by Kathryn Shay
From behind him, Jean scooped Ben up and cuddled him. “Obviously Mommy’s got a boo-boo. But let’s find out how much it hurts and what she wants us to do.”
Jamie said, “Come here, buddy.
His face tear-stained, he sat on her lap. He touched her red cheek. “Does it hurt?”
Kinley began, “Hey, Ben, don’t…”
“Hush, he’s working this through.” To Ben she said, “Yes, it hurts very much.”
“How’d you do it?”
“I went to the pub. While I was there, I had an accident. I opened the cupboard where I stashed the bag we needed and the wind blew it shut. Or tried to. I was in the way.”
He buried his head in her chest.
“And you know what? I forgot the bag.”
He kept his face where it was.
“You need it to work on our project.”
He mumbled in her chest, “It’s okay, Mommy.”
Grandma Jean stepped forward. “Why don’t Ben and I take a walk to the pub ourselves and pick it up?”
“That would be good, thanks.” Jamie gave her grandma a grateful expression. “I’m going to lie down until you get back.”
When they left, Jamie sank back into the cushions and closed her eyes.
“You did great with him,” Kinley told her. “There’s a lot about childcare I don’t know.”
“Probably because you didn’t get any mothering when you were little.” She started to her feet but sank back down.
“Dizzy?” She nodded. He said, “I’ll help you upstairs.” He bent over and put one arm behind her and slid another under her legs.
“I…”
“No, don’t object. It’s a done deal.” He scooped her up.
“Let me grab ice, then.”
Stopping briefly at the fridge, she took a cold pack out of the freezer and put it on her face.
He climbed the steps quickly. “Where to?”
“Left, second room in.”
Once inside, he laid her down with a tenderness that he didn’t know he had in him. “Do you want to sleep? I can stay here and be quiet.”
“I should keep the ice on fifteen minutes.” She gazed up at him. “Pull over a chair.”
When he was seated next to her, she said, “What happened today was horrid, Kinley.”
“I’m so sorry you got hurt. But I didn’t plan on a boxing match.”
“Things escalate. Besides, both you and Pat were itching for a fight.”
“Not physically, honest.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent so many of my early years fighting, when I finally got out of that world, I promised myself I’d never throw the first punch or taunt anyone to do it.”
“Surely you knew the O’Neils would be upset by all the changes.”
“I’m not out for revenge on them.”
She closed her eyes. “I think you are.”
“You should go to sleep. I’ll hold the ice on your cheek if you want.”
“Not yet.”
“You’re something else.” He studied her. Like he was assessing his position. “You didn’t mean you’d actually quit, did you?”
“It depends on how reasonable you are. I think you’re going overboard with the changes.”
“All right. We can talk about that after you sleep.”
“And one more thing. Now that I’ll have to quit the gym, because I can’t show up with a shiner, which you caused, I’ll need another part time job until I graduate. Or get more hours at the pub, but only if you don’t fire anyone else.”
“I’d rather you did the first.”
“Find another job?”
“Yeah. In my company. There are plenty of clerical and aide positions.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “What’s this all about, Kinley? Why don’t you want me at the pub more?”
His jaw tensed. “I don’t like you being so tied to the O’Neils. If you work there even more than you do, you’ll get sucked in by them.”
“I’m already sucked in by them!”
“I can see that.”
“Why does where I work, who I like, even matter to you? I’ve known them a lot longer and better than I know you.”
“I’m not sure why, Jamie.” And he wasn’t. What was going on in his head with her? “All I know is I’d prefer you work for my company.” He arched a brow. “And I have all the power here.”
“What if I say no?”
“Then I’ll decide what I want to do.”
There was noise downstairs. “They’re back.”
“My cue to leave.” He stood. “Think about the job offer. And I’ll call you in a few days for an answer.”
“Okay. But it’s my life, Kinley. You can make me an offer, but I decide.”
Kinley knew in his heart she meant what she said.
Exhausted, E. Nigel Pembroke climbed to the fourth floor of his apartment building in Queens. The commute to Manhattan every day wore on him. But he’d be invigorated as soon as he grabbed something to eat and started implementing measures to destroy Kinley Moran.
He thought about the prep work that had gone into his life-long plot: officially adopting his mother’s last name, getting degrees in school so he could apprentice with a man like Moran. He’d also adopted a self-effacing and groveling attitude in every single dealing with the jerk. And it had paid off. He’d gotten his security clearance easily because he blackmailed somebody in high places to pretty much scrub parts of his history where he could be connected to Jonathan Zeller. That history wouldn’t show up in the results of the fingerprinting he had to do to work at Moran Associates. And today, after a month of menial tasks, Moran had given him the keys to the kingdom—access to online files.
Yes, this was shaping up fine. As fine as Moran’s vendetta against the O’Neils. That was shaping up, too. What irony. Little did Moran know that he was going to need the pub he wanted to take away from the O’Neils for spite because Nigel was going to see to it that was all he had left.
