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

by Tricia O'Malley

  “I suppose I’ll need to fight fair moving forward, Rosie,” Grace said to the dog, who was chewing on her bone, happy as could be. Grace needed to learn to be more patient. If she’d only waited to enact her magickal pranks until after she’d met with Martin, she would have had a smarter and more ethical way to fight Dylan on his own level. Now she’d had to deal with a nasty bout of the flu, was operating on little sleep, and would have to eat crow and apologize to the man at dinner. A dinner that she wouldn’t have been guilted into going to if she hadn’t caused trouble to begin with.

  Pleased with the way the cream turned out, Grace bottled it and put it aside to drop off at her friend’s on the way to dinner. Glancing at the clock, she realized she’d have just enough time for a wee nap before getting ready for dinner. Grace wasn’t at her best after a night of no sleep, and it probably wouldn’t be smart for her to arrive at dinner even more on edge than she would normally be. Making up her mind, she invited Rosie into her room and quickly slid into sleep.

  She was delighted to awake from a dreamless sleep, refreshed, and with just enough time to get ready for dinner. Grace wasn’t sure she could have handled another dream of Dillon before dinner tonight.

  Dress for the elements, the man had said.

  She didn’t want to overthink it, Grace decided, as this was most definitely not a date. It was best she go in with a business attitude, find out what he was up to, and then get out. She pulled on skinny jeans, a bright blue sweater that highlighted her eyes – she wasn’t opposed to using some of her wiles – and a necklace that had been passed down from Fiona through Keelin, and now once again resided with her. Grace held the amethyst to the light, admiring the stone and remembering the ancient healer woman who had pressed it into her hands centuries ago. As stones went, it probably held very little monetary value. But the power it held and the love it was infused with were priceless.

  “You’re here for the night, my love. But I’m sure Fiona will stop by to visit with you,” Grace said, tucking a few treats into the toy bone Dylan had brought and giving it to a delighted Rosie, who sauntered off to curl up with her prize. Winding a scarf around her neck and slinging her canvas coat over her arm, Grace looked down at herself.

  “That’s as good as it’s going to get.”

  On the drive to town, Grace found herself unaccountably nervous, which wasn’t a feeling she was used to, or frankly allowed herself to feel. She’d spent her whole life plunging headfirst into anything she wanted, without giving a second thought to any consequences. It was always act first, consequences later. But this? This felt important, like something she could very easily screw up. Failure was not something Grace would accept.

  She almost breezed her truck right past him, so lost in thought was she. Ignoring the little jump in her stomach when she looked at him, Grace eased her truck to a stop and hopped out.

  “Going sailing?” Grace asked lightly, with a nod to the harbor where they stood.

  “That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Dylan said, walking toward her, his handsome face serious. He looked wonderful, Grace thought, with a heather grey sweater, dark jeans that she was certain would make his bum look amazing, and his tousled blond hair. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and his light beard completed the look of a man comfortable at sea. It took all her power not to sigh in longing.

  “You don’t just buy boats, then, you run them as well?” Grace asked, thanking him when he took her coat and wound his arm through hers. There were the nerves again, she thought, as they strolled like a companionable couple down the planked walk that led to the docks.

  “I suspect you know that I sail. What with all your research on me,” Dylan said. Ah, Grace thought, someone was still mad about that. For some reason it cheered her, knowing she’d gotten under his skin.

  “One must research one’s opponent. You’re a businessman. You can’t tell me you don’t put considerable time and effort into researching your competition,” Grace said, tilting her head up to look at him.

  “I can’t say that I don’t,” Dylan admitted and Grace drew to a stop, pulling her arm out from his and turning to look at him. She needed to get this out of the way – opponent or no – or she’d let the evening slide by without apologizing.

  “I…” Grace began, and Dylan looked down at her, patiently waiting for her to speak. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what, exactly? The things you said about my character?” Dylan asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

  “For being responsible for some of the… uh… issues you had with your crew. I promise that, moving forward, I’ll meet you on equal ground when it comes to our negotiations,” Grace said, lifting her chin.

