Love and Shamrocks: Ballybeg, Book 5

by Zara Keane

  For a moment, it looked as though Helen would argue the point. Then she gave a haughty sniff. “Very well. I suppose we can come up with a suitable alternative.”

  Seán was manfully nibbling on his inedible sandwich. “What are your plans for the weekend, Ms. Havelin?” he asked between bites. “I’ll be with you tomorrow, and Garda Glenn will be here on Sunday. If possible, I’d like to put in an appearance at the Valentine’s Day fair at the town hall. Things don’t usually get raucous, but it’s smart to show a police presence.”

  Helen raised an eyebrow. “In other words, it would suit you if I went to that fair.”

  A thin smile appeared on Seán’s lips. “Precisely.”

  “All right,” her mother said with a nod. “I can manage that. I know you’ve been pulled off your regular duties to guard me. Besides, Tamara will be there with her school class. Won’t you, dear?”

  “For my sins.” The girl looked morose. “They’re making us sing. I hate singing.”

  “Nonsense,” her grandmother said with forced cheer. “You’ll have a lovely time. It’ll give you a chance to get to know your new friends better.”

  Tammy glanced in Clio’s direction and rolled her eyes. The gesture, the girl looked so like her grandmother that Clio almost laughed.

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood. “Thanks for the sandwich. I have to get going to the pub.”

  Helen’s expression dripped disdain. “I can’t believe you took a job at a pub.”

  “It’s honest work, Mother, and it pays weekly. I’ve sent applications for translation jobs and taken out a couple of ads, but it will take time to build my clientele.”

  “Good luck with the cocktail hour,” Seán cut in, deftly steering the conversation before Helen could utter any more critical comments. “I saw the posters you made. You’re a talented artist.”

  Clio smiled. “Thank you. It’s a fun hobby.”

  “Mum’s helping me paint a mural on my bedroom wall,” Tammy added. “We’re starting work on it this weekend.”

  Clio dropped a kiss onto her daughter’s cheek. For once, the girl didn’t flinch. “I’ll pop in to check on you when I get home from work.”

  “Bye, Clio,” Seán said, holding her gaze a little longer than strictly necessary. “See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE FIRST COCKTAIL evening at MacCarthy’s pub was a roaring success. Marcella and Clio had brainstormed a trial menu featuring six basic cocktail recipes that utilized the liquor the pub always had in stock. The only extra expense was for a few fruit juices and cocktail glass decorations.

  Clio put her artistic talent to good use and created a beautiful poster in addition to prettifying the chalkboard outside the pub’s entrance. By nine o’clock, the cocktail hour was officially over, but customers were still clamoring for fancy drinks.

  Olivia, the red-haired woman Clio had met in the bookshop on Monday, ordered her second mai tai of the evening. “These are excellent. Well done, Clio.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry I had to cancel our night out. I didn’t know I’d get a job working here when we arranged it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll get another opportunity.” Olivia gave Marcella a wink. “If this slave driver ever gives you a break, come on over to our table.”

  “Trying to lure away my staff, Olivia?” Marcella sidled up to Clio with a tray full of freshly washed cocktail glasses. “All right. I can take a hint. Clio’s due a break in any case.”

  “Are you sure you can manage on your own?” Clio asked, eyeing the queue of customers.

  “Not a problem. Máire, my girlfriend, just walked through the door. She can help me out while you take your break.”

  “Follow me,” Olivia said. “I’ll introduce you round.”

  Olivia led the way to the neat little snug in the corner of the main lounge. Three steps descended to a little room that had been wallpapered with vintage newspaper highlighting events from Irish history—some serious, some inane. Olivia’s friends were seated at a table in the corner. She indicated a handsome dark-haired man Clio recognized from TV interviews. “This is Jonas, my husband.”

  “Hi.” Clio shook his hand. “I stayed up late last night finishing the first of your DI Brady mysteries. Very well done.”

  The man gave a slow smile. “I hear Bridie put in a good word for me.”

  “It paid off. Now I want to read the rest in the series.”

