Page 20 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

“I owe them some chocolate chip cookies,” she said, gripping the hem of the shirt she’d left Ireland in only three days previously. Not the four Linc had bet her on. “I also owe you a twenty, cowboy.”

Linc’s face shuttered before he dismissed the offer with a wave of his large hands. “Forget about that, Bets. I’d say this situation cancels any money on the table. What can I do?”

There was nothing anybody could do. Mary had won this round. Bets couldn’t find her fire yet. It was too early for her to begin to imagine how she would strike back. God, she was tired. When was it ever going to end? “I’m going to check on my other roses.”

Liam exchanged a glance with Linc, who looked at the ground before saying, “I’ll be heading on home then. I’ll call you later.”

Linc crossed and cupped her chin, kissing her cheek softly.

When his arms left her, she wanted to cry. Everything had been going so well before the attack on the roses. Now she and Linc were in a weird place.

After his Range Rover started, she looked at Liam. “He didn’t understand why I wanted to hurry back.”

Liam worried his lips for a moment before saying, “He probably felt like I did, Mum. There was nothing you could do. Coming back was like letting Mary win.”

“But shedidwin, Liam.” She pointed to the freshly dug rows. “My garden looks like a graveyard.”

“Mum, I love you with all my heart,” he said, putting his hand on his chest. “But Mary can only win if you let her. I’m as mad as you are, but maybe it’s time to stop fighting her.”

“Dammit, Liam, I don’t want to turn the other cheek.” She made fists at her sides. “I want her to pay for this.”

He nodded slowly. “All right, Mum. I think I’ll head out too. You let me know if you need anything. I love you.”

Her son didn’t kiss her goodbye like he usually would. She started off for her other rose garden, pumping her arms. Both of her men had left her alone. Who could blame them? She didn’t like how she was acting. Hell, she certainly didn’t like how she was feeling. She started to run down the dirt path, rage and hurt pressing against her very skin until she felt like she would pop. When she reached her other rose garden, she started to cry. They were okay, they wereokay.

Falling to her knees, she felt the pain of what she’d seen out front rise up and drown her. All her beautiful roses, gone. How could anyone be that cruel? It was horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible.

When she finished, her nose was stuffy. She scrubbed at her hot face and stood. Her eyes burned from the salt of her tears.

She started walking from one rose to the next, touching their sturdy branches, tracing their tiny buds, caressing the velvet petals of their flowers. Her nose was too plugged to smell their perfume, so she wiped her nose with her shirt.

There, as she stood with the surviving roses, she realized she’d had a walk of shame right in front of her own son. Then she’d run both her son and her new beau off. What a proud day.

Blowing out a breath, she closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sun, searching for peace amidst her inner turmoil.

“I’m glad we put cameras out here,” she heard a gruff voice say behind her.

Turning, she spotted Donal standing at the edge of the rose garden he’d planted for her as a lovely surprise.

His face was somber. “It’s a horrible day in the world when someone destroys roses.”

She wiped her nose again. “Yes, it is. I know Mary and I have had our battles, but I would never have hurt her roses. Never.”

He took a few halting steps toward her. “You’re a better person than she is, Bets. I heard you were back from your trip. Hope you don’t mind me popping by.”

“Of course not! We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Indeed we are.” Donal studied his boots before meeting her gaze. “I had a visit earlier from one of the Garda who called on Mary to ask about the poisoning. He thought I should pass along his concerns.”

So he was the messenger from the Garda. “Shoot.”

His mouth twisted. “Despite claiming she had nothing to do with this, Mary admitted she was happy for your misfortune. She wished more ill will on you. It got them a little worried.”

That chilled her bones. “She wouldn’t be Mary Kincaid if she didn’t wish me ill.”

“Bets, this business with Mary—and Tom, for that matter—has developed into one of the darkest feuds we’ve seen in this village in many years. I think we all hoped it would end with Owen going to jail. We’re lucky no one’s been hurt.”

“You saying she might go that route?”

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