“The guilt card normally work for ya, old man?”
The twinkle was back in Liam’s eyes as he stared at the younger man, his smile curved in victory. “Can’t make a body feel guilt iff’n there’s nothing there to start with. Must have a mighty heavy conscience on ya, boy.”
“The name is Roark, not boy. I’ll accept both the apology and the pint providing you let me buy the next round.” Roark’s big masculine palm stretched out to clasp her friend’s. Before she could so much as blink both men bellied up to the bar, sharing slaps on the back and stories of the good old days.
Her Nana had been right all those years ago. Men really were crazy!
Driving an American crazy hadn’t been in his plans this evening, but a smidge of extra luck never hurt anyone. Roark grinned at his pun, quickly bringing the ale-filled mug up to hide his reaction. Not that any person in the pub would get the joke, but still, no reason to take chances.
The strange energy filling the pub rocked through him and he needed a few more minutes to deal with the effect on his body and magic. Too damn bad he sensed the root of his otherworldly troubles lay directly at the feet of one plump, curvy, maddening woman.
Not here, he silently pleaded to whatever gods chose to listen, not now, and certainly not a mouthy American female.
“What brings you to our tiny corner of heaven, Roark?” the older man asked as he settled his scrawny frame onto the high dark wood barstool. His thick glass of Guinness was empty and his wrinkled fingers impatiently tapped the old oak bar.
“Some of this and that, but you’ve the right of it. A prettier town I’ve yet to see.” He sipped from his own mug, enjoying the thick, rich taste of the brew and concentrating on anything but the blood rushing from his head to his cock.
Liam’s caterpillar-thick eyebrows rose. “Seems ya got a touch of Irish in your blood, lad.”
“Maybe a drop or two,” was all he admitted to the older man while keeping his eye out for the sexy Southerner. Right after she’d paid for the beers, the mouthy stranger had excused herself.
Something about her twitched his ears in all the right ways. Did it mean she’d lead him to the ultimate treasure? That was the goal the three sisters had given him before shoving Roark none too gently out their door.
What leprechaun in his right mind would refuse such a quest? Not to mention such a bored leprechaun? The task the sisters set out for him gave him something else to do with his time besides gaze into his well and wish for his Liaria, the greatest and most prized treasure in any collection.
Fanny, with a dangerous twinkle in her all too knowing green eyes, had informed him a trip to his homeland would put Roark on the trail of the greatest treasure of all time. The older woman would have said if the treasure was his mate, wouldn’t she? Thinking of Fanny with her elegant and classy silks and linens, pure silver hair always worn in a proper French twist, he realized she would definitely twist her words to ensure she said one thing while he heard another.
501 Travel Agency, owned by the three sisters, specialized in exotic and foreign travel. Trips to lands not often seen nor heard about. How they did what they did, no one in the mortal world knew, and immortals were kept in constant confusion with the three women’s strange ways.
“She’s a bit more than most men can handle,” Liam broke into Roark’s thoughts.
Keeping his expression bland, Roark turned halfway to look at the other man, but kept her in his peripheral vision. “She have a name?”
“Calder, Calder Douget,” her silky voice broke into their conversation. He watched in amused silence as the sassy woman with no fear drew in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring at whatever scent caught her attention.
Smoothly turning his barstool, Roark faced her, a smile designed to weaken her knees lifting his lips. “Ahh, beautiful lady, it is truly a pleasure to meet you.”
“I think this one’s been spending all his time with his lips locked to the Blarney Stone,” she said in a mock whisper to Liam.
“Oh aye, we’ve turned this Yankee into a right proper Irishwoman, we have,” Liam bragged as his brogue thickened with emotion and drink.
Swatting the older man’s thick shoulder, Calder shot the wily Irishman a look of mock irritation. “Watch who you’re calling Yankee, Irish. I’m Louisiana born and bred.”
Now he understood the hint of spice flavoring her accent.
“Tell me something, stranger, if you’re a man of this wild land, then why do you have the feeling of a foreigner?”
