“So you’re saying I can sue him?” Grace asked, arms crossed over her chest. In a nod to the misty weather, she’d worn her favorite hunter green canvas field jacket, slim denim pants tucked into Wellies, and a tartan scarf in cheerful shades of red and blue wound around her neck. Her hair, always moody in the damp weather, was left to tumble down her back, as subduing it would have taken more energy than Grace had been willing to expend that morning.
“You don’t have to sue him,” Martin had said, steepling his hands over the notepad on his desk. “However, should the injunction not do the trick – and you do know how big corporations like to push the little guys around – you can sue him for not publicly notifying you of his purchase. Technically, you should have had sufficient notice in order to either extend the lease yourself, or to be offered the fair market value of the property. I’d say unless some paperwork got lost in the mail, he didn’t bother to notify you. And the law requires at least several attempts at notification – you can’t just mail a postcard and consider the matter sorted.”
Martin had looked particularly pleased with his work, and even more so when Grace had rounded the desk to give him a smacking kiss on the cheek before sailing out to the front office, a happy Rosie at her heels.
“You look nice today, Anne,” Grace had said to the assistant, who wore a cheerful red polka-dotted blouse tucked into trim black slacks.
“Thank you, Grace,” Anne had said demurely, then winked at a grinning Grace as she left the office.
Grace felt much better knowing she had a way out, or at the very least some ammunition to fight this battle. As for matters of the heart, that was another thing entirely. For now, she’d deal with one thing at a time. Securing her home, her cove, and her livelihood came first. Love – well, it would have to just wait.
She found herself humming on the drive home along the cliffs. It had been a considerably productive morning, from what she’d learned at the solicitor’s office to picking up various items from the garden shop and market that she needed for a few different tinctures she was experimenting with. Usually Grace grew, cultivated, and charmed most of her own ingredients, but sometimes the bit players in her concoctions didn’t need that level of attention. As her chef friend had once told her, why make a béchamel sauce from scratch when you can just pour it from the bottle into the recipe?
When her truck crested the final hill that wound its way toward the cove and her cottage, Grace’s good mood vanished.
“The nerve of that man,” Grace hissed, and Rosie straightened at Grace’s tone.
Grace parked her truck next to Dylan’s, refusing to slam on the brakes or drive angrily – mainly because Rosie was in the car. Grace would never forgive herself if she sent her dog flying into the windshield because she had driven carelessly when her temper kicked up. Plus, a cooler head always prevailed, she reminded herself and whistled for Rosie to join her as she strode across the damp grass to the cove.
Rosie, knowing exactly where they were headed, bolted ahead down the path that led to the entrance to the cove. Switch-backing down the cliff walls like a big Z, the path led to a pristine sand beach untouched by man, protected by the cliff walls and the magick Grace had infused it with so many centuries ago. Blood magick – the serious kind, for which she’d given her life – had protected her resting place, enchanted the waters found here, and given those born of her blood extra magickal gifts to aid them in their lives. It had been a sacrifice, and one well worth making. Grace had known the disease she carried had no cure, and the end had been near. She’d never been prouder of herself, or her daughter, than that night so many ages ago on the beach that spread below her now.
Shaking her head to clear the memory, Grace started down the path, muttering the whole time about idiot men meddling in things they had no knowledge of. She hoped Dylan had done enough research to know not to enter the cove on his own – any local would have warned him away, not to mention the signs that were posted about trespassing and dangerous undertows.
As Grace reached the beach, she looked up at Rosie’s sharp bark and swore loudly as her stomach dropped. Rosie paced in circles around a body, prone on the beach, and whined in concern.
Breaking into a run, Grace could only pray that, all these years later, her own magick wouldn’t turn against her.
Chapter 15
“Of all the damn fool things,” Grace cursed as she dropped to her knees at Dylan’s head. She ran her fingers over his neck to find a pulse. Finding him alive but knocked out, Grace let out a stream of curses that would have made a sailor blush.