  “Is that what we’re doing? Negotiating?” Dylan asked.

  Grace nodded. “I’d say it’s a battle, but ’twas the first word that popped into my mind.”

  “And that’s the apology?” Dylan asked.

  Grace nodded once more, refusing to budge. A woman could only give so much, after all.

  “Fine. Apology accepted. Now I owe you one,” Dylan said, and Grace almost laughed.

  “Whatever for?”

  “For kissing you,” Dylan said, his expression grave as he looked down at her.

  “Oh, well. ’Tis no matter. You aren’t the first to have stolen a kiss from me.” Grace shrugged it away, feeling awkward about the direction of conversation. Dylan’s face turned mutinous at the mention of others who had kissed her, which Grace filed away for careful reflection later on.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not while we are in… negotiations, at least,” Dylan said, raking his hand through his hair. “It’s unethical. For that, I apologize.”

  Interesting, Grace thought, as they turned to continue walking. The man had a code of ethics that he didn’t like to violate. Yet he’d still kissed her – which meant he broke the rules sometimes. The contrast appealed to the pirate queen in her, for there were times when breaking the rules was the only answer at hand. Not in this case, of course, as there was no reason for him to kiss her. But she’d been known to bend a few rules in her life and would likely do so again.

  “Did you rent a boat or do you have one here?” Grace said, deciding to move past any discussion of kissing. She wasn’t ready to examine her feelings on that any further. For now, she was trying to keep her enemy close. With the village meeting coming up at the end of the week, their negotiations would be coming to a head, and soon enough Dylan would be gone. She’d deal with the aftermath of her emotions then.

  “Don’t you know already?” Dylan asked, stopping so that he stood in front of her and blocked her view.

  “How would I know?” Grace asked.

  “My boat was delayed by some strange circumstances along the way, and arrived later than planned. Luckily everyone was safe,” Dylan said, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he stared her down.

  “I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” Grace said, genuinely shocked. “I can’t say that, had I known you had a boat coming to harbor, I might not have put a word in the harbormaster’s ear about not letting you get a slip here, but I promise you I would never mess with someone’s ship or endanger the livelihood of a sailor. My father is a sailor. It’s a code I live by,” Grace said, holding her palm to her heart.

  “That’s right – Flynn is your father, isn’t he? I’ve met him before,” Dylan said, switching the subject neatly. “Why don’t you use his last name?”

  “Oh… um… my mother wanted to go matriarchal. She gave me O’Brien, and Dad had no issues with it. We are a fierce bunch of women in my bloodline,” Grace said, wondering if he would make the leap from Grace O’Brien to Gráinne O’Malley.

  “Since you were honest with me regarding your involvement with the mechanical issues my crew experienced, I’ll take you at your word that you didn’t try to cause harm to my vessel,” Dylan said.

  “I swear.” Grace put her hand on his arm, finding the muscle there as hard as rock.
“I may cause trouble sometimes, but I’ll always take responsibility for it.”

  “Fair enough,” Dylan said, and Grace could feel the anger slowly leaving his body. “There she is.”

  He turned and pointed, but Dylan wasn’t looking at the boat. Instead his eyes were on Grace when she turned to look.

  “The Pirate Queen,” Grace whispered, the punch of it slamming into her. She brought her hand to her lips, trembling a bit as she realized there was so much she didn’t yet understand about Dylan. If he’d named his boat that… was it possible? Did he remember their love?

  “Aye, The Pirate Queen,” Dylan said, still watching her as he rocked back on his heels. “My first boat and the love of my life.”

  “Why…” Grace’s mouth had gone dry and she swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Why did you pick that name?”

  “I don’t really know,” Dylan admitted. “I’d say it came to me in a dream, but I suppose that’s too fanciful.”