25 years ago
From his high-rise office, he phoned Moran. “You son-of-a-bitch. You took another client from me.”
“Excuse me. Who is this?”
The fucker knew damn well who it was. “Jonathan Zeller. The account you stole this time was Gilbert and Sons.”
There had been other lost accounts. But Zeller knew that was part of the game. Until he realized someone was sabotaging him. It didn’t take long to figure out who.
“Kyle Gilbert confided in me over golf that he wasn’t happy with the losses he’d suffered. I offered him some alternatives and he took them.”
“You asshole. I got you into that country club.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, isn’t it? You put in a good word. Now if that’s all, I have a dinner engagement.”
“This isn’t over, Moran. I’m not done yet.”
An insulting sigh, as if Zeller was behaving like a child. “A word of advice. In the last six months, you sold every client you’ve lost products they didn’t need under disadvantageous terms for them but lucrative for you.”
“Gilbert told you that?”
“No, but I figured out what you did in the process of our talks and checked other accounts.”
“And you told Gilbert?”
“Of course.”
“You fucker.”
“Just doing my job. Do yours, Zeller. Don’t play fast and loose with people’s money.” And the phone clicked off.
God, he hoped Moran was wrong.
But over time, it became clear that he had been right. Word got around Oakland Country Club that Jonathan Zeller had made shoddy moves and even some mistakes, all of which he never recovered from.
Chapter 3
Kinley Moran walked out of the Ritz right when Bailey’s limo swerved up to the front of the hotel. She thought it was time for a little one-on-one, so she exited the car. Mitch got out the other side and stood a discreet distance away.
Her half-broth
er’s brows skyrocketed at the sight of her.
Because she saw in his eyes the same longing Moira had had in hers, Bailey hurt for this man. “Hello, Kinley. I’d like to talk to you if you have time.”
He angled his head past her. “Who’s this guy?”
“Mitch Calloway, Clay’s personal Secret Service agent.”
“I thought only the ex-president got protection, not his wife.”
“There are two agents assigned to us. Given what I do, Clay thinks one should be with me or the kids. I agree.” She glanced over at the shops across from the Ritz. “Mitch checked out a restaurant in that area. You and I can have a private table in the back. He’ll sit near us but won’t eavesdrop.”
Kinley only nodded. “I have to make a call first.” After he canceled the meeting he’d scheduled, they walked across the street. Side-by-side. An acute sense of loss pervaded Bailey. This man could have been in her whole adult life. She wondered if he felt the same.
The booth they slid into was cushiony leather. The walls were wood. And a hushed atmosphere settled around them. Unfortunately, these kinds of posh establishments were the safest, so Bailey had to frequent them. She couldn’t get a meal in diners anymore.
“I’ll have coffee,” she said to the waiter.
“Same.” He put his napkin on his lap and stared over at her. “What can I do for you, Ms. O’Neil?”
“Cut the bullshit. I’m your sister. What’s more, I loved Moira with all my heart. And I want a relationship with you.”
This time, his mouth dropped. “Why?”
“We’re blood. And it’s not right that you were kept from us. I can’t believe Moira never told me.”
“I begged her not to when we were able to get together. I didn’t want any of you in my life then.”
“I can accept that. But why didn’t you come to us sooner? Decades ago, when you were an adult and started to create the life you wanted. Why did you wait so long?”
He shifted uneasily in his seat. “I had things to do. Make a success of my life. Get money and power.”
“So you could what? Buy the pub’s stock and lord it over us? We don’t live our lives like that.”
“You know, I’m thinking of changing the name to Kinley’s Irish Pub when the new windows come in.”
Hurt slammed into her. Then she shook herself. “I’m not going to play that game with you. It’s only a name. I’m interested in you. I have a way we can get to know each other outside of all the pub drama.”
“I refuse to come to a family event.”
“Are you kidding? There would be knock down drag-outs if you did anything like that right now. Though I want my kids to know you.”
His face softened. Well, at least he had a different side to him.
“Why I’m here today is between you and me, and Clay sometimes.” She motioned to the other table. “And Mitch.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I want you to volunteer at Guardian. I’m there most days.”
A stony expression came over his chiseled features. “That time in my life is past. I don’t care to revive it.”
“Your past is nothing to be ashamed of. Kinley, you got yourself out of a horrific situation. It’s an admirable accomplishment, more than any of the wealth or power you’ve accumulated.”
Again, he seemed touched by her words. After a bit, he asked, “What would I do at Guardian?”
“You know it’s the offshoot of ESCAPE, the online website I started years ago?”
“Uh-huh, I read about your fairy-tale romance with the future president of the United States that began because of that organization.”
“You followed us? For years?” Her heart sank. “That just about kills me.”
“Why?”
“Because we could have been together!”
“Are you saying you would have wanted an interloper in your precious family.”
She slapped the table. “You’re not an interloper! Of course, I would have wanted to know you then!”
