Farraday Country

by Chris Keniston

  Every weekend for the last month he’d come to his aunt and uncle’s house for a little family time and under the radar recognizance. And much to his surprise, normally busy catching criminals, Ian had managed to appear in town for Sunday supper every week without fail except one. The whole situation had proved fascinating. His normally serious, all-about-the-job brother was tumbling into the home sweet home land of forever after. Damn nice sight too.

  Not that Jamie was much different from his brother. He liked women, quite a bit, but bartending wasn’t exactly conducive to long term relationships, never mind home and hearth. According to Ian, neither was law enforcement. Though apparently, all it took was the right woman for his brother to sing a different tune.

  “Oh my,” his mom and Aunt Eileen gushed in choral unison.

  Kelly stood in the living room tucked into Ian’s side. They’d come back from an early supper in Butler Springs, something Jamie hoped to change in the very near future, and had been chatting for a good fifteen minutes before Kelly moved her hand and the two mother hens squealed with delight.

  Little brother moved fast. Based in company C with the Texas Rangers, Ian’s home base was only a couple of hours away from the ranch in Tuckers Bluff. Since his vacation and blossoming romance with Kelly, slipping into town on his days off or free weekends had become a common occurrence.

  “It’s just beautiful.” All the women in the family hovered over the ring, shooting questions at the same time, “Have you picked a date? Where are you going to live? You’re not leaving us? Are you transferring?” Jamie wasn’t sure who said what, but clearly not a soul in the room was disappointed.

  “Didn’t see that coming.” His Uncle Sean stepped in closer, giving the engaged couple more space for hugs and congratulations.

  “Really?” When Jamie heard from his mom that Ian and Kelly had shown up for Sunday supper in Austin last weekend, he knew then the sweet gal he’d watched grow up along side his sister and cousin Grace would be his sister-in-law.

  Uncle Sean took a short swallow of his after supper glass of milk. The one that came just before the stout. “I knew Kelly was the one, but didn’t see an engagement coming this fast.”

  That hadn’t surprised Jamie. When Ian wanted something, he went after it with a vengeance. It was just one thing that made him a good ranger. If Jamie thought about it, just about everyone in the family had that same trait. Determination ran strong in the Farraday DNA.

  “Looks like you’re the only hold out.” Adam slapped an arm around Jamie and tipped his beer bottle at him.

  “You make that sound like a bad thing,” Jamie teased. He was happy with his life and the new direction coming his way. Some day he wanted what his cousins had one by one found, but there was no hurry. The upcoming pub in Tuckers Bluff was his future, for now.

  “Uh oh.” Uncle Sean patted Jamie on the back. “Here comes your aunt.”

  There was no running away from the conversation coming. As Adam had said, he was the last hold out. That whole home, hearth, and fruit of his loins thing was about to be handed to him on a silver platter. Anyone would think with all the weddings and babies surrounding them, his aunt would forget about him.

  “Guess this makes you the last Texas Farraday still hanging onto his bachelorhood.” Aunt Eileen pushed onto tiptoes and gave her nephew a kiss on one cheek and a pat on the other.

  “Looks like it.” Last hold out. Check.

  “You know, settling down with a good woman has its perks.” She turned to Adam. “Doesn’t it?”

  Home and hearth. Check.

  Adam grinned like a fool. “You bet.”

  All of Jamie’s cousins had that sappy grin to them. And they’d all fallen for smart and even somewhat sassy women. No surprise there that they were all happier than pigs in slop.

  “And have you ever seen anything as sweet as Stacey playing This Little Piggy with her cousin?”

  Fruit of his loins. Check. “Can’t say that I have.” He smiled at his aunt and pulled her into a big old hug. “I do love you, and I promise you someday I will find that girl and Stacey can play Little Piggy with every one of my fruit.”

  “Your what?” Aunt Eileen tipped her head back to better see him.

  “Children. Sorry. Children.”

