The Mystic Cove Series Boxed Set (Wild Irish Books 5-7)

by Tricia O'Malley

And, oh, what she’d learned through the years! With teachers like Fiona and Keelin to gently curb her enthusiasm, Grace had taken to all things magickal like a fish to water, and had soon eclipsed both her mother’s and great-grandmother’s abilities. Which made things a bit tricky during her rebellious teen years, when she was determined to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted. Not that much had changed since those rocky times, but at least she’d learned a touch more decorum in how to go about getting her own way.

  Nonetheless, she still got what she wanted. Grace smiled and let the ball drop so that Rosie could finally reach it. She supposed it was probably her greatest flaw, but she liked to think of it as a strength. There was nothing wrong with being a strongminded woman who knew what she wanted. Assertive, Fiona had called her. Others had suggested she should be less combative, and for them she smiled sweetly and charmed them so completely they forgot they’d ever called her combative and barely noticed that she’d still managed to get her own way.

  Not all charms had to be magickal.

  Fiona had warned her that someday she’d run across someone or something she couldn’t magick or charm her way out of, but she had yet to see it. Until then, she’d continue on her path, following in Fiona’s and Keelin’s footsteps of healing those in the village who needed it and working on an all-natural apothecary line that she’d signed a deal to distribute at a few exclusive natural-health stores in the States. She’d yet to tell anyone of the deal, wanting to get her brand and packaging down first before throwing a little launch party for it at Cait’s pub. Just the thought of her new brand cheered her up and soon she was humming around the cottage as she dug out her folder of logo designs.

  When the knock came at the door, Grace was so deep into her work that it took her a moment to realize that the knocking had persisted for quite a while and that Rosie was frantic with wanting to know who was on the other side of the door.

  “Och, calm down, Rosie. We’ll be seeing who’s behind the door soon enough,” Grace said, glancing down to make sure she was presentable. It wasn’t uncommon for her to wander about the cottage in panties and a tank top, but today she’d pulled on loose jeans and an old jumper the color of moss.

  Pulling the latch, she ordered Rosie to sit and opened the heavy wooden door – worn with age, but sturdy nonetheless – and blinked at the man standing outside with a folder in his hand.

  “Good day, may I help you?” Grace said, and immediately felt the impending wave of doom she’d been fighting off all day slam into her. This man was here with anything but good news. Fighting to control her expression, Grace scanned the man – from his expensive loafers, which were entirely unsuitable for the countryside, all the way up his three-piece suit to his shrewd eyes tucked behind wire-framed glasses. His demeanor invited her to trust him. Grace trusted only her instincts.

  “Ms. Grace O’Brien?” the man asked politely.

  “Aye, ’tis myself. And you’d be?” Grace asked, crossing her arms and leaning casually against the doorframe, deliberately drawing out a thicker country accent for him. She wanted to see if he would treat her any differently.

  “Ah, the name is Aiden Doherty. I’ve been employed by DK Sailing Enterprises,” Mr. Doherty cleared his throat and gestured lightly with the papers in his hand.

  “Sure and it’s grand to be employed by a corporation and all, but could you be telling me what for?” Grace said, injecting some sass into her words. She saw the man flush before swallowing audibly once more and raising the papers in his hand. Whatever bad news he was about to drop on her, Grace wanted him to just say it.

  “I’m their solicitor. They’ve requested that I come and serve you these papers formally announcing your eviction from this property, effective immediately. You’ve thirty days to vacate the premises along with all of your belongings.”

  For the first time in her life, Grace was at a complete loss for words. Not even when Fiona had died had Grace been as shocked as she was now, standing there while Mr. Doherty continued to fumble his way through an explanation. His words were lost to the wind that had kicked up in anger from the cove – or perhaps it was her own anger – and he clutched his coat together and bent forward into the wind, his grasp tightening on the folder of papers.

  “If I could just pass this on to you…” Mr. Doherty gasped as a gust of wind ripped the hat from his head and sent it tumbling across the hills, a joyful Rosie racing after it. “All the information you need is here.”