His eyes widened, as if he couldn’t understand the notion, or was surprised by it. “Let’s get back to what you want from me regarding Guardian.”
She took a deep breath and let it out to calm herself. “I established the house as a shelter for gang-kids to transition to normal life.”
“Is there ever a normal life for gang kids?”
“I believe so with all my heart. And you should too, given you’ve made one.”
“What would I do?”
“Mostly, be there for the kids. Talk to them about how you got to where you are. Spend ordinary time with them. Successful role models are one of the most important things in getting kids out of gangs.”
He sat back. “Let me get this straight. While I take your pub away, you want me to help out Guardian.”
She gave him a sad smile. “You can never take our pub. It will always be ours.” Bailey gave him an odd look. “And yours too.”
Because he’d been twisted into knots by his encounter with Bailey—she seemed so genuine—he let his plan for the bar unfold more quickly. Two days after their meeting, he returned to the place and drove around back. He’d seen a car parked here, and the rear door was open so he entered through the kitchen.
Liam stood facing the stove. He was singing some Irish song. He had a pleasing voice. He worked efficiently, preparing lunch, Kinley presumed, and the scents were homey, reminiscent of when he lived with his aunt and uncle.
“Liam?”
Liam turned, not startled, a curious expression on his face. “Hey, hi Kinley. I didn’t you know you were coming in today.”
“I didn’t tell anybody.”
He wiped his hands on an apron. “What can I do for you?”
He held up a tape measure. “I’m going to sketch some things I want done here.”
“You can draw? So can my son Mikey. He’s eight now. You’ll love him.”
He didn’t want to hear about his nephews.
“Maybe you can meet him and his brothers and sister sometime.”
Kinley’s throat clogged so he didn’t answer.
Liam angled his head toward the restaurant proper. “Want me to come with you?”
“No, stay here and cook. It smells great, by the way.”
“Irish stew.”
“I know. My aunt used to make it when I went to live with them.”
“Want some?”
“It’s still morning.”
“So?” A mischievous grin on his face. He turned back around and put stew in two dishes, then set them on the counter. He sat down and indicated Kinley do the same.
For some godforsaken reason, Kinley couldn’t resist. He took off his jacket and sat. Tasted the stew. “The flavors of the ingredients are more vivid than the spices.”
“I don’t overdo the garlic or Worcestershire sauce.”
“Do you ever use anything besides beef?”
When they’d exhausted the topic of the food, Liam asked sincerely, “So what are you going to measure?”
“My new office space. And I might do an addition back there. I have surveyors coming this week to give me the possibilities.”
Liam’s gaze strayed to the backyard. “I’d miss playing with my kids back there if you build. I remember when Sophie started working here. One day, I watched her play ball with Cleary, my oldest. I think I knew at that early date we were destined to be together.”
“How sweet.”
Liam ignored the sarcasm. Kinley guessed the guy was too nice to even catch his tone. “Yeah, it was.”
They chowed down, talking between bites.
“How come you never married, Kinley?”
“Trust.”
“What do you mean?”
He hadn’t meant to say that. “I don’t trust easily.”
“No shit?” So he did know how to tease. It brought a reluctant smile to Kinley’s face. Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You look so much like us when you smiled then.”
/> “I don’t smile much.”
“I’m sorry for you, then.”
Kinley pushed away the dish and then scraped back the stool. “I’m due at work soon so I’d better get measuring.”
“Okay.” Liam touched his arm. “I wish we got to talk more.”
Kinley absconded to the small room between the kitchen and the pub proper. He opened the window even though it was iced over and took in a few deep breaths. Then he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and started measuring. He refused to think about what happened in the kitchen with Liam.
When he was done, he went through the kitchen and without stopping to talk again, he walked right out the back. The February cold stung his face. He’d forgotten his coat.
He was assessing where the best space for an addition might be when another car pulled up. Aidan exited. Carrying a toddler. “Hey, what are you doing out here without a coat?”
“I have a right to be here.”
Aidan crossed to him. “We’ve all pretty much accepted that since the debacle with Jamie.” He cuddled the little girl. “This is Katie.”
The child was blond and beautiful, cracking Kinley’s heart a little more.
“To answer your question, I’m thinking about where to put the addition.” He glanced up. “Maybe we don’t even need it.” He pointed to the second floor. “I could use the space up there.”
Aidan’s face paled. Because of the weather? “You know Mama and Pa live there.”
“I do. But things change. And you all have enough money to buy them a place of their own.”
Aidan stepped closer. Kinley could see the hurt on the other man’s face. “Go ahead and fight with us. We can take it. But Pa’s old and he’s getting feebler by the day. He had a heart attack not too long ago. In case you care at all, it would kill Mama not to be able to be around her grandkids and children.”
“Why should I care?”
“You’re an O’Neil, man. Somewhere under that Count of Monte Cristo thing you got going for you, you’re blood. We don’t take vengeance on the elderly.” Aidan walked into the pub.