by K. C. Crowne
Chapter 10
JOANN
I was only ten minutes into the meeting with the lawyer and already I was having to resist the urge to clock him upside the head.
The lawyer, whose name was Paul Reardon, was a middle-aged man dressed in a slick, beige suit, his brown hair thin at the temples. As he sat at his desk before a sweeping view of downtown Dublin, he was all smug impatience, his tone from the get-go was one which most people reserved for talking to children.
“I believe I was pretty clear in the email, lass,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about the identity of the buyer.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, sitting back in my chair, frustration running through me. “Why can’t I know a single thing about the owner? I mean, that’s the number one determinant in making my decision.”
I went on, letting loose with all that I’d been thinking about regarding Grandma’s place.
“I don’t want to sell it to some massive company that’s just going to level the land and plop down a Trader Joe’s or something.”
“Trader who’s?” he asked, arching his eyebrows.
“Never mind. But do you understand what I’m saying? I’ve been doing a ton of thinking about this, and while it would kill me to sell my grandma’s place, it is getting to be a bit of a burden keeping it up from the other side of the planet. If I were to sell it, I’d want to sell to someone who’s actually going to maintain it, to keep it like it is. You know, like a family or something, preferably one with kids who could play on the land like I used to when I was small.”
I searched his face for any indication one way or another that I was getting warm with the identity of the buyer. Paul still wore that smug expression, the one that both annoyed me and revealed nothing.
“There’s not a chance in hell I’m going to sell to a big developer. So, do you see my dilemma? Whether I not I agree to discuss this further is all hanging on this – in that case, doesn’t it make sense to tell me a little something about who the buyers are?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know how I can make this any clearer, lass – he or she or they is not disclosing that information. And before you ask, I mentioned to them that you were very determined to know the identity off the buyer. That didn’t persuade them in the slightest.”
I let out a sigh of frustration.
“It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall!”
“In my defense,” he said, still smirking. “They are paying me to be something of a brick wall.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do – I want you to pass along to the buyers that you’re out of the picture.”
Reardon was clearly confused. “You want me to tell them that they’re out of the picture?”
“No, you, the lawyer sitting across from me. You or any other lawyer. If they want to speak with me about the property, they’re going to have to do it face-to-face.”
He knitted his brow. “That would be highly unorthodox.”
“I don’t care. If they want my property, those are the terms. They have my contact information, so he or she or they can give me a call or email whenever they want to talk about it. If they want to bring in the legal department after that, then fine, but there’s not a chance I’ll be budging further without me looking them in the eye.”
He shook his head. “Miss McCallister, there’s a reason why these sorts of matters are handled through intermediary parties like myself. One of those reasons is because when, well, certain types involve themselves directly in the discussions, matters tend to not go as smoothly as they might.”
“What are you saying, that I’m too much of a hot-head to talk to them face-to-face?”
“Well…in so many words.”
“You know I’m a lawyer as well, right?” I asked. “I work at the DA’s office in Denver.”
He nodded, as if conceding the slightest trace of my point. “That you are, and while I’m sure your, ah, hard-headed style might work wonders for you when prosecuting criminals, property matters tend to be a little more delicate. Not to mention, diplomatic.”
“Tell them that’s the best they’re going to get. They want to talk, they can talk to me in person. Until then, the matter’s closed for discussion.”
“Miss McCallister…” His tone, one of mild pleading, followed me out of the office, but I wasn’t going to be dissuaded.
By the time I reached the elevator I realized my teeth were clenched so hard that my jaw hurt. It was an old bad habit of mine, one that I fell into in situations like that when I had to keep my mouth shut. As the elevator doors closed, I breathed in and out, relaxing my muscles. By the time the elevator reached the first floor and the doors opened, I was calm once more.
I was still pretty damn peeved when I stepped out of the office building and back onto the busy downtown street. Where the hell did that prick get off on talking to me like that? I was hardly the type of person who thought that people needed to bow down to me because of my job or whatever, but it blew me away how he managed to handwave away something is relevant as the fact that I was a freaking lawyer!
I was glad I’d stood my ground and told him that I wasn’t going to be working through him. If this buyer, whoever he or she or they were, wanted to move further with the sale, they were going to have to get in touch with me.
Once the matter was settled in my mind, I set to finding a place where I could get some Wi-Fi and sort out the other issue, the matter of my birth control. Luckily, as I was beginning to learn, Dublin was a pretty tech-savvy place. Lots of international companies, including Google, had established a major presence in the city, and that meant Wi-Fi didn’t ever seem out of reach.
I ducked into a cute little corner café, ordering a black coffee and sitting down by the window and opening my MacBook, the pleasant din of the coffeeshop going a hell of a long way in mellowing my mood.
There was an email from James that he’d sent to ensure that I still knew that matters were being handled back on the home front, that he hoped I wasn’t spending a minute worrying about work. He was right. Between the house sale and the nostalgia, and the sex dreams, the trip had done wonders to take my mind off the DA’s office and the cartel and all that. I fired back a quick email, attaching some pictures of the house and surrounding landscape, knowing he’d get a kick out of them.