  “No.” Grace turned to him and almost bowled him over with the strength of her smile. “I’d say that’s just right.”

  Chapter 27

  The Pirate Queen was lovely, Grace mused, as she handily walked around the deck. As comfortable on boats and the water as she was in her cottage, she played first mate and helped Dylan with guiding the boat from the slip. It was a lovely little sloop, a perfect first boat, and she handled like a dream. It was no wonder Dylan had purchased her for his first. And the name – Grace sighed as she gripped the railing and looked out over harbor. He remembered. Deep down, something in him remembered her. Now if only he’d unlock it, Grace thought.

  “I thought we’d have a sunset sail and then anchor up for dinner,” Dylan said as she moved back to stand near where he captained the ship. He’d angled the boat to catch a nice breeze and they cruised along at a light chop, the dusky light warming the scene.

  “I’m fine with that,” Grace said, perching on a low bench that lined the rail, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the gentle motion of the boat, allowing it to soothe the jumble of emotions in her stomach. Confusion, lust, anxiety, anger… they all wrestled there like a pit of snakes.

  “You must like being on the water. What with having Flynn for a father?” Dylan asked, and Grace opened her eyes to see him studying her. He looked so handsome at the wheel, the sleeves of his sweater pushed back to reveal muscled forearms, the wind tousling his hair.

  “I love being on the water, in the water, near the water, hearing the waves at night… it all calls to me. It’s soothing, you see? To my soul,” Grace said, smiling a little at him. “My cousin, Fi, she’s yearned for the buzz of the city – any city – and has set off to explore the world for a year, or who even knows how long. She loves the hustle and bustle, the new restaurants, seeking out the latest trends, finding new bands – all of it. But me? A week without the sea and I’d start to go crazy.”

  “I can identify with that,” Dylan said, nodding at her. “I’ve always had a yen for being on the water. I love seeing new horizons, wondering what they’ll hold for me. But I’m just as comfortable with staying in the same spot, so long as it is near the sea. The sea never grows old to me. She’s just as interesting and moody as any city I’ve come across.”

  “She is, at that,” Grace said, delighted with the imagery, “I love watching how the light plays across her surface, highlighting each new color. She’s even more stunning in the middle of a squall. I’ll admit to pulling on my slicker and standing cliffside in the middle of a tempest just to see her churn. I do love it when the sea has a temper.”

  “Perhaps not the smartest idea,” Dylan said, smiling at her.

  “I didn’t say it was smart. But passion pulls me on a whim. I have a tendency to plunge forward with what I want to do and consider consequences later,” Grace admitted.

  “Not a very safe way to live.”

  “No, that it’s not. But it’s certainly exhilarating.”

  “We’re going to lose the light soon. I’ll get us anchored up,” Dylan said, noting the light leaving the sky. “There’s a picnic hamper in the hull. Would you mind retrieving it for me?”

  Grace did mind, as she loved helping when a boat changed course, but her curiosity won out. Alone, she’d have a chance to snoop a bit.

  The galley was kept tidy, as Grace would have expected. A quick peek into the rooms showed neatly made bunks, a tidy bathroom, and a storage area. Nothing overtly personal stood out to her and she wondered briefly if he rented this out to clients. Making her way back to the galley, she found the picnic hamper tucked on the narrow counter.

  “Champagne is in the fridge if you’d like some,” Dylan called down, and Grace turned, noting a bucket ready for ice. She found the glasses in the cupboard, then busied herself with pouring ice from the chest into the bucket around the bottle. She realized she’d need to make two trips up, and as she turned to go, her eyes landed on the wall directly behind where she stood.

  A canvas – it looked to be an oil painting – hung over the small table and chairs. Grace didn’t know how she had missed it, but tears immediately swam to her eyes, blurring her vision for a moment before she hastily swiped them away.