  “Sounds delightful.” She tightened her hold around his waist and smiled. “Just don’t wait till you’re too old to see what’s right in front of your face.”

  No worries there. His eyesight was twenty-twenty and unlike most of his cousins, he wouldn’t need any dogs, full grown or puppies, to help him find his soul mate. He chuckled at the thought. After all these years, and a few close calls, it might take something more like a ton of bricks.

  ****

  If you enjoyed Ian, at the end of this boxed set, please take a second to leave a review.

  Now, turn the page to see who falls in love next!

  Tuckers Bluff isn’t done playing matchmaker for the Farradays. Do you love the Farradays, the Ladies Afternoon Social Club, the mysterious dogs and their pups, Sisters, and so much more happening in Tuckers Bluff? Then you won’t want to miss Jamison, the next matchmaking escapade, as he tumbles into love with everyone's friend and favorite café owner, Abbie.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Timing was everything, and now was the time.

  Scattered pieces of crumbling construction, dust, mildew and old age mingled, creating the sweetest smell on earth. Jamison Farraday squeezed the keys to the ancient building in his hand—an establishment all his own. Well, not exactly his, but he would be the general manager. The concept, the research, the plans, those were all his. Fed and nurtured by years of observing, learning, working, and saving. Financed by one of the more successful conglomerates in the bar and nightclub industry.

  “Are you sure about this?” Ian, his brother, and DJ, his cousin, swatted their arms, cutting through dangling cobwebs, making their way across the abandoned storefront.

  “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

  Ian smiled at his older brother. “Anyone else and I’d have said you lost your mind, but I’m guessing this won’t be the last time you prove us short-sighted mortals wrong.”

  Having the support of his family was probably the best reason he’d dared to dream, taken chances, worked his butt off at every job in the business until he was sure he could pull of his big dream. A family style Irish pub.

  “You do know that Mabel Berkner is already starting up a petition to appeal the vote to sell liquor in this county.” DJ brushed the dust from his hands. “Not that she’s going to get very far with it, but she’s not the only one in town with ruffled feathers over this.”

  “I expected a little flack, but by the time we’re ready and open for business and the crime rate doesn’t skyrocket overnight due to,” Jamison put on a thick southern accent, “our vile influence, everyone will settle down and get back to the business of ordinary living.”

  “So what exactly is the plan?” Walking about, DJ eyed the exposed rafters.

  “The architect we chose for the project is putting the most recent changes on paper. Final plans should be ready any day now. With plan approval in hand, the money men will take on the next step after the letter of intent and ink the final contract with Mr. Thomas. Then we’ll be down to a few more weeks for the title company to do their magic. I can hardly wait to get a crew in here. Clean it out and rebuild.”

  “I can see it.” Ian stood in place, looking around and nodding. “I really can. Knotty pine walls?”

  Jamie bobbed his head.

  “Dance floor?” DJ asked.

  Again, Jamie nodded. His smile pulling tighter against his cheeks. He had it all worked out. Including having lined up some of the best craft beers in Texas. One company on the verge of expanding even talked of growing out here, away from the overcrowded city.

  The corners of Ian’s mouth tipped skyward, exposing the dimples the girls always gushed over. “Irish music?”

 
“Oh yeah.” Jamie grinned back at his brother.

  DJ chuckled. “If that doesn’t have Uncle Brian here every weekend crooning with Dad, Saint Patrick isn’t Irish.”

  “I’m counting on more folks than Dad feeling that way.” Jamison slapped his cousin on the back. “I wish all the legal stuff were over and done. I’ve been itching to get working on this place for months and now it’s all so close.”

  “Overseeing concept, design, and now construction before the doors even open. Sounds like you’re going to be wearing an awful lot of hats on this project.” Adam Farraday crossed the threshold. “On my way back to the clinic and I saw the door open. Y’all throwing a party without me?”

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Jamie answered, glancing down at the express mail tube in his cousin’s arm. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, Maggie at the post office asked me to give this to you.”

