Page 7 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
The gate to the pasture blew open with an ear-splitting crash. His sheep bolted and started to run as the wind blasted across the land, almost as if pushing them out of the gate. They thundered onto the road and ran off toward Betsy O’Hanlon’s estate, all twenty-eight of them. “You might delay me, but I’m still working on your house!”
Sorcha faced him as the wind died and the sun came out from behind a cloud, lighting the spot where she stood. “I told you, Carrick.Love is here.I won’t let you squander it.” Then she disappeared.
He swore heartily as the wind rose up again and then stalked to his truck, where he girded himself to chase down his errant sheep and likely encounter Betsy O’Hanlon’s cousin yet again.
Chapter Three
She’d been right to bring her cousins to Ireland.
Betsy understood what age and loss could do to a person, but Angie and Megan looked even less themselves, as they got out of their rental car. The cute little girls who’d begged her to braid their hair were as long gone as the young women they’d been. She’d seen them on a visit to the United States just three years ago, of course, so she’d known what to expect…or at least she’d thought so.
In her heyday, Angie had been as vibrant as one of her paintings, with henna red hair cut to her nape, bold eye makeup, dangling earrings and bracelets, a belly button ring, and flowing patchwork skirts. The woman she was now had mousy brown shoulder-length hair and wore baggy traveling clothes in tan and black. Saints preserve them! Their mother was right. Angie looked downright frumpy.
And Megan! Having a husband overseas for most of her marriage and childrearing had leached her, no doubt. Death had finished the job. Grief blanketed her wooden features, but Betsy knew that was to be expected. When her beloved Bruce had died five years ago from a heart attack as he was walking through the fields, she’d stayed in bed for three months mourning him, barely showering once a week.
The little boy Ollie was as downtrodden as his mother, Bets noted as they crossed the front garden. Not at all like she remembered her own son at that age. She glanced at Liam, now a man, standing beside her at the front door. Her boy was smiling, and she knew he was thinking the same. Their mother—Cousin Patty—had been right to talk to her about their situation.
Patty had worried about the burden Megan was putting on Angie, who was barely holding on to her own life preserver. They’d hoped Angie would come to Ireland alone and find herself again, giving Megan some space to grieve and make plans for the future.
Only Megan hadn’t taken Patty up on her offer of shelter. Not that Bets blamed the girl. Their father, Dan, was charismatic in the way of many senior military men, something that had always worked for Patty, but he was a hard man. Still, Bets knew it had to be tough for Angie to help someone who was drowning when she herself was treading water. At least she and Liam could help.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said, hugging Angie and then Megan before kneeling down in front of Ollie, who extended his hand politely.
“Sorry we didn’t pick you up at the airport, but we figured you’d need the extra room for the bags,” Liam said, hugging his cousins. “Did you have a good drive up? You sure had great weather. How did you fare driving on our side of the road?”
“I took it nice and slow,” Angie said, “but that worked for me since the views are so spectacular. I mean, I knew it would be beautiful, but it takes your breath away. I should have come years ago and painted.”
“Yes, you should have, but we were glad your mom got away to visit a few times,” Betsy said, knowing money had always been tight. “Every day, there’s something new to grab your heart. But that’s Ireland for you. I was just emailing Patty before you arrived. She’s so happy you’re here. So am I. I’m eager for us all to be together like it was when you two were little girls. But tell us. Did you experience a true Irish traffic jam on the way up?”
“She’s asking if you came across any runaway sheep on the road,” Liam said with a snort, as familiar with the joke as he was with her recent battle with Donal O’Dwyer’s sheep.
“Wedidsee some sheep on the road with words on them as we neared your place,” Megan said, putting her hand on Ollie’s shoulder. “We met their owner. A Mr. Fitzgerald. He said he’d lost his spouse as well.”
So they’d met Carrick already. “Funny. His sheep don’t usually get out. They’re very disciplined for sheep, which is why he can spray words over them. Now, Donal O’Dwyer. That’s another story. His sheep feast on everything when they break out, my prize roses especially.”
“Mum loves her flowers,” Liam said with a wink at their cousins. “She’s won loads of awards and is getting ready for the big rose competition at the agricultural fair in early August.”
“How wonderful,” Angie said, glancing around casually. “I thought I saw rose petals on the driveway.”
Sure enough, Bets caught sight of them and saw red. She wouldn’t win any awards if Donal’s sheep tore at her babies again, and Mary Kincaid—her sister-in-law, longtime competitor, and the town busybody—would sweep the category. God, that would piss Bets off. Mary had been a pain in her backside since she’d arrived with Bruce from the States, and her bitterness that Bets had this house and the land had grown worse after Bruce had died, even though it was the Irish way for the son to inherit the family land. “Donal’s destructive brood was here yesterday, as is evidenced by the early rose petals.”
“And here I thought you were lining our path in welcome with flowers like they do in Hawaii,” Angie said, a sparkle in her eyes. “Maybe we should do it for our students on their first day of class. Thanks again for this chance of a lifetime. I can’t wait to get started.”
Good. Her cousin was psyched. Bets couldn’t wait for the right time to share her full vision. The painting classes were only the beginning—she wanted Angie’s help turning this giant estate into a community arts center. They had a ways to go, of course. Only thirteen people had signed up for Angie’s painting class for adults and eighteen kids for the children’s session. She was hoping Angie might be up for the challenge, but she hadn’t said anything yet since her cousin was rightfully hurt and upset about losing her job and taking care of Megan and Ollie. But the opportunity would materialize soon. It always had when Bets went after what she wanted.
“I’m counting down the days myself. Only a week to go before our first class! I’m so grateful you’re here. All of you,” she added, smiling at Megan and Ollie. “Come inside. You must be thirsty. Maybe even a little hungry.”
“I’ll get your bags while you have a bite,” Liam said. “Megan, we thought you and Ollie would like the cottage closer to the—”
“Separate cottages?” Megan sputtered. “But I thought I’d be living with Angie.”
Bets tried to give an assuring smile. “Your mom and I thought it might be easier for you to start living on your own again like this. Your sister will be just down the road, and Liam and I can get you any groceries you need in the village.”
“That’s very kind of you, Bets,” Angie said softly.
“But I’m not even cooking right now.” The pale woman turned to her sister and clutched her hand. “Angie, I’m not ready for this. I still need your help with Ollie.”
The little boy hung his head, looking at his blue sneakers. “I’m fine, Mom.”
