Page 43 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
Yes. Dad and I would like you to meet us for dinner at the Merry Fiddler tonight at half six. We’re as giddy as a spring ram to show you our play.
That sounded encouraging. She couldn’t wait to see what they had in mind.
When they arrived at half six, Bets was wearing gold heels, peacock earrings, and a deep blood-red lipstick that seemed perfect for the occasion. Donal had his hand to her back as they followed Eoghan and the server to the table in the corner, which happened to be right next to the spot where Tom MacKenna was dining with his wife, Orla, and Bets’ nemesis, Mary Kincaid. Something told her that was no coincidence.
Eoghan called out a cheeky greeting, and Tom buried his head in his menu, his wife pursing her lips. Mary, though, shot Bets a look of pure menace as Donal patted her hip in front of the entire restaurant.
“You’re so bad,” she whispered as he helped her into her chair.
“I can’t wait to show you how bad,” he said into her ear, making her flush with heat.
Thank God she hadn’t driven tonight. She’d have lost her keys for sure. When the server came around, she didn’t need to look at the menu. The Merry Fiddler did one thing well—fish and chips—although they dabbled in stir-frys. God knew why, but Irish food was still a mystery to Bets after all these years. She ordered a Guinness while Eoghan and Donal both went for whiskey.
Then she waited…
She was halfway through her Guinness when Killian and Nicola walked in. Her dear friend and fellow Lucky Charm caught her gaze immediately and grinned like a cat who’d found the cream. Killian led her to a nearby table and helped her into a chair, but he didn’t sit down. No, he walked straight over to Tom MacKenna’s table.
“Hi, Tom! How are you faring?”
The weasel looked over sharply. “Fine. You?”
“Grand,” Killian said, taking out an envelope and laying it on the table. “I was going to drop this off earlier, but I had a horse bolt on me. What luck to run into you and your wife. Mary, good to see you.”
Killian had a killer smile he brought out to deal with assholes, be they rich, entitled jerks looking to buy horseflesh or people trying to do wrong by others. From the way his mouth couldn’t decide on an expression, Tom didn’t know what to make of it.
“Shall I look at it now?” he asked with a short smile, finally committing to an expression. “Given our family’s history, if you need something urgent, I’m happy to help.”
Killian rocked back on his boots, hands on his hips. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve decided to be a good citizen and host an event on my land. I’ve never asked for a permit before—you know how I feel about my property—but I did my best to fill everything in.”
Tom turned gray as he realized what the permit was for. Bets had to bite her cheek to hold back a smile as Orla’s mouth puckered and Mary’s hefty bosom heaved.
“I’d been hearing about a St. Stephen’s Day fair to support the art center,” Tom said, clearing his throat.
“My land has a good track for the racing,” Killian said. “I’ll have to give up one of my sheds as well for the day, but it’s for a worthy cause, and the pony rides my son will be giving to all the children in the area will keep the holiday season alive in their hearts. I’m sure it will be the talk of the village for years to come.”
Game. Set. Match.
Donal gripped her knee under the table, his elation palpable. Eoghan took another drink of his whiskey. They had him, and they damn well knew it. Oh, Donal and Eoghan were dear men for bringing her to witness this.
“I’m sure it will be, with you and your land involved,” Tom said, coughing this time like he’d swallowed a fishbone.
“So I can count on the permit going through, then.” Killian held out his hand for a shake.
Tom eyed it before shaking it. “I’ll make it official tomorrow.”
“I’ll be by for the official confirmation,” Killian said with a nod. “Thanks, Tom. Orla. Mary. Enjoy your dinner.”
He didn’t so much as glance at Bets and her companions, but Killian was cool when he needed to be. Nicola sent her a smile before kissing him full on the mouth when he sat down beside her at the table.
Bets moved her chair closer to Donal, away from Mary Kincaid’s glare. Her sister-in-law had lost this round. If she and Orla had planned on blocking the permit, they couldn’t now. Not even Tom would be bold enough to go back on his word—and handshake, mind you—after so many of the townspeople had witnessed it.
She stared in wonder at her two dinner companions. Eoghan was humming an Irish tune she didn’t recognize, while Donal caressed the back of her knee under the table.
“Dessert is on me,” she said with a grin. “Slainte.”
When Donal took her home after dropping his father off, dessert was indeed on her—again. She climbed onto his lap in the front seat of his Mercedes and kissed him until they were both breathless.
“Now who’s bad,” he said with a groan as he let his head fall back. “Hopefully tonight gave you faith, Bets. If my dad and I can find a way to check Tom MacKenna, I’ll be able to find a way for us to have uninterrupted sex.”
She kissed him one last time, making herself groan as he rubbed his hips against hers. “Make it fast, dammit.”
His laughter followed her as she opened the car door to hop out. “Did you find your other set of keys yet?”
She glared at him and then slammed the door. But she did find her keys that night when she decided to do laundry because she was too worked up to go to sleep. They were at the bottom of the laundry basket, mixed in with the clothes she’d torn off in her haste for a cold shower last week.
Liam was right. They’d better have sex soon. God only knew what she’d forget next.
