by Jo McNally
With a little luck, this fake engagement just might become the real deal...
Bridget McKinnon would do anything for her feisty ailing grandma Maura. She’ll even stay close to home and serve up green beer in the Purple Shamrock instead of pursuing her own culinary dreams. But money’s tight. So when a stranger with a sexy brogue asks about the apartment she’s renting out, Bridget hopes she’s landed a little piece of Irish luck...only to find she’s knee-deep in a crazy plan that’s turning her life upside down.
College professor Finn O’Hearn needs this job in Rendezvous Falls—his visa may depend on it. If he can convince his beautiful but tightly wound landlord to be his pretend fiancée, his boss will be happy—as will Bridget’s matchmaking grandma and her meddling book club. Finn and Bridget fool (almost) everyone with their sizzling glances and toe-curling kisses…even as they tell themselves it’s only make-believe.
Playing a part has never been so easy. But when love is real, it’s time to find the courage to start playing by heart...
“Readers will be charmed by this sweet, no-nonsense
Christmas romance full of genuine emotion.”
—Publishers Weekly on Stealing Kisses in the Snow
Also available from
Jo McNally
and HQN
Slow Dancing at Sunrise
Stealing Kisses in the Snow
Sweet Nothings by Moonlight (ebook novella)
For a complete list of titles available from Jo McNally,
please visit jomcnallyromance.com.
Barefoot on a Starlit Night
Jo McNally
Dedicated to the laughing Irishman who gave me the real life happily-ever-after I never dreamed possible.
To himself, with all my love.
Acknowledgments
Anyone who knows me knew that someday I’d have to write a romance with a genuine Irish hero. Set in an Irish pub. With green beer. I married my own Boston Irish hero twenty-four years ago, and he introduced me to all things Irish, including his relatives in the Emerald Isle. This book is set in a fictional Irish pub in the Finger Lakes area of New York. While I’ve frequented a number of Irish pubs both here and in Ireland, I’d like to give a special shout-out to our favorite—Kitty Hoynes Irish Pub & Restaurant in Syracuse, New York. The proprietor, David Hoyne, has made us feel welcome there for more than twenty years, with the best-poured pints, delicious food, great music and brilliant Irish coffee.
I’m thankful for the helpful information on work visas and green cards I received from Nicole Allaoui.
One of the characters is dealing with breast cancer in this story. Unfortunately, I know a number of friends and family members who have had or are dealing with this disease. Survival rates for breast cancer continue to improve year after year, but the disease still takes far too many lives.
A portion of the proceeds from this book will be donated to the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk, a fundraiser supported by my lovely friend and survivor, Donna B. If you are dealing with breast cancer, please seek out some of the wonderful support groups out there, either in person or online. I sat in on a few of the online groups and am in awe of these women and the way they lift each other up.
And ladies—don’t put off getting that mammogram!
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM SWEET NOTHINGS BY MOONLIGHT BY JO McNALLY
CHAPTER ONE
THIS MCKINNON FAMILY meeting she’d called was going about as well as Bridget McKinnon expected—a complete circus. She glared at her cousins as they sat around the kitchen table, but her grandmother was the only person who noticed the optical daggers Bridget was tossing. Nana’s eyes were bright with suppressed laughter. Not helping.
Kelly was doodling something in her notebook. Michael was staring at his phone with a sly, secretive grin, ignoring all the actual humans sharing the room with him. His twin, Mary, was trying to placate her two-year-old son, Nathan, who was clamoring to get up onto her lap. There wasn’t much room there, since Mary was seven months pregnant with Number Three. Little Nathan sat down hard on the floor at Mary’s side, folding his arms tightly and giving his mother his fiercest look. The kid’s last name might be Trask, but his temper was pure McKinnon.
Nathan’s big sister, Katie, came running in, clutching Mary’s phone. “Mommy! I did it! I crushed level fifteen!”
Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at the game on the screen in the five-year-old’s hand. That they’d stop for, but not to listen to Bridget. Typical. She looked at the list of business items in front of her and flipped it over with a sigh of surrender. She’d spent most of her life trying to wrangle her extended family into some sort of order. Looked like today wasn’t going to be the day it happened, either.
Mary gave her daughter a sideways hug. “Great job, baby! Do Mommy a favor and take Nathan in the living room with you, okay?”
Nathan let out a piercing howl of disapproval, quickly followed by Katie’s protest.
“Mommy, no! He grabs the phone and messes up my game! Why do I always have to be in the same room with him? He’s so—”
Mary tugged Nathan to his feet, wiping tears from his chubby cheeks with her fingers as she spoke to Katie. “I’m sure you were about to say he’s so adorable and you love your brother so much, right? Don’t be a drama queen. We’ll be done soon. Just take your brother’s hand and go.”