  “I’m certain there’s been some mistake,” Grace said, her voice like sweet wine. She took the folder from Mr. Doherty but didn’t open it. “This house and the land has been in my family for generations.”

  “Aye, I understand and I’ll be issuing my apologies. It seems there was a lease that expired upon the death of…” Mr. Doherty paused as he searched for the name. “…Fiona O’Brien. The long-lease right of use ran out at her death. As nobody from the family filed to once more lease the land, technically it became open for public, um, consumption.”

  It would have been worse if he’d been mean about it. But Grace could tell that he felt slightly embarrassed at having to deliver such news. Reaching out with her mind, she scanned his brain and found a conflicting slew of emotions. He hadn’t expected to find a woman alone here – much less one as pretty as she was – and now felt horrible for delivering such news. On top of it, he’d apparently heard the rumors of magick that filled the cove, and the increase of the wind had him speculating that she was a witch. More than anything he wanted to turn tail and run.

  “I’m certain there’s been a mistake. Thank you for delivering the papers to me. I’ll have my own solicitor look these over this afternoon. Please tell DK Enterprises that they’ll need to search for another, more suitable piece of property for whatever it is they plan to do here,” Grace said and whistled sharply for Rosie. The dog raced across the land and dropped Mr. Doherty’s hat, now mangled and slobbery, at his feet.

  “Good luck to you, Miss O’Brien. You’ll need it,” Mr. Doherty said. Gingerly picking up his hat between two fingers, he all but ran back to his late-model sedan, the wind making him walk at an angle. Grace briefly considered giving him a flat tire on the way home, but realized there was no reason to hurt the messenger.

  It was DK Enterprises she’d need to ruin.

  Chapter 5

  A world cruise, Grace fumed as she shot off a hysterical email to her mother. Of all the times… Her parents had decided to up and take a four-month world cruise and had left the stables, Flynn’s restaurants, and his multitude of other businesses in the very capable hands of his manager. Which did little to help her now, Grace thought, as she stalked to her room to change clothes and try – though it wasn’t likely to be successful – to calm herself down. Anger wasn’t what was needed now, Grace reminded herself. Cool heads always prevailed and anger rarely won anything but enemies.

  Grace desperately wished she could be one of those women who cruised through life with serenity and a smile, their boat never seeming to be overly rocked by much. Instead, Grace very much belied her name by having a tempestuous personality and moods that changed lightning-quick. She inhaled slowly and deeply as she pulled on snug black pants, along with a bright red jacket that always made her feel powerful. With a quick and somewhat unsteady hand she applied a touch of makeup, grabbed the folder from the table, and whistled for Rosie to come with her to her truck. The town had quickly grown used to Rosie accompanying Grace pretty much everywhere, and the cheerful dog was welcome at all businesses – including the one she now barreled her truck towards.

  She took the winding curves of heart-stopping cliff road with a ruthless efficiency that came from years of practice. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, an angry grey, most likely because Grace was having incredible difficulty reining her mood in. That meant her shields were down, and the storm clouds followed her into the small village of Grace’s Cove, casting shadows and fat drops of rain on what had just been a singularly sunny d
ay for the Irish village. Children raced inside as mothers banged windows shut against the sudden onslaught of the storm and Grace arrived at the doorstep of her solicitor in a huff, glaring at the rain that now pounded the windshield of her truck.

  “I’ve brought this one on myself, haven’t I then?” Grace said, letting out another beleaguered sigh before forcing herself to take deep breaths. As she calmed herself down, she brought an image into her mind of the clouds clearing, and worked on running a spell that would gently blow the storm on so she wouldn’t have to arrive dripping wet in the waiting room of the very precise and somewhat pretentious Martin Wedgewick, Solicitor at Law. Grace didn’t mind the pretention, as the man was fastidious with his work and had earned his reputation fairly. But she did mind his overly formal waiting room, which needed more charm and less of a ‘don’t muck up the furniture’ attitude. He had never outright forbade Rosie from visiting with Grace when they met to go over contracts for her apothecary line, but the little twitch over his eye when her happy-go-lucky dog barreled through the door was all she needed to know about how Martin Wedgewick, Solicitor at Law, felt about her dog in his office. However, it seemed the man had more restraint than Grace did when it came to speaking his mind, and he was wise enough to look the other way when a paying client, albeit a slightly odd and highly moody one, decided to drop in his office unannounced.