“How do you know my heritage?” This observation truly startled him. No one, at least not in the last hundred and fifty years, had managed to catch the hint of Irish in his voice. Yet in a matter of minutes this curvy brunette from the wild bayous pegged his ancestry perfectly.
Stranger still was the need, almost a compulsion, to tell her the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as he could. There were some secrets that simply weren’t his to tell. “Aye,” he deliberately filled his voice with the sound of his homeland. “I’ve a bit and more of the shamrock blood flowing through my veins. How did you guess?”
“Oh I’ve got a bit of luck on my side as well,” she answered without giving Roark a direct answer.
“Then what brings you to the most beautiful spot on our lovely planet?” He dropped the brogue, finding it silly and immature to keep forcing the accent he’d worked so hard to erase from his voice. Roark wasn’t ashamed of his Irish roots, but he’d found in his many years of travel that most people didn’t tend to take a body seriously unless he looked and sounded serious. To many that meant losing the lilt of his homeland.
Most people would have missed it, the slight shift in her tawny eyes, but Roark truly was like no other man. He saw things the majority of mortals would never see. Before she even spoke he knew her words would be a lie.
A casual shrug accompanied her “An itch to see the world.” She turned to face the broad-chested bartender, ensuring the conversation ended.
“A wily one, she is,” Liam spoke. “She’ll give the right man a good proper chase before letting a fellow catch her.”
And that was the problem, Roark thought, taking a deep swallow of his beer. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him in recognition. The furious pounding of his heart, the light sheen of sweat covering his flesh, told him everything he did and didn’t need to know.
Fuck, he knew those sisters had been screwing with him. The greatest treasure known to man, his lucky green ass. Setup was what had happened, and him as gullible as a dew fairy to follow so easily the bread trail they’d laid out.
So now what? Roark didn’t see himself walking up to her and informing of her newly mated status. Somehow, from the few minutes spent with her, he knew without a doubt Calder wouldn’t take such an announcement lying down. Hell, she probably wouldn’t take it at all. With his unusually bad luck, Calder might just prove to be the only mate in the history of leprechauns able to walk away and never look back at her mate.
Chapter Two
Raindrops continually dripped down her nose, but Calder knew from past experience to wipe them away would accomplish nothing. Instead she sighed and dug further into the base of the wide old ash she’d chosen for her night’s spying.
Her quarry looked to be tucked in for the night, but some sixth sense refused to let her leave and seek out her own warm, comfortable bed. So she lay in the mud and grass, eyes narrowed until the beautifully restored three-hundred-year-old white stone farmhouse was the only thing in her sights.
How, she wondered, did a renegade former Irishman land himself such a sweet place to stay? Twenty minutes from Limerick yet with all the privacy a shifter could need. The cottage had at least three good-size bedrooms with attached bath and a true country kitchen. This all from her quick peek through the wide bay windows before settling down to be miserable for the night. The large ash trees swayed in the breeze while the leaves dripped steadily with water.
Even more stupid—why was she here? Wh
at point could she possibly be trying to make to herself by scouting out his house? Prove that the wily man was her mate? Pretty hard to do with the male being tucked away in the house for the night and her being upwind. The scent of him had been tainted earlier in the pub with assorted scents of humans, smoke, peat and numerous others combing to mix the air into a hodgepodge of confusion.
Be honest with yourself, her conscience insistently prodded her. Fine, she grumbled back to the annoying voice. She could have picked out his scent amongst the various others, but panic and fear had kept her from doing so. She didn’t want to know if the minty-smelling human belonged to her. After all, her whole life had been spent dreaming of the day she found her cat mate, the shifter who would complement her life, not complicate it. So was it any wonder she backed away from what instinct demanded of her?
How would she ever explain to a oney, the name the dual natures gave run-of-the-mill humans, that she was his mate or wife and by biting him Calder would join their lives for eternity? Yeah, that would go over well with the species that preferred to shoot first and ask questions later.