For one brief moment, Bridget saw an opportunity to bring this “meeting” under control. But before she could speak, the kitchen door flew open with a bang. Timothy McKinnon rushed in, apologizing with every step. “Sorry, sorry, sorry! Did I miss the meeting? I swear, Zaniya’s first trimester hormones have made her flippin’ insatiable. I had to sneak out of bed—Oh...sorry, Nana. Didn’t see you there.” He pushed a shock of dark auburn hair off his forehead and plopped down on the chair next to Bridget. “So what’s this big meeting about today? Does our Bridget want to convert the family pub to a nautical theme? Or are we going with the wine bar idea again? Or is it brick oven pizza time?”
Bridget laughed, giving up all hope of controlling this group. She scrunched her napkin into a tight ball in her hand and tossed it at Tim. Every family had a class clown, and Tim was theirs. He caught the napkin and tossed it right back at her. She tried to be annoyed, but all she could think was what a great father he’d be in seven months, with his quick wit and giant heart.
“The idea of a nautical restaurant in a waterfront town is not that crazy.” She looked at each of them, although all she saw of Mike was the top of his head as he continued tapping on his phone. She tossed the napkin at him this time, and he dropped the phone on the table after flipping her his middle finger. “I wanted to meet so we could finalize the ‘Turn the Page’ party details. And figure out who’s going to check on zoning for the outdoor patio I want to add this spring.”
Mary shook her head, cringing at the sound of an arg
ument between her son and daughter in the next room. “It’s January, Bridget. Why are we talking about the patio now? And aren’t beer gardens German? Is that your next idea for reinventing the place? The Purple Lederhosen?”
Michael glanced up, stealthily sliding his phone off the table. “That could be fun. Look, I’m sorry, Bridg, but can we wrap this up? I’ve got a crap-ton of work to do at the office.”
Bridget suspected that little smile of his as he snuck another glance at his phone had nothing to do with his law office. Was her oldest cousin finally getting a love life after losing Becca two years ago?
Tim grabbed one of Nana’s famous scones from the table. Floury crumbs flew when he spoke. “I second that. I’m swamped, too. Why don’t you save the money you’re going to spend on the patio and use it to buy us out while we’re still breathing? Besides, can’t you just email us a party schedule? We’ve got a week yet...”
“Oh my God.” Bridget threw her hands up. “Do you guys hate all change—anywhere, anytime? Or is it only when it’s a change that I suggest?”
Michael arched one brow, humor bright in his eyes.
“Really, Bridg? You got us all together just so you could have a pity party? Do you need our approval for that, too?”
“I give up.” She said, holding up her hand and extending her middle finger at Michael. “I guess I’m the only one in this family with the planning and organization gene. My dad wanted the Purple Shamrock to be a family pub. That’s why he left everyone a piece of it. So yes, I want to include you...”
Mike moved as if to stand. “We never asked your dad to do that. You’re majority owner, so do what you want. I love you, kid, but you don’t need our blessing for every little thing.” He nodded at Tim. “And he may be right about the patio. Buy us out before you start spending.”
“I swear, trying to get you guys to work with me is like herding feral cats.” She slumped back in her seat. “Do what I want? What I want is for the bar to start making money again. I want the loans paid off. And yes, I want to be able to buy you out.”
She also wanted to own a house that wasn’t draining her physically and financially. She wanted her grandmother to be healthy. She wanted a good night’s sleep for once, without worrying about all these things she wanted. Her eyes started to burn with tears. That had been happening a lot lately. It was Nana who came to the rescue. All the woman had to do was raise her hand, and everyone sat straighter, kept quiet and paid attention. Michael sat back down.
Maura McKinnon had turned seventy-two three weeks before Christmas. Which was one week after she’d learned she’d be starting chemotherapy for breast cancer. She was just as intimidating as ever, though—all five-foot-four-inches of her. Nana insisted to everyone that she “refused” to lose her shimmering dark auburn hair, but Bridget noticed it had been thinning rapidly over the past week. Nana’s dark eyes were sharp, and her lips pressed tight. And yet...Bridget saw the slightest of twitches at the corner of her mouth. With all this chaos and arguing around the woman’s dining room table—when she had to be exhausted and distracted—Nana was trying not to laugh. She seemed to thrive on all the energy of her grandchildren.
“You all rely to some extent on the Purple Shamrock,” she said. “My husband didn’t build that business to have you fritter it all away. Lord knows, Bridget’s father came close enough before he died.” She pointed at each of them as she spoke. “Michael and Timothy, I know you two have your own careers now, but your names are still on the deed to that pub. Mary, with a third babe on the way, you should want to see as much profit from the place as possible. And Kelly, for God’s sake girl, stop scribbling and pay attention. The Shamrock is the only job you have, and it’s paying for your college classes.” Bridget didn’t escape Nana’s wagging finger. “And girlie, like it or not, your father left you in charge. So act like it. Stop dillydallying and do whatever you think is best. We’ll all support you.” She looked around the table. “Won’t we?”
Between Bridget’s outburst and Nana’s scolding, her cousins finally began to look a little chagrined. To be fair, none of them had asked to be in her father’s will. Everyone wanted Bridget to buy their shares out. But until she could afford to do that—if she could ever afford to do that—they were all stuck working together. Which meant navigating their way through meetings like this. She wanted them to be a part of the business. She blew out a long breath, reminding herself that she loved each and every one of them. Most of the time, anyway.
