Page 14 of After Indigo Irish Nights
He could feel the pull to go to her, to pour her another whiskey—hell, to pull her onto his lap and feel her body against him.
He ignored it.
As the villagers went around and congratulated him for reentering boxing, he was swept away. Inside Declan, the burn of old ice was receding, replaced with a new warmth he barely recognized: an excitement for life and hope for the future.
Then a gusty spark of her laughter rocked him down to his toes, and he was sure the earth had shifted underneath him. Everything that had been up was down.
Sorcha had been right about Seamus.
His heart raced as the next question arose in his mind:wasshe right about Kathleen?
CHAPTERTHREE
Bets knew boxing fever when she saw it.
Donal’s deliciously muscled body—a body she quite enjoyed—fairly pulsed with it. She couldn’t wait to get him home tonight. The air in the pub was charged with an exciting energy that translated very happily into the bedroom. At the moment, they needed a boost. In the bedroom and out of it. Since his retirement and their talk about keeping things as they were for the time being—not moving in together and not getting married—they’d been listing a little. Maybe this would help.
“I believe we’ve found another way to keep ourselves occupied during the day,” Donal said to the other men at their table as people in the pub continued to congratulate Declan. “And… The women will be delighted we have another part of our retirement figured out.”
Bets glanced at her fellow Lucky Charms, and they made sure to roll their eyes in unison. “I thought you guys already had your retirement figured out. You’ve sure said so often enough.”
“Yes,” Gavin said with a rude sound. “But when I look over my shoulder, I can still see the bumps in the proverbial road. With Declan fighting again, we’ll have more hours to fill our days. Linc is going to be pleased to hear this news when he returns from his business in the States, completely retired as well. Maybe he’ll even join us for the training.”
Bets didn’t want Linc focused on boxing training. She wanted him to concentrate on the arts center, her baby. Ever since she’d first come up with the idea of opening the arts center, it had given her new purpose. Although the men around her were talking about retiring, as far as she was concerned, she was just getting started with finding a purpose outside of being a wife and a mother.
Nothing was going to get in the way of that. And despite some opposition from her sister-in-law and nemesis, Mary Kincaid, and Mary’s minions, one of whom was head of the county council, nothing had.
The Sorcha Fitzgerald Arts Center had grown to a level she’d only dreamed about, and she was going to make sure the ship kept running, so to speak. Linc had promised to help them further operationalize the trust they’d set up for his daughter’s million-euro donation. They now had tons of money, which brought a slew of new possibilities as well as legal issues that boggled her mind.
Linc was an expert in such things, having been involved with numerous art establishments over the years. She needed him to make the center everything it could be. The men were not going to distract him with their testosterone-driven training plans.
“I’m not sure Linc has ever boxed. I just don’t see him doing that.” She wouldn’t say he had more sense than to get his face bashed in.
“Ellie, girl,” Gavin shouted to the next table. “Did your dad ever box?”
Leave it to Gavin to check. Bets held her breath.
Ellie broke off her conversation with Kathleen at the next table, turning toward them. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“They’re wanting to punch his face in,” Bets joked, finally able to laugh about it now that the danger was over. “Go back to talking with Kathleen. I’ll be over in a while to chat. These men are plotting more of their retirement.”
Ellie brightened. “That’s great news!”
Truthfully, it was. Mostly. Bets and her other friends had been worried about the men wanting to up and retire without a plan. Visions of them sitting around with nothing to do, wanting to be entertained and waited on, had sent them all into a frenzy.
Frank discussions had been had, and Bets and Donal had almost split over it. But now the men all understood the need to have things to do, hobbies included. Linc, being from the States—where planning for retirement was more of a norm—had further helped them, thank God.
“I know you have your boxing club,” Bets reasoned, laying a hand on Donal’s arm, “and helping Declan is further motivation. But do you really envision punching each other until you’re Eoghan’s age?”
She and the other women had discussed it before, and they’d envisioned it as a man’s club where they hung out while strutting around in boxing gloves and their green boxing robes, crowing like roosters.
Every male at the table stared at her before Donal said, “What do you mean? My father and his cousin, Fergus, and a few others still get into the ring.”
“At his age?” Bets was sure her voice carried. This was news!
“It’s good for him,” Donal said, and the other men nodded briskly. “It’s like Roberto ‘Hands of Stone’ Duran said, ‘Getting hit motivates me.’”
Seriously? This was how men thought? Bets had three boys, and she still didn’t understand men sometimes.
