Page 36 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

“It’s way too cold for the end of July,” she commented like an Irish person.

He laughed. “August usually warms up, but there’s no denying we have the worst weather around. Paris has been having exceptional weather from what I saw on the news. A gorgeous twenty-eight degrees. Makes you just want to pop over there, doesn’t it?”

She met his beautiful green eyes, a flash of inspiration punching through her cluttered mind. “It does, doesn’t it?”

He finished his tea and stood, leaning over and kissing the top of her head. “Well, I’d better get back to work. See you later, Mum.”

She held the paper cup with her knees as an idea took shape in her mind.

Now all she needed was to kidnap an irascible cowboy.

She knew just who to call for help.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Only a desperate man would agree to drive three hours to Dublin in the cold rain on a nice, quiet Saturday.

Even if it involved spending time with his daughter and her best friend as she tried to kill them driving on the slick, windy Irish roads.

But Linc couldn’t take spending another day at home moping around about Bets. Three days had passed since their harsh words, and he was starting to doubt the wisdom of his high road. Did she really need to apologize first? Now that his head had cleared and his temper had calmed, he thought he remembered her apologizing. Also, upon reflection, he could see her point. He usually told her everything, and this one time he hadn’t. Had he told her that he hadn’t wanted to worry her? That he’d been unwilling to return the failed knight if his plan had failed?

Man, but heated words and hurt hearts muddied the waters. All he could see now was the red spots on her face and then the utter devastation in her eyes. He’d concluded they were both stubborn old fools.

His seat belt tightened around him as Ellie took another hairpin turn too fast. When had his daughter’s driving worsened? She was scaring him. If they came out of this drive alive, he was going to head over to Bets’ house the minute they got home.

“You know, some of us happen to like music other than hip-hop and rap as we’re flirting with death,” he mused from the passenger seat as another song about men, loose women, and drinking Cristal sounded from the speakers. Some days, he just couldn’t fathom how people made their money.

“Ellie picked up bad driving habits in Boston,” Kathleen said, grabbing his shoulders from behind, making him lurch in his seat. Sorcha hadn’t made any recent appearances, something he hadn’t realized he would miss, but clearly he was jumpy. “We can’t take listening to the Oak Ridge Boys the entire trip, Papa Linc.”

“I know I’d poke my eyes out if we tried,” Ellie said, downshifting as she spun around another blind curve way too fast with a gleeful glance his way, God help him. “Reminds me of vacations when I was a teenager. You’d put an 8-track tape in your old truck and sing ‘Elvira’ until Old Blue started howling with you from the back cab.”

His heart pinched. Damn but he missed Old Blue. “I sang a lot of duets with that sweet dog, God rest his soul. You’re lucky you had a musical education like that, baby girl.”

“Lucky?” she said dryly as she made him clutch the hand rest on another hairpin turn. “I told myself I was the luckiest girl in the world every time we watched Barbara Mandrell on TV.”

“Those were the days,” Linc commented as nostalgia rolled over him. He could suddenly smell the popcorn they’d eaten on those quiet evenings at the ranch.

“Kathleen, did you ever watchHee-Haw?” Ellie asked.

“In Southie? You’ve gotta be joking.”

He was outnumbered, and he knew it. “You girls planning on riding my backside until we have dinner with this prospective artist tonight? Any chance Haines Pratchett is a country music lover?”

They both dissolved into giggles. “Daddy, Haines Pratchett is a god in the ‘art with a message’ world. His depictions of cruelty and injustice are downright haunting. I can’t imagine he’s a fan of quiet country roads or sweet-as-pie musical renditions.”

“His art is practically dystopian,” Kathleen finished. “We’re thinking the Irish might really love it. They have a tragic streak a mile wide, and Haines respects that.”

He frowned. He didn’t want to bring up the B-word—Bets—but he also didn’t like visiting a prospective artist without her. Of course, this Haines person had contacted his girls. He wasn’t sure he liked that either. He fingered the fabric on his knee before saying, “I think the board needs to set clear procedures for how it wants to meet prospective artists going forward. Otherwise, people will keep contacting you two, and Megan and Angie for that matter.”

“Like the procedures you utilized with Sophie?” Ellie shot back.

He growled as she made him lean against the window with another turn. Land sakes, they’d be lucky to arrive in Dublin alive at this rate. “We were in a growing phase then, so I went ahead and called her up. It’s not unusual. But I don’t like some dystopian artist using you two to influence a board decision.”

“Oh, Daddy.” She downshifted and whipped into another rain-splattered curve. “We know he’s using us.”

Terrific.

“We just want to talk to him,” Kathleen assured him as she yelped from the back. “Jesus, Ellie, can’t you slow down a little bit?”

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