Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7

by O'Malley, Tricia

  “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 day 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 b
uild 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? Is 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.

  “Have you heard of DK Enterprises? A sailing company?” Grace asked, pitching her voice just slightly over the din of chatter so anyone in the room could chime in if they wanted. It was an accepted way of inviting people with information or gossip to jump into the conversation; if she didn’t want anyone involved, Grace would simply have turned away and spoken softly to Cait. For such a gossipy small town, the hushed voice and turned back was typically respected. For the most part, everyone knew they’d find out the gossip one way or another.

  “Aye, the lad was just in the other day, wasn’t he then, Cait?” Mr. Murphy asked, tugging on the newsboy cap that was perpetually tucked over the few strands of shock-white hair he still had. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at Grace. “Handsome lad at that, Gracie. You’ve got your eye on him then?”

  “I’ve eyes only for you, Mr. Murphy, as you well know. No, I’ve never met the man nor know anything about this company of his,” Grace said, taking a sip of the water Cait had put in front of her and drumming her fingers on the bar.

  “I’ve heard he’s building here. A new development.” This from a younger lad across the bar. “He’s offered several job postings at a fair wage. Several of my mates have already applied.”

  “It was condominiums, I heard,” another voice chimed in, and then the whole room started talking at once. The idea of a sleek unit of condos in their charming little village struck them all as wrong.

  “Condos,” Grace hissed, her shoulders slumping as she considered this new development. “Why would a sailing man build condos?” The thought of her beautiful cottage and the lovely emptiness of the green hills surrounding it being bulldozed to build condo units made fury churn low in her belly.

  “It’s always smart to diversify your income. I presume the lad saw a need. He seemed nice enough,” Mr. Murphy said, seeming unperturbed at the news. He’d been around long enough to know that these things took time and often sorted themselves out. If the people of Grace’s Cove decided they didn’t want condos, they’d find a way to keep them out.

  “What’s this about, Grace?” Cait asked, her voice soft as she topped off her pints of Guinness and left them to settle before starting the process of the next ones.

  “It seems I’m being evicted,” Grace said, careful to try and keep her emotions in check lest she bring a monsoon down upon poor Gallagher’s Pub.

  There had been very few moments like this one in the pub, when nothing could be heard but glasses slamming onto
tables in surprise and the howling of the wind outside. The Irish were known for their words, and it wasn’t often that an entire group was at loss for any.

  “You’re what?” Cait exclaimed, her face passing through six different emotions so rapidly that Grace could barely keep up with them. “I’ll kill them. Who’s done this to you?”

  Grace gestured with her hand and said nothing, letting Cait reach her own conclusion.

  “DK Enterprises? They want to build the condos there? On…” Cait gasped as it really hit home, and slapped her hand to her heart. “Over Fiona’s cottage?”

  Grace nodded sullenly, continuing to do her best to keep control over the rage that threatened to bubble over.

  “No. This can’t happen. We’ll stop this from happening. There must be some mistake. You own that land,” Cait said, nodding smartly as the chatter resumed in the pub, everyone drawing their own conclusions about what was happening.

  “It seems the long-lease use of land expired when Fiona passed.” Grace didn’t like to say that Fiona had died, as the old woman still was very much present in their lives. She knew for a fact that Fiona popped into Cait’s thoughts for a chat more often than the pub owner cared for.

  “That can’t be right. And this DK Enterprises just bought it and evicted you?” Cait clarified.

  “Yes. The solicitor showed up at my doorstep this very morning, and politely requested that I move out.”

  “I hope you sent the bum running!” another villager cried out from across the room. Grace’s temper was well known in the village and the majority had decided it was far more enjoyable to stay on her good side. Being on Grace’s good side felt like turning your face to the sun. It was best not to speak of her bad side.

  “That I did,” Grace said, and nodded down to Rosie. “And Miss Rosie made sure his hat was hardly wearable.”