Page 69 of After Indigo Irish Nights
“Maybeyoushould be my assistant,” she quipped, a smile tugging at her mouth.
He leaned forward and winked. “Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda am.”
She was mighty glad for it. “I still think it would be fun to poke at Mary, but I know it would only stir up trouble.”
“I agree on letting sleeping dogs lie mostly.” Linc crunched on his biscuit. “But we can daydream about it. Only not too long. That smacks of bitterness, and bitterness keeps you from flying, like the good ol’ Tim McGraw says in one of his songs.”
“You quoting country music to me?” She took a biscuit for herself. “You’re a long way from Oklahoma, cowboy.”
“Not in my heart,” he said, lifting his coffee and taking a sip.
Her own heart warmed. She felt like that, being an American in Ireland, even after all these years. “Some roots grow deep, huh?”
“Like that damned thistle.” He eyed his hand a moment. “By the way, I have a few architect candidates to run by you for the museum.”
“We can’t prefab that too?” she joked.
He shuddered. “God, thatwouldbe a statement. If I were a tony art person, I would spin it as ‘a deconstruction or anti-establishment statement.’”
He said it in a tony accent, and they both snorted.
“Are we cynical?” Bets asked.
“Hell, yeah. That’s why we’re sitting in your kitchen having coffee. We see things the same way.”
They rather did, didn’t they? “I’m really glad you came to Ireland, Linc Buchanan.”
Their eyes held for a moment. She felt herself start to smile as a big grin broke out across his face.
“So am I, Bets O’Hanlon. Thanks for keeping me out of retirement hell.”
“You’re welcome. Now tell me about those architects.”
Her mind was spinning by the time he finished. Never let anyone say that moss grew between his toes. And he said this was only the beginning. She liked the sound of that. Before her days had been planned. Pretty boring. She was glad that had changed.
“You know what?” She decided to find the whiskey to celebrate and poured them each a finger. “I can’t wait to present you with my candidates for your woman.”
Sorcha hadn’t moved on the case yet. Bets fashioned it wasn’t the time yet. But it would be.
“Candidates, eh?” He kicked out his feet and downed his whiskey. “That will be the day.”
She laughed again at his John Wayne accent but sobered quickly as the scent of oranges filled the air around them.
“You baking something with oranges, Bets?” Linc asked, sniffing the air.
He’d never smelled the oranges before. Bets only smiled.
Linc’s soulmate might show up sooner than he thought.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Declan’s first fight was tonight.
Kathleen was like a cat on hot bricks as she pounded on metal in her shed, hoping to dissipate the tension inside her. She didn’t want it to show when she was in the audience tonight. The thought of watching someone hit him made her stomach turn, but she would get through it and support him.
God knew, Declan was nervous enough for both of them, although he’d tried not to show it this past week. But how could he not be? He hadn’t had a match in five years.
His kiss this morning had told her how much he needed her. If he’d held her a little longer than usual, neither of them had said. He hadn’t trained this morning, saving his reserves for the fight, so they’d stayed in bed together until late morning, making love and talking. Anything to keep his mind off Paul Keane and fighting in front of the village for the first time since his big loss.
