Wild Irish Grace: The Mystic Cove Series, Book 7

by O'Malley, Tricia

  “Smart man to think of the dog. And sweet, at that,” Fiona noted.

  “Perhaps, but I still don’t see a way around any of this. He wants the land. I will fight for this land. He can be sweet on me all he wants – or I on him – but unless he backs down and walks away from this project, we’ve no future together. I have to accept that,” Grace said, holding up a hand to stop Fiona from speaking. “I understand that you believe him to be my great love. But I’m also a realist and an adult. I have to accept the fact that if the man doesn’t change his mind, there will be no way I can be with him. It would be impossible for me to forgive him if he kicked me off my land and tore this cottage down. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Fiona said, her voice soft, her eyes sad.

  “Fiona, he doesn’t remember me. I… I know we had something amazing in another lifetime. But he doesn’t see me. And I don’t think he will.”

  “He has his eyes on you. He sees you,” Fiona said, glancing down to Rosie and her bone.

  “He sees me, but he doesn’t know me. There’s too much between us now. I need to handle one problem at a time. For now, that’s securing this land and protecting the cove, and my home.”

  “Then why are you making yourself all pretty to just go to the pub?” Fiona asked.

  “Aren’t you the one who taught me that a woman should use every weapon in her arsenal?” Grace parried, picking up her purse and tucking a few last things inside.

  “So you do listen once in a while,” Fiona murmured.

  Grace chuckled. “I love you. Thank you for always being there for me. I’ll keep you posted on what happens. Please try not to give me a heart attack the next time you visit – or anyone else, for that matter,” Grace said, blowing Fiona a kiss and tucking more treats into Rosie’s puzzle bone. She left the two to their own company – the dog and the ghost – and headed out to launch the next step in her battle strategy.

  Make him grovel.

  Chapter 20

  Cait greeted Grace with a smile and a slow look up and down at her outfit.

  “What was that look for?” Grace asked, coming to stand by the pass-through. The night looked like it was shaping up to be a busy one already.

  “You look extra fancy tonight,” Cait said.

  Grace immediately felt foolish. “Is it too much? It’s just a blouse and some earrings,” she said, casting a look down at her outfit.

  “In screaming come-hither red, that is,” Cait said, winking at her before turning to shout down the bar, “Hold your horses, Sean McMadden, you’ll get your pints when I’m giving them to you.”

  “Fiona made me wear it,” Grace pouted, and Cait laughed.

  “She’s a matchmaker, that’s for sure.”

  “What if I don’t want a match to be made?” Grace asked, turning despite herself to scan the room. While families packed the booths to share an early supper, and several lads enjoyed their pints while watching the hurling match on the small screen on one wall, there was no sign of Dylan.

  “Don’t you?” Cait parried, smug as a pixie as she hummed her way through filling the orders that the sole waitress, Mary Shannon, called out to her.

  “I have other things on my mind besides romance,” Grace lied.

  Cait just shook her head at Grace. “You can try that with someone else, but not with me. You’re just lucky I’m too busy to get my claws into you or we’d be hashing this out right now,” she said, her small body moving fast as she pulled pints and popped open beers with the ease of someone who had memorized every inch of her bar and the space around her.

  “Do you need help? Where’s Casey?” Typically, on Saturday nights, Cait had two women who took orders, pulled pints, and generally helped with the running of the pub. With two cooks in the kitchen, Gallagher’s Pub usually hummed along like a well-oiled machine. On the few occasions it didn’t, nobody paid much mind – that was the way of things in village life.

  “She’s running late this evening. Sick toddler, and Danny’s not yet home from work,” Cait said.

  “I’ll help,” Grace said, and ducked under the pass-through, tucking her purse in a small cubby behind the counter. It wasn’t her first time pulling pints for Cait, and certainly wouldn’t be her last. At home here, she shot Mr. Murphy a smile that had the old man beaming back at her and holding his half-pint up for her to fill.

  “Sure and I must have died and gone to heaven, for it’s an angel that I’m seeing,” Mr. Murphy said, twinkling at her from his perch on the stool.

