Page 4 of Over Verdant Irish Hills

“Better run for it, Mum,” Liam said, killing the bike and anchoring the kickstand.

She was aware of how high her dress had ridden up as she threw her leg over the side and stood, her sandals dangling from one hand. Liam helped her take the helmet off and then ruffled her hair.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, slapping at his hands.

He didn’t answer, only shot her a grin as he grabbed her by the wrist and made her jog barefoot across the grass.

“I need to put my shoes on,” she hissed, all the while forcing a smile at the beautiful villagers of Caisleán, who had turned their heads to stare at them.

“When we reach our seats, Mum.”

Her friends, the Lucky Charms, were laughing…and so was everyone else. Terrific. She gave a mock pose, eliciting more hilarity. Might as well make an entrance. She and Liam had arrived with all the grace of a loose sheep crashing the wedding.

God, she’d better not step on a thistle. Imagine, screaming at the beginning of someone’s wedding. That had to be bad luck, and the Irish took bad luck very seriously. The stitch in her side appeared again.

Bets was sure her neck was as red as her face now. So much for her attempts with makeup. The caterers might mistake her for a member of the seafood platter if she weren’t careful. “Go, Liam! I’ll catch up.”

He only slowed his pace and kept her hand. They made their way to the back of the guests lined in white chairs. As they prepared to pass the wedding party, she caught Linc’s eyes. He was shaking his head with the right side of his mouth tipped up in sheer amusement. Her heart, no longer on that stormy deck, settled into her chest, aglow from his intense regard.

Everything around them faded away. She paused as they continued watching each other. In his sky blue eyes, she saw something that she’d never seen before, something she couldn’t place.

Then she realized what it was: the promise of every dream she’d ever had, all wrapped up in that tall, handsome man.

She felt a smile break out across her face as she started to walk again. She yelped as she stepped on a pebble, making her hobble the next few steps.

The sound of muffled laughter reached her, but all she had eyes for was Linc, and the way his mouth shifted into that all-too-familiar shit-eating grin.

Sorcha’s dare rose in her mind—a question her heart was finally ready to answer. Was she brave enough to reach for a love of the ages?

She met Linc’s eyes dead-on and whispered to herself, “I’m coming for you, cowboy.”

CHAPTERTWO

His baby girl’s wedding day, and all he could think about was Bets.

Of course, he’d teared up a time or two, taking his Ellie down the aisle and seeing her off on her honeymoon to sunny Portugal, but his mind kept flitting back to Betsy O’Hanlon. He’d like nothing better than to take her by the hand, show her his new spacious king bed, and muss her up more than her son’s motorcycle had done.

He needed a serious intervention.

Linc took a deep sip of his Connemara whiskey, doing his best to distract himself by listening to Eoghan O’Dwyer attempt yet another piece of Boston slang. Linc had flown in all of the O’Connors, the family who’d more or less adopted his Ellie in Boston, for the wedding. Kathleen O’Connor, his daughter’s best friend, lived in Caisleán now, but she had seven hulking brothers and a father, and they’d all joined in the fun.

They’d gamely shared stories from their family pub and offered lessons in the Boston accent, which Eoghan had tried to soak up like a sponge. This time, the phrase wasWhat’s doin’?and the ninety-three-year-old’s impassioned attempt had every tough guy at the cluster of tables howling with laughter.

Linc couldn’t help a smile himself, although laughter was beyond him.

Everyone who was left at the reception seemed to be having a good time—the partywasnearing midnight—so his job as host was complete. The weather, a crapshoot at this time of year, had been glorious, although they’d had a backup plan ready should the weather have proven unhospitable. Not that it was hard to please his new friends in Caisleán. Put them together with some drinks, and they sailed through an evening with laughter. So did he, come to that.

But he couldn’t find his funny bone today.

He hadn’t spoken to Bets yet.

He wanted to talk to her more than anything; he dreaded it just as much. Last Saturday, he’d almost plucked her onto his lap and kissed her soundly in that Dublin restaurant. But before he could cross that line, their moronic companion had started waxing philosophical about relationships, love, and marriage and soured the entire night. Linc was sensitive about his three ex-wives and romantic screwups. The last thing Bets needed was a man who was unlucky in love.

And yet, the gambler in him felt like this could be his winning hand, the perfect set of cardsat last.

His eyes found her with ease. She might as well have a spotlight on her where his radar was concerned. He always knew where she was. She and her friends, the Lucky Charms, were sitting at a table, thick as thieves and howling with laughter over God knows what. Still, he’d felt her gaze on him from time to time when her mirth died.

She was one hell of a woman. The flash of her bare legs earlier as she’d climbed off Liam’s bike had tantalized him. The lipstick red dress framing her petite little body was like a matador’s cape daring the animal side of him.

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