by Jen Gilroy
Table of Contents
THE WISHING TREE IN IRISH FALLS
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
THE WISHING TREE IN IRISH FALLS
JEN GILROY
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
THE WISHING TREE IN IRISH FALLS
Copyright©2019
JEN GILROY
Cover Design by Anna Lena Spies
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-936-1
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For Papa, with love and happy memories.
A good man and father whom I miss so much.
Since this book is about music, it’s in remembrance of you.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my editor, Janine Phillips, for loving The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls, providing valuable feedback, and helping me polish this manuscript to share it with readers. I’m also grateful to Deborah Gilbert and the team at Soul Mate Publishing for support and guidance in bringing this book to publication.
Much appreciation to Anne Barr and her daughter Leia of Nana B’s Bakery in Merrickville, Ontario, Canada. In sharing helpful insights about running a small-town family bakery, they helped shape the fictional Quinn’s Bakery.
Ian Angus and Diana Fisher answered my questions about radio stations large and small, and I’m grateful for their help in clarifying technical details. I hope my fictional radio station does justice to the real-life radio station experiences they shared with me.
Additional thanks to Ian Angus who answered questions about recording studios and that aspect of my fictional world.
Gratitude to all the teachers, musicians, choir directors, and choir members who have brought music into my life. My own ‘life in music’ also influenced this book.
One of my wonderful readers, Liz Deshayes, named the kitten, Olivia, in a contest on my Facebook author page. Liz chose the perfect name, and I’m happy a reader has a part in this story.
I’m also very grateful to the readers who buy my books, borrow them from libraries, reach out to me on social media, send me messages, and write reviews. It’s because of you I can do what I do.
Special thanks to reader Lynn Folliott for supporting me on social media and being a dear friend across the miles.
I appreciate the many book bloggers and reviewers who share my writing with their readers. A particular shout-out to Linda Levack Zagon of Linda’s Book Obsession, and Susan Peterson of Sue’s Booking Agency, for everything they do to support authors and readers, including me.
As always, I’m grateful to my agent, Dawn Dowdle, for her guidance, encouragement, and help in making my writing better.
I particularly thank author friends Susanna Bavin and Kate Field for wise counsel and support in writing, as well as life.
And at an especially difficult time, Susanna’s encouragement, virtual tea and cake, and then hosting me at her home by the sea in Wales made all the difference.
Not least, my husband, teen daughter, and Floppy Ears, our rescue hound, bless my life in ways large and small. Thank you for the love, support, and being the family that is both my center and rock through life’s ups and downs.
Chapter 1
“No.” Annie Quinn balanced a tray of blueberry muffins against one hip and eyed her sister across the bakery counter.
“You only had one date with him.” Tara’s hazel eyes held a teasing glint that Annie hadn’t glimpsed in over a year.
“One too many.” Annie slid the plump muffins into the glass-fronted case. Her sister meant well, but she was done with being set up. She could find her own dates—if she wanted to.
“Blake seemed perfect.” Tara’s voice had a wheedling note. “There aren’t a lot of new, single guys around here, and he’s sure easy on the eyes.” She rearranged a tiered display of scones near the cash register and avoided Annie’s gaze.
“He spent most of the date talking about Siamese cats. He has two and takes them to cat shows most weekends.” Annie counted the muffins, each juicy blueberry a succulent reminder of a perfect Adirondack summer day. “Besides, Hannah took one look at him and did that eye roll of hers. She calls him Blake the Flake.”
“Your daughter’s sixteen. We invented that eye roll when we were her age.” Tara’s mouth lifted into a lopsided smile. “You like cats. Maybe Blake was nervous and didn’t know what to talk to you about.”
“I was nervous at first too. Your daughter checking out your date is enough to make anybody nervous, and Hannah was pretty obvious. But when we got to the restaurant, whenever I tried to change the subject, Blake went right back to cats.”
“So maybe he didn’t work out, but you need to stay in the game.” Tara joined Annie behind the counter and flicked a dust cloth along the display cabinets. “You’re only thirty-five. That’s way too young to sit at home every Saturday night, eat Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake, and watch movies with me.” The sadness in her sister’s voice tore at Annie’s heart.
“I like watching movies with you.” But even if she didn’t, Tara needed her and she’d do whatever it took, however long it took, to be there for her. Tara wasn’t only Annie’s sister; she was also her best friend. “As for Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake, it’s better than sex any day.”
The brass bell over the door of Quinn’s Bakery jingled, and Annie’s head jerked toward it. She opened her mouth and closed it again. A man stood on the threshold, backlit by the bright April morning. He wore cowboy boots, faded jeans, and a white T-shirt under an untucked gray shirt. Amusement glinted in his eyes as he glanced between her and Tara.