  “Don’t get it confused, my love, for I’m no angel,” Grace said, but leaned over to press her lips to his papery cheek.

  “Even better. I’ve always liked my women feisty,” Mr. Murphy said, and Grace threw back her head and laughed.

  It was at that moment that Dylan entered the pub, his gaze finding hers like a heat-seeking missile, and his eyes flashed as they locked with hers. Behind him, Liam paused and watched as his friend had a moment, before nudging him from his trance to walk forward.

  “Now, Mr. Murphy, you’ll need to watch out – for while I’m no angel, it’s the devil himself who has just arrived,” Grace said, knowing she was being just a bit bitchy, but not really caring. She was growing tired of constantly feeling longing for this man, anxiety about her home and her livelihood, and generally just being in an all-around mood about everything. Since the target of all her angst had just sailed through the door, she didn’t see any reason not to serve him up on a platter to the locals.

  “She wounds me, she does,” Dylan said, his look shuttered as he held a hand to his heart and came to stand next to the old man on the stool.

  “Women will do that, you know. All sugar and cream one day, and peppers and hot sauce the next. Keeps it interesting, that’s for sure,” Mr. Murphy said.

  Dylan chuckled. “Can I buy you a pint then?”

  “I wouldn’t be saying no,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “Three pints of Guinness, please. And, of course, something for yourself,” Dylan said, his smile challenging Grace. He’d turned the situation neatly around and brought Mr. Murphy to his side. Your move, his expression seemed to be saying.

  “I don’t drink when I’m working,” Grace said, just to be difficult, and moved down the bar to start the process of building the Guinness. She moved out of earshot of Dylan and spent some time catching up with the locals, flirting with a few regulars, before winding her way back to the men with their drinks.

  “Any food tonight? Special is colcannon soup.”

  “I’ll have a bowl, thanks,” Liam said, smiling at her. “The name’s Liam, by the way. We didn’t get a chance to be formally introduced the other day.”

  The day when they’d stood on her cliffs with bulldozers, Grace thought and raised an eyebrow at him. He had the decency to flush before taking a long swallow of his drink.

  “And this must be the DK of DK Enterprises that I’ve heard so much chatter about in here,” Cait said, coming to stand by Grace’s side.

  “Aye, that’s myself, Dylan Kelly, and my project manager, Liam Mulder,” Dylan said. Cait took his proffered hand, coolly assessing him before releasing it and beaming a smile at Liam.

  “I should kick you out of my pub for what you’re threatening to do to my family’s property,” Cait said, her eyes steely as she measured Dylan. “But, in this matter, I’ll let Grace lead. Just remember: It’s the lady’s decision whether your butt is allowed to warm a seat in my pub. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dylan said, nodding his head and doing his best to look like a choirboy. “I’m doing my best to stay on her good side.”

  “See that you do.” Cait nodded once more before stepping briskly to the other side of the bar to fill more orders.

  “She’s mighty fearful, that one,” Mr. Murphy mused, shaking his head after Cait.

  “Don’t let her hear you say that,” Grace advised him.

  He chuckled, tugging his newsboy cap lower on his head. “I may b
e old and half-blind, but dumb I am not,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “So, this must be Dylan.”

  Grace almost rolled her eyes at Aislinn who now stood, a small smile on her face, behind Dylan’s stool. Dylan automatically turned and half-rose to offer her his seat, but she waved at him to sit.

  “Sit, sit. I’m only here for just a bit.”

  “Dylan and Liam, this is my aunt Aislinn, a very famous and exceptionally talented artist.” And reader of auras, empath, and overall badass, she added silently in her head, watching Aislinn size up the men while Grace popped the tops on a few bottles of beer and slid them onto a waiting tray. The pub was beginning to fill and one booth had been cordoned off for music. Though there was a small stage for a band, inevitably most people just shoehorned their way into a booth and pulled out a fiddle and off they went. Grace lost track of Aislinn and Dylan’s conversation as she was forced to work her way down the bar, smiling and laughing at the regulars who were delighted to see her on the other side of the bar for once.

