Page 52 of Beat of Love
“Your name was to be William. After your grandfather’s father. But when I held you for the first time, I thought of Dónal.” She tapped his hand still holding the miniature. “And their story. And I knew you weren’t to be William. Open your hand, Rafferty. Look at her. And understand.”
Opening his hand, he finally looked at the woman depicted on enamel.
Shock raced through him, leaving him breathless.
He brought it closer, examining Saoirse’s exquisite features. Even in miniature, the resemblance was uncanny. Long, straight nose and high cheekbones. Plump, delicately shaped lips and green eyes. Flaming hair.
He tore his gaze away from the image to fix it on his grandmother’s. “How is this possible?”
“I saw the resemblance immediately.”
He lightly rubbed his thumb over the face before slipping the miniature back into the velvet. “Mere coincidence,” he muttered, ignoring the cold feeling snaking up his back.
“Maybe. But” — she leaned forward, locking eyes with his — “it might be interesting investigating her lineage.”
He scoffed. “For what purpose, Mammy? She’s mybrother’sex. That alone renders her out of bounds.” His laugh borderedon the hysterical. “Never mind all the other factors that make me a highly undesirable partner.”
“Some things are destined to be.”
“Tsk-tsk.There’s no happy ever after for me, old woman.” He folded his arms and kicked back in his chair. “I am destined to a life of penance. It’s what I deserve. What Iwant.”
Nearing voices were heard. His parents.
Stretching out his arm, he flicked the velvet back to his grandmother. “It’s not for me.”
She caught the pouch and stood. Leaning over him, she shoved it into his pocket. “Don’t fight fate, my darling boy,” she whispered, patting his cheek.
The arrival of his parents stopped him from further protest. For the next few minutes, he tolerated his mom’s fervent gushing and his dad’s brusque birthday wishes.
He accepted the fleece-lined suede jacket with enough enthusiasm to satisfy his mom, his mind preoccupied with the fucking miniature portrait tucked away next to his heart. He’d immediately dismissed the striking similarities between Saoirse and Brandy-Lyn as coincidence, but deep down he knew better. After all, the same blood that ran in his grandmother’s veins ran in his. And wouldn’t it be a hoot if Brandy-Lyn’s ancestor turned out to be Dónal’s lost love?
Not that anything could or would happen between him and Brandy-Lyn.
He was damaged goods, after all.
That reality was reinforced when he stepped into the mudroom to don his boots and work jacket before heading out and found his brother waiting for him. Rafferty viewed the little plastic jar Aidan held out to him. “You want to test me …today?”
His brother shrugged. “Random urine testing. That was our agreement when you signed on to work here.”
“Whatever.” He grabbed the plastic container and ducked into the adjoining bathroom to do his brother’s bidding.
Happy fucking birthday, Trick.
*
Exhausted and cold, Rafferty parked the UTV in the shed and gratefully jumped from the vehicle, the promise of a hot shower mere minutes away. He couldn’t wait to get out of his wet and filthy clothes. Today had been brutal. Damned pregnant cow wandered from the herd, only to birth her calf in a fucking waterlogged arroyo. They had found the pair too late, and it ended up being a recovery, not a rescue. He rounded the back of the vehicle, hauled the equipment from the trunk, and dumped the canvas bags in the oversized washing trough. The ropes and blankets needed thorough cleaning, but thankfully that wasn’t his job.
Five minutes later he walked into the mudroom of the Main House and hung his ballcap on the hook. His jacket and boots followed, but instead of tracking mud through the house, he padded into the adjoining bathroom.
And just like that, Aidan’s callousness from that morning slapped him upside the head, adding to his already flagging spirits. Pressing his hand to the marble vanity, Rafferty hung his head, fighting the dark wave of depression.
He longed, so very much, for oblivion.
One hit, justone, and he’d get through the night.
No dreams, no regrets, no pain.
Just the bliss of … nothingness.
