Keelin reviewed the difficult scene in her head. Margaret had stubbornly offered to pay for the rest of Keelin's graduate school as well as her rent for the next five years if she didn't go to Ireland. With a promise of twice-weekly phone calls and many emails, her mother had finally agreed to her decision. Keelin shuddered a bit as she thought about Margaret's tears. She had rarely seen her mother cry. Keelin thought that some of the emotion had to come from the passing of Margaret's mother. Although, Margaret hadn't flown out for the funeral or mentioned anything of the sort, Keelin thought now. She wondered if much of Margaret's emotion came from her being scared of being alone in Boston, or of what secrets of Margaret's Keelin might find when she arrived in Ireland.
"Are you alright there?" A lilting voice startled Keelin from her thoughts. A young woman waited for her in the aisle. Tiny in stature, with dark curling hair and greenish-yellow eyes, she smiled kindly at Keelin.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Keelin stood up and immediately felt like a giant. She towered over this slip of a girl. Keelin mentally kicked herself. At 5'9" and with generous hips, she knew that she was a larger girl, but she always had to work at not feeling like a giant when she was around tiny women.
"Not a problem. Looks like you were daydreaming a wee bit." The girl snagged a huge bag one-handed from the overhead bin and swung it over her shoulder. "American, I see. Here for a holiday?"
"No, I am going to Grace's Cove for the summer to write my thesis."
"No kidding. I thought you looked familiar. You must be an O'Brien. I can tell by the eyes." The girl stared into Keelin's distinct brandy-toned eyes. "That would make us cousins of sorts. I’m Caitriona."
At Keelin's blank stare, she laughed. "That's Irish for Katherine. Call me Cait."
"Hi, Cait. I'm Keelin O'Brien. And, how are we cousins? Do you live in Grace's Cove?" Keelin asked as they walked towards baggage claim together.
"Yes, ma'am, I certainly do. I own Gallagher's Pub. It's the best stop for a pint and live music in town. Or so I say." Cait laughed up at Keelin with her dancing eyes. "I know all the gossip in town. So if you have any questions about anything, stop in and see me. You should stop in anyway and get accustomed to village life. You'll do well to have a few friends on your side." With those enigmatic words, Cait strode away to pick up her bag.
"Wait. Why wouldn't I have friends?" Keelin hurried to keep up with her. Cait moved fast.
Cait stopped and turned. Shock was apparent on her face. "Why, because of your family reputation for being witches. Have you heard about your grandmother? A lovely lady, but I made sure never to cross her."
"Oh, stop. Do witches even exist? I heard that my grandma was a bit off and a good healer – but a witch? No."
"Hey, listen. Fiona half-raised me. I never saw anything that indicated she was a witch. That being said – her healing abilities are famous. Perhaps a touch of the fae. I simply stayed on her good side and I had no problems. Don't worry, most of the people in town are nice and you shouldn't run into too many problems. I've got to run. Come see me for a pint. I'm serious. I could use some girl time and would love to hear about America."
With that, Cait strolled off and hefted two huge duffle bags as if they were nothing.
"Witches. Lovely." Keelin blew off the Irish mysticism and collected her luggage. She had forgotten to ask Cait about where her grandmother was buried. She wondered if the village had turned out for the funeral or not.
Keelin pulled out a folded piece of paper with printed instructions and headed for the remote lot. Keelin prayed that she hadn't been taken for a ride and that the car that she had purchased prior to the trip was in its spot. As she approached what could loosely be called a truck, she groaned. This rust bucket looked as if it would fall apart the first time she shifted into third gear. A dull red, with paint peeling and rust creeping up the frame, the car looked like it would run on a wing and a prayer. Keelin felt under the front bumper for the key in the magnet box and climbed onto the front seat.
She stared at the empty dashboard and looked to her right at the steering wheel.
"Duh." Sliding across the front bench seat, Keelin hoped that nobody had noticed her mistake.
"Steering wheel on the right, drive on the left," she muttered to herself as she turned the key and prayed as the truck shuddered to life.
