by Sara Forbes
“Yeah,” he says thoughtfully. “Just as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, so you didn’t hear the news?” Garrett looks positively gleeful.
“No. What?” I ask warily.
“Seamus is coming back from San Francisco.”
I bolt forward. “What the fuck?”
“Yup, the prodigal son returns. Wants to take over the hotel from Old Seamus. Come on Danny Boy, what did you think was going to happen once Da got to seventy?”
“I don’t know.” I scratch my forearm irritably. “Niall could’ve taken over. He’s well able.”
“Well, Seamus Junior gets first crack at it, being eldest.”
I tighten my grip on the glass. How come I didn’t know of this? Even if nobody talks to me directly, I should have heard something through the grapevine.
Of course, Mrs. Muldoon was a major source of our gossip and now she’s out of action. Which means I’m ill-prepared for the next move of the Callaghans on the chessboard that is life in Ballytirrel.
“This is not good,” I murmur.
Garrett slaps my shoulder. “I’ll do my utmost to find out what kind of mood he’s in, okay? Might as well make myself useful while I’m staying under your roof.”
I nod grimly. “I will not let Seamus come strutting back to Ballytirrel and making my life difficult.”
“Cheer up.” Garrett raises his brandy. “You’ve got my visit to look forward to.”
“You’re right.” I force a smile.
***
Next day, as we drive up our driveway, my mood is a mix of anticipation and irritation. Garrett’s incessant chatter on the four-hour trip forced me to tune out of my Callaghan worries.
But then I spy a flash of color through the door to the courtyard. It’s Shannon, wearing red jeans, feeding scraps to the chickens.
“Wait a second,” Garrett booms in a voice of theatrical awe. “That’s not Mrs. Muldoon.”
“No, Garrett, I told you Mrs. Muldoon was sick.”
“True, but what you didn’t tell me was that she had a replacement. An incredibly gorgeous replacement.”
“That’s Shannon, from Texas. Now stop your ogling and help me carry your suitcases, I’m not your bloody servant.”
Garrett doesn’t make a move to help me. He just stands there by the side of the car, still gawking at Shannon. I feel a sudden urge to hit him.
By now, Shannon has spotted us. She waves and walks over, sashaying her hips in those fire-engine-red jeans. In her wellington boots and green wax jacket, she cuts an unbearably sexy figure against the pink dusk sky.
Christ. I can’t help staring, realizing how much I missed her in the past two days. And I can’t help noticing that Garrett is staring too.
“You can take the girl out of Texas…,” Garrett says, awestruck.
“Down boy,” I snarl.
He snorts.
“Hullo,” she says breezily as she reaches us. Her confidence is back, as if she’s grown to find her place while I was gone.
“Shannon, this is Garrett Wilkes, Earl of South-Leitrim.”
“Another nobleman?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “Do you live here too?”
“No, I live in Dublin.” Garrett steps forward and clasps her hand in a vigorous handshake. “And you’re more than welcome to drop by anytime.”
She gives him a grin that makes my blood simmer.
Where’s my smile?
But then, slowly, she turns to me. Her eyes fill with intensity, bearing some dark, delicious meaning that’s way better than a smile. All the pent-up tension in my body settles down into a warm, liquid happiness.
“Hi,” she says quickly, almost breathlessly.
“Hi.”
I can’t think of anything else to say. It’s just so good to see her again, but this is incredibly awkward.
“This big eejit forgot to tell me about you,” Garrett says with air-quotes. “But I’m hanging around for a few days, so we’ll get a chance to talk, I hope? You’re from Texas, I hear?”
“Yeah, just outside Austin.” Her gaze slides off mine, back to him. “I’m related to a local woman, Nuala Lannigan. She’s my aunt.”
“Oh, my goodness me, I know her—a wonderful lady indeed! Such a creative soul. When I was researching the historical landmarks of the area for my undergraduate history thesis, she was very useful, filling me in on some of the local folklore. So obliging! Gave me a good long interview. So, you’re Nuala’s niece? Well, well, well. I must pop over to see her one of these days. But how are you finding County Cork so far?”