  “The plans.” Jamie couldn’t get the container open fast enough.

  Adam stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “For this place?”

  “Yes.” Jamie squatted on the ground and unrolled the large pages.

  His brother hovered behind him. “Why didn’t they just email them?”

  “I don’t know.” Jamie studied the architectural rendering. “That’s what I was expecting.”

  “You’re frowning.” Ian inched closer. “What is it?”

  Jamie shook his head. He had to be looking at the wrong plans. Turning the page, he scooted around to align the front of the store with the top of the plans. There was no mistaking what he saw. Nothing was laid out the way the planning committee and the architect had originally discussed, the way he and the backers had agreed. “This doesn’t even look like a pub.” He pointed to the back section of the drawing. “This should be the dance floor.”

  “I’m not an architect,” DJ leaned forward more, “but there doesn’t seem to be anything remotely like a dance floor on that page anywhere.”

  “That’s because there isn’t. What should be space for a little boot scooting is an open kitchen.” Jaimie had worked enough bars and restaurants to know the concept and recognize it on paper. He looked to the corner of the drawings. Above the architect’s scales and name was the street address and town for the project. Correct. The establishment not so much. Not a pub. Not his pub. Hemingway’s International Grill. What the …

  “From the look on your face,” Ian stretched upright, “I gather this is news to you?”

  Jamie stabbed at his phone, held it to his ear and nodded.

  “Is it that bad?” Ian asked.

  “International grill,” Jamie muttered. “This town is no place for a chain restaurant.”

  DJ looked from his cousin to his brother. “I suppose that’s no worse than Irish.”

  “Seriously?” Jamie stared at his cousin. Before he could say another word, voice mail kicked in. “Thank you for calling Crocker International—”

  “Like Betty Crocker?” Ian asked wide-eyed.

  Jamie shook his head and mumbled, “No relation.” The recording came to an end and the beep signaled his turn to talk. He’d have much preferred speaking to Jeff Nimbus in person, but this would have to do. “Jeff, Jamison Farraday here. Just received the blueprints for The Public House and they’re marked Hemingway’s. Give me a call when you have a minute.”

  “Don’t bite my head off,” Ian held a hand out at him, “but is there a reason an Irish pub is better suited to this town than an international grill?”

  “An Irish pub is basically Abbie’s small town café with an accent. And in our case, local wine, maybe if all goes well, beer, and of course dancing. Pubs are neighborhood watering holes. People know each other. Men have a drink and tell stories that have been handed down for ages. Young and old gather.”

  “He has a point.” Adam shrugged. “Except for the booze and dancing, it sounds an awful lot like the café.”

  “Of course I have a point. Every small town in Ireland has and supports its own pub. The same would be true here, except Tuckers Bluff isn’t so small anymore, we’re growing.”

  “With all the advertising the county’s been doing for the ghost town circuit, the vineyard the Brady’s have been working, and a hospital in town, we’re growing faster than any other small town in West Texas. And mark my words, if given a choice, folks living halfway to Butler Springs will want to come here to the pub for some dancing and a drink or two rather than go all the way to Butler Springs for the same old same old.”

  DJ hooked his hand around the back of his neck. “I’ll admit, if international is code word for fancy and expensive, then Jamie’s right. Folks won’t be banging down the doors.”

  “It’s worse than that.” Jamie raked his fingers through his hair and then hung his hand along the back of his neck. “Can you see the fine citizens of Tuckers Bluff eating sushi?”

  “Sushi?” Adam’s forehead folded into layers. “What does Hemingway have to do with sushi?”

  “The man, nothing, but the restaurant serves everything trendy. They’re based in California and last year spread their wings to Austin and Dallas. They cater to urban millennials.” In his shirt pocket, his phone buzzed. Recognizing the number, DJ was surprised to get a response from Nimbus so quickly. “Hello.”

  “Hey, was on a conference call. Isn’t it great news?”

  “Great news?”

