Page 29 of Back in the Saddle

“Come, sit at the table. I was just about to serve up dinner. Taylor, set a place for Ciaron.” Her eyes strayed to Ciaron again. I knew they would. He was just that type of guy; he caught your attention. But the way she cocked her head while studying him was weird.

Dinner started benign enough. The normal get-to-know-you questions.

“Where do you live, Ciaron?” Orla asked.

“Sheriff Street.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know it?” Ciaron asked.

“Everyone knows Sheriff Street.” Her voice was disparaging. She held her hand to her chest. It must have been a rough part of Dublin. I suspect she already knew that by the way she had catalogued everything about him earlier.

I snuck a glance at Ciaron, who was resting against the back of his chair, relaxed. He smiled at me.

“Where do you work?” Orla asked.

She studied his tattoo. I could see it clearly now that his jacket was off, and his sleeves were pushed up his forearm. Reaching from above his wrist was a mixture of Celtic knots, vines and clovers that stretched up and around a Celtic cross that was showcased on his mid-forearm. The cross was like delicate ironwork with a green shamrock at its heart, where an emerald would sit.

“At one of the local pubs, The Shamrock.”

Orla nodded, her eyes calculating. “Mmm.”

What was she up to? Dad downed a beer and got another one. He didn’t offer one to Ciaron.

Laoise piped up. “Do you have horses?”

Ciaron shook his head.

She screwed her nose up. “Why would she want to marry you?”

I took Ciaron’s hand. “Because he’s nice.”

He didn’t seem bothered by their questions or their attitude. But I was.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Orla said. “And strong. You have to be coming from Sheriff Street.”

“Dad always said if horses could marry, she’d marry one,” Laoise said. “Same as her mam.”

Orla smirked. I shifted in my seat.

“Lucky for me, you can’t marry horses,” Ciaron said. “Looks like she’s stuck with me.”

“Sounds like you have the Longmire curse,” Dad said. He downed half his pint in one gulp.

“The what?” Ciaron asked.

“Your dick is under a spell. Like mine was with her mother. But it will dry up pretty soon and the fantasy will be over.”

My potato lodged in my throat. I coughed to loosen it. My face was burning with embarrassment.

Ciaron placed his knife and fork down. “That’s not a polite way to speak about Taylor or her mother.”

My father shrugged. “Just stating the truth.”

“John, not in front of the children,” Orla said.

He took another swig of his beer. “We’re all fucking friends here, aren’t we?” He guffawed raucously. “Ha Ha. Get it. Fucking?” He stared at me. “Didn’t take you long. Just like your mother.”

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