So instead of being in her rented cottage, warm and cozy, Calder lay outside aggravated by the elements and getting more pissed off by her potential mate. Where the logic in that line of thinking came from she didn’t care. Somehow she knew it was Roark’s fault. She’d worry about finding the reasons behind it later.
The rain continued to fall in a slow, steady stream and while nothing overtly changed, Calder felt a difference in the air around her—something small, like a flash, normal one minute and then different. Lifting her head, she sniffed. One good whiff and her body knew.
Slowly, so as not to startle the male, she turned her head and found herself face-to-face with the man so recently occupying her thoughts and rousing her anger.
“Hello. Rotten night to be out for a stroll,” he said, sounding and looking so normal.
Did he not see her? Not understand there was a four-hundred-plus-pound lion lying wet underneath this large ash tree? She sniffed again, searching for signs of agitation, nerves, fear or even a hint of mental instability.
Nothing!
Calder’s mind whirled with possible actions, dismissing all within a few seconds. Shit. She cursed herself, the situation and the ridiculously stealthy male able to sneak up on her supernatural senses. If she shifted to human form then she risked blowing his diminutive human mind.
Instead she let out a little chuffing sound, hoping to scare the man aware, but the fool continued to stand there, his head cocked to the side, bright green eyes almost glowing with amusement.
Irritated, Calder growled, deep and low, a warning any half-wit could recognize.
“Is that really necessary? I only came out to see if you’d like to move your spy camp inside the house and out of the rain. I didn’t come out to have my head bitten off by a cranky cat shifter.”
Calder went statue still in shock. What? How? Huh? Who the hell was this man and how did he know about shifters? Feeling the first tendrils of fear slide up her spine, she rose to her haunches, ears straining and whiskers twitching for the slightest sign of attack.
“No need for violence between us, cat. To prove how civilized I can be I’m offering my home and a change of clothes, in case you need them. See what a great host I can be?”
As he turned and walked in the direction of the house, the wind shifted and his scent blasted through her like cocoa through a chocolate addict.
I have got to get me some of that, she thought and raced to follow him, no matter the danger he might be leading her into.
After all, mates were to be protected, even from themselves.
The tension tightening Roark’s shoulders eased when he heard the movements of the large lioness. Turning his back on a predator never occurred to him before, but something about this one shouted trust and protection. Since his people relied on their instincts more than the senses, he put more confidence in his walk then he actually felt.
The warding around his house parted easily, allowing him and his companion to pass through with no harm. However if anyone else attempted to pass the magic of his barriers then things would be different. The wards would shock as a first warning then, if the stranger didn’t take heed, all barriers would engage and the unlucky sod would be torn apart until not even molecules were left to identify him.
With a careless wave of his hand, Roark opened the front door and gestured for his furred companion to enter.
“Be at peace in my home while my rainbow offers you protection and shelter,” he offered the traditional Leprechaun greeting.
The big cat snorted and shook her wet coat, sending prisms of water cascading over him and his wood-planked floor. If possible, the man-eating predator was actually laughing at his ancient good luck greeting. Silly Americans, he thought with a mental eye roll and turned his attention to his poor waterlogged floor.
“I do own towels, you know, and I’m more than happy to put one or two or ten at your disposal.”
“Oh what have ya dragged into my clean house, Roark?” a deep, gravelly voice demanded from the firelit living room.
“Calm yourself, Nob, and come meet our guest.” He moved and gestured to the large female lion sinking down on her haunches, growling low at the new intrusion. He made sure to keep his tone even and easy as he faced one of Mother Nature’s most cunning hunters. “No need for all that, lady, Nob is no threat to you. Ease back.”
“Ack, you’ve left her dripping on my freshly washed floors, you son of a silversmith,” Nob accused as he waddled into the foyer. His large pointed ears flicked back and forth in agitation as he wrung his brown wrinkled leather-looking hands together.
