“Not to worry.” She said as she leaned forward and stared out the windshield with rapt attention. She looked like a Formula One driver, and Jim surreptitiously looked in the back to check for a helmet. She revved the engine once, twice, and the third time, popped the clutch, and tore out into the melee of Dublin traffic. “There are plenty of roads that are just one lane anyway.”
“Oh great.” Jim coughed and tried to dislodge his heart stuck somewhere near the vicinity of his Adam’s apple.
“Oh aye, but it’s the loveliest sights in the world this side of Heaven, and I should know.” Seamus’s brogue was so thick, it was hard to understand him at times.
“Ah jeez,” Jim mumbled. He glanced quickly about for the persistent leprechaun.
“Don’t worry a bit of it. I’ll see to it all.” Megan tilted her head and quirked a smile before she stomped on the accelerator.
Jim lurched forward and then slammed back against the seat when Megan tore into second and then into third gear. A driver behind them leaned on his horn, and somewhere, very near, brakes all over the avenues squealed alarmingly.
“Ah bollocks,” Megan mumbled. “Sorry. We’ll get out of the city soon and be on our merry way. Now, help me with this next bit. It’s the turn-a-bout and we have to make the fourth shoot.” Megan gave a quick look over her shoulder and attempted to merge into the heavy flow of traffic. She downshifted and the engine whined like a banshee. Again, horns blared and tires squealed, and Jim found himself saying a prayer he’d learned in grade school. He forced himself not to cover his eyes.
“Ah, such a lovely prayer, it is. But it’s a bit too childish for such a big strapping lad. Now, of course, you remember the Angelus? In the Latin, don’t you know,” said Seamus, reminding Jim of a much longer prayer he’d had to memorize in junior high school.
Jim turned his head toward the back seat and glared at Seamus. The little leprechaun was lounging on top of Jim’s briefcase, and this time he’d brought a hillock of grass and a tiny sheep with googly eyes. The sheep looked an awful lot like the sheep on the mattress commercial televised in the States. The sheep looked up chewing, and closed his googly eyes, Baaaaa. The leprechaun winked at Jim.
“Stay out of this,” he mouthed. He was glad Megan concentrated on the traffic and didn’t see him talking to Seamus. He hoped. Jim’s head whipped as Megan stomped on the brakes. The car lurched and then lunged into the coming fray.
“Only one of two.” Megan nodded toward the turn-a-bout and took a split second to smile at Jim.
Jim turned toward the back. Maybe if he wasn’t looking out of the windshield, the traffic might not give him a heart attack. He took a peek at Seamus and his livestock. The tiny sheep, oblivious to the traffic outside the car, closed his eyes, took another mouthful of grass, and chewed contentedly.
“Wha—?” Jim said. He wiped his palms hurriedly on his pants. He tried to focus his attention on the sky, the sidewalk, the buildings, the people, the fire hydrant, anything but the car shooting inches from their front bumper cutting them off.
“Turn-a-bout, Jim. Well, maybe that’s not it exactly,” said Megan. She turned her head, looking for oncoming traffic.
That is, traffic that wasn’t already up their tailpipe blaring away.
“I’m not sure. I only know of two, but Dublin is a big city. Do you have them in the States?”
“Yes,” Jim croaked after he caught his breath and pumped the imaginary brake in front of him several times, pushing so hard that his foot began to go numb. He squeezed his eyes shut, making his mind focus on Megan’s questions and not on his lunch threatening to make a reappearance.
“There’s one in Braintree, Massachusetts, that has no rhyme nor reason,” he murmured. “The first one there gets in first, that sort of thing. There are lots of accidents. Of course, it’s always the other guy’s fault,” he said, amazed at his quiet, calm tone, because he felt a little frenzied at that moment. He took another calming breath, sagged against the seat, and then opened his eyes a tiny bit.
He chuckled nervously and clutched the dashboard when a huge Mercedes screeched to a stop in front of them.
The little car lurched to a halt and the sudden silence inside was deafening. Jim turned to look at Megan who turned to look at him.