  “Have you met Gavin and Fiona yet?” Jonas nodded to the couple seated across from him. “Fiona is Bridie’s niece.”

  “Welcome to Ballybeg.” Fiona was a pretty, slightly plump woman with long, curly dark hair and a warm smile. “Are you settling into Clonmore House?”

  “We’re still unpacking,” Clio said, taking a seat next to Olivia. “My plans to be finished by the weekend were scuppered by getting this job.”

  Gavin, Fiona’s husband, was tall and blond with an athletic build. He looked vaguely familiar. “Didn’t we pass one another jogging the other day?” he asked. “Out on the promenade?”

  “Probably. I’m trying to get back in shape in time for the Cork City Marathon. I ran marathons when I lived in Spain and kept up my training when I moved back to Dublin. Since we arrived in Ballybeg, I’ve barely managed a quick jog.”

  “Marathons?” Gavin perked up visibly. “Say, you don’t want to train with us, do you?”

  “Oh, no.” Fiona wagged a finger. “You suggested we get in shape for the Ballybeg Sports Day. You never mentioned us running marathons.”

  “Sports day, marathon.” Gavin shrugged. “If we keep at it, who knows what we might achieve?”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. “Gavin is always trying to recruit people to train for the annual Ballybeg Sports Day. As you can see”—she grabbed a little excess flesh around her midriff—“he hasn’t been successful with me.”

  Her husband flashed her a wicked grin. “New Year, new goals, Fee. Why don’t we all arrange to go for a morning jog a couple of times a week?”

  Clio gave her schedule a mental check. Getting back into a running routine would be wonderful. Squeezing a run into the days she worked at the pub would be tough, but she could manage it on the other days. It would be good for her asthma and good for her head. “I can do a run on the days I’m not working here. My current schedule has me working Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays.”

  “How about next Wednesday morning?” Gavin beamed at the assembled company. “I’m sure Jonas would love to join us, and Olivia will be free then too.”

  “I run my own café,” Olivia explained. “Wednesday is my morning off.”

  “Okay,” Clio said. “Sounds like a plan. When and where do you usually meet?”

  “Seven a.m. at the carousel on the promenade.” Gavin knocked back the remainder of his whiskey sour. “Do you know where that is?”

  “I think so. Just off the main square and toward the seafront?”

  “That’s the place.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you then.” Clio glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back to work. Enjoy your evening.”

  She strode back to the bar with a spring in her step, whistling a tune under her breath. Finally, something was going right. While working at MacCarthy’s was a temporary solution, she liked the other staff, and a job in a pub was an excellent opportunity to get to know her new neighbors. The tune she was whistling faltered when her phone buzzed with an incoming message. With a sinking heart, she scanned the display: March 14.

  Chapter Twenty

  SEÁN STOOD IN LINE at the drinks stand and suppressed a groan. The people of Ballybeg used any event as an excuse to party, and Valentine’s Day was no exception. The town hall was full of people with forced cheer and jollity, overindulging in cheap sweet wine and even sweeter treats. The walls were festooned with cheesy red hearts, cupids, and streamers. Liberating a few coins from his pocket, he paid for three drinks and then began to navigate the crowd.

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nbsp; Ballybeg’s town hall was located in a building dating from the mid-nineteenth century. He recalled the hall from his childhood, especially from attending the annual Christmas bazaar with his family. In those days, the high ceilings seemed to stretch to impossible heights, and the rich polished wood floors were a wide expanse. When he’d seen the hall again for the first time in over twenty-five years, he’d been shocked to observe how much smaller it was than in his memories.

  To the left of the entrance, Clio and Helen Havelin stood waiting for him, the former wearing a bored expression, and the latter surprisingly on edge for one used to public attention.

  “Not your scene?” he asked, handing them their drinks.

  “Not exactly.” Clio took a sip of her sweet drink and winced. “You’re one to talk. You were regarding the crowd with all the enthusiasm of a man faced with babysitting sextuplets. Incontinent sextuplets.”