<
br /> “I’m looking for Annie Quinn.” His voice had a mellow Southern drawl.
“That’s me.” Her face heated, and she set the empty muffin tray on the counter with a thud. At her age, she should have learned to keep her big mouth shut, at least when she was at work. Quinn’s was a family business, but it was still a business.
“Seth Taggart.” The door slid shut behind him, and he reached the counter in three long strides. His boots hit the retro-inspired blue-and-white tiled floor in a syncopated rhythm that echoed the beat of a hundred chart-topping songs. “Jake Kerrigan’s nephew.”
“We didn’t expect you to get here until Friday.” Annie’s pulse skittered and she darted a glance at Tara by her side.
Her sister stared at Seth, then her eyes narrowed and she gave Annie a knowing look. The kind of look that, back when they were teenagers, meant “hot guy alert.”
Ignoring Tara, Annie turned back to the man who faced them. “It’s Wednesday,” Annie continued. But any day of the week, Seth Taggart was so not who and what she’d expected.
“Didn’t you get the message I left on your cell? I texted and e-mailed you too.” When he smiled, the lines around his nose and mouth deepened, and his expression was warm, yet sexy.
“Uh . . . I’ve been on kind of a technology detox over the past few days.” Her face heated. Thanks to a careless teenager and kitten as mischievous as she was cute, Annie also had bills it would take her until summer to pay off.
“I hope me turning up a few days early isn’t a problem.” Seth’s smile changed and became easy and polished. The kind of smile Annie had learned not to trust.
“Of course not.” She made herself smile back, even as Tara’s gaze drilled into her. “Jake’s apartment is upstairs, along with the radio station. You’ll want the keys and . . .”
She stopped. She’d done it again. Always happy-to-help Annie. She needed to learn to think before she spoke. How could she be sure this guy was who he said he was? As the executor of Jake’s will, she had a responsibility to be duly diligent. It was her legal responsibility, as the attorney from the law office three doors down had reminded her only yesterday over a plate of lemon squares. “You need to show me some identification first.”
“Sure.” He pulled a wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and slid out a driver’s license. His fingers brushed hers as he passed the laminated card over the counter.
“Jake was a good man.” Tara folded the dust cloth into a tidy square and stuck it in a drawer.
“So I hear.” Seth’s voice was a low monotone.
Her fingers still tingling from his brief touch, Annie held the license between her thumb and forefinger and scanned the details. California. The name Seth Taggart beside a picture of a man with the same short brown hair and strong jaw as the one standing across from her. A Los Angeles address and date of birth, July 2. He was thirty-seven, soon to be thirty-eight. Two years and a few months older than her.
Seth took the license back from Annie and tapped one booted foot on the floor with a rhythmic beat that made her think about things she didn’t want to think about. Like hot summer nights, the melancholy twang of a guitar, and the sharp fragments of a broken dream.
“I’ll get Jake’s keys from the kitchen. Do you want a coffee while you wait?” Her words tumbled over each other. “Or a muffin?”
“You haven’t lived until you’ve had one of Annie’s blueberry muffins. They’re our muffin of the day today.” Tara grinned and leaned both elbows on the counter. “Big blues is what folks here call them.”
Annie felt her face grow warm again. “They’re ordinary blueberry muffins.”
A lot like her. Her palms went clammy. Once, she’d been a starry-eyed girl with a golden voice who’d imagined she could make it in the music industry. But nowadays, she was an ordinary person, and she’d worked hard to convince herself that all she wanted was to raise Hannah and live her everyday life. And if it was sometimes boring, like her date with Blake, she only had to remember the alternative. Then boring looked just fine.
“A muffin sounds good. Coffee too, black.” Seth’s lips tilted into another smile, a lot less polished and way too likeable.
Her stomach fluttered and she pressed a hand to her throat.
“Unless you have any of that, what did you call it, Nanaimo Bar Cheesecake?”
“Not today.” Annie’s breath quickened and she bit her bottom lip hard. That cheesecake wasn’t ordinary. Or boring. And whenever she made it, she felt like someone else—a woman who was fearless and who didn’t let anything—or anyone—stop her from going after her dreams.
“We sold out of that cheesecake over Easter, and Annie hasn’t had time to make more yet. It’s her secret recipe and, along with the muffins, she’s famous for it here in Irish Falls.”
Annie winced. How had she let herself be defined by cheesecake and muffins?
Tara touched a finger to her lips. “I’m Tara, her younger sister.” She stuck out her hand, and Seth took it.