“It’s…great so far. I haven’t seen a whole lot of it, though.”
“That’s going to change.” He turns to me. “Danny, we should get that driver of yours to take us to Cork for the day and show this lady around. We could have a wild time of it.”
I nod brusquely. I kind of wish he’d stop talking. Then again, I’ve been wishing that all day.
There’s an excited series of barks from Dedalus. One of the chickens has wandered into the kitchen via the open back door. A second bird is on the threshold, flapping her wings as if trying to decide whether to follow her friend.
Shannon gives a little scream. “Oh fuck, no.” She runs after the chicken.
Garett laughs uproariously. “She’s got a mouth on her, too. What fun! How does your mother like that?”
“Shannon does things her way. She doesn’t censor herself or put on airs for anyone. And that’s the way I like it. Mother just has to accept it.”
Garrett cocks his head at me, studying my face with a sudden gleam in his amber eyes. “Oh. I see.”
“Speaking of the devil,” I say, thrusting a suitcase handle into his hand, “Let’s go meet my mother. She’s dying to see you again and ask you all about Dublin.”
***
I’ve managed to shove Garrett into the room with my mother. They’ve always got on well. I’m tempted to lock the door behind them and leave them there for the rest of the day.
I’m almost cackling as I shimmy down the stairs to the kitchen. I hear the sounds of Shannon clearing away dishes, humming a tune. Her voice is mellow and on pitch. It sounds like a country tune.
Quietly, I slide onto the bar-stool, watching her as she bends to put things in the dishwasher. I trace the curve of her ass. My thoughts are anything but clean.
Sensing something, she spins around, wide-eyed. When she sees it’s me, her face relaxes and her grin widens in a way that makes my heart thump.
“You startled me!”
“Sorry. Did you manage to get the chicken out?”
“Oh.” She rolls her eyes. “Yes. Only for Dedalus, they’d probably have all gone in and wandered around. Your dog is a hero.”
“I agree,” I say warmly. “So how’s it been the past two days? Any other emergencies? Did Mother behave herself?”
“All fine.” She’s fingering her hair and I’m too distracted by how much I want to be doing that.
“Honestly?”
She nods. “Yeah, yeah, no worries.”
“Good. Did anyone call?”
“Only a carpenter to survey the rafters.”
“Ah, yes. I talked to him.”
“How was Dublin?” she asks suddenly.
I’m taken aback by the question. Mrs. Muldoon never asks me about personal stuff. Nobody asks me about personal stuff, not even Cliona or my mother. It’s nice to be asked.
“Oh. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I say. Then I think of Garrett’s news and I frown.
“What?” she asks.
“Just…business stuff.”
“You’re lying.” She plonks down a cup of tea in front of me, her brown eyes meeting mine in a steady gaze. I get a crazy urge to tell her everything, to pour out my heart to her.
“Yes, I am lying.” I let out a sigh. “The truth is, I got word that someone’s coming back to town, and I’m not happy about it.”
“Ah, Seamus Callaghan Junior?”
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I gape at her. “You know?”
“Talk of the town.” Her gaze holds mine.
“What exactly have you heard about him?”
“Nothing much. Successful CEO hotshot guy in San Francisco. Prodigal son come home to take over the family hotel.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She pats my hand. “So, did you miss….my tea?”
The sensation of her cool fingers against my hand sends tingles up my arm.
It’s the first time she’s done that—touched me voluntarily. Pleasure seeps through my body. “Yes, Shannon, I missed your tea.”
“Then drink it.” She nods at the cup in front of me.
I look down at the cup. I’d forgotten it was there. I feel the intensity of her stare as I lift it to my lips. After a tentative sip, I discover it’s hot and just the right strength. Perfect.
“Not bad.” I take a decent gulp.
Her grin broadens. “See? I’m not just a pretty face.”
“No, you’re darn well pretty all over.” I inch closer to her, hungry, and hard. Her breath quickens as she lifts her chin. I detect a tremor in her lips and her gaze darts between my eyes and my mouth. I’m getting all the signals.