  He smiled down at her. “No,” he said wryly. “This is definitely not my idea of a fun Saturday excursion. I’m here in my professional capacity. I’m due to take over from Brian in a few minutes. He’ll drive you home after the fair.”

  Helen was clutching her drink in one hand and her handbag in the other. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned the crowd. “Some of the visitors seem on the rough side. Do fights often break out at these events?”

  Clio’s gaze met his and her nose twitched in that adorable gesture she made when she was fighting back laughter.

  “Where the drink flows freely,” he said, straight-faced, “fists have been known to fly.”

  “How undignified.” The older woman sniffed. “I only came to lend Tammy moral support.”

  “Didn’t they hold these fairs when you were a child?” Clio asked her mother. “Surely you came to a few with your family.”

  “My father didn’t believe in parties of any kind.” Her mother’s mouth hardened. “He was rather strict. Speaking of people I used to know, I think I see a girl I went to school with over by the potted plants. My, hasn’t she aged?” With this parting remark, Helen swanned across the hall toward her hapless former classmate.

  This time, Clio’s nose twitch gave way to a hearty laugh—deep, dirty, and oh so sexy. His trousers felt tight at the sound. It brought back very pleasant memories of their night at the hotel.

  “How’s Tammy settling in at her new school?” He nodded toward a group of uniformed singers, keen to distract himself from X-rated visions of Clio mid orgasm.

  Her gaze flitted to her daughter. “She’s finding it difficult to make friends, but it’s early days. Like my mother, I’m here for Tammy’s sake. She has a lovely singing voice but she loathes performing in public. I promised I’d come along if she was forced to attend.”

  “The Reluctant Revelers,” he said with a grin. “We should form a band.”

  “No chance. Tammy’s the one with the musical talent, and she certainly didn’t get that from me.”

  “From her dad, then?” He was curious to know more about Clio’s past. She was always careful to steer the conversation away from any mention of her life before Ballybeg.

  Her lips parted as if to answer. His gaze lingered on their soft pink surface, recalling the soft heat of her mouth on his. As if reading his thoughts, she licked them, and a searing jolt of awareness turned the tightness in his trousers into a full-blown hard-on. Not appropriate under the present circumstances. And yet he couldn’t look away.

  “Yes. She gets her musical talent from her father.”

  Taking a step back, she put an arm’s worth of distance between them, effectively ending both that particular conversation thread and the charged vibe between them in one movement. Seán exhaled the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding.

  The plump and cheery face of Mrs. Coombs bobbed before him, beaming from ear to ear, sliding unsubtle glances from him to Clio and back again. “Want to buy your girlfriend a Valentine’s Day rose, Sergeant Mackey?”

  “I’m not—” Clio said at the same moment he said, “We’re not—”

  Mrs. Coombs’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s for a good cause. All proceeds go to the breast cancer foundation.”

  Seán slid a hand into his uniform pocket and retrieved his wallet. “I’ll take three,” he said, handing her a twenty-euro note.

  “Oh, that’s very good of you, Sergeant.” The older woman turned to Clio. “I don’t think I’ve seen our Sergeant Mackey out with a girlfriend since he moved to Ballybeg. You’re a lucky woman.”

  Clio’s every gesture brimmed with mirth. “He’s a lucky man.”

  “Tut-tut,” he said once the woman was out of earshot. “By the time she’s finished spreading rumors, half Ballybeg will be planning our nuptials. That said”—he handed her one of the roses—“this is for you.”

  “Why, thank you.” She buried her nose in the delicate bloom. “Mmm…at least I can say I got one Valentine this year.” She observed the other roses with curiosity. “Who are you planning to give those to?”

  “They’re for Tammy and your mother.” He hesitated briefly, recalling her outburst in the Book Mark. “That is, if you don’t mind me giving one to Tammy. A flower might cheer her up.”

  “No, that’s fine. It’s sweet of you, actually.” A frown line appeared between her brows. “I’m surprised you want to give one to my mother. I’ve gotten the distinct impression that she’s not your favorite person on the planet.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe not. I could hardly give you and Tammy roses and have none for her.”