Once that was done, I started the process of looking for an OB/GYN near the house.
It didn’t end up being much of a process. One clinic showed up – the OB/GYN office right across the street from the house. My gut tightened as I realized this meant that there was a one-in-three chance that I’d be meeting with none other than Ronan– the man who I’d had a freaking sex dream about the night before. To make matters worse, while there was an opening tomorrow at eleven, there was no option to actually pick the doctor who I’d be with.
I sighed, accepting the appointment and putting in my insurance information.
I’d had a nice dream involving Ronan taking care of matters below the waistline. The potential reality of him doing the same was looking to be far, far less fun than that.
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon into the early evening exploring old Dublin, grabbing a delicious meal of shepherd’s pie at a small pub before heading back. The rest of the night involved more work around the house, going through Grandma’s old things and sorting out what I’d want to and what I’d want to throw away should I end up selling the place.
Truth be told, part of me had hoped that the meeting with Mr. Reardon had settled the matter. There was a damn good chance, after all, that he’d go back to the potential buyers, tell them what I’d said, and that’d be that. The idea was a relief to me, really.
The day had concluded with another early night in. But this time, my sleep had been dreamless – not a lilting, singing voice or a gloriously nude Irishman to be found. I woke up as wonderfully refreshed as I’d been the day before, ready to start my morning.
When I’d remembered that I had the appointment, my gut
tightened. The last thing I wanted was to deal with Ronan in that kind of context. However, unless I wanted to deal with my hormones going out of whack during my trip, it needed to get done.
I made my breakfast and coffee, going for a little walk around the property to kill time before the appointment. I hated to admit it, but I was tense as the hour rolled around. Ronan and I had gotten off on the majorly wrong foot. Nothing about his brusque, pushy personality hinted that I’d want to course-correct our relationship.
Nothing to be done, however – I needed to go. I spent a little more time on my outfit than I would’ve otherwise. Not because I wanted to impress anyone, but because I knew that if I felt good about how I looked I’d feel more confident to deal with anything that might come up.
Finally, the time came where there was no more putting it off. I filled my Yeti cup with some fresh coffee, then headed out. The clinic was so close that I barely had time to enjoy my coffee. Before I knew it, I was in the reception area.
I had to admit, the clinic was cute. Far from the sterile, halogen-light-illuminated doctor’s offices I was used to back in the states, the O’Neill brothers’ clinic was as charming as anything else I’d seen around Sandy Cove. The wooden chairs were handsome and appeared handmade, gorgeous rugs covered the floors, and the big windows looked out onto the rolling hills. A few other people were there reading quietly or checking their phones. As tense as I’d been about the appointment, the décor went a long way in chilling me out.
The staff seemed small – two or three smartly-dressed nurses and an equal number of administration employees.
“Good morning!” came a cheerful voice from nearby.
I turned to see a small partition in the reception area, the wall just high enough that couldn’t quite see the person on the other side.
“Oh, hi!” I said, hurrying over. “Sorry, didn’t see you – tiny person problems.” When I reached the partition, I saw that the man on the other side was in his early twenties, trim, handsome, and both stylishly and professionally dressed. He wore a warm smile, a big iMac in front of him. “Hope you didn’t think I was being rude,” I said. “But you miss things when you’re barely over five feet.”
He chuckled. “Not a problem in the slightest.” His accent was almost stereotypically charming and perfect. “And I’m going to guess by your accent that you’re not from around these parts.”
“I hope that’s not a problem,” I said. “Do you guys only take locals or something?”
“No, not at all,” he replied, turning his eyes to the computer. “That just means I need to get your information in the system. Did you happen to make an appointment with us?”
“I sure did – it’s under Joann McCallister.”
“Grand, grand,” he said with a warm smile as he began typing away on the computer. “Normally, I’d welcome you to Ireland. But with a last name like that, I think it might be a bit more appropriate to say, ‘welcome home’.”
“Aw,” I replied, placing my hand on my chest. “You’re too sweet.”
He winked as he typed away. “Alright, we’ve got you down for ten for a general checkup.”
“Mainly for a birth control script,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I mean, not that I’m planning on using it here, but all the same…” My eyes flashed as I realized what I’d just said.
He laughed. “You kidding? Gorgeous lass like yourself? It’d be a bleeding crime if you didn’t go home with a little souvenir.” I chuckled, pleased that he’d broken the tension. The clear fact that he didn’t seem into women made the exchange nice and lighthearted.
“I’m Brendan, by the way,” he said. “Go on and have a seat, yeah? I’ll call you as soon as the doctor’s ready to see you.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Cheers.”
One more wink and he turned his attention back to the computer.
