Page 29 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

Picking up his phone, he made the only call he had left. “Donal, I need you to confirm a rumor for me and call me back.”

As he waited, he picked up Mary’s file and studied it for the hundredth time. When he set it aside, he knew what he had to do.

Donal confirmed the information about Owen thirty minutes later and said he was coming back from France early given the gravity of the situation. Linc agreed. He ran him through his idea.

When he hung up, they finally had a plan.

CHAPTERELEVEN

Bets was so unused to the sound of someone knocking on the door she walked toward it with dread.

When she opened it, a cold blanket of fear covered her. Mary Kincaid was standing on her front steps in the swirling mist, a potted rose in her hands. The fact that it was yellowed and dying only added to Bets’ disquiet, and the gleam in Mary’s hard, dark eyes and the eerie curve of her smile made her palms damp as she clutched the doorknob.

“I see I missed the replanting of my mother’s rose garden,” Mary commented, gesturing to the new roses planted out front.

“You didn’t miss thedeathof that garden though, did you, Mary? I couldn’t have killedmymother’s heirloom roses. Bruce would have been appalled, and your poor mother too.”

Mary’s smile didn’t dim, although her eyes hardened. “I won’t let your wild imaginings ruin my day. Like I told the Garda, I had nothing to do with that. After all, they were my mother’s roses, weren’t they? Whyever would I harm them?”

So that was how she was playing it. “Get off my land, or I’m calling the Garda.”

“In a moment.” Her curly graying hair dripped water from the misty rain, prompting her to tuck the pot against her round body so she could wipe her face with a free hand. “This is a proper visit. I’m here to make an offer on my family’s home.”

Bets’ brows flew to her hairline. “It’s not for sale. Now get—”

“Everything is for sale. I realized that after your new beau’s visit.” She gave a nasty smile, deepening her wrinkles. “Linc Buchanan thought he was clever, offering me hope that my dear Owen might be home in time for Christmas.”

Her heart thundered in her chest. He’d done what? It wasn’t possible.

“Little did he know that I have no issue with my son serving his full sentence. Owen got caught, showing he’s not only worthless but stupid. But your beau’s offer to buy my house so we could both start over was interesting. Only I don’t want to move out of Caisleán. I want to move back into my childhood home.”

She sputtered. This was crazy! “Like I told you, it’s not for sale.”

“Not even to put all this bad blood behind us?” Mary arched a wicked brow. “You’ve made me uncomfortable in my own village, Bets, the village I was born in. Not you. Now you have both your old beau and your new one looking after you while I’m all alone in a run-down cottage lined with mold and peeling wallpaper. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? I want this house.”

Never. “Get off my land.”

Mary set the rose on the steps, the yellow leaves falling to the ground like messengers of death. Ants poured out of the bottom, making Bets step back quickly. That rose was cursed. She was sure of it. She couldn’t toss it in the rubbish bin fast enough.

“And here I was planning to make you a good offer. What a shame. I could buy this place and then some with the money your beau offered me. Only I don’t want money—and I sure as hell don’t want Owen home for Christmas. You think on that, Bets. Enjoy the rose. It’s one of my favorites. You might remember it. The name couldn’t be more seductive. It’s called Black Magic.”

The rose Mary had beaten her with at last year’s county fair. On a technicality. Bets realized she was holding her breath as Mary walked back to her rusty old car. When the woman turned back to wave, Bets ground her teeth.

She slammed the door and pressed her back to it. Trying to make sense of what had happened, she closed her eyes. Why would Linc have offered to get Mary’s son released early from prison? Even if he could manage such a thing, why would he? Owen was dangerous! And as for offering Mary a fortune to buy her home—what had he beenthinking?

Bets looked at the time. He’d gone back to his place to work for the afternoon, saying he couldn’t keep his hands off her. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out to her Mini Cooper. She drove way past the speed limit, her blood boiling.

When she arrived at his house, she hurried to the front door in the rain, swearing a blue streak when she splashed her shoes and pant legs in the puddles. The door was opening as she reached it. Linc’s brow furrowed with concern, and he immediately stepped out and put a hand on her. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you really tell Mary you could arrange for Owen to be home for Christmas?” she asked, her voice harsh even to her own ears.

He swore softly. “Come inside. Clearly we need to talk.”

“No, I want to hear you say it.” She studied his beloved face. “I knew you were capable of things, but not something this low.”

“Now wait just one minute,” he shot back, his jaw tensing. “I got a private tip that the Irish judicial system, in their infinite wisdom, was going tolethim out early. And that Mary didn’t know about it. I was only using it to sway her to leave. With Owen.”

She fisted her hands at her sides. “By offering to buy her house for a fortune.”

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