  “Martin!” Grace said, having dashed inside with Rosie just as the rain cleared. His secretary, Anne, must have been out to lunch, and the man himself popped his head out of his office with a startled look on his face.

  “Grace? Did we have an appointment?” Martin’s glance slid over a wagging Rosie and confusion crossed his face as he looked over the shoulder of his neatly pressed herringbone jacket to his office.

  “No, we didn’t. But I simply must speak to you now. I have an extremely urgent problem. You see –” Grace slammed her mouth shut as her brain picked up on another mental signature in the office, and she realized that Martin wasn’t alone. For once in her life, Grace kept her mouth shut as a slightly disheveled Anne came out of Martin’s office.

  “Filing’s all done, Mr. Wedgewick. It looks like your appointment book is open until three o’clock today, so you’ll have time to see Ms. O’Brien,” Anne said, smoothly tucking a loose lock of warm brown hair into her low bun. She’d just gone from mousy secretary to interesting woman, in Grace’s opinion, but there was no time to dwell on this delicious nugget of gossip.

  “Thanks, Anne. You’re a doll,” Grace said, shooting her a beaming smile which caused Anne to smile back in return. Woman to woman they nodded at each other, nothing else needing to be said, and Grace continued into Martin’s office.

  The solicitor hastily tidied his desk. “Ah, Grace. You look a bit distraught. May I get you a cup of tea?” Martin asked, his gaze sliding toward the door once more.

  “No, it’s whiskey I’ll be needing, but not yet. For now, I need a clear head,” Grace said. She dropped the folder on his desk, turned to close the door behind them, and plopped herself into his visitor’s chair.

  “And what precisely would you need me to be looking at then?” Martin asked, crossing his fingers over the folder and pressing his lips tightly together. Grace did her best to keep her mental shields up as an image of her fussy solicitor and his timid secretary entangled in a kiss flashed through her head.

  “I’m being evicted!” Thunder crashed outside once again, startling Martin. He glanced toward his window and Grace forced herself to tone it down before a hurricane swept up the coast because of her mood.

  “I’m not sure I understand…” Martin said, refocusing on Grace and neatly sliding the papers from the envelope. “I was under the impression that your family owned the cottage you now live in.”

  “They do. My grandfather built that cottage for Fiona. The land has been in the O’Brien family for generations,” Grace said, clasping her hands together in her lap and trying to calm herself as rain pelted the window. Fiona had tried for years to teach Grace to harness the effect her moods had on the outside world, and she’d thought she’d grown out of these types of responses. However, Grace felt dangerously close to losing control and it seemed all bets were off the table as thunder shook the building once more.

  “DK Enterprises,” Martin murmured, scanning the documents, pausing to look up into the air as though he was flipping through a file in his brain for more information. “I believe they own sailing charters. Or build boats. Something to do with sailing.”

  “Aye, his solicitor mentioned something of the sort. I don’t care if this is the Pope. I’m not leaving my cottage. They’ll need to bodily remove me,” Grace threatened, then froze. “They can’t be there right now, can they? Going through my stuff? Should I run home?” Stupid, stupid, stupid, Grace berated herself. She’d run out the door without leaving any level of magickal protection or even a stronger sturdy lock on her door.

  “Ms. O’Brien,” Martin said patiently, and then in a move unusual for him, he reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic gesture or the sympathy on his face that broke Grace, but tears spiked her eyes as she waited to hear what she knew was coming. “Grace. I’m sorry, but these papers do seem to be in order. That doesn’t mean that we can’t fight them. The lease lapsed several years ago, but I believe we can make a case for your owner’s rights – or even the fact that there doesn’t seem to have been any sort of public notification about the land being available. I will file a temporary injunction to stop this eviction – at the very least that will grant us some time to determine the legalities of this transaction. In the meantime, I suggest you do your best to remain calm and we’ll spend some time looking into this DK Enterprises.”