  In a matter of time, the tension eased from her shoulders and she began to enjoy herself. She could almost forget that Dylan was at the bar, he blended so easily into the fabric of the pub. She fielded yet another invitation to dinner from one of the lads watching the game, Ryan, who had asked her out once before. A sweet man, but not for her, Grace thought, letting him down gently and nudging him toward Mary instead, who actually had a liking for him.

  “Pour yourself a wine, you’re all done,” Cait ordered. “Casey’s arrived and taking over from here.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t even noticed. Time flies when you’re having fun behind the bar,” Grace laughed, and bent to pull out a crisp white wine she’d been meaning to sample. “Looks like it’s shaping up to be a fun night. Is that Shane in the booth there with the fiddle? I had no idea he played.”

  “Aye, he’s been taking lessons – at his age! He’s a real knack for it too. Who knew?” Cait beamed at her while her husband counted off a beat and the group of musicians in the booth launched into “Dirty Old Towne.”

  “I like him,” Aislinn announced, coming to stand on the other side of the bar from Cait and Grace.

  “Shane? I agree. Cait should keep him,” Grace said, grinning cheekily at Aislinn.

  “I’ve a mind to, and that’s a fact,” Cait said, beaming once more at Patrick, who winked at her from where he played the little fiddle with ease.

  “Ahh, interesting. She avoids the subject matter,” Aislinn observed.

  “Just because you’re married to a head doctor doesn’t mean you need to analyze me,” Grace said, feeling grumpy at Aislinn’s assessment.

  “It doesn’t take a head doctor to tell that you’re both very interested in each other,” Aislinn observed.

  “She speaks the truth. Your eyes have been wandering to each other through the night. Both of you,” Cait nodded, sipping from a glass of water.

  “How can you like him when you know what he’s trying to do to me? To Fiona’s home?” Grace asked, arching a brow at Aislinn.

  “His aura’s pure. I think there are layers to all this. Talk to him,” Aislinn advised.

  “Nobody’s aura is pure,” Grace grumbled, ducking under the pass-through with her purse and wine.

  “True. His isn’t completely pure. But then he wouldn’t be any fun, would he?” Aislinn twinkled at her and Grace rolled her eyes. “Go sit with them. They got a table so you could rest your feet once Casey came in. I’m slipping into the kitchen to snag some take-out, then heading home to snuggle that brainy man of mine.”

  “Send him my love,” Grace said, kissing Aislinn’s cheek and then scanning the pub to find where Dylan and Liam had sat. It didn’t escape her notice that the locals all watched her as she crossed the room to sit at the small table they’d commandeered. Would she be sending the message that she now approved of this man? Her feelings and thoughts muddled, Grace plopped into the chair Dylan pulled out for her, nibbling at her lower lip.

  “Tough shift?” Liam asked, his eyes on her expression.

  “What’s that? Oh, no, not at all. I always love helping Cait out. It’s great fun,” Grace said, sipping the wine and finding it to her taste. Sighing in relief at being off her feet, she stretched a bit, rolling one ankle around in the soft shortie boots she wore.

  “It seemed like you had loads of fun. The male clientele certainly made a beeline for the bar,” Dylan observed, his voice carrying an edge to it.

  “As they should. I’m a favorite around here,” Grace said smoothly, refusing to feel bad or apologize for flirting. It wasn’t like the man had tried to make a claim on her. In fact, the only thing he’d really tried to do was woo her enough that he could succeed in his ultimate goal.

  “Dylan used to tend bar back in the day. It’s how he met his business mentor,” Liam said, easily interpreting the look on his friend’s face and changing the direction of the conversation.

  “Is that so?” Grace asked, sipping her wine once more as the band took a break and the noise in the bar drew to a softer lull of muted conversations. “I suppose you’d find your mentor drinking his days away and teaching you such nefarious business practices as trying to strongarm the little guys to get your own way, no?”

  She wasn’t sure why she said it – a mixture of annoyance at Dylan for still not seeing her but still exhibiting jealousy over her actions, and just plain old frustration at the entire situation.

