by Anne Barwell
“It was touch and go last night, but he’s pulled through. I waited to talk to Edward when I dropped Mikey off at the hospital,” Donovan said. “The old guy is stubborn as hell. Edward’s words, not mine. Family trait apparently.”
Mikey had ended up staying a couple of days with them at the inn, and had today off school so he could spend time with his grandfather.
“The kid’s been really restless, so I doubt he’d settle enough to focus at school until he’d seen him, anyway.” Ethan had spent some time talking with Mikey while Donovan had battled the dishwasher. Although Donovan had only heard bits and pieces of their conversation, it only served to confirm his earlier observation that Ethan was good with kids and took the time to listen to them. Donovan wished he could see him in front of a class—from what he’d observed, he figured Ethan was a great teacher.
“Once he’s seen for himself that his grandfather is recovering, he’ll feel better. I’ve never seen Mikey that quiet before. I was getting worried.”
“We all deal with stuff in different ways,” Ethan said. “Have you had lunch? I was waiting until you got here to order.”
“I was going to have something when I get home. I had a good breakfast.” Donovan’s stomach rumbled, traitor that it was.
“Right.” Ethan gestured to Craig, who was clearing tables nearby. “It’s not too late to order lunch, is it?”
“Nope, you’re good.” Craig walked over to them, slinging his tea towel over his shoulder. “What are you after? I can recommend the shepherd’s pie. It’s very tasty but not too spicy, and there’s quite a bit left.”
“You like shepherd’s pie?” Ethan asked Donovan, scanning the blackboard menu.
“Yes, but—” Donovan had already done the math in his head before they’d met. He figured he had enough money for a beer, but adding lunch to that was a little out of his reach today.
“Two shepherd’s pies, then,” Ethan said. He reached into his pocket for his wallet. “My treat. We’re celebrating.”
“Oh, a special occasion!” Craig grinned and winked at Donovan. “And you didn’t tell me? I’m wounded.” He glanced from one to the other. “So… when did you guys get together?”
“We’re not together.” Donovan and Ethan both spoke quickly, the denial coming out in unison.
“Of course not.” Craig’s grin grew wider. “My bad. Sorry. Two shepherd’s pies coming right up.”
Donovan scowled at him, but Craig ignored him and wandered back to the kitchen. Donovan would have to have a word with him later. “Sorry about that,” he said to Ethan. “You know what it’s like in small villages. I swear some of them think they’re running a matchmaking service. You should have heard the gossip before Heidi and Doug hooked up. I heard they were running a betting pool on how long it would take them to tell each other how they felt.”
“Yes, I have heard that about small villages.” Ethan put his wallet away. “I’m guessing I’ll pay him when he comes back, then,” he murmured. A slow blush crept up over his face. “I hope he isn’t considering running another betting pool. It would be a waste of time.”
“Of course it would,” Donovan agreed. “Just because we’re meeting for a drink doesn’t mean there’s anything going on.”
After all, he didn’t have feelings like that for Ethan. Donovan enjoyed his company, but it was a big step between growing a friendship and falling for someone.
“Right.” Ethan seemed nervous all of a sudden.
“Small village,” Donovan repeated. “Lots of gossip.” Craig’s theory would be around the village by dinnertime, especially if Mrs. O’Neil heard about it. He sighed. “You didn’t need to buy me lunch either. But thanks anyway. My treat next time, okay?”
“Maybe.” Ethan cleared his throat. “We are celebrating, by the way. I was going to tell you later, but I suppose now is as good a time as any.”
“Celebrating what?” Donovan doubted Ethan had gotten any more news about Tomas, as he wouldn’t have waited this long to say something. “Is it something to do with what you mentioned last night?”
“Yes. You know I sent your carving to my friend Mitchell?”
“Yeah?” Donovan refused to get his hopes up. Even if Mitchell liked it, he’d probably only want a one-off order as a favor to Ethan.
“He loved it, and not only that, he showed it to a friend of his who is interested too. They want to meet you and see some more of your work. He phoned me this morning about it.” Ethan smiled, and his whole expression lightened. He looked more open and relaxed than Donovan had seen him since they’d met.
