Page 11 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

A woman in white appeared between them in the back. They both let out a scream piercing enough to make his ears ring, but it was likely for the best, since they muffled his own pathetic yawp.

“You’re in the know now, girls,” Sorcha said, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders. “I’m counting on your help.”

“You have it,” Kathleen managed.

“Anything, Sorcha!” Ellie exclaimed.

“Linc?” Sorcha drew out his name in the car as he turned onto the main road.

“You know you have my support, Sorcha,” he replied in all seriousness. “For anything.” After all, she’d found a happily ever after for himandhis daughter. His debt would never be paid.

“That’s good, because everyone in Caisleán is about to come under attack from one of the most coldhearted, money-grubbing Irishmen out there. And he’s being fed information by someone even colder than himself.”

Triple fuck. He needed to find out what the Gaelic word for fuck was stat. He was going to be using it a lot from the sound of things. The money grubber had to be Malcolm Coveney. They’d be facing someone even colder?

“Who are we talking about, Sorcha?”

“The one person who wants the arts center’s doors to close forever more than anything, even her own life,” Sorcha answered gravely. “Bets’ nemesis.”

“Mary Kincaid,” he answered and cursed again.

CHAPTERFOUR

Puppies made everything better.

Sophie wasn’t sure if it was a law of the universe, but there was no denying their healing power. She smiled as she watched her daughter play with an adorable Jack Russell named Lucky in the corner of Bets’ parlor. Jamie had asked his friend Kade to bring the brown-and-white-spotted puppy to the party. Both the pup and Kade’s sweet nine-year-old stepson had befriended Greta straightaway. Now the boy, Ollie, was sitting on the floor next to his new friend, encouraging Lucky to jump off his leg and then showing Greta how to mimic the action, which she and the puppy did amidst more childish giggles.

Her daughter’s transition from fear to delight had helped soothe her after the scene on Linc’s land. She leaned back against the wall, still processing what had happened. Seeing Sandrine had helped, too, of course, for both Sophie and her daughter. Eoghan had pulled her aside and offered them a place to stay, but after thanking him, she’d shared her plans.

“A better man in Caisleán you won’t meet,” Eoghan had said, and then he and Sandrine had exchanged a knowing look.

Her old friend had always been able to read her like a book, and apparently Eoghan was wise to her too. Yeah, she was soft on Jamie Fitzgerald.

People mingled about—a whole slew of folks who’d be her new community. She’d met everyone. After years of practice at art shows, she was usually great with chitchat and remembering names, but she found herself needing a little space in this crowd of new faces and Irish accents. She looked for the one person who had been a place of peace for her from start to finish today. He was standing in a group of people with Ellie and Kathleen and their husbands and a few other friends, his brother included. She’d been introduced to all of them earlier.

He glanced over then and their eyes locked. His mouth lifted up on the right in a sexy smile, and then he was walking toward her with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“I’m happy she’s having a good time,” he said, gesturing to Greta as he joined her. “When I was a boy, I sometimes found parties like this overwhelming.”

She already knew the deep baritone of his voice, tempered with his Irish lilt, a combination she found downright charming. She enjoyed the way her heart sped up at the sight of him. He had a five-o’clock shadow darkening his strong jaw, deepening the richness of his cobalt eyes. She couldn’t wait to feel his stubble against her fingertips. “For me too. You were more than sweet to ask them to bring Lucky.”

“When Ollie and his mom, Megan, first came to Ireland, they had puppy visits to help them settle.” He rested back against the wall, whiskey in hand, so close their shoulders touched. “You and Greta could have the same if you had a mind.”

She glanced over at her daughter again, who was clapping as Ollie encouraged the puppy to jump in the air for something in his hand. “We’d love that. Thank you.”

“It’s no bother,” he said softly.

She’d heard him utter that phrase before so she supposed it was colloquial. One of the parts of travel she loved best was learning the nuances of a new place—the richness of the people and culture. She’d lived in five countries after leaving Manhattan, where she’d mostly grown up, and visited more than twenty. Her art had brought her on so many adventures. While she still loved travel, she wanted to have a home base. Needed it, for herself as much as Greta. Staying here for the next couple of years for such a large installation, her biggest yet, would be just the thing. She only hoped today’s shot across the bow, so to speak, from Malcolm Coveney, wouldn’t mess up her plans.

“Bets was rightfully upset about the events today.” She turned her body toward him, blocking out the crowd. “She said someone named Mary Kincaid was behind it. Who is she?”

Jamie sighed richly. “Bets’ former sister-in-law. Even before Bruce O’Hanlon died, his older sister’s jealousy of Bets was infamous due to their yearly competition at the agricultural fair over roses.”

“I can’t imagine roses causing such ill will. They’re one of my favorite flowers to use in my work.”

“If Bets had liked cake baking, Mary would have challenged her with three layers of something dark and devious. You understand me?”

She nodded, her eyes taking in the little details of his face. He had a spattering of freckles on his nose and the thickest black eyelashes. When his mouth tipped up, she found herself smiling. “What do you think she plans to do next?”

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