“I feel right at home.” Jim noted that his voice was steady and quiet; and he could still hear the sound of the tiny sheep’s baaaa. “The traffic is worse than this in Boston. That’s why I always take the train.” Jim grinned and Megan laughed before the traffic again began to move.
Moments later they were on the M4 and drove farther out of the city.
Jim stared at the scenes before him. It was idyllic; green hills punctuated by ancient stone walls and lines of deep trees edging the road side. They passed several huge modern businesses like those found in the States, but by and large, he saw fields, fields, and more fields. He thoroughly enjoyed the beauty all around him. The gently rolling hills that weren’t covered with snow were so green they hurt his eyes.
“We’ll be going through County Mayo on the way. Here, take a look.” Megan pulled out a map and handed it to him. For the first time, he noticed her snug jeans, and wondered what those long, lean legs looked like bare. He shook his head and cleared his mind to look at the map.
“Do you know what city or town she was from?” asked Megan.
“Who?”
“Your grandmother, of course.” Megan laughed.
“Can’t remember.”
“Some grandson you are.”
“Ha, she would absolutely agree with you. She left Ireland when she was ten and she’s eighty-two now. I guess her birthplace has changed a bit. You should hear her talk. Sounds like she left yesterday. She has more of an accent than you do. For the most part, you sound quite properly British.”
“Ah, but, O’Flannery, I haven’t got the accent here—you do. After all, where are you?”
“Hmm, point taken.” Jim tried again to focus his attention on the countryside outside the car window. His last glance into the back revealed Seamus laying on his back enjoying a nap and two sheep and a goat, all about one inch high, munching on the tuft of “Seamus grass.” Seamus popped up and glared at Jim after his last remark.
“’Tis not an accent at all, me lad. Don’t you know it was our way of defying the English? They took away our language and made us speak theirs, so we mangled it a bit. Don’t you know? ’Twas the Kilkenny Statutes of 1366 that demanded of the Irish that they no longer speak the Irish. Such a terrible thing to be takin’ away, our own language as it were. And how can you be insultin’ the lass by telling her she sounds British?”
Within a second, Seamus appeared on the dash in front of Jim, sans sheep and goat. He sat and dangled his legs, grinning from ear to ear. He lit his tiny pipe, and Jim was very surprised when he actually smelled tobacco.
The little fellow then made a cradle of his arms and rocked back and forth as though he rocked a baby.
“Thanks for the history lesson,” Jim mouthed. “Now scram!” The leprechaun vanished in a puff of green vapor, but a tiny wisp of tobacco still lingered near the windshield. Jim watched Megan from the corner of his eye as she crinkled up her nose for an instant as though she were trying to decide if she smelled something.
The car’s cramped interior left little room for Jim to stretch, and he and Megan were forced to sit quite close together. Her scent pummeled his defenses, and he forgot about Seamus. She smelled like sunshine or maybe it was lemon and something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A strand of her hair had come loose from its tight bun and drifted around Megan’s cheek. That lucky piece of hair. Then again, look how close he sat to her. Nope, no thinking about her hair.
Jim felt the warmth from Megan’s arm seep through his sweater sleeve. He tried to move his arm discreetly, but there wasn’t any place to move it to. The feeling began to play havoc with his defenses. Maybe he’d ask to stop and stretch his legs, so he could get away from the tem
ptation of Megan Kennedy.
Jim looked out past the dashboard at the scenery. Despite it being January, the landscape was so green, it was remarkable. He turned his head to look through the rear window and Seamus the Leprechaun stood with his hands on hips on top of Jim’s briefcase.
“I can read your thoughts, you know,” he said waggling his eyebrows at Jim. “It’s too early for any of that monkey business. You should be thinking about what a fine stew she can make you, or darnin’ your socks, or…”
“If you can read my mind,” Jim thought as he looked at the little man, “then bug off.”
Seamus doffed his hat and bowed deeply to Jim. Jim blew out an exasperated breath and with one hand positioned on the back of Megan’s seat, waved Seamus off.
“What’s the matter, Jim?”