I graze my fingertips along her neckline, pushing back the locks of hair that have settled there. Her skin is as perfectly warm, smooth and supple as I imagined it would be, five sleepless nights in a row.
A door closes upstairs. I tense, listen for the footsteps, Tip-tap tap-tap, as inevitable as the ticking of a clock. Mother.
“Sorry,” I whisper, withdrawing.
Her breath hitches and she shoots me a regretful smile.
I take my cup from the counter and head for the door. I’m just going to have to find a way to be with Shannon alone, even if it means locking my anxious parent up for a while.
12
SHANNON
With Garrett in the house again, the rhythm in Moore Manor changes—as it does every year when he visits, according to Lady Ellen. It feels less like a museum and more like a home where people talk and eat together.
And the house isn’t the only thing warming up. That near-kiss in the kitchen two days ago has changed the whole dynamic between Danny and me. Whereas before I thought he was flirting out of boredom or whatever, now I know it’s more than that. Unfortunately, we haven’t had a chance for a repeat occurrence but I replay the moment he touched me, again and again, as I go through the motions of dusting and cleaning.
When it comes to the afternoons, I have to push Danny out of my thoughts so I can get my writing done, but it’s hard—every footfall in the hallways, every crash of a door has me on edge.
I keep telling myself that I shouldn’t get involved in a short-term thing, but when he’s near, I turn into a puddle of goo.
Luckily, Danny and Garrett go out frequently, sometimes fishing, sometimes to the cinema in Cork, and sometimes just walking over the estate and tending to the horses. I don’t think Danny realizes just how jealously he guards me when Garrett’s around, and just how obvious he’s being to everyone. Garrett does his best to wind him up. Danny’s best friend is quite a character.
As they dine in the house, they’ve hired a temporary chef from Galway for evening meals. The aroma of garlic and chili coming from the kitchen is heavenly. They don’t eat ‘til seven and I’m always gone home to Nuala’s by then but I wouldn’t mind staying one evening and testing the food.
Cliona has come around twice in three days, once with Lorcan, and once without him. I’ve been watching out of the corner of my eye for signs of affection between her and Danny, but apart from pats on the arm, they seem reserved around each other.
I’m taking a break in the kitchen, as there’s not much housework to be done. And that’s fine with me. I have a deadline for a client tonight—midnight Irish time. I need to get 500 words done before then. I’m perched on the barstool, gazing out, looking for inspiration on what to write for a marketing piece about a municipal animal park in Philadelphia.
Three figures are striding toward the house. Two tall figures flank a shorter one in the middle. I squint to see better. Danny, Garrett, and Cliona.
As they come closer, I tidy away my pen and notepad and move to the sink to fill the kettle. Within seconds, the back-door bursts open, they’re in the kitchen, filling the room with their voices.
“Hello, Shannon,” they chorus.
“Had fun out there?” I ask. It feels weird to be considered “servant class” and not to be invited along to a walk outside.
“It was lovely.” Garrett beams at me.
My gaze shifts to Danny, who nods.
Pink-cheeked, Cliona looks especially lovely. “We should take the horses over that route again tomorrow. What do you think, Danny?”
I glance away at the mention of horses. I open the coffee machine and empty the grinds container to keep my hands busy. When that’s done, I take a dishcloth and slowly rub the stainless-steel parts, trying to zone out of their conversation.
Words slide over me— “saddle path”, “girth”, “bridle”—horsey terminology. All the while, I feel his eyes on me, watching me, burning through me, but I don’t want to intercept his look, not with the other two here. In fact, I wish they’d all just go.
“Let’s have tea first,” Danny says.
“Agreed.” Cliona’s eyes meet mine. I’m not sure why she’s looking at me, then I get it. Even though it’s past my working hours, she still sees me as servant class. I jump up.
Danny’s at the kettle before me.
“Uh…” I say.
“I’m making it,” he says.
“It’s my job,” I remind him.
He cocks an eyebrow. “But I do it better.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not anymore,” he says quietly.