At the very least, they were enough to bring one very cranky sailor awake.
“What… what happened?” Dylan asked, blinking up at Grace, his sunny blue eyes clouded by confusion as his gaze landed on hers. “Mermaid.”
“What?” Grace asked, looking behind her.
“You. Mermaid,” Dylan said, reaching up to toy with the ends of the hair that tumbled over her shoulder. “Sunset hair and witchy eyes. Mermaid.”
“What I am is a very angry woman,” Grace said, unceremoniously running her hands over his body, looking with her mind’s eye for any bumps, internal bleeding, or broken bones. Only when she threaded her hands through his thick blond hair did she find the bump. Pulling a hand away and finding it covered with blood, she swore once more.
“Mermaid with a dirty mouth. Sexy,” Dylan mused, his smile the loopy grin of someone still not totally coherent.
“That’s me, sexy as can be. Hold still, would you?” Grace asked when he continued to try and run his hands through her hair. Reaching up, she placed both hands on his head and, using an age-old technique that had been passed down through her family, she centered her mind and healed him on the spot. When a boulder crashed further down the beach, Dylan tore his gaze away from hers to look.
Grace pulled back and waited, calming herself as she always needed to do after a healing, before quietly meeting Dylan’s watchful gaze.
“What did you just do?” Dylan asked.
“Just put a bit of salve on your wounds,” Grace said, lying easily about her gift and holding up a jar she kept tucked away in her purse. “Old pagan remedy. You’ll be right as rain soon enough.”
She didn’t like the way he was eyeing her so she stood, hands on her hips, and stared down at him.
“Are you a complete idiot then?” Grace asked, finally letting the fury she’d been holding in check bubble to the surface.
Dylan’s expression flashed from contemplative to mutinous, and Grace understood instantly that she’d offended his male pride. Too bad she didn’t care about male egos and all the soothing gestures women claimed they needed to make. The man had been an idiot. The fact was indisputable.
“Sure and that’s not typically a word applied to me,” Dylan said, leaping to his feet so that he wasn’t lying in the sand at a disadvantage anymore. Grace glanced over him, from the sand stuck to his sodden jeans to the few drops of blood that marred his grey wool jacket. She shook her head, purposely letting a look of disgust settle on her face as her eyes roamed over him.
“I know what I’m looking at, don’t I? And that’s an idiot of a man. One who ignores the signs about trespassing on private land. One who ignores the signs about the dangerous undertow of this beach. One who has most likely ignored the warnings of the locals about coming here. And don’t try and tell me that none of the locals warned you. Sure and that’s hard to believe. We’ve lost people over the years because of their stupidity. You could’ve been next.” With that, Grace turned on her heel and stormed down the beach for the path. To hell with him, she thought. There was no way she could love a man that harebrained – that stubborn – as to willingly put his life in danger out of mere curiosity.
“Hold up,” Dylan said, grabbing Grace’s arm. She whirled, fist up, ready to sock him one if he tried anything silly. Immediately understanding he was being rough with her, Dylan swore and took his hands from her, instead tucking them in his poc
kets.
“Hands off, Kelly,” Grace said, narrowing her eyes at him and refusing to acknowledge that her heart wanted to insist that no, indeed, she very much wanted him to be hands on.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you that way. Especially after you helped me. I… I don’t really know what happened. I wasn’t even trying to go in the water. I just wanted a better look at the beach that everyone talks about. I…” Dylan shrugged. Confusion crossed his handsome features as he looked back over the beach.
“There’s a strong undertow here. Sometimes the waves are stronger than expected and reach much higher than people on the beach would think. I suspect a rogue wave smacked you and you knocked your head on a rock. Luckily, I was on my way home and saw your truck, or who knows how long you would have been down there,” Grace said. “Next time… actually, never mind; there will be no next time. You’re not allowed on my property. Next time I’ll leave you to drown, if you insist on being so stupid.”