The cat sat back in stunned silence, her tawny eyes wide above her strong muzzle. Yeah, he kind of understood the reaction. House brownies were a shock to the sight on first encounter. Having grown up with the loyal but persnickety creatures, Roark was at ease with them as he would be any member of his widespread but nosy family.
Beautiful eyes the color of fresh lilacs blinked beneath a thick set of black lashes that matched the long midnight tresses, curled and braided and decorated as was the custom of house brownies. Standing no more than four-foot tall, wearing jeans and a bright purple t-shirt and nothing else, Nob looked no more threatening than the average six-year-old. Many fools had perished under the mistaken belief as well.
“You must change before my floors are ruined, mistress. Nob will garb you, so please,” he waved small hands around the air, “please hurry. Oh my poor original ash planked floors.” The last came out more a whine than whimper, but in Roark’s mind it was close.
The cat sat there looking between them with, if he wasn’t mistaken, a confused look on her feline face.
“Come, come, kitty-lady, shift,” the brownie urged more for the sake of his poor floors than any urgency to settle Roark’s guest. Roark had been on the other end of Nob’s tongue-lashing more than once. “My magic will protect your modesty from the young one if that’s what worries you.”
In a flash of sparks and glowing lights, the lion shifted into a very beautiful and very familiar female.
“Thanks for the offer, uh…Nob, but I’ve got that one covered.”
When she waved a hand across her body, Roark finally noticed his guest had gone from a sopping wet feline to a casually dressed, fully dried human female.
And wasn’t he sorry to have missed the sight of her bare, smooth, silky flesh.
The amazing little…man stared at her with a weird light in his almost too pretty purple eyes. Huh. Calder wondered where the heck Roark had found this small man and how old he had to be to consider Roark a young one.
Then reality came crashing back with the viciousness of a weekend bender. Whipping her attention from the tiny…person to the big man she demanded to know, “How do you know about shifters? What are you and what is he?” Shit, the one rule all two-natured followed was to keep their secrets from humans, no matter the c
ost. She’d hate to kill either male, but sometimes fate left her with no choice.
In a placating manner that annoyed her to no end, Roark put his arms out, palms up. “Relax, darlin’, no need to get your pretty kitty all upset. We’re all friends here.”
Did the man think she woke up on the stupid truck this morning? Really, were all drop-dead sexy Irishmen this thickheaded and ignorant or had she just gotten particularly lucky with this one?
“Cher, I’m not even close to losing my temper and my cat is just fine. What we’d both like to know is how the hell you know about us? What are you?”
“The floor,” the diminutive man in the OshKosh jeans said in an awed tone. “You’ve dried my floors, like new they are. Not so much as a damp spot.” Nob bent to his knees, both hands rubbing along the water-free floor. “Oh mistress, thank you so much.”
She gave a casual shrug. “No big deal, uh…Nob. It’s all part of the shifter package. We pretty much clean up after ourselves.”
Standing up, he clapped his small hands. “Oh how wonderful, truly wonderful, no wonder you have no house brownies in your lands. You certainly don’t need them, not like some lazy creatures I could mention. The one that used my finest cooking pot to test bombs. Have you ever heard of such disrespect, such insolence?” The slight creature’s lilac eyes swam with unshed tears and Calder rubbed his small but muscular shoulder in an attempt to stem the waterworks. She didn’t deal well with emotional issues and tears were at the top of the do-not-tolerate list.
“Um, I’m sure he’s sorry and I bet if you asked he’d buy you a new pot.” Calder looked over at the man responsible for her current uncomfortable position. “Tell him you’ll buy him whatever he wants,” she demanded.
Roark huffed out a breath, green eyes narrowing in agitation before sighing and running a hair through his still wet locks. “The incident happened when I was eight. It wasn’t bombs it was more like a little gunpowder play and…” He pointed a finger in their general direction. “I’ve already replaced the pot several times over. Nob only pulls out the big guns when he wants something. So I’m going to guess Martha Ray came out with a new line of cookware that you now just have to have.”
GettingLuckyinGalway Page 2