Page 14 of Cocktails & Cauldrons

“Pfft. I’ll give ya a rattled old tart, ya arse.” His sister gave him a little shove, then cast a loving smile over her shoulder. “And you’ll be admittin’ Ruairí’s the only good O’Connor of the lot.”

Bridget followed her admiring gaze to the shaggy blond-haired man behind the bar who returned Bridget’s smile with one of his own. The heat between the two was liable to catch the building on fire, it was so hot.

“What am I missing here?” Brenna asked in an aside to Eoin.

“Our family has been at war with the O’Connor clan for over two hundred and fifty years. My sister fell in love with Ruairí as a child, and the two of them were inseparable for a time.” He shrugged and gave a short nod in their direction. “But they had a seventeen-year feud of their own going on. As you can see, they’ve rekindled their romance, but only after Ruairí returned what was stolen by his ne’er-do-well family.”

Brenna sighed when Ruairí stole a kiss from Bridget as she returned to her spot behind the counter, lingering to steal a second and then a third. “How romantic!”

“Do you buy into all that nonsense, then?” he asked, a curious expression on his face.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Did he really not believe in love or romance? If not, it was extremely sad he didn’t.

He shrugged, and Brenna got the impression he’d seen too much through his worldly artist’s eyes. Perhaps he’d become jaded.

“Why do ya look so worried, love? Surely, it’s not on my behalf?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but couldn’t find the words. How did one go about telling their new employer they felt sorry for what was lacking in their life, especially when she’d never had it for herself? If anyone was to be pitied, it was Brenna. Andthat, she refused to do! No self-pity allowed.

Snapping her mouth shut, she shrugged and turned her attention to her surroundings.

Ireland.

She was here, and it was completely surreal, as if she were in a dream.

“Do all these people know each other?” She gestured to a long table with its equally long benches occupied by flushed-faced individuals engaging in friendly conversations and a few heated debates.

“Most, but a lot of public houses are designed for their customers to gather, similar to that.” He nodded to the particular table she’d focused on. “Not everyone came in together, but they’re happy enough to sit and share a pint.”

“Interesting.”

He glanced down at her and smiled. “Aye.”

Brenna got the impression he wasn’t referring to the pub’s customers, but to her reaction to his family’s business. Exactly why, she couldn’t say.

“You promised me a pint,” she reminded him, desperate to turn his attention from her.

“That I did.” He clasped her hand and led her to the beer taps, then proceeded to show her how to do a proper pour. “The secret is in the draw.”

She groaned inwardly as she studied his long, tapered fingers as they expertly worked the beer tap handle. Her thoughts were in the gutter where Eoin O’Malley was concerned, and they weren’t coming out anytime soon.

“Here. It’s a family recipe.” When he handed her the pint, she released an appreciative groan for real, following it with a grateful smile. The flight had dehydrated her and given her a headache, but the refreshing taste of the beer wet her whistle and soothed her frayed nerves. Funny how a single sip could work like that, chase away all her woes and transport her back to a time when Gran was alive to care for her. But the flavor of this particular brew woke up her taste buds, and she told him so, much to his delight and pride.

After Eoin had his drink in hand, he led her through a side door into an alleyway between the pub and the boarding house, only stopping when they reached the quiet comfort of the inn’s abandoned kitchen.

“This was exactly what the doctor ordered.” She closed her eyes as she took another sip, opening them to find him staring intently at her. “What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman enjoy a pint as much as you.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m not most women.”

He snorted. “Of that, there is no question.”

Inexplicably hurt by his agreement, she stared down at the foamy top of her beer.

“Why are ya upset, love? I was agreeing you weren’t like… ah! You interpreted it the wrong way. Oh, Brenna.” He clasped her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Odessa did a number on ya, didn’t she?”

“I suppose so. But if she did, it’s only because I allowed her to.” Turning her hand over, she laced her fingers with his, careful to keep her eyes lowered. She didn’t want to see his pity or possible disgust at how easily she was manipulated. “Drowning in grief as I was, after Gran died, it just seemed easier to go along with whatever Aunt Odessa wanted, somehow. The next thing I knew, I was twenty-six and fully indebted to her.”

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