Page 43 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Where’s the baker and the candlestick maker?” she asked with a laugh, glad they weren’t identical twins.
Carrick’s lips twitched. God, he was way too beautiful for words, and she was feeling a little tipsy. Damn if it didn’t feel good.
“The baker is sitting in the corner over there under the proud Mayo GAA football flag,” Carrick answered. “The candlestick maker, I’m sorry to say, went out of business in the eighteenth century.”
“Oh, you’re funny,” Angie said, analyzing his eyes. Yes, they were Payne’s grey, but flecks of blue peeked through them today. They would be a delightful challenge to paint. Except she wasn’t supposed to paint him.
But it was hard to ignore the temptation. Sometimes at night, she dug out that first and only painting she’d done of him. Her whole body tingled when she touched the paper. His very being seemed alive, and she hadn’t even finished it. What would happen when she captured his humor?
“No, he’s mostly not,” Jamie told her with a quick flash of a smile.
“He is,” Brady insisted. “I’m the postman—at least until Dad retires and lets me take over this fine pub.”
“Since we’re making introductions, I’m Kade Donovan,” said the fifth man. His eyes were Van Dyke brown and positively soulful.
“You run the pony therapy farm for kids with emotional and special needs.” An image of Ollie holding his sad little blanket after his father’s funeral rose in her mind. “Ollie is going to love it if Megan agrees.”
“Tell her to come by and talk to me. We all need friends, especially when we’re new to a place and going through a rough time.”
“And losing someone you love is the toughest,” Carrick added, capturing her gaze. “Be silly to pretend otherwise.”
She knew it all too well, which only reminded her of her responsibility to them. “Oh, what am I doing? Getting tipsy when they’re at home. I should call Megan. She’s going to wonder where I am.”
“Already handled,” Liam said, squeezing her shoulder. “I texted her where we were headed and asked if she wanted to pop by. Told her I could look after Ollie for a time if she wanted to join the festivities. She declined, but maybe we’ll convince her next time.”
She felt the pull of duty. She should be home so she could read Ollie a story after his bath. Megan couldn’t muster the energy to do the voices in his favorite books anymore. She used to read so creatively, and it had been a delight to listen. It was like a younger, happier Megan came to life alongside the characters in the storybook, a Megan who used to catch her if she tried to skip over pages.
Tears burned her eyes, and the hopelessness of it all came over her, the kind of hopelessness no amount of whiskey could help. “I worry she’s never going to heal.”
“Hush now,” Carrick said, his face darkening. “She’ll heal.”
“You haven’t.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, spilling more whiskey. “I shouldn’t have said that, Carrick. I’m so sorry. I should leave.”
“Ah, forget about it,” Jamie said. “You speak the truth, and we all know it.”
Kade nodded to Liam, and the two steered her to the right before Carrick could say anything. Brady rushed ahead, leaning down to whisper something to the large group of men around the closest table. The next moment, they were all rising from their chairs, taking their drinks with them with a few parting salvos.
“You shouldn’t have moved those people,” Angie said as Kade pulled out a chair for her and sat down beside her, Liam sitting on her other side. “I can stand.”
“You’re a hero,” Kade said gently. “Enjoy the privileges. Now, you don’t need to be apologizing to Carrick. Jamie’s right. Truth is truth.”
She looked over to where Carrick had sat down, directly across from her. “You’re not mad?”
“You don’t think my friends mention this ‘truth’ to me every few months?” Carrick reached for her whiskey and drank some. “Sorry, I’m parched. Hell, Kade’s even offered me a pony ride.”
“Winston couldn’t handle your brute weight,” Kade said, “but Eve—one of my ponies for adults—would manage you just fine.”
“I offered to cleave his heart right out of his chest one time like I did when my own fiancée called off our wedding,” Declan said as Brady brought a tray of glasses filled with whiskey to the table. “Sorry, that’s bad butcher humor.”
“Butcher humor is really awful,” she said, inhaling deeply to stave off more tears.
She studied Carrick again. He was smiling. No, he wasn’t upset about what she’d said. That was good. The thought of hurting him had almost put her in a panic. He caught her looking at him and gazed right back. Her chest grew tight. She didn’t want to like him.
“You had a hell of a day, Yank,” he finally said.
Indeed, but it had started very pleasantly with him, just like every other day this last week. “I’ve had a lot worse.”
“That sounds like a good story,” Brady said, leaning over the table. “Did you leave some Yank heartbroken when you came to Ireland?”