"There we go, girl. You got this. Come on, baby." Sweet-talking the truck, Keelin eased out into traffic and began the drive to Grace's Cove.
After several near mishaps, and cheerful waves to the cars she almost hit, Keelin felt like she was getting in the groove of driving on the left side of the road. Irish roads were notorious for their narrow passes, twisty curves, and precarious blind spots. The route to Grace's Cove boasted all of these. Keelin decided to go slow and soak it in. Well, her truck made the decision for her as anything over 45 miles per hour (kilometers! she thought to herself) made the truck rattle dangerously. Keelin hoped that it would hold together long enough for her to make it to the village.
Several almost misses later, Keelin shuddered the truck over a large hill and gasped. The village spread out before her, quaintly perched at the base of the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. If she were to send a postcard of Ireland, it would bear this picture. Rolling green hills met harsher ridges and tapered down into the colorful cottages that clustered around the curved harbor. A sense of home rose within her and she smiled. This just looked like a place where everyone would be happy. Looking forward to her first pot of tea and scones with real cream on the side, Keelin made her way to the parking spots that lined the harbor. She shut the car off and breathed a sigh of relief. The rust bucket had held up surprisingly well.
Smiling, Keelin hefted a backpack over her shoulder and looked around for a grocer. She had no idea what sort of supplies were left after her grandmother had passed and was reluctant to be stuck in the hills with no food and unreliable transportation. Keelin stopped and breathed deeply. There was something about the scent of ocean air that made her blood sing. She always knew when she was close to water. Keelin watched several fishermen pull their boats in and unload the day's catch. They would go back out again before sunset. Tiny, colorful boats bobbed further out on the water, and gulls swooped around the fishermen's boats. The sun was shining, a slight breeze tickled her neck, and Keelin fought to keep a smile off her face. This was going to be the best summer ever. Except for that witches thing Cait had mentioned. She'd have to look into that.
Keelin headed towards the middle of the village and looked for a grocer. Shops clustered together and hugged the narrow, curved road that wandered up a hill into the village. Keelin admired all of the vibrant colors used on the storefronts and wished that America didn't always make their shops so steely and gray. There was something that just worked with the mishmash of colors and building materials that made up these little shops. Keelin stopped to admire some lacework in a weaver's shop. Two women walked out and the older one stopped and gasped, staring right at her. She grabbed her companion's arm, pointed, and hustled across the street.
I wonder what that was all about? Keelin thought. The village certainly had a large amount of B&Bs; people shouldn't have reacted to a tourist like that. Keelin continued up the hill past a weathered old man. He stared at her eyes and spit at her – making the sign of the cross.
What was going on here? Her idyllic picture of a perfect summer vacation was beginning to unravel if this was the way that people in the village acted.
Keelin found the grocer tucked around the corner and wandered the aisles. How was she going to cook? She didn't even know if this hut had a microwave. Maybe it would be best if she just went with the basics, as she had no idea what she was walking into. In fact, what if there was no refrigerator? She laughed at herself. Of course there was. She hoped so. Keelin gingerly put the deli meat back and headed for non-refrigerator type food. She stocked up on bread, apples, peanut butter & jelly and some almonds. It was enough food for a little while and she would be sur
e to come back to town for more once she got the lay of the land.
Keelin approached the middle-aged woman with a hairnet at the checkout line. The woman sized her up and said, "You must be Fiona O'Brien's granddaughter. I can see it in your eyes. We've always wondered when Margaret would let you come back."
"Oh, do you know my mother?" Keelin asked. Finally, a friend.
"Aye, I did at that. We used to work together. She should have stayed here to see if it would work out with Sean, though I guess that I understood her need to go. I'm assuming you are heading up to the cottage? You'll need to get on the road then before dark or you'll never find it."
"Um, okay. What is your name? Can you tell me more about why people are being weird to me?" Keelin asked in a rush of breath. She needed to know what she was walking into.