  “Yes. Babcock Foods wants in. We negotiated a sweet deal. Hemingway’s is all the rage.”

  “In LA, sure. Maybe even Dallas, but it’s not a fit for West Texas.”

  “Nonsense. Our research shows—”

  “You mean my research.”

  “No, Jamison. Our merchandising department ran some backup market analysis. The pub idea is good.”

  Better than good, but no point repeating that now.

  “And without Babcock Foods, we would have followed through. But Babcock has very deep pockets and this is the perfect alliance for Crocker to branch out to the restaurant side of the industry. If Babcock wants Hemingway’s in Tuckers Bluff, they’re going to get it.”

  This wasn’t good. “Someone needs to explain to the board that this is not the time to—”

  “It’s a done deal, Jamie. There’s no explaining. Come Monday, the final papers will be signed. The question is, do you still want to be a part of this?”

  ****

  Standing on her feet from dawn to dusk, and then some, was Abbie’s reality. One she and her painfully expensive shoes had made peace with a very long time ago.

  “Here, drink this.” Frank, the cook, slid a warm mug in front of her. “It won’t do much for your feet, but it will help your mood.” One corner of the man’s mouth tilted up in a cheeky grin. “I put some of your special stash in it.”

  She kept a bottle of Bailey’s under the counter for the occasional customer who needed a little something extra in their coffee after an especially rough day. Or night. She didn’t care much for the taste of it herself unless it was buried deep in something chocolaty, but Frank knew that. The something special wouldn’t equate to much more than a splash. His desired intent accomplished. To make her smile.

  Looking out for her had become a regular part of Frank’s routine through the years. Some days she didn’t need looking after as much as others, but she always appreciated it, appreciated him. Another slow sip of the chocolaty brew slid all the way down to her toes. “Just what I needed.”

  “What you need,” Frank stepped back and took his place behind the grill, “is a day off. A real day off. Or two.”

  This wasn’t the first nor the last time she expected to hear the same advice. “You sound like a broken record.”

  “That doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “Would that be the pot calling the kettle black?” The man worked every shift right alongside her. She’d tried hiring a part time cook to give Frank a break, but the sour Marine became surlier than ever. In the end he once again became ruler supreme of his kitchen kingdom
.

  Reluctant to set the mug down, she took another sip, lingering in the relaxation a moment longer. The dinner rush would be picking up soon and as good as Shannon, the evening shift waitress, was at her job, Abbie needed to get out of the kitchen and do her share.

  “You’re worried, aren’t you?” Plating an order, Frank didn’t bother to look up.

  She blew on the warm liquid even though it was no longer that hot. “What’s there to worry about?”

  “You could get a liquor license too.”

  “This is a café, not a night club.” Besides, rumor had it the town council was considering limiting the number of liquor licenses to keep Mabel Berkner happy. That woman’s devotion to a dry county would have made her temperance ancestors very proud.

  “A dance floor wouldn’t hurt. A small one.” He rang the bell for Shannon to pick up her order.

  They’d had this conversation before as well. The first time had been back when word got about that a new supper club was considering setting up here in town. Then the conversation resumed when the referendum came about to change Tuckers Bluff from a dry to wet town, making the county more appealing to competition. Worried or not, either way, her mind was set about not changing the cafe. Pushing away from the stainless prep area she’d been leaning against, she blew out a short breath. If only she could expel life’s aggravations as easily. “I’ll take that out.”

  Lifting his chin to see over the shiny metal on deck shelf in front of him, Frank leveled his gaze with hers but didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. She could see the worry in his eyes. Not that he had any reason to. Today was no different than any other day over the years. Except he was right about one thing. She was tired. Not just from working six and a half days a week, every week, but the kind of tired that stopped a heart from dreaming, and after all these years, she wanted to dream again.

  ****

  “I’ll be honest.” Jamie’s Uncle Sean rubbed at his chin. “Never understood why you’d want to take an idea you are so sure of, do the brunt of the work for, and let someone else reap most of the benefits.”