Pretty much all of the tension I’d felt before I’d come in had melted when the conversation was over. I found an open seat, took out my laptop, and opened up my email. But before I could begin checking, the door opened once more. This time, a pretty, twenty-something woman with short, auburn hair and a long, green, Donegal coat hurried in and went right to the front desk. I couldn’t hear what she was saying to Brendan -nor did I want to, seeing as how it wasn’t at all my business- but the light tones and laughter suggested that they knew one another.
“Alright,” she said as she turned away from the desk and came over to sit down. “I’ll check it out.”
The woman flashed me a smile as she dropped into the seat one over to the left from me, slipping out her phone with a big grin on her face. I didn’t want to look at what she was doing, but when Tik Tok appeared on the screen, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek.
She typed something into her phone, then scrolled and scrolled until she found what she was looking for.
I nearly gasped when I saw that it was none other than Brendan on the screen!
He was dancing, doing the Tik Tok thing where they pointed to the different word bubbles that appeared around them. Then, to my shock, Ronan appeared. He said something that I couldn’t make out, the woman laughing her head off at whatever it was. When the video ended, she tucked her phone away.
“You like it?” Brendan asked. “Made it with you in mind.”
“It was a real laugh,” she said. “And you’re already at a million views, yeah?”
“That’s nothing – the one with the speculum went up to ten million.”
“I swear, these guys are going to be a hit when their show finally takes off.”
“If,” Brendan said, raising his finger. “A certain someone is holding things up.”
“Let me guess – Dr. Cranky Pants?”
Brendan laughed, putting his finger over his mouth and making a shh noise.
It all felt so surreal. I’d just watched a damn Tik Tok featuring none other than one of the doctors at the OB/GYN clinic where I was currently a patient.
Then it hit me. The conversation that I’d overheard at the airport, the blonde woman going on about the sexy doctors in a reality show – they were the O’Neill brothers!
I sat there with my eyes wide, my head spinning.
“Miss McCallister?”
A pretty nurse in her forties smiled at me from the entrance to the offices.
“The doctor will see you now.”
Chapter 11
RONAN
“What’s the story with my eleven o’clock?” I was in my office, ready to toss back the last bit of my current cup of coffee before getting back to work.
Patricia, my nurse-midwife for the shift, stood at the door to the office.
“Oh, she’s a lovely one, she is. Maybe a few years younger than you, tiny with dark hair. Pretty as they come.” She followed her words up with a smile, knowing that wasn’t what I was looking for.
“Now, Patty,” I said. “As much as I appreciate you scoping out every eligible woman who steps through the front door, I’m here to do business.”
“And that’s why you’re single, Doc,” she said. “You’re working a job where and endless parade of gorgeous women are in and out, half of them single and no doubt eager as all get out to nab a handsome doctor. Hell, that’s what I did back during nursing school.” She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, showing off the big rock that I’d already seen plenty of times before.
I laughed as I grabbed my white coat from where it was hanging on the rack and put it on over my green scrubs.
“Patty, I’ve barely got the time to make my own damn breakfast. How the hell am I supposed to date and fall in love and get married? I mean, assuming that was even what I wanted.”
“Hm, if only, like I’ve been telling you every day I’ve been working here, you took advantage of the enviable position you have at work?”
“And what? Ask out a patient? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I can only imagine how that would go – I yank out the speculum and pop my head up from betwixt
her legs on the stirrups and ask her if she’d like to grab a pint. That what you have in mind? I’d lose my damn license and end up in the clinker.”
Patty laughed and gave me a swat on the arm as we started out of the office.
“Consider your point taken, Doc. But you know what I mean.”
Patty laughed as we stepped out into the hallway and the strangest damn thing happened – all this talk about asking women out put the mental image of one gal in my head: Joann from across the way. It was damn near frightening how quickly she’d appeared at the mention of romance.
“Anyway,” I said as we went on. “What’s the story with the new patient?”
“Just a checkup. Oh, and she wanted to see about her birth control. At least, that’s what Brendan’s notes say.”
We made our way down the hall, the two of us giving our “hellos” to the rest of the staff as we passed them. Collin and Aiden were with patients, so I didn’t see them. Patty and I reached the door to my examination room, and I slipped the clipboard with Brendan’s notes out of the holder and tucked it under my arm.
“Still not taking a look at the notes,” she said with a disapproving shake of her head.
“Why would I?” I asked. “I trust you to tell me what to expect. And Brendan tends to err on the side of way, way too much information when he summarizes what the patient’s here for. And you’re so damn good at letting me know what I need to know.” I followed this up with a wink and a smile.
“Always have an answer don’t you, Ronan?”
I flicked up my eyebrows and grinned as I opened the door. “And that’s what they don’t teach you in med school.” I stepped into the room and started my usual spiel. “Welcome, welcome – what’s the-”
Right in the middle of my sentence I brought my eyes up to the patient. When I realized who it was, I stopped in my tracks.
Joann McCallister sat in front of me.
She was dressed in one of the paper robes that we put our patients in before exams. Her legs were clamped together, her arms crossed and her hands on her knees, the position looking less like she was in a doctor’s office and more like I’d walked in on her in a changing room.