“Only by eleven months.” Annie didn’t know why she felt compelled to point that out, but she did.
“So not quite twins?” Seth quirked a dark eyebrow, and his expression was amused.
“Irish twins born less than a year apart.” Tara grinned. “We have another sister too, a year younger than me, but she doesn’t work here. Annie and I run this place with our older brother and—”
“The keys.” Annie backed through the swing door into the bakery kitchen.
Tara’s throaty laugh rang out, joined by Seth’s deeper one, and then the coffee pot rattled.
Annie pressed her hands to her blazing cheeks. The kitchen was empty in the brief lull between the buzz of their early morning baking schedule and the lunchtime rush for sandwiches and Quinn’s hearty soups. Her purse hung on the hook it always did in the sunny alcove next to a window overlooking the waterfall from which Irish Falls took its name. Peace, roots, and brimming with beauty everywhere she looked, Irish Falls was what she’d needed when she’d come back home all those years ago.
But despite that sense of comfort and belonging, something important was missing and Annie couldn’t deny it any longer. Hannah was almost grown up and soon, she’d go off to college. When that happened, who would Annie be and what would she do? Her stomach clenched. She had to become the heroine of her own life. She didn’t want to be a sad and lonely mom who Hannah didn’t want to visit. She wanted to be a mom who found new interests—and new dreams.
She grabbed her purse and dug in it until she found Jake’s key ring. As she curled her fingers around the shiny brass music note, her throat tightened. “Why did you have to go and die?” she whispered. “What will I do without you? You’d have helped me become the person I really am—the person I need to be. You valued me for more than my baking.”
Jake’s laugh, full of warmth and love, echoed in her head and she pictured his deep-set blue eyes with the wrinkles fanned out around them, still sharp and wise until the end. “The big guy upstairs didn’t give me much choice, Annie girl. But you’ll be fine. That person you need to be has been inside you all along. She’s just been quiet for a while. And don’t forget, you’re the daughter of my heart. The daughter I wished for.”
Annie’s eyes smarted and she gazed out the window again. On the other side of the waterfall stood the wishing tree with bits of paper and charms tied to its branches with ribbon and string. They held the hopes and dreams of people near and far—except her. Once, she’d wished on that tree too. But, along with being set up with guys like Blake, tying foolish wishes to trees was another thing she was done with.
Seth laughed again, and Annie yanked off the hairnet she wore for work. Taking charge of her life meant figuring out who she was now and what she wanted. It didn’t mean wishing for things she couldn’t have or dreaming a dream that woul
d end in heartache.
~ ~ ~
From across the bakery counter, Tara’s high-pitched voice kept up a running commentary, but Seth barely registered her words. He should have tried harder to reach Annie in person before turning up here, but he’d wanted to get out of LA and hadn’t thought a few days would make a difference. He drained the cup of coffee, and the taste of regret overlaid the dark Columbian roast.
The swing door behind the counter creaked open, and Annie reappeared. Her cheeks were flushed and tendrils of red-gold hair curled around her face. “I’ve got the keys. I’ll take you upstairs and show you around. Until after Jake passed, none of us knew he had a nephew. Well, I guess the lawyer did, but you’ve had a loss and all of us, we’re sorry and . . .” She stopped and jangled the keys.
“Jake and I weren’t close.” He shifted from one foot to the other and stared at the immaculate floor.
“The lawyer said you work in the music business. That you’re a songwriter.” Tara slid a glance at Annie. “Jake sure loved music. That must be why he left you his radio station.”
Seth picked up the paper bag from the counter that held the muffin he’d asked for to go. He was still a songwriter—a good one. He’d written hits for movies, TV, and Broadway shows, as well as for some of the biggest recording artists in the country. He was in a creative dry spell, that was all. And once he got out of it, he’d find another contract—and maybe even another collaborator. Things would work out because he wasn’t the kind of guy to let life happen to him without fighting back.
“About the station . . .” He hesitated at the sadness in Annie and Tara’s eyes. He was here to settle Jake’s estate as fast as he could. Then he’d go home to LA and get his life—and career—back on track.
“That station’s real popular.” Annie walked around the end of the counter to his side. Like her sister, her petite figure was covered in a frilled white apron with “Quinn’s, Est.1920” in green script across the chest. “We never miss the morning show, and at lunch there’s a golden oldies slot. My mom loves that one because those songs are the ones she and my dad danced to back in high school. Before he got sick, Jake did requests and Mom . . . he knew that was important to her.” She stopped, her bottom lip wobbled, and she swallowed. “You okay to look after things here for a bit, Tara?”
