Page 5 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

Something had to give. He was starting to doubt his willpower, and neither of them wanted their arts center work to winnow down into a relationship handled only through texts and emails. Setting aside the impracticality of such a thing, he couldn’t stomach it. He wanted to hear her voice call him by the nickname she’d coined for him—cowboy. He wanted to be tantalized by her good humor, energy, and uncluttered sex appeal.

But if they crossed the line, what would come of it?

Was it any wonder he’d kept his distance this evening, leaning into his duties as father of the bride?

From the moment he’d arrived in Ireland, he’d wanted her. When he’d discovered she was involved, he’d tuned into his inner gentleman and become her friend.

Of course, her ex-beau hadalsobecome his friend. And Donal claimed Bets was in love withhim. And how weird was that, for a man to offer up the woman he’d been involved with? But Donal insisted that Bets wasn’t the one for him and, moreover, that he actually wanted them to be together because he cared for both of them and could feel which way the wind blew. It must be an Irish thing, Linc had concluded.

Wouldn’t you figure he’d finally meet a woman who had the power to knock his heart and his body all the way to the bleachersafterthree failed marriages? The Irish would probably have some poetic comment about the cruelty of fate. They had a saying for everything. He was feeling its kick to his hind parts these days.

“You don’t look like the happy father of a new bride,” a familiar voice said.

Oh, shit. Here we go.

Donal settled into the empty chair beside him. He’d been on an extended holiday in France with his father, Eoghan. Having traveled to France with Linc and Bets to meet with Sophie Giombetti, an artist they’d been courting for the arts center, Eoghan had quickly and sweetly fallen in love with one of Sophie’s associates. When Donal and Bets had broken things off, Donal had decided it was the perfect time to make an extended trip to France with his father so Eoghan could spend time with his new girlfriend. They’d only returned for the wedding—and for this pep talk, he supposed.

Linc tipped his glass toward Donal. “How the hell would you know what a father should look like at his daughter’s wedding? Your girls aren’t married yet.”

“And on that day—may it be to good, honest men and may the weather be as good as today’s—I will be drinking whiskey like it’s water, my friend.” Donal made some gesture to the heavens before drilling him with a stare. “I go away to give you and Bets space to figure out your business, and I return to discover nothing’s happened.”

Linc looked around them, but everyone was listening to Eoghan attempt more tough-guy slang. “Your tan looks good, but this is a discussion for another time.”

“Not to my mind,” he replied with a stubborn set of his chin.

Linc heaved out a sigh. “Isn’t this weird for you?”

“We Irish are practical about love in some ways.” He gave a wry smile. “Besides, I have it on good authority that you and Bets are soulmates. That’s why she and I didn’t make it. We weren’t meant.”

Linc gazed at his friend as if he’d just hit him with a two-by-four. “What in thehellare you talking about?”

“A ghost told me,” Donal said, sipping his own whiskey.

“A what?”

“You’ll see.” Donal kicked out his feet. “There’s no escaping one’s destiny.”

“What have you been reading on your holiday?Lord of the Rings? You’re being way too Irish right now for me.”

“That’s not an Irish tale, mind you, and I don’t need to read a book when such matters course through my blood.”

This had to stop. Immediately. “Eoghan,” Linc called out, a little desperate to his own ears. “Your son missed you trying to say ‘all the drivers on the Pike are chowderheads.’”

“That’s one of my favorite phrases.” Eoghan beamed. “Listen to this, son.”

Donal just shot Linc a knowing look before giving his attention to his father, who sat up straighter in his chair and delivered another ear-grating rendition of the Boston accent. Everyone howled with laughter. Linc got to his feet, unsettled by the need to escape.

He fled to the kitchen, knowing the caterers he’d had flown in had returned to their hotel. He could give himself a moment before seeing everyone home. Ghosts. Destiny. People were crazy, his good friend included. Only he wasn’t. Donal had opened his home to him for a time when he’d first made the move to Caisleán and couldn’t find a good property to buy or rent, and men got to know each other pretty well in such cases.

When he arrived in the doorway, he wasn’t pleased to see his long-time housekeeper, Guadalupe Hernandez, wiping down his counters.

“Damnation, Lupe! You’re here as a guest today.”

She didn’t stop her scrubbing, even though she was wearing a lovely pale purple dress without an apron. Probably because he didn’t have an apron.

“How do you expect anyone to cook breakfast in here?” she asked, raising her graying brows at him.

She’d been part of the family for nearly thirty years, ever since he’d hired her to take care of Ellie on his Oklahoma ranch called the Lucky Seven. He knew her number and she knew his. “I don’t want you cooking or cleaning. This is your holiday, dammit.”

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