"The name is Sarah Gallagher. We're related in an odd sort of way. As I'm sure you know, your family doesn't have the best reputation in town. Yet, at the same time, you have the best reputation that you can have. You'll have to sort this out for yourself." Sarah quickly finished her bagging and dismissed Keelin to help her next customer.
Keelin felt out of sorts and fairly nervous. What was she doing walking into a situation like this? And nobody would give her answers. She trudged down the hill to her car, ignoring the curious looks cast her way. She would just figure this out for herself then. Keelin tossed her bags in the bed of the truck and got in the passenger side of the truck, slammed her hand on the dashboard in annoyance, and scooted over to the driver's side. She would get the hang of this, she swore to herself.
Turning the key in the ignition, she prayed. "Come on, baby, we've got a ways to go. Let's do this. Come on." The car chugged and rattled but the engine never caught.
"Damn it. You have got to be kidding me." Frustrated, Keelin opened the door and went around to the hood. Unable to locate the latch to open the hood, she slammed her fist on the top and let loose with a few of her more colorful curses.
Laughter interrupted her tantrum. "Need help, miss?" A lilting Irish brogue with a deep tenor broke through her tirade. Keelin turned to meet the owner of the voice, grateful for someone who would be nice to her.
The sun blinded her momentarily and all Keelin could see were piercing blue eyes. The deep blue of the ocean in the cove, these were the eyes in her dream. A shiver ran through her and she went a little lightheaded. Stumbling, Keelin grasped the rusted edge of the hood for support. As the man moved towards her, she made out the rest of him and drew in a deep breath. She was in trouble if all of the men in Ireland looked like this. Dark curly hair framed a chiseled face that Armani would have paid millions for to advertise their clothes in their catalog. Broad shoulders tapered to slim hips, and he walked with the ease of a man confident both on land and at sea. A day's growth of beard marred his tanned skin, and his thick lips drew into a tight line as he saw her face. His smile disappeared and he stopped, his confidence gone. Annoyance crossed his face and he cursed. Keelin got the distinct impression that he would have walked away had he not already spoken to her. Duty bound, he moved forward.
"Yes, thank you. My car won't start and I don't know how to open the hood. Or what is under the hood for that matter." Keelin smiled, hoping to wipe the annoyance from his face.
He stopped close to her. With one long gaze he took her in from head to toe and dismissed her as he turned to the truck and popped the hood.
"Excuse me, what is your name?" Keelin was miffed. She'd had her fill of rude strangers for the day.
"Flynn." He fiddled with some wires and went around to her driver's side. The car roared to life.
"Well, doesn't that just figure?" Even more unexplainably pissed, Keelin huffed out a breath.
"Well, Mr. Flynn, I kindly thank you for taking such time out of your day to help the likes of me. Could you spare a moment and tell me what was actually wrong with my car? If it isn't too much for you, sir?" Keelin could be sarcastic with the best of them.
"Loose ground wire was giving you an intermittent connection when you were trying to start it. I've tightened it. No charge." Flynn stared at her one more time and turned to go.
"Wait! Don't you want to know my name?" Keelin surprised herself and grabbed his hand. A surge of power slapped between their palms, heating her immediately, and her skin tingled. Sensations whiplashed through her and pooled low in her stomach. Shocked, Keelin stared into Flynn's angry face.
"I know exactly who you are, Keelin O'Brien." Flynn stomped off and whistled sharply. A dog that Keelin had not seen before ran from her perch on the boardwalk and walked by his side, turning its head to stare at her.
"Well, thanks! Thanks a lot! I'll be sure to write home about the amazing Irish hospitality!" Keelin yelled after him. Flynn lifted his hand in a "go away" gesture.
Chapter Six
Flynn's heart pounded in his chest as he whistled for Teagan and walked away from Keelin. Of course, he knew who she was. Over the past year, her image had haunted his dreams.
He let out a small sigh as he walked up the pier towards where his fishing boat was docked. Untying the line from the pier, he waited for Teagan to hop into the boat before he leapt away from the dock. Motoring slowly from the harbor, Flynn worked to bring his pulse under control.
