Page 58 of The Irish Redemption

“Careful how?” I ask.

“Well, the Mexican Cartel and the Japanese Yakuza refused to deal with women. They are definitely a boys’ club. But I needed them in the beginning. Securing deals with them was key in gaining the foothold we have today, but it wouldn’t have happened if they knew they were dealing with me and not Conor. But it was a necessary sacrifice for the success of my family. It’s different now, though.” She drinks deeply and smiles. “These days, no one cares. The Italians, especially, are famous for their dangerous women. And my very own Saoirse has a reputation of her own.”

Saoirse ducks her head, her cheeks pink. “I’d rather talk about Cormac dating the woman he kidnapped,” she says, trying to throw the attention off her.

Cormac snorts and squeezes my hand. “Any complaints?”

“None,” I reply, then I tilt my head. “Though… dating? Are we?”

Cormac rolls his eyes as his mother laughs.

“To think they say the Giffords have egos when my own daughter deflects a compliment so expertly.” She chuckles. “Romance in this world is precious. I trust Cormac knows what he’s doing.”

“Kinda winging it, Ma,” Cormac admits. “Like Da.”

“Aye.” She smiles warmly. “I’m proud of you. Who would have ever foreseen me raising four amazing…” She falters suddenly at her slip of the tongue, and suddenly, it’s like the two empty chairs at the table have become large and loud. They suck up all the air and silence falls.

Cormac’s hand tightens over mine.

The two empty chairs. Conor, his father, and Brenden.

Clodagh drains her glass and firmly sets it down. “I…” Her voice quavers. Cian and Saoirse exchange a glance. In all the happiness, Brenden’s absence wasn’t touched on, and it was surely intentional to try and keep everyone’s spirits up. But grief comes in waves and there’s suddenly no avoiding it.

“It’s alright, Ma,” Cormac says, half rising out of his chair as if to comfort her.

She waves her hand and touches her napkin to her mouth. When she blinks, her eyes are like glass. “For a moment, I forgot.” She shakes her head. “Every day, I forget. Just for a moment, y’know? I’ll be doing something or I’ll see something, and I’ll think to tell him and then I remember, and it’s like being hurt all over again.”

I look around the table. Everyone shares the same sadness and pain, and my heart aches for something to say or do that can ease that pain. But this is beyond me. I place my other hand over Cormac’s in silent support.

“When the police cremate his body, I want him returned to Ireland.” Clodagh stands suddenly. “It’s where his ashes belong.”

A soft murmur of agreement moves through everyone, then Clodagh quickly excuses herself. After a second, Cian and Saoirse follow. When Cormac stands, I expect him to do the same but instead, he pulls me up with him.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

We talk in silence away from the ranch house, cashing the fading sun toward one of the larger barns out the back of the ranch. As the air grows cold and the sky turns dark, I huddle into Cormac’s arm, half for warmth and half to let him know I’m right here. The man is a locked box when it comes to anything outside of hunting Brenden’s killer and protecting me. Any time I’ve been close to seeing whatmakes him tick, he’s closed down quickly, and it’s happened again at the dinner table. I can tell he’s grieving, but he avoids it like I avoided my repayment letters.

“Where are we going?” I ask softly.

Cormac doesn’t reply. He just keeps walking in large strides so I have to hurry to keep up with him, two steps for every one of his until we reach the barn and he hauls the door open. Slipping from my grasp, he strides inside, and I follow as the sharp scents of hay and manure tickle my nose. Inside, there’s a farm hand who vanishes the moment they see Cormac, leaving the two of us alone.

Well, four of us if you count the horses.

There are numerous stalls in the barn, but only two of them currently hold horses. One is absolutely gigantic, with silky black hair and a long mane that disappears behind the stall door. It hangs in crimped waves, and the horse neighs sharply and starts to fuss in its stall as Cormac approaches.

He grabs a strap of the halter and pulls the horse’s head down to his own. They bump foreheads, and it’s the first time I’ve seen Cormac look small.

“This is Parsley,” he says. “My horse.”

“Wow,” I breathe out. “She’s stunning.”

“She’s a Percheron, a breed of draft horse. And that’s her brother, Angus.” The horse in the stall across is of a similar build but with a silver coat rather than black. “That’s Brenden’s horse. They’re best friends.”

“Oh.”

“We raised them together. They were inseparable, just like us. Kinda made us feel better, I think, after Cian and Saoirse were born. Twins have a special bond and we wanted one too.” He strokes Parsley’s noseand she huffs happily, nudging repeatedly at his shoulder and nibbling along the fabric.

“They’re both so beautiful,” I say, and my chest tightens like a band. “You must miss him,” I add softly.

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