“I’m getting pretty annoyed with the number of times you’re calling my intelligence into question, Grace,” Dylan said, stepping closer so that he towered over her. Grace could read the instant when his energy changed from anger to a confusion of lust and attraction. Reaching out, he danced his fingertips over the tail ends of her hair.
“That’s Ms. O’Brien to you. And I call it as I see it. You’re welcome to prove me wrong, but thus far, I’m not impressed,” Grace said. So saying, she turned on her heel and whistled for Rosie, beginning the climb up the cliff walls – leaving behind her a very angry, very frustrated, and very aroused male.
“I accept that challenge, Ms. O’Brien,” Dylan called after her.
And damn it, but his words did put a smile on her face.
Chapter 16
“So you went to the cove alone,” Liam said, shaking his shaggy head at Dylan as he sipped his Guinness. They were at a cozy little fisherman’s shack of a restaurant whose outward appearance belied the mouthwatering scents wafting from the kitchen, tucked behind the bar they now sat at. They’d been told an hour wait for dinner, and had been lucky enough to snag two stools at the small bar. Dylan was finally relaxing enough to recount the day he’d had.
“Aye, that I did. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Dylan shrugged, unable to explain the pull to the cove he felt. Or perhaps it had been the pull to see Grace again, he mused, having had difficulty putting her out of his mind since she’d stormed away from him earlier today. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the flash of fire in her eyes, the toss of her hair as she stormed away, or the way her tight denim pants hugged a bum that would make most men’s mouths water. She was a dangerous package – and one he’d do well to stay far away from.
“How’d that work out for you?” Liam asked, amusement flashing over his face.
“About as well as could be expected,” Dylan admitted, and Liam chuckled.
“From what I hear, you have to do some sort of ritual to even step onto the beach. And it isn’t something that’s widely shared – some sort of decision was made years ago where the locals banded together as one to keep people from entering the water there.”
“I’d say that was a smart move on their part,” Dylan said, draining his gin and tonic and gesturing to the bartender for one more. He’d been on edge all day since leaving the cove.
“Did something happen?”
“You could say that,” Dylan said, rolling the tension from his shoulders. He’d had no pain since the incident, and hardly a lump on his head. Certainly not anything large enough to warrant him being knocked unconscious. Some salve Grace had, he mused.
“And the plot thickens,” Liam said, winking at the girl who came to serve them their drinks and making her smile back.
“Everything seemed normal,” Dylan grumbled. “Until it wasn’t. It’s stunning down there. The cliff walls rise so high around you, enclosing you in this almost complete circle. It’s quiet too – nothing but the waves lapping the shore and a few birds swooping by. No wonder the locals don’t want tourists going there. It’s a pristine slice of paradise.”
“It’s certainly stunning from above,” Liam agreed.
“So there I am, enjoying the beauty, just strolling along and taking it all in – trying to get a feel for the energy there,” Dylan said.
“Ah, himself isn’t immune to feeling for magick,” Liam mused.
“Himself is enough of a sailor to know there are things that can’t be explained,” Dylan agreed.
“Yet you try to dismiss the horns honking and the car doors crashing open as a gust of wind.” Liam chuckled to himself at that.
“It’s a possibility,” Dylan grumbled, squeezing a lime into his drink.
“A small one,” Liam said, “but I digress. So you’re having yourself a lovely little wander on this magickal beach you’ve been warned away from, and then what?”
“And then… I don’t know. Next thing I know I’m opening my eyes to a woman with a nice turn of phrase when it comes to cusswords, fiery hair, and a temper to match,” Dylan said.
“Ms. O’Brien. She’s a fine woman,” Liam decided, raising a Guinness in a silent toast to Grace.
“Even while she was letting me know just what a complete and total idiot she thought I was, she was also running her hands all over my body –”
“Mmm, I like where this is going. Tell me more,” Liam said, a delighted grin flashing on his face.
“She was looking for injuries, not to jump me,” Dylan sighed.