Donovan’s breath hitched, and he returned the smile.
“Donovan?”
“Yeah?”
“So are you free tomorrow?”
“What? Huh?” Oops, Donovan had missed that question completely. He forced himself to focus. This was important, more so than… yeah it was important. “Oh yes. I’m free tomorrow. Are you?”
Ethan gave him a look, one that suggested he was questioning Donovan’s sanity or current lack thereof. “Are you okay?” he asked. “And do I need to repeat what I just said? I could have sworn you were miles away. Look, if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. I just thought it might help, and I was serious when I said I think you’re really talented. I love your work.”
“I’m fine.” Donovan wasn’t about to admit he’d been seriously distracted and why. “Sorry, could you repeat what you just said? I think I might have missed some of it, yeah.”
“Mitchell has asked if you could come down to London tomorrow and meet him and his friend at his gallery. She’s over from the States, so it would be a chance to really expand your potential market. They both want to look at more of your stuff. I offered to come with you, but if you’d prefer….” Ethan trailed off.
“I’d like you to come with me.” Donovan hoped that didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he’d felt when he said the words. “I don’t know Mitchell or where to find his gallery,” he added quickly, in case Ethan had gotten the wrong idea. He’d dig into his savings to cover the expenses for the trip. All going well, it could lead to another income source, and he couldn’t afford to ignore the opportunity. A day out away from Oakwood with Ethan would be an added bonus.
“Oh good. It’s settled, then. Mitchell….” Ethan clammed up as Patricia approached their table, carrying two plates.
Donovan quickly moved his glass to one side to give her room to put the plates down. “Thanks, Tricia,” he said.
“You’re very welcome.” Patricia wiped her hands on her apron. She looked tired, and to Donovan’s surprise didn’t correct his shortened use of her name. “How’s old Mr. Edmonds? He used to be a regular in here before his daughter passed away. I haven’t seen Edward since he went up to the hospital, and I heard Mikey was staying at the inn for a few days.”
“It was touch and go at first, but he’s recovering now,” Donovan told her. “Mikey and Edward are with him today.”
The door opened, and a familiar figure shuffled through it. Donovan had figured it would only be a matter of time before old Eoin turned up to introduce himself to Ethan. Like many of the villagers, he couldn’t resist meeting anyone new.
“It’s difficult at that age,” Patricia said. “You don’t have the reserves to pull on like you do when you’re younger. Poor old man has had a tragic life, you know, losing his wife at a young age, and then his daughter. And while Edward’s always been good about looking after him, I’m sure it’s rough for him too, keeping that post office going, and Mikey’s not always the easiest, although he’s a good kid.”
“It’s difficult losing family at any age,” Ethan said, “And old Mr. Edmonds wouldn’t have known his father either.”
“Lots of that age didn’t, with the war and all.” Eoin pulled up a chair and sat down next to them. He leaned his cane against the table and smiled at them with gray-stained teeth. “I’ll have my usual, please, Patricia.” Kip, Eoin’s black-and-white collie, settled at
his feet. Donovan bent to pat him, and Kip looked up at him, wearing his usual hopeful “feed me” expression.
“Afternoon, Eoin,” Patricia said. “Your partners in crime aren’t here yet, but I doubt they’ll be much longer.”
Ethan reached into his pocket for his wallet again, but Patricia shook her head. “Pay for your meal when you’re done. It’s not as though you’re going to skip town, after all, is it?”
“Thanks. You’re very trusting.” Ethan seemed surprised, but he gave her a smile.
“Nothing today, boy,” Donovan told the dog. “Ethan, this is Eoin and his dog, Kip. Eoin, Ethan Leavitt. He’s staying with us at the inn.”
Donovan didn’t remember ever having heard Eoin’s last name, and he’d always been introduced as just Eoin. The villagers referred to him as “Old Eoin” although Donovan had never found out his age. He lived with his sister on a farm that had been in their family for generations. For an old guy with a cane, he was quite sprightly and could move quickly when he wanted to. Donovan had offered to make him a new cane once, after Eoin had admired his carvings, but Eoin had thanked him and declined. His cane had been in his family for years; his father had used it, and his father before him.
