Page 9 of The Irish Arrangement

4

CARA

Ididn’t know what to expect when I made the drive to see my father.

Shane Murray may as well have lived in a whole different world from me. I hadn’t seen him in years, and the last time I did spot him, he’d treated me like scum he didn’t want to be associated with. That was from my perspective as a child then, and now, at twenty-two years old, I was even wearier.

Being unwanted set a lot of things in stone. I was an outsider, invited to his lavish home. The butler seemed like a joke, as did all the gaudy ornamentations and décor. The chandelier dripped with more gems and crystals than I could ever imagine. My first thought as I stepped over the threshold was how much of a pain it would be to clean all these fine possessions set out for guests to notice and identify this residence as somewhere that money bled freely from wallets.

Silly me. They’ve got a crew. An army, a legion of peons to do the grunt work. Shane never had to lift his hand. My stepmother never cooked or kept the house. And Saoirse? She had to be an entitled, selfish brat by now.

I ignored the showy entrance, though, walking in after the pot-bellied butler. He huffed and puffed, clearly not a fan of cardio as he led me further into the house, past what looked like a parlor. Instead of bringing me to a room to receive guests for entertainment, he brought me to my father’s study.

He sat there, looking older than what I remembered. I'd never cared to keep in touch with them, but I saw things online from time to time. Saoirse loved to be in the spotlight, and I supposed she considered herself an influencer on social media. Or maybe she was trying to be a model. I didn’t remember, and I didn’t care.

“What do you want?” I crossed my arms and ignored the butler leaving me in the grand study. Tall windows let in the fading light from the sunset, but ample lamps shone brightly.

Keira was the first to turn around. My stepmother stood there with my father, poring over something on a table at the wall behind the desk. As she turned to face me, she showed me how she’d aged too. Flatter, more weight, no curves. She’d always been a homely sort of woman, but that never stopped her from relying on cosmetic surgery to suffuse some appeal into her appearance.

And it still fails.

“About time you showed up,” she sneered.

My father turned as well. His brows jumped up in surprise as he looked me over, almost as though he hadn’t counted on me to come at all. “Oh.”

“What do you want?” I wasn’t here to play any games.

Keira rounded the desk, keeping her chin up and that regal attitude consistent. With all those facial lifts, her face didn’t move much. She looked like a molded doll frowning without showing any lines. “That’s how you greet us? Where are your manners?” She smirked. “Where is your sense of propriety?” Even though her face was frozen, I saw how little she thought of me.

In jeans and a plain T-shirt, I was comfortable and true to myself. I’d brushed my ponytail before I’d come, and I had to be mostly clean. Mud lined the edges of my boots. Or maybe it was manure. I didn’t care either way. What they saw was what they’d get—a hardworking woman busting her ass to keep her mother alive and her family business from failing.

“I don’t care about being proper or having manners. I’ve got real problems to worry about.” I lowered my arms and propped one hand on my hip. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me what you want or I’m leaving.”

“Oh, you think you’ve got a backbone?” Keira retorted. “Talking back to me like that.”

I stepped around her, ignoring her approach and facing my father directly. “You had your assistant contact me. I’m in no mood for any games. Talk.”

He frowned, not pleased about my strong arrival. “I summoned you on Tuesday!”

“Summoned me? I’m not a dog to call to heel.” I was still confused about why he’d contacted me at all. He had to want something. That was the only reason he’d ever contact me. What he wanted, I had no clue. But just knowing he wanted something was a form of power I would wield with caution.

“You were supposed to be here Wednesday,” he growled, impatient.

“Tough shit,” I sassed back. “I couldn’t get away.”

“From what?” Keira mocked. “As if you have a life.”

I narrowed my eyes at her but decided she couldn’t be worthy of my energy. I had intended to come on Wednesday as he’d demanded. But then Mom had to be rushed to the hospital. Another infection. Then one of the horses got injured, and I had to beg the vet to come quickly even though I still owed him for the last two visits. Sheep got out. The shearing processor machine broke down. Then Oscar got into an accident with the better truck we used at the farm. As soon as I brought Mom home from the hospital, she fell into one of her depressive states, claiming that she was a burden on my soul.

Some days, it really felt like she was. And I hated to think that. Only when I was overly stressed did I let myself get down like that. I loved her. She was all I had, but when she was overwhelmed from her illness and hopelessness, my heart broke. I wore too many hats as it was, advocating for her health and running the farm, but when she needed comfort, I had to slow down even more and make sure she knew I could be present and that I loved her no matter what.

I was stretched too thin, dammit. So if my father and stepmother had any plans to waste my time, I would snap.

“I’m here now. Take it or leave it.”

They exchanged a glance, seeming to communicate with just that look.

He rounded the desk, standing next to Keira.

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