  It was a beautifully rendered painting of their cottage. The little stone cottage they’d stolen away to and made love for hours in, where they had shared their passions, and where Dillon had lost his life. It had been painted in a time of storm; waves crashed the shoreline while a single bolt of radiant light shone like a benediction through the brooding clouds to light the cottage. Her fingers itched to touch the painting, to run her hands over every paint stroke, to feel what the painter had felt when painting this. Was the cottage still there? Had someone found it and painted it?

  “Everything all right?” Dylan poked his head in from above.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, I was just admiring this painting. It’s really lovely,” Grace said, forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the happiest place she’d ever known.

  “Thank you. I don’t paint much, but try to when the mood strikes,” Dylan said, and held a hand down. “Hand me up that hamper, please.”

  Almost numb, Grace stepped to the counter and picked up the basket, handing it easily up to him while her thoughts raced. He had painted the cottage? How had he known? This wasn’t the way things were supposed to go. Somehow she’d imagined that if she ever did meet Dillon again, it would be like one of those Nicholas Sparks novels where the characters rush to each other and kiss in the rain, promising their undying love for each other or whatever. Instead, she had the uneasy choice of trying to decide whether she should tell this man that he was her lover from another time.

  You did kiss in the rain, her subconscious reminded her.

  Grace’s heart did a little flip once again when she climbed up top with the champagne bucket and found that Dylan had unrolled a checked blanket on the deck, and thrown a few cushions to sit on around it. He was busy laying out food and unpacking the hamper, so she had a moment to steady her emotions before he saw her.

  “I hope you don’t mind sitting on the deck. It’s just easier all around,” Dylan said with a smile.

  “Nope, I don’t mind. Less chance for things to go rolling off a table,” Grace said, and Dylan nodded in agreement.

  “I just put together a tapas-style meal, since I wasn’t entirely sure what you ate. Just a bit of everything, really,” Dylan said, hands on his hips as he studied his spread. A very generous spread at that, Grace thought, surveying the array of food before her. A variety of cheeses mounded one platter, several fruit options on another. There were nuts galore, several bread options, some thinly sliced meats, biscuits, scones, and even a few little jars of jelly and jams.

  “I think you’ve got it covered,” Grace laughed, and sat on a cushion, tucking her feet beneath her and setting the champagne bucket on the blanket. Dylan immediately took over the duties of opening the bottle with a loud pop and pouring her a glass of the delicately fizzing liquid. Finally comfor
table with how everything was set up, he sat. Grace wondered if he was like that with his business projects as well – making sure everything was just so before he could finally relax.

  “Sláinte,” Dylan said, clinking his glass on hers before taking a long sip of his drink.

  “This is nice,” Grace said, always happy to give credit where credit was due.

  “Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you would show,” Dylan admitted.

  “I wasn’t sure why you asked me. You seemed surprised at yourself,” Grace said, picking up a small plate and adding a selection of cheeses.

  “I was. As I mentioned before, I don’t like to muddy the waters with business and personal.”

  “So is this business or personal?” Grace asked, holding her breath for a moment as she waited on his answer.

  The angles of his face hardened in the light from the lanterns he had lit, and she watched conflicting emotions roll across his face. Oh, the man was stubborn, she decided. No wonder he didn’t remember her – he probably refused to.

  “I don’t know,” Dylan finally admitted, clearly unhappy with his answer.

  “Fair enough,” Grace said, sliding a sliver of cheese in her mouth. Deciding that she wanted to learn a little more about this man – at least the man in the here and now – she changed the subject. “Tell me, what drew you to the water? Why shipping and sailing?”

  “As I said before, I’ve always been drawn to the water,” Dylan said, crossing his arms over his legs as he leaned forward to sample some of the fruit. “But after learning just how difficult a life fishermen led, I decided there had to be another option for making a living on the water. It was happenstance, or perhaps just good luck, that I met my mentor when I did during university.”

  Grace cringed a little as she thought about the nasty things she’d said about his mentor, but Dylan had the decency not to comment on it.