“Pleased to meet you, young Ethan.” Eoin tipped his hat. It was an old-fashioned fedora, and he was rarely seen without it. “Don’t worry, I’m not staying. I know you boys have things you want to talk about.” He winked. “My sister missed you both at afternoon tea on Wednesday.”
“You’re Mrs. O’Neil’s brother?” Ethan asked. He held out his hand to Eoin, who shook it, an amused expression on his face. Kip sniffed at Ethan once they were done shaking hands, and licked Ethan’s fingers. Ethan patted him. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? I’m not feeding you, though.”
“I keep telling her it’s not just me who feeds him, but she doesn’t believe me. I have no idea why.” Eoin chuckled. “Brenda’s all right, you know. Just likes to have her finger on the pulse and all that.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Donovan muttered. More like someone couldn’t sneeze within a fifty-mile radius without her knowing about it and turning up to offer tissues in case they were needed. He added a good-sized dollop of Worcestershire sauce to his meal, picked up his knife and fork, and started eating.
Eoin grinned and nodded over to where Jane and Gary were still talking. “Interesting, the types you get in here, isn’t it? I’m surprised to see those two chatting away. They strike me as very chalk and cheese. One you can’t get two words out of, the other….”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Ethan said. “Bloody woman keeps trying to flirt with me.” He added salt and pepper to his pie but didn’t start eating. Donovan pushed the sauce bottle toward him, but he shook his head. “No thanks. I prefer mine without.”
Eoin laughed. “Poor girl. She’ll learn.” He caught Craig’s gaze from across the room, gave him a nod, and waved him over.
“I’ll bring your order in a moment, Eoin,” Craig said. “You’re a bit early today. Everything okay?”
“I’m not that much of a slave to the clock,” Eoin said, “but thanks for asking.” Two other men about his age entered the pub, and he grinned when he saw them. “Ah, there’s trouble, and my cue to take my leave. I’m looking forward to seeing more of you around here, Ethan.”
“The three musketeers,” Craig said as Eoin wandered over to meet his friends, “although I’ve never worked out which one of them is supposed to be which. Apparently there used to be four of them, but one passed away before I started working here. They’ve known each other for years.”
“You don’t know the names of your regular customers?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.
Craig laughed. “Definitely a city bloke you’ve got yourself there, Donovan.”
“He’s not—” Donovan didn’t know why he was bothering. People in Oakwood thought what they wanted, and it was a waste of time arguing with them. “Craig means he hasn’t worked out which musketeer they are yet. Athos, Porthos, or Aramis.”
“Sometimes it’s better not to think too hard about such things,” Ethan said, picking up his knife and fork.
“I’ll leave you guys to your meal. Enjoy.” Craig grinned at both of them before walking over to the bar.
“The locals certainly aren’t shy in stating their opinions,” Ethan said, cutting his pie into a perfect half, and then mixing the potato top and the mince together before eating it. “Does anything happen that they don’t know about?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Donovan glanced over at the bar. Craig and Patricia were deep in conversation. Patricia glanced over at them, then nodded before saying something to Craig. Both kept their voices low so they couldn’t be heard.
“You’d think at least someone would know what happened to Tomas.” Ethan leaned in closer. “It’s strange, don’t you think, with everyone knowing everyone else’s business, that they don’t know about that?”
“To be honest, I’ve given up trying to make rhyme or reason of that kind of thing.” Donovan paused, fork partway to his mouth. “You were starting to say something about Mitchell before Eoin interrupted you?”
“Oh yes, so I was.” Ethan took another mouthful of pie and finished it before replying. “Mitchell’s a good guy, and he’ll give you an honest appraisal. He’s been doing this awhile, and he’s taken a few artists who were starting out and put them in touch with the right kind of audience. He says that success is often not how good you are but that the right people know you exist.”