  “I will ruin them,” Grace declared, and a faint wisp of a smile passed across Martin’s face.

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I suggested you remain calm.”

  “Just work your magick and I’ll work mine,” Grace said, standing. Then on impulse she bent and brushed a kiss across Martin’s cheek, causing the man to blush faintly. “I like Anne; she’s good for you. If I were you, I’d take her out on a real date. Maybe buy her some flowers. No woman likes to be kept behind closed doors.”

  With that she whistled for Rosie, leaving a startled Martin behind her as she blew out the front door with a quick wave for Anne. The last thing she heard as the door closed behind her and she ducked into the pouring rain was Martin stuttering through an invitation to dinner.

  At least that was one good deed she’d done today.

  Chapter 6

  Grace went where everyone in town went when they had a serious problem – the pub. Sure, it was a place for music and a pint with friends, but it was also the social center of the village and all gossip was meticulously dished out and dissected by the regulars who graced the stools there. Despite herself, Grace wished Cait’s daughter, Fi, hadn’t taken off on a year abroad to find herself or whatever she was doing in this moment. She was the closest thing Grace had to a sister in this town, and she could have dearly used her guidance.

  But the mother would do.

  Cait’s pint-sized frame manned the taps behind the long length of bar that dominated one end of Gallagher’s Pub. Though there were other pubs sprinkled throughout Grace’s Cove, this pub was truly the hub and the heart of the village. From births to deaths to weddings to graduations – a pint was raised by all, along with a session of music, to celebrate. And for the last thirty years, scrappy Cait McAuliffe had run the pub with a cheerful efficiency that let everyone know she was boss.

  Cait was like a second mum to Grace and spotted her distress from the moment Grace stepped through the door. By the time Grace had taken two steps, Cait had already ducked under the pass-through and was crossing the room to meet her with a hug. For a moment, Grace let herself be held and Cait rocked her gently, even though Grace towered over the diminutive woman.

  “Do you want me to read you? I
s it too hard to say?” Cait, ever respectful, usually did her best to shield her gift and stay out of reading people’s minds. In her line of work, it’d be virtually impossible to get through a night behind the bar if she was constantly barraged with people’s thoughts. With those close to her, Cait had made a promise to stay out of their heads unless asked. As far as Grace could tell, Cait stuck by that rule as a matter of honor. She was sure there were probably a few slip-ups here and there, as Grace struggled with the same issue with her magick.

  “I’ll be telling you, but I need a whiskey first,” Grace said and crossed the room with Cait to settle on an empty stool. The storm had begun to drive locals in, for where else to go on a rainy afternoon but to the cozy pub to chat with friends over a wee pint and the cheerful flames from the fire in the corner? Even as Grace thought it, a man was stooping before the grate and lighting the peat that was always to be found there – as at home in the pub as if he owned it himself.

  This was family, Grace thought, knowing all the faces in the bar and nodding to people from across the room. It was impossible to live her whole life in a town like this and not feel interwoven with all the people in the community.

  “That’s a pretty jacket, my Gracie girl,” Mr. Murphy, ninety if he was a day, flirted with her from his stool at the end of the bar. “Someday you’ll run away with me.”

  “Only if you’ll be taking me to Jamaica and out of this rain, Mr. Murphy,” Grace said.

  Mr. Murphy threw his head back and laughed, slapping his hand on the bar top. “Too much sun for this fair skin, my dear heart. I wouldn’t be wanting to get any more wrinkles.”

  Despite her mood, Grace laughed with him.

  “Drink,” Cait ordered, sliding a small glass of whiskey across the bar to Grace. She only raised an eyebrow when Grace downed it in one gulp, and continued to build the pints of Guinness she’d started. The whiskey burned straight to Grace’s gut – as she’d wanted it to – and matched the flames of her mood.