“Nothing.” Jim stared out the windshield and tried to ignore Megan’s troubled glances and Seamus’s presence.
“Do you think people still believe in leprechauns?” he asked suddenly. Man, could he sound like a dork, or what? He had tried to make the comment nonchalant but had failed utterly.
Seamus did a great job of distracting him from Megan. Maybe Megan could distract him from Seamus.
“Le-pre-chauns?” Megan said with each syllable drawn out and elongated with those red-gold eyebrows of hers rising to her hairline. She turned her gaze back to the road. A silence followed. Then more silence. Jim was wondering if he’d said too much and probably really put his foot in it. He tried to slump down in the seat.
“There’s a man near here who found a shoe. A hand-sewn, pointed toe, leather shoe, all of two inches long. It was shown on TV on one of these documentaries about the magical world, a really well-done piece, by the way. The writer is a man I’ve met that works for the BBC.
“At any rate, he said it was an elf’s shoe, although I haven’t any idea as to how he knew this. There are crags and hills and burrows that are so remote that no one has yet thoroughly explored them. Have I ever seen a leprechaun? No,” she said, dragging the syllable out until it sounded like a creaking door. “Do I believe in them?” She quirked him a smile before she again turned her attention back to the road. “I’ll reserve judgment.”
“Good,” Jim said as he snuggled himself down into the small seat. At least she hadn’t ejected him from the car or turned herself off to the possibility. That was always a plus. So maybe he wasn’t losing his mind entirely.
“Tell me something, O’Flannery. What’s all this talk of leprechauns, eh? I think this must be the second or third time you’ve asked.”
Jim looked at her profile. That old feeling that has me in a spin, lovin’ the spin I’m in, as the song went. His heart began to flutter inside his chest when a strand of her hair played about her cheek in the stir of air inside the car. He sighed inaudibly and searched his mind and heart for a means to distance himself from everything, especially the warmth that started at the top of his head and traveled down to the soles of his feet.
He had come here to do a job, and being distracted by this really beautiful, talented, funny, personable woman would get in the way if he didn’t stop it right now. The urge to breathe deeply of her scent and let it surround him became almost too much.
She turned her head and looked at him quizzically. “Did you hear me?”
“What?”
“Did you hear me? I asked you why all this talk about leprechauns.”
“Oh—”
He felt so silly asking, but he needed to know. He’d have to disguise the question for sure. What would she think of him if she knew about Seamus, his very own private angel/leprechaun, the little twerp who constantly plagued him to death? Seamus’s whole aim, he was sure, was to drive him to distraction and annoy him to death. It was too soon after Angela; matter of fact, anytime would be too soon. Some things in life you just have to keep to yourself. Besides, they didn’t know each other well enough for him to talk about Seamus. She’d think he was a total nitwit or worse, a man that needed watching because perhaps he was dangerous. He’d have to make up something. But what?
“Do you think Americans care for that kind of thing?” she asked, still pursuing the topic.
“Oh, yeah no doubt, they’d eat it up. Maybe I’ll turn the whole mystical magical thing into a book and sell it on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. Do you like the idea?”
Megan turned and looked at him inscrutably but said nothing.
Glancing toward the back seat, Jim found it devoid of Seamus. Hmm, maybe the little guy really had bugged off. When he wasn’t so damnably tired, he’d have to try to figure it all out about Seamus. Why did he actually see him? Why did Seamus have this harebrained idea that he had to set Jim up with Megan to save Jim’s soul? Hogwash.
Jim shifted again and found a semi-comfortable position. The effects of jet lag pounded behind his temples. He was so tired and his head might fall off with the pounding it was giving him. If he could catch a short nap, then he’d be ready for anything. He yawned, but the yawn didn’t embarrass him at all. He was so very tired. His eyes closed. Soon, he dozed off to the steady rhythm of the tires on the road.
****
Megan glanced over at Jim for just a moment before she drew her attention again to the road. His eyes were closed and his long black eyelashes lay against his cheekbones. The black rough beard on his cheeks and chin showed already, even at three in the afternoon.