“How did you meet him?” Donovan asked. Ethan didn’t strike him as the type to mix in art circles.
“A mutual fr—acquaintance.” Ethan reached for his beer and took a long drink. “Mitchell and Vincent, his partner, have been good friends to me. Vincent’s a musician, plays the viola. You’ll meet him tomorrow too.”
Although Ethan had not so subtly changed the subject, Donovan wasn’t about to prod him for more information, though he was curious. He hadn’t missed the pain in Ethan’s eyes when he cut himself off and changed what he’d been about to say.
“I’m looking forward to meeting them.” It would be interesting to see Ethan on his home turf and mixing with people he clearly saw as friends.
Ethan smiled. “They’ll like…. Oh God, what now?”
Donovan looked over his shoulder and groaned aloud. Jane was walking toward them. What the hell did she want? Couldn’t she see he and Ethan were trying to have a private conversation? Perhaps the only way he’d be able to get some quality time with Ethan and get to know him properly was to get away from Oakwood for a few hours.
The pub door closed with a bang, caught in a sudden gust of wind. Donovan glanced past Jane. The table she and Gary had been sitting at was empty, so the door shutting was probably Gary making his escape while he still could.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Fitzgerald?” Donovan tried to keep annoyance out of his voice but didn’t quite succeed.
“Oh, the poor man,” Jane said, sitting down at their table, a partly drunk glass of wine in one hand. She seemed genuinely upset about something.
“Perhaps you should go after him?” Ethan suggested. “If he’s upset?”
“How do you know who I’m talking about?” Jane asked. She seemed surprised.
Ethan picked up his fork, moved the little bit of food remaining on his plate around a bit, then put the utensil down again. “You were talking to Mr. Smith,” he said. “It stands to reason as he’s just left, that you’re referring to him.”
“Oh right.” Jane gave him a huge smile. “You’re very observant, Ethan.”
“Not observant enough,” Ethan murmured.
Jane appeared not to hear him. Either that or she chose to ignore the comment. She sipped her wine and leaned in toward Ethan.
Donovan moved his chair so he was sitting closer to Ethan. At the same time, Ethan moved his chair away from Jane’s, his fingers accidentally brushing Donovan’s as they shifted position. Ethan
snatched his hand away and mumbled an apology. Craig sniggered from a couple of tables to their right, grinned, and went back to wiping down tables.
“You’ve heard of the robbery, of course?” Jane directed the question to both of them to Donovan’s surprise.
“Yes, of course. It was all over the news,” Donovan confirmed.
“Well, poor Mr. Smith—Gary—works for the bank.”
“Yes, he said he works for a bank,” Ethan said. He shifted in his seat and avoided Donovan’s gaze.
“Not a bank, the bank,” Jane said. “As in, the branch that was robbed.” She sighed and took another drink of her wine. “He was there when the robbery took place. One of the people shot was a friend of his. He’s still quite distraught about it.” She lowered her voice. “People talk to me about things, you know. I’m not sure why.”
“Considering how well you keep secrets, I’m not sure why either,” Ethan said dryly.
Donovan gave him a light kick. Despite agreeing, he thought Ethan shouldn’t have voiced it. Jane was obviously upset by what Gary had told her.
“Sometimes people process things by talking about it,” Donovan said, wincing at how much he sounded like Heidi.
“And sometimes people practice what they preach,” Ethan muttered, “and don’t kick people under tables.”
“His friend is still in critical condition, but at least he’s still alive.” Jane’s eyes filled with tears. Donovan handed her a clean napkin. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” She dabbed at her eyes, her voice shaking when she finally continued. “I had a friend working there that day too. She wasn’t meant to be there. She was only filling in because someone was sick.”
“The papers said there were two people in the hospital.” Donovan spoke softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you knew one of them.”
“She died this morning,” Jane whispered. “He saw them get shot. He told….” She blew her nose on the napkin and stood quickly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a fool of myself.” Jane glanced from one to the other. “I’m going to go lie down for a while.” She laughed, but it was so obviously put on that it didn’t cover the grief she was trying to hide.