Page 45 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
She knew he was joking. His wife had been a teacher until her recent retirement. “I’ve never seen anyone so excited about going to school. It’s all he can talk about. He wasn’t this happy at his old one.”
“Jamie is a right fine teacher,” Seamus said, “even if he gave Mary Myers nightmares after taking them to see Keegan’s spray-painted cattle.BBQandSteakwere especially troubling to some of the children.”
“Clearly they’re not future butchers,” Declan said, and the two men shared a laugh.
Megan only managed a weak smile. Eoghan, however, joined in with a laugh that sounded like a thunderclap, surprisingly loud for his thin frame. “Vegetarians for sure, the end of this country.”
“Well, that’s enough of that talk.” Seamus grabbed a whetstone and started sharpening his cleaver, the sound whisper soft and scarier for it. “I suspect that since the two of you are together, you’re here about the St. Stephen’s Day fair.”
Eoghan patted his green wool jacket shot through with purple stripes and took out a small black book. “We are.”
“It’s for a great cause,” Megan blurted and then almost kicked herself.
Declan knuckled a lock of black hair back from his forehead. “My mother…Siobhan,” he added for Megan’s benefit, “was telling me and Brady last night over dinner how much she wants to continue teaching knitting classes there.”
“So, I’ll be putting you down for a hefty sum,” Eoghan said. “What about the horse racing?”
“Not for me,” Declan said, wiping his cleaver on his apron and cutting another rack of beef. “My brother has a mind to take part in it, although I suspect he’ll want to ride one of our family’s donkeys.”
Donkeys? She was so lost.
Eoghan sputtered. “Why can’t Brady ride a horse for once?”
“He’ll be worried about falling off. Doesn’t think people would like seeing him deliver the post with a black eye or worse,” Declan said with a laugh.
“The widows especially would fuss over him and his eye,” Eoghan said. “I heard tell he’s received nearly twelve jars of preserves so far. I should have been a postman meself and not a sheep farmer.”
“Better to raise sheep,” Seamus said. “You and your son have some of the finest lambs around—second only to my son’s, of course. Put me down for the horse racing. I’m hoping Carrick might race too. We’ll see who crosses the finish line first.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Eoghan said. “I’d challenge my Donal, but I don’t have a widow to tend my sore bones like Brady does. Shame that. Well, we’ll be leaving you, except we’d like to know what you might donate.”
Seamus walked over to the till and popped the drawer, drawing out some euros. “How does two hundred sound?”
“And a few steaks perhaps for conciliation prize?” Eoghan asked, nodding to the ones lying in the counter. “They’re fine steaks, Seamus.”
“I’lldonate the steaks,” Declan said and dug out his wallet. “Along with a hundred euros for the prize money. Buying a house has my account a little light at the moment.”
“Then we’re all the more grateful,” Megan said, flashing him a smile.
Seamus leaned his elbow on the counter. “Megan, girl, you like steak?”
She wasn’t much of a steak eater, but Ollie enjoyed it, and she imagined Kade might too, so she nodded. Maybe she could make him dinner, another sign to him that she was settling into their relationship. “I have some errands—”
“I’ll drop them by your house as it’s on the way,” Declan said helpfully.
“I don’t know when I’ll be home—”
“No bother. I’ll just pop them in the fridge for you.”
She nearly laughed. People came by the house all the time. Ollie loved it, but Angie had admitted that she still found it a little weird too. “Thanks, Declan. Thank you both.”
“Thankyoufor volunteering to organize this event,” Seamus said, his thick silver brows furrowing. “It can’t be easy being new to the village, but trust me, everyone will do their part to help make the day a success.”
“What he’s saying, Megan,” Declan said, putting a companionable hand on the man’s shoulder, “is that you needn’t worry. People want the art center to stay open. Even if it’s only to spit in Mary Kincaid’s face.”
“Personally, I’m hoping you ask Tom MacKenna to race and let the fates decide,” Seamus said, flexing his arm muscle, a considerable size for his age. “He’s up to no good, and he knows it. He doesn’t come in here anymore, knowing my feelings.”
“Like we’d serve him,” Declan said, disgust lacing his voice. “Doing the dirty work of two women. It’s rubbish.”