If she had eyelashes like that she wouldn’t need mascara. He was such a magnificent looking man. And the nice part was he didn’t seem to know it.
The things she had believed about getting the proper credit for the piece they’d write together still plagued her. Perhaps Jim told the truth about her byline in America. It would be more than wonderful if it actually did happen. It seemed she’d found a man who was simply concerned about her well-being and not about what he could get from her. Lovely, simply lovely.
Deep in her heart, she wanted more than anything to find out that all men weren’t like Richard, out to get what they wanted and leave her flat. How could she be sure? Most of the men she’d met so far in her limited “all-girls school” experience had been out to get what they could from her. Maybe she was too inexperienced to make a call about all men or even most men. She was not using her journalist’s objectivity.
Determined to think of something more pleasant, Megan rolled down the window a bit. She imagined she could smell the sea air, although they had another hour to drive before they reached the coast.
“Well, and why don’t you open that heart of yours a bit and let the man in, colleen?”
My God! It was the same voice, the voice from last night, the same voice that had whispered to her this morning at the office. Her heart hammered and skipped, hammered and skipped, and she gasped for air. Cold sweat dampened her hands and her grip loosened on the steering wheel.
“No,” she shouted.
Jim awoke with a start.
Megan shouted, her head jerking about as she looked quickly from side to side. She clutched the steering wheel and pulled it back and forth causing the car to skitter and weave between lanes. What had just happened? Was she going mad?
Megan’s hand trembled on the wheel, and for just a second, the little car seemed to hang suspended in mid-air between lanes. Car and truck horns blared a warning. She had to slow down and get them to the safety of the shoulder, now. She decelerated, making the move smoothly into the slow lane, even though her hand shook on the gear shift.
“Pull over, Kennedy, before you get us both killed,” Jim said, his voice deadly calm.
Megan’s body shook visibly, but she smoothly turned the wheel over to the left and put steady pressure on the brake. Gravel slushed out behind them ferociously, scattering for yards. Horns honked frantically, blasting in protest from the vehicles behind them. Then the sounds faded away, the eerie silence punctuated by the wind gusting against the little car.
Megan slapped the gear into neutral, put on the emergency brake, and laid her head on
the steering wheel.
“What happened? Why did you scream?”
When Jim put a conciliatory hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it away vehemently. She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the seat. What was that voice? Was she haunted? He really would think she was crazy. Crap! Bloody hell! She couldn’t let the trip and the assignment go to hell because she heard voices. The editors at the Times would replace her in a heartbeat.
“Megan, what’s wrong?” Jim spoke in a calm and reassuring tone.
“Nothing.”
“Bull. What’s wrong? Why did you scream?”
“Afraid it ’twas me, Jimmy lad.” A very small voice came from the back seat. The angel hung his head, his hands clasped behind his back. He glanced up at Jim.
“Didn’t mean to scare the poor girl. Frightened her last evening as well. Don’t seem to have this idea about talking to her inside her head perfected just yet. Although, I seem to be doing quite well with you. Know that I’ve done it good and proper this time. Sorry, Jim lad.” The little angel’s shoulders slumped forward. He was obviously chagrined having put his responsibility, Jim, and Megan at risk.
“Are you my guardian angel/leprechaun?” Jim hoped his thought was loud enough for the leprechaun to hear.
“Well, and haven’t I told you as much?”
“Then leave Miss Kennedy alone. Got it?” Jim directed this thought to Seamus in as scathing a tone as he could manage, while never taking his eyes from Megan. The poor woman was still breathing heavily, but in short order had otherwise gotten herself under control.
“Cars can be very dangerous,” Jim said aloud, enunciating each word and looking at the leprechaun out of the corner of his eye as he took Megan’s hand. “People get killed in cars every day.”
“O’Flannery, you aren’t helping a bit,” said Megan with disgust, slapping his hand away. Neither spoke. The only sounds were cars in the distance and the turn signal’s annoying little tink, tink, tink.
“Are you going to tell me what the voice said?”
Megan whipped her head around with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes narrowed at Jim.
The Wild Mountain Thyme Page 7