  “If you’re calling my business ethics into question, you’ve every right to contact all of my companies and customers. None of whom have anything bad to say about me,” Dylan said, his voice icy. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest – arms that Grace so desperately wanted around her – and stared her down.

  “Oh, I’m well aware. I’ve done my research on you, Dylan Kelly,” Grace said, still feeling the need to poke the bear. “You’ve led a careful life, no? Very philanthropic, a good head for business, and a long string of girlfriends with never a bad word to say about you. Which just makes me wonder… what’s this man hiding? It’s almost like you’ve led too polished an existence,” Grace said, tilting her head to look up at him, casual as could be, though her words were like daggers.

  Liam opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and leaned back in his chair to watch the show, as many of the other villagers were doing. Though Grace and Dylan didn’t seem to notice, the pub had gone virtually silent in order not to miss what was turning out to be the evening’s real entertainment.

  “Being successful at what I do and being kind to my girlfriends certainly shouldn’t lead someone to think I’m hiding something, in my opinion. If anything, I have nothing to hide – it’s all on display, right? So you think you know me from what you’ve read in the society pages?” Dylan raked a hand through his unruly hair and downed half his Guinness in one gulp, slapping it back on the table with his first outward sign of anger.

  “No, I don’t think that, I know. Which is why I’m suspicious of who you really are and what your motives are in this town,” Grace said, her temper simmering just below the surface of her words. “Someone who spends so much time carefully designing and curating his image for the public is clearly too scared to show his real self to people.”

  It was like waving a red flag at a bull, and it absolutely delighted her to see fury cross Dylan’s sinfully handsome face.

  “Scared…” Dylan sputtered, his manhood grievously offended, at a loss for words for once in his life. “I have nothing to hide, doll.”

  “You’re so used to getting your way that you’re having a bit of tantrum now that you can’t get what you want. I see the walls cracking. Where’s the careful calm businessman now?” Grace all but shouted, having come to her feet. Dylan met her on the way up. They stood almost nose to nose, tension crackling between them like lightning in a heat storm about to break.

  “This has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with you,” Dylan said, his eyes narrowed in calculation.r />
  “Of course it does!” Grace threw up a hand in frustration. “You think you can roll into town, sweet-talk everyone, and offer double the hourly wage just to get laborers to do your dirty work for you.”

  “I had to double my already generous wages because someone has been actively working to destroy my plans,” Dylan pointed out, clearly miffed that he was having to pay more.

  “As I should be! Don’t think you’ll be getting an apology from me. It’s my life you’re after ruining,” Grace said, almost shaking as the full force of her rage slammed into her. Thunder rattled the building and the villagers all cast worried eyes to the ceiling. Grace was infamous for her temper, and most knew it was best not anger the woman if they wanted the weather to stay calm for the evening.

  “And it’s my dream you’re trying to destroy,” Dylan seethed, punctuating the words with his finger in the air.

  “Some dream. Don’t you have enough money lining your pockets?” Grace cried, beginning to hate herself for still being attracted to a man this vile.

  “It has nothing to do with whether it’s enough or not –” Dylan said, but Grace cut him off.

  “Well, get used to parting with some of it, Dylan Kelly, because I’ll have you know I’m suing you,” Grace said, her face inches from his. Thunder rode on her words as shock sliced across his handsome features. Grace picked up her glass, drained the wine, and slung her purse over her shoulder. Without another word, she strode from the building, leaving an infuriated Dylan to stare after her, his mouth hanging open.

  “Suing me? The nerve of that woman…” Dylan said, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair and racing after Grace. The villagers all cast a worried look at the door, back at Liam, and then as one turned to the natural leader of the pub, Cait.

  She hauled a leather-bound book onto the bar, and brought out a zippered bag used for holding cash. Opening the book, she took a pencil in hand and looked up.

  “My money is on them dating within two weeks,” Cait said, pulling a ten from her pocket and dropping it into the bag. Liam threw back his head and laughed as people clamored to the bar to lay their bets on how long it would take for Dylan to woo Grace.