  “You’re a gentleman,” she teased. “Your mother must be very proud of you.”

  He sucked in a breath, blinked rapidly. “My mother is dead.”

  Shite. She hadn’t expected that response. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “No reason you should have.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he blinked a couple of times. “The vinyl collection Brian was teasing me about used to be my mother’s. That’s why I keep it. Playing her records reminds me of her swaying to her favorite songs.”

  “That’s a lovely way to remember her, Seán,” she said softly, touching his arm and sending a frisson of awareness skittering over his skin

  He cleared his throat. “I’d better check in with Brian. Also look for potential stalkers in your mother’s vicinity.”

  Clio laughed and tossed her empty cup into a nearby rubbish bin. “She hasn’t even mentioned the stalker again. I’m convinced it was a figment of her imagination.”

  “Well, we have to take these reports seriously. Wouldn’t do to have Ireland’s favorite agony aunt clipped before our very eyes.”

  “Seán!” she said in faux outrage before dissolving into giggles.

  “Sorry. Gallows humor. A job prerequisite.”

  She scrunched her brow. “My mother has a few overzealous admirers, but I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her. At this point, her conservative views on family life are treated more as a joke than a threat.”

  “Don’t let her hear you saying that. I get the impression Helen is as particular about her professional reputation as she is about her appearance.”

  “The understatement of the year.” Clio’s laugh sounded hollow. “As you can imagine, I’m a bitter disappointment.”

  Taking this as an excellent excuse to check out her assets, he allowed his gaze to roam over her tight-fitting pullover and skinny jeans. “Don’t be daft. You’re a good-looking woman.”

  She jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “And you, Sergeant Mackey, are a shameless flatterer.”

  “No flattery needed,” he said softly. “I’d take you over polished perfection any day.” On impulse, he reached out to smooth back a stray strand of red hair that had escaped her messy ponytail. His fingers lingered on her silky soft hair, brushing the tip of her ear.

  “You’d better go and find Garda Glenn.” Her voice had dropped to a husky whisper that set his blood humming through his veins. “We Havelins are commandeering far too much of your time as it is.”
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br />   “Time spent with you is no hardship at all,” he murmured, mesmerized by her aura. In his mind, he shoved her against the wall, ripped off her clothes, and had mind-altering sex with her right there in the town hall, spectators be damned.

  “Cliona!” A sharp voice cut through the electrically charged moment. Helen shoved her way through the crowd, clutching her handbag to her chest as though it were in imminent danger from thieves. “I’d like you to meet some of the people I’ve invited to the housewarming party.”

  Seán dropped his hand to his side, the feel of her skin lingering on his fingertips.

  “Coming, Mother.” Clio shifted awkwardly. “See you later, Seán. Thanks for the lift.”

  “My pleasure.” He caught her arm as she moved to leave. Those full pink lips begged to be kissed. For a moment, he was tempted to throw caution to the wind and give in to the impulse. Her breath was warm and smelled sweetly of mulled wine and cloves. They stood there for a moment, caught in a weird electricity, the sparks between them dancing, ready to ignite.

  “Cliona,” Helen demanded. “Are you coming?”

  She was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. “I really had better go. See you soon.”

  Motionless, he watched her disappear into the crowd. He’d come close to kissing her in public. Too close. So long as he was supposed to keep an eye on Helen, her daughter was off limits. But once he was no longer Helen’s unofficial bodyguard…

  The sound of raucous laughter made him spin round. “Oh, no,” he groaned when he registered the source of the laughter.

  John-Joe Fitzgerald was holding court behind the hot whiskey stand. If his unsteady hands were a reliable indicator, he’d imbibed at least as much of the alcohol-laced beverage as he’d served. Much to a gathering throng’s amusement, he was having difficulty pouring the hot liquid into mugs. It splashed over the side, burning his hand.

  “Who the hell put that eejit in charge of serving drink?” he said, thinking aloud. “In what universe did anyone think that was a good idea?”