day, Mr O’Connell. And, by the way, I wish you’d stop referring to me as a girl. I’m twenty-six and very definitely a woman.’
She’d never meant for the latter part of her statement to sound petulant and annoyed, but somehow it did. All that was missing was the stamping of her foot. To her complete and utter embarrassment, Gray O’Connell threw back his dark head and laughed out loud. Whether that laugh had genuine humour in it was another matter. To Karen’s mind, as she studied the handsome, sardonic profile, it sounded mockingly cruel.
‘I’ll take your word about you being a woman and not a girl, Miss Ford. Who can tell what’s underneath that shapeless garment you’re wearing?’
Karen’s cheeks burned with indignation. ‘There’s no need to be so rude. It’s just a waterproof. You’d hardly expect me to walk on the beach in this weather in something wispy and diaphanous, would you?’
The unsettling mercurial grey eyes insolently swept her figure. His jaw rose fractionally with undeniable challenge.
‘It would take more than that to tame the beast in me, Miss Ford—but I feel myself warming to the idea by the second …’
‘You’re completely impossible!’ This time, to her complete dismay, Karen did resort to stamping her foot. As soon as she’d done it she felt immensely foolish, and frustratingly too close to tears to say anything else. In front of her, Chase cocked his head, as if he understood and sympathised. It was funny how she was quickly warming to the dog and not the man.
‘I’m afraid you’re not the first woman to make that accusation,’ Gray muttered darkly, ‘and I’m damn sure you won’t be the last. By the way, it’s rather fortunate that we’ve seen each other today. There’s something I wanted to tell you.’
‘Oh?’ Karen’s brows knit worriedly beneath her honey-blonde fringe. ‘And what would that be, Mr O’Connell?’
‘I’m giving you notice to quit the cottage. Two weeks as of today. It’s no longer available to rent.’
Thunder roared in her ears as she stared at Gray O’Connell’s darkly implacable face in disbelief. He wanted her to leave the cottage? In just two weeks? Her plans had not been carved in stone, but she’d counted on staying where she was for at least another couple of months or so. To uproot now, when she was just starting to feel a part of this place … It was upsetting and unthinkable—and all because her devilish landlord had apparently taken an instant dislike to her!
‘Why?’ When the word came out she sounded winded, as if she’d been running. Disappointment and hurt tugged at the corners of her mouth, pulling it downwards.
Gray O’Connell shrugged one broad shoulder encased in battered black leather. ‘As far as I’m aware I’m not legally bound to explain my reasons.’
‘No, but it’s common courtesy, surely?’
Those strange fey eyes of his glittered with chilling frostiness, openly scorning her indignation. ‘Go back to your nice, safe little world in British suburbia, Miss Ford. Don’t be fooled by the scenery or the supposed peace of this place. There is no peace to be had around here. Only heartache and tragedy and that’s a fact. A place like this—a life like mine—has no time for such petty considerations as common courtesy!’
His words were released with such savagery that for a moment Karen didn’t know what to do. There was one part of her that wanted to run away—to hasten back to the cottage and pack—yet there was also something perverse in her that willed her to stay and face him out, make him see that he wasn’t the only one who was hurting. Not that he’d listen to her, of course. Not when he’d already clearly dismissed her as a silly little girl.
‘Then I feel very sorry for you, Mr O’Connell.’
Her gaze lingered dangerously on the cold, unfeeling glance that was bereft of anything remotely akin to human warmth, then moved curiously down to the strongly patrician nose. It was a work of art, that was for sure. A fraction lower and her glance finally came to rest on the perfectly sculpted brooding mouth, whose upper lip was an uncompromising line of bitterness and hostility. With jolting awareness she saw that in spite of its currently bleak outlook he had a face that could be quite devastating in its beauty.
‘I feel sorry for you … yes, sorry. It seems that you’ve forgotten what it is to be entirely human. My guess is that you’re angry about something … hurt, too. But rage only creates more rage, you know. It hurts you more than it hurts anyone else. I don’t know what’s tormenting you, but I like your father’s cottage. I’d really like to stay there for a little while longer. If it’s more rent you want, then—’
‘Keep your damn money, woman! Do you think I need it?’
He glanced bleakly out to sea for several long seconds, his jaw hard and angled with rage, his eyes glittering—a prisoner in his own morose, walled-off world. A man who had deliberately isolated himself from the rest of humanity and the comfort he might get from it. Karen was chilled right down to the bone. He was like an iceberg—remote, glacial and impervious. If she’d hoped to appeal to his better nature it was becoming glaringly obvious that he didn’t have one.
That established, she started to turn away, surprised when Chase followed her for a few steps, whimpering as if he didn’t want her to go.
‘You’ve put a damn hex on my dog, you little witch.’
‘The sooner you go, the better, Miss Ford. Two weeks. then I want you gone!’
He pivoted and strode off up the beach. The long legs that were encased in fitted black denim jeans hinted at the powerful muscle in his thighs, and Chase, after one more sorrowful glance at Karen, turned and raced after him …
CHAPTER TWO
THE day after Karen’s second unfortunate encounter with Gray O’Connell, the cold that had been brewing for days arrived with a vengeance. Having had very little in the way of sleep the night before, she decided to be sensible for once and stay indoors. After a tiring struggle to get the ultimately feeble fire going, she flopped down wearily into the one worn, tapestry-covered armchair with its lacy antimacassar, nursing her mug of hot water and lemon, trying not to succumb to a strong wave of self-pity—a challenge when her eyes were droopy and red from lack of sleep and her nose was stinging and sore from blowing it.
Outside, the rain increased with sudden force, the branches of the trees creaking eerily beneath the weight of it. It was a desolate, lonely sound, but surprisingly it didn’t bother her. Not when she was despondent because of something much more disturbing to her peace of mind. She didn’t relish the thought of leaving this old stone cottage. It was so unfair when Gray O’Connell had only demanded she leave because he’d taken a personal dislike to her. What other reason could there be, when he hadn’t even thought it necessary to explain?
Well, perhaps it would end up being for the best in the long run—his ill-mannered ways certainly didn’t bode well for future encounters if she stayed. Even so, Karen would now have to search for another property to rent in the area. Whatever happened, she wasn’t ready to return home yet. Not when the inevitable questions and perhaps criticisms from family and friends would be waiting for her. She wasn’t nearly ready to explain her feelings or her actions to anyone. The truth was she didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for that. She’d struggled for over a year, pretending she was handling things, and in the end had realised she just had to get away.
