Page 106 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

She started to laugh. That was okay to her. They had all the time in the world.

As Keegan darted across the parking lot, he shouted something to the crowd. The cheers started. The whistles sounded. Everyone remaining started to thunderously clap.

Ghislaine hustled to choreograph the remaining reporters closer to the action, which had the sheep growing restless. Jamie held on to two of them, muttering under his breath, trying to keep them from bolting.

That had Sophie laughing harder. In all her life… “Jamie, I believe our engagement is going to make the papers.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’ll never understand people’s love for sheep. The only people who love them are the ones who don’t tend them.”

She approached carefully, holding out her hand to the sheep while she helped him to his feet. “I still might want a few of them. Especially now that they will always remind me of you proposing to me.”

“I should have taken you to the Eiffel Tower or something.” He shook his head. “I’m glad you don’t mind it, I suppose. It’s part of my life and this community. So I suppose that means you take all of me then?”

She spotted Keegan running with the appropriate sheep sprayed withYES, the animal baying loudly at the urgency of its owner’s pace. “I believe my answer is on its way.”

He looked back again and laughed with her. “I don’t plan on waiting for a sheep to seal it so I can kiss you.”

Taking his head with a hand, she pulled him down until he was an inch from her lips and whispered, “Neither do I,” as their friends started cheering once again.

CHAPTERTHIRTY

Linc wished he could say all’s well that ends well as he regarded his friends and fellow townspeople drinking to celebrate the dismissal of the complaint against Jamie Fitzgerald. Not even the joint announcement from the education authority, which had terminated Principal Doyle for an abuse of her authority, could totally cheer him.

Maybe he was getting old but having to fight ignorance and cruelty was a real pain in the balls. Why couldn’t some people just get a life and live and let live?

“You’re down in the mouth tonight,” Bets said, kissing him on said mouth, which made him tug her onto his lap. “As you just told me recently, we need to celebrate our victories.”

He kissed her soundly, knowing she was right. But he just couldn’t dismiss the uneasiness in his gut. He’d had it before and knew better than to assign it to indigestion. They were still waiting to hear whether the vandals would be caught, although Sophie had shared what Sorcha had told her. Still, he hated being on Malcolm Coveney’s clock, knowing it was his decision to make.

“All right, I’ll put on my party face and mingle.”

She made a little turn in his lap and sent him a flirtatious smile. “I believe we might need the Lucky Charms and company to add to the festivities.”

“You do that,” he drawled as he watched her saunter off happier than she’d been in weeks. That, at least, was a grace.

When he stood, Donal waved to him from across the room, then tucked his cell phone in his pocket. “I just heard from our new head of the Garda.”

“About damn time,” he said as they carved out some space in a corner for privacy.

“Yes, the proverbial scapegoats have been served up nice and fine on a platter,” Donal nearly spat. “The station received an anonymous tip about three teenage dropouts from Castlebar bragging about being the ones who’d vandalized the house of the female artist who’d made the papers.”

Imagine bragging about such a thing. “Innocent little lambs until now?”

He nodded. “First offense, as we expected. They were paid forty euros apiece plus gas money by a man outside the local Centra. They didn’t know him. And the camera at the store didn’t catch his face when officers investigated. He gave them money and an address along with a spray can and strict instructions about what to paint. He also told them to get away fast. The kids found it daring, it being another boring night around town.”

“Jesus.” He rubbed his forehead. “Did they charge them?”

“They were fined a fixed charge of €140.” Donal swore in Gaelic. “The entry-level rate, if you want to think of it that way. I was told they also got a stern talking to and threatened with a nightly curfew. The incident went into their files, but with their age and all, they said it wasn’t worth prosecuting them.”

“Like we thought.” Linc’s jaw locked with tension. “Funny how I don’t feel better.”

Donal put his meaty hand on his shoulder. “Look at this the Irish way. The fact that Malcolm felt he had to dole out some scapegoats shows he believes our strength is increasing. We can pass the word around tomorrow, as tonight is Jamie’s night.”

But would others view it as a victory? “I still don’t feel like dancing, and I’ve never once wanted to eat goat, scape or regular.”

“Then have a drink and be Irish,” Donal told him as he signaled to Brady for two whiskeys. “There’s nothing we can do tonight—”

“So enjoy myself among friends,” Linc finished for him. “I’m still in the kindergarten class on that Irish lesson.”

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