Page 20 of Surrender
Living in Dublin and rarely ever leaving the city meant she had little experience with this sort of terrain—or with the next obstacle that greeted her like it owned the road.
A handful of sheep had decided to take a leisurely stroll across her path.
Gwen braked—not hard, since she’d still been driving at a snail’s pace—then threw her hands in the air. After a couple of minutes of staring at fluffy sheep bottoms, she rolled down her window.
“Of course. Why not? Take your feckin’ time, why don’t you?” she complained to absolutely no one. Certainly not the sheep. Though one did blat back at her as he passed by her window. She didn’t speak sheep, but she was pretty sure it said póg mo thóin.
“Well, right back at you. Cheeky bugger,” she said out the window.
Great. Now she was arguing with sheep.
The sheep didn’t so much as blink. Just kept walking like they had all the time in the world and every right to the road, which, to be fair, they did.
She sat back, exasperated, and looked out the windshield at the landscape before her and then something in her chest loosened.
The hedgerows had disappeared. Now, mountains stretched up in the distance before her—bold and brooding, their peaks shrouded in mist. Small waterfalls traced their way down the slopes like veins. Rolling hills spilled into the horizon, dotted with stone walls, wildflowers, and the occasional cottage. It was wild and untamed, nothing like the chaos of Dublin. She wasn’t used to this kind of silence, or all this space. It made her feel exposed. Small. And yet…
There was something about it. The way the air smelled of moss and rain. The way the hills rolled on like they had nowhere else to be. The quiet didn’t feel empty—it felt ancient. Steady. Like the land knew she was part of it, whether she remembered or wanted to admit it or not. This was her home—not the city with all its noise and crowded streets.
For once, there was no pressure to be anyone. Just Gwen.
She let herself get lost in a daydream. Then a loud blat of sheep sounded through her open window, snapping her back to reality.
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was breathtaking.
Absolutely maddening.
But breathtaking all the same.
Still, she couldn’t afford to get distracted.
Gwen sat up straighter, brushing her hair back with a shaky hand. This wasn’t a scenic drive or some spontaneous escape from the city. She wasn’t here to admire the landscape or lose herself in some misty daydream. She had a purpose—a plan. And it had nothing to do with waterfalls or adorable swearing sheep or the way the wind tugged at her hair like it knew her. She was here with a purpose. A plan. One that made her stomach twist in knots the closer she got.
She was here to learn more about the O’Brian family. Quietly. From a distance. She’d go to O’Brian’s Taproom, blend in, observe. Ask a few casual questions. Nothing too obvious. Nothing that would tip anyone off.
She had a story all mapped out—practiced it a dozen times on the drive from Dublin. But still, she found herself whispering it now.
“My name’s Ruby Daly. I’m traveling through for a few weeks, doing freelance writing. Just small-town human interest pieces for an online magazine. I heard O’Brian’s Taproom had charm and history, and I thought it might make a good article."
It sounded natural. Innocent.
And it wasn’t even really a lie, not completely anyway. Just… selective truth. That’s how she justified this whole thing. It wasn’t personal. She wasn’t here to hurt anyone. She only wanted answers. And if that meant a little pretending, well... so be it.
Even if her stomach was currently in her shoes and her hands wouldn’t stop sweating.
She wasn’t a liar. Not like her father. She’d never wanted to deceive anyone, not for any reason. But this… this was different.
Gwen gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, the pub finally coming into view as she rounded the bend.
She needed to focus. Stay calm. Because if she let her nerves take over, if she slipped even once, this whole thing could blow up in her face.
Just as she was starting to steady herself, something up ahead caught her attention. Something... odd.
Gwen pulled into the gravel lot and parked under the shadow of a hand painted sign that read O’Brian’s Taproom. Before stepping inside, her gaze lingered on the mural covering the side wall of the building. It was a vibrant swirl of color and movement in rolling green hills dotted with sheep and cows, a golden sand beach, musicians in mid-song, a woman with a tilted pint and a wry smile. It was beautifully done, not some amateur job slapped on for tourist appeal. There was heart in it.
She paused for a breath, taking it in.
She shook herself. Admiring murals wasn’t part of the plan.