“More’s the pity,” Liam said, and they both drank silently to that thought.
“I was still quite dazed, and convinced she was a mermaid, when she found a wound at the back of my head. One that was quite bloody, mind you, judging by the blood that washed out in the shower later. She ran her hands over the wound, and then…” Dylan shrugged, unsure how to describe what he’d felt. He’d still been quite dazed.
“And then what?” Liam asked, raising an eyebrow at Dylan in question.
“It felt like some sort of cool brush of air… soothing, ye know? When I next touched my head, the wound was but a little lump. Certainly not enough to knock me unconscious, nor to bleed to the extent it had,” Dylan said, meeting Liam’s eyes. “You know I’m capable of taking some strong hits to the head.”
“Aye, that I do. There was that one night in Glasgow…” Liam pursed his lips in fond memory of one of their more debauchery-driven evenings, which had landed both of them with sore knuckles and Dylan with an eye swollen shut.
“That there was,” Dylan said, and then gestured to the back of his head. “Feel.”
Liam reached over and patted Dylan’s head, and found nothing of interest. Pulling his hand back, he leveled a look at Dylan.
“No bump.”
“Indeed, no bump. Now, shouldn’t there be a bump on me own head if I was hit hard enough to bleed and knock myself unconscious?” Dylan asked.
“She healed you.”
“Aye. She claims she just put some pagan salve on my head and that I’d feel no pain, but I’m not so certain. Frankly, I was so intoxicated with thinking she was a mermaid that it took a moment for my brain to catch up to reality.”
“I can see her being a mermaid. She’d charm many a sailor, that’s for damn sure,” Liam said agreeably.
“I barely had time to be charmed before she cussed me out once more, called me an idiot in several different ways, and stormed off down the path with her dog at her side. It was like being ravaged by a tornado of beauty.”
Liam brought his fingers to his pursed lips and kissed them.
“My kind of woman. You know the ones who don’t give their opinions on anything will ultimately end up boring you to death,” Liam pointed out.
“I’m not interested in a relationship with Grace,” Dylan said patiently, for his friend liked to indulge in as many romances as possible and always looked for love wherever he could find it.
“You may not be interested in one
, but I suspect one’s found you nonetheless,” Liam said, his voice decidedly cheerful at the thought.
“Not even close. Remember, I’m her landlord and I’m evicting her. I won’t cross those lines,” Dylan said, then looked up when a man approached them, his face set in grim lines.
“Um, excuse me, gentlemen. My name is Daniel and I’m the manager of the restaurant. I’m very sorry, but we’ll be unable to serve you dinner this evening.” Daniel wrung his hands, clearly unhappy at having to deliver such news.
“Is that so?” Dylan leaned back and smiled at the man. “Run out of fresh catch of the day?”
“Oh, no, sir. We never run out,” Daniel said, glancing between Liam and Dylan, concern etched on his features.
“Then what seems to the problem, my good man?” Liam asked, his tone lazy, though his eyes had gone hard.
“I’m not sure how best to state this…” Daniel said, and Dylan had a suspicion that he knew what was about to come.
“Best to be out with it quickly then,” he said.
“The owner of this restaurant is Grace O’Brien’s father. We’ve received notice that we’re not to be serving you or your crew any meals or refreshments. I do apologize or I wouldn’t have even sat you at the bar. It’s only just come to my attention who you are.”
“And who are we?” Dylan asked.
“Why, you’re the corporation that’s trying to bulldoze Grace’s cottage and build condos on her land. That simply won’t do. My deepest apologies, but I do have to ask you to leave now,” Daniel said, his tone stern as voices lowered in the restaurant to watch the scene.
“Certainly, I understand,” Dylan said, and slipped some bills from his wallet to cover the cost of the drinks. They walked from the now near-silent restaurant, Liam cheekily grinning back at the cute waitress, and in moments were back in the cool night air.
“Daddy’s got connections,” Liam observed.
Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7 Page 7