Lush curves, molten brown eyes, and hair that he ached to see spread over his pillows flashed through his mind. Keelin was his fantasy girl. She'd stepped into his dreams little over a year ago and Flynn had had a hard time not measuring every woman he had met since then to her.
To her. Some figment of his imagination. Until he'd caught a glance of a photo in Fiona's cottage and realized that his fantasy woman was none other than Fiona's estranged granddaughter, Keelin. Confusion had laced through him as he had stared down at the picture. Keelin, full of life and youth, laughed up at the camera from the grass that she sat on. She couldn't have been more than fourteen and her beauty only hinted at the woman she was to become. It had been like a punch to the gut when Flynn had realized that his dream girl was real.
Seeing her today, angry at her truck, Flynn had literally felt the world shift out from under him. How had he dreamed about her? How had he known?
His response to her in person was as visceral as in his dreams. He groaned as lust pooled low in his stomach and he ached to wrap Keelin in his arms. Yet, the fact that she had shown up in his dreams made him distrustful. How was it possible that he had known of her…her scent, her smile, her very essence…before ever meeting her?
What he didn't understand typically made him angry. Flynn liked a measure of control in his life. There was something about Keelin that made him want to throw caution to the wind and dive right in for a taste.
Scared that he was already too far gone, Flynn found himself gunning the engine and tearing out into the ocean. Away from the promise that Keelin hinted at.
Chapter Seven
"What the hell was that?" Keelin thought. She was pissed. One surly Irishman had heated her blood more quickly than the last five Boston elites that her mom had set her up with. She chalked it up to a long dry spell in her love life and studied the directions on her paper. A flush crept up her cheeks. Damn that man for making her angry and hot in the same moment. She hadn't been this disturbed in a while.
Muttering under her breath, she pulled out into the street and almost hit a car in the right lane.
"Damn it!" Keelin whipped the wheel to the left and moved over. She made a note to calm down before driving here. She was bound to get herself hurt. Her truck chugged up the hill and onto a narrow road that wound deeper into the hills. Bushes and rocks concealed corners and most turns were blind. Keelin took deep breaths and drove slowly. Even so, she only narrowly missed the weathered sign. O'Brien's Road was etched on a small piece of wood, the red of the paint almost worn off.
"Here we go." Gravel coated the road and the truck shuddered as it worked itself over the bumps and grooves that furrowed the track up the hill. Keelin wound the truck higher up the hill,
passing by worn fences and pastures dotted with spray-painted sheep. Why in the world were the sheep hot pink? Keelin made a note to ask someone about that.
Punk-rock sheep, she laughed to herself. Her friends back home in the Boston music scene would find that funny. She turned a blind corner and let out a shriek. A herd of sheep blocked her path and didn't appear to be in the mood to move.
Keelin laid on the horn. Nothing. They stared back at her balefully, and stood their ground.
She rolled down her window. "Hey. You. Get! Get out of here." Frustrated and figuring she had been tested enough, she moved the truck forward. The sheep bolted quickly and Keelin laughed. Now she was beginning to feel a little more like an Irishwoman.
Keelin turned another corner and her world opened up.
"Oh. Oh God. Oh, I just can't." Her voice caught in her throat and unexpected tears pricked at her eyes. The sheer beauty of the landscape before her was unapologetic in its magnificence. The stone hut was nestled by two rocky outcroppings to block the wind. Below the hut, the hills stretched wide before kissing the sea. The stunning green hills rolled down to arrogant cliffs that jutted into an almost perfect half-circle of a cove. Grace's Cove. A small sand beach lay in the dead center of the cover and a narrow path wound through the cliffs to the beach. The sun was blinding in its brilliance, diamonds of light shattered across the surface of the water and the green of the grass was a perfect contrast to the blue of the water that mirrored the same hue in the sky. Keelin felt like she was on top of the world.
I would never leave here if I didn't have to, she thought. As she turned to look around she began to make out the intricacies in the landscape. Various paths wandered in different directions over the hills, and stone markers were set at odd points throughout the land.
Wild Irish Heart (The Mystic Cove Series Book 1) Page 3