“Thank you, Nana.” She reached out to take her grandmother’s hand. “I’m trying so hard to turn things around, but Dad really let the place slide. I know you all want out, but I can’t afford to buy your shares yet. Hell, I can barely afford the mortgage on the place with the income I’m pulling.” That’s why she was looking for a new tenant in her downstairs apartment. Desperate times and all that. “It might go against logic, but sometimes you have to spend money to make money. Like adding an expanded serving area this summer by building that patio. The space behind the building isn’t being used for anything, and it has a great view of Seneca Lake. We’re wasting an opportunity by not using it. I need your support on this, guys.”
There were a pair of outraged screeches from the next room, and Mary got to her feet as quickly as a very pregnant woman could. She nodded toward Bridget before leaving the table.
“Simon knows a guy who does landscape design on the side. He might be able to help with figuring out the patio build. I’ll ask him about it tonight. For now, I need to get my two monsters home and get off my feet.” She glanced at their matriarch. “And you should do the same thing, Nana. Go lie down for a bit, and I’ll check on you later.”
“I’ll come up with a work schedule for the party,” Kelly said. “I’ll text it to everyone.”
Mike and Tim stood, both offering to help at the party. Tim gave Bridget a quick hug, whispering in her ear.
“Chin up, cuz. I’ll stop by the house tonight and help you get the apartment ready to show again, okay?”
And just like that, her cousins went from being the bane of her existence to being her beloved and irreplaceable family.
* * *
FINN O’HEARN STARED in horror at the glass of green beer in front of him. He’d heard Americans did stuff like this, but Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, who would desecrate a good pint of beer like that? He took a cautious sip. Ah, that explained it. ’Twasn’t a good beer at all.
His expression must have given away his disgust, because his drinking partner started to laugh. Rick Thomas was a good twenty years older than Finn, but he was the first guy Finn met on campus when he arrived a month ago. Rick taught English lit. Finn taught medieval history. They were both bookish bachelors who liked old things and sarcasm. Rick raised his glass of neon-green beer and clapped Finn on the back.
“Happy St. Paddy’s Day, Finn!”
“It’s January, mate. What kind of lunacy is this?”
The Purple Shamrock was packed with people. Music from Riverdance was blaring from the speakers. He caught sight of two young women toasting each other with...was that green wine? He was trapped in a nightmare of green booze.
Rick followed his eyes and laughed again. “It’s a tradition that’s been going on for decades, my friend. The Shamrock celebrates the end of the holiday season with a January 17 ‘Turn the Page’ party. Christmas is over, and it’s two months until St. Pat’s.” Rick nodded toward the boisterous crowd. “You said you missed your Irish pubs. This is as good as it gets in Rendezvous Falls.”
There were a few Irish touches in the place, with the snug wooden booths lining the paneled walls and lots of cardboard shamrocks taped to the walls. Even the bar itself had a flavor of Ireland, with the dark wood and mirrored back. But this was what Finn liked to call American-Irish. Lots o’ green but not much genuine Irish charm.
Rick took a sip of his beer. “So tell me about this housing pro
blem you’re having.”
“It’s all gone arseways. I made the rental arrangements online—even talked to the guy by phone—then arrived to find he’d sold the feckin’ place.” Finn couldn’t help thinking he’d been placed under some curse that his life would forever be filled with liars and cheats. Or maybe that was just the way the world truly was, and he’d never realized it before now. “Old Man Greer is giving me a hard time about living in a hotel, but what am I supposed to do?”
Rick chuckled. “Don’t let Iris Taggart hear you calling the Taggart Inn a hotel. She’ll have you out on the street.”
Finn took a drink of the foul beer. “Wouldn’t be the first time a woman kicked me to the curb.”
“Wow. So the rumors are true, then.”
He tensed, wondering how much Rick knew about his last teaching position. “What rumors?”
“That the Irish are a dark and gloomy bunch.”
Finn’s shoulders eased. He looked around the bar, which was noisy with so-called Irish celebrants drinking green alcohol and wearing silly green beads around their necks. He grunted.
“You’ve learned our deep, dark secret, Rick. The true Irish are not happy step-dancing leprechauns chasing rainbows.” Finn had given up chasing rainbows a long time ago.
Rick gave him a sarcastic dose of side-eye before draining his glass. “Dude, I’m an English lit professor. I’ve read Beckett and Joyce. I know how dark the Irish can get. I just didn’t know you were one of them.”
“Our dark roots run deep, my friend.” Finn shrugged. The shock of having nowhere to live when he’d arrived in town in late October had left him scrambling and on edge. People tended to assume all Irishmen were full of wit and charm, with a beer in one hand and a fiddle in the other. Those expectations could be exhausting for an introverted bookworm like him. “I’ll mind what you said about Iris Taggart, though. I like the woman, and her inn. Great place to visit. I just can’t live there. Greer is all over me about not having any ‘true ties to the community.’”