When I turn around, Garrett and Cliona are staring at us. I guess we’re standing too close, talking too low, smiling too much.
Yeah, I guess it’s pretty obvious.
I step back. Nothing can hide the heating of my cheeks. Oh well. Let them think what they want. How is a girl supposed to react when a hunk like Danny says he wants to make tea for her?
I slink along the wall, grabbing a mop as a crutch. Maybe I’ll just get out of here. The air is thick with their curiosity.
“Danny makes a great cup of tea,” Cliona says, stepping toward him, occupying the space I just vacated.
“I try,” Danny says.
“Just one of his many talents,” Garrett says with a laugh. He’s followed Cliona so they form a little circle of three, worshipping the kettle.
Danny pours water into four cups. I wonder if the fourth cup is for me or his mother. Maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that. I inch further along the wall, then over the threshold. And I’m gone.
In the safety of an alcove at the other end of hall, I let out a breath. They’ll have their tea, go off now horse-riding, and the house will be quiet again. I’ll get more words done in the hour before I can pack up my things and head back to Nuala’s.
But a shadow darkens the wall before me. I spin around and find myself staring up into Danny’s face. With the kitchen door closed behind him, he’s in semi-darkness. The sharp contours of his face are softened by the muted hall lights and the warm glow in his eyes.
“I’m sorry about that,” he says. “Cliona forgot about your working hours.”
“That’s quite OK.”
Standing over me, he’s closer than ever before—we’re only six inches apart. My body can’t help reacting to him in all his masculine glory, gazing down at me with such intensity.
“Where were you going anyway?” he says in a low voice. He releases the mop from my grip and throws it into the corner. His hands encircle my wrists, pinning my arms by my side, making it clear that I’m going precisely nowhere.
“Uh, down this corridor?”
I feel the heat radiating off his chest. He keeps my arms locked against his hips
. “It sort of looked like you were running away.”
“Really?” I scoff, giving him my most withering look, but my heart is hammering.
“I want you to come outside with us.”
And I want you to kiss me. “No,” I mumble.
“What?” he hisses in that curious way of the Irish, making their t’s soft.
“Just let me go,” I whisper. I make an attempt to retrieve my arms, but it’s halfhearted. I don’t want him to let me go. And he doesn’t.
“You’re coming,” he says, his voice low and intense.
“Where?”
“Riding.”
I laugh. “Oh, hell no.”
As my lips are forming the word “no,” Danny’s lips make contact with them—His mouth pressing down on me is soft, probing and firm, pushing my lips wider open, exploring how far I’ll yield.
He cradles my shoulders and eases me back against the wall. His tongue darts and presses inside me. Sparks of pleasure explode in my brain because it’s clear he wants this as much as I do. All that matters is this moment, this mouth, this beautiful man.
My fingers grapple at the wallpaper behind me, seeking something to grab hold of, to absorb the shock, to hold myself up. I feel like I’m going to faint.
Then his lips leave mine and I’m left gasping. His face is colored with pink patches, his eyes are smoldering, and his shoulders are rigid with self-control and desire. I want to rip off that shirt. By the looks of him, my clothes don’t have too long on my body either.
Laughter from inside the kitchen reaches my ears.
Danny groans and rubs his brow. “Come on. Look, you don’t have to ride a horse, not today, but let’s get you outside.”
I open my mouth to argue but no words come out.
***
So, that’s how I end up here, leaning on a fence, trying to look like I’m not hyperventilating. I’m watching Danny wresting control of a two-year-old brown horse that doesn’t seem to want to be ridden. Man and beast battle it out in the muddy enclosure. If this display was meant to make me fear the beasts any less, it’s not working.
I’m enjoying the sight of Danny’s powerful shoulders flexing against the fabric of his shirt, the straining of his forearms as he tugs the reins of the horse. Cliona’s beside me, so I can’t ogle the man quite as much as I want to. But inside my head, I’m replaying that kiss again and again and imagining those strong arms pulling me into him. What would it feel like to succumb to his power the way that horse is doing now?
