Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  After a few minutes of trying to pull the cork free, Jill gripped the bottle between her thighs and, with both hands, tugged hard on the corkscrew. The cork popped free with such a tremendous kickback it was only quick reflexes that saved Patrick from the full force of Jill’s fist hitting his cheek. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth.

  “Oh my God, Patrick! Are you okay? I’m sorry.”

  He rubbed his cheek and moved his jaw from side to side. “I think you may have broken it, Jill, ah, ooh,” he complained, trying to keep his face straight and knowing all the while that his eyes were giving him away. Jill laughed behind her hand, embarrassed. With the bottle now open, she filled Patrick’s and her own glass and they clanged them together in a toast, for what? They weren’t entirely sure, but all seemed well, and that was surely worth celebrating.

  “Lil’ filled me in a little,” Jill said, keeping her focus on her wine. Patrick waited; Jill glanced up. “About Aidan and med school.”

  “Ah, right. He’s told me himself, so.”

  “Yeah.” Jill sighed airily. “Thing is, I wanted to recommend him for a promotion. You know the owners of The Grand Heights have several more apartment buildings across the city?”

  “I didn’t know that, no.”

  “Well, they do. Ours is kind of the flagship though. It has the best facilities, it’s the most luxurious, and according to the board, it has the best staff.”

  Patrick winked. “I’d have to agree.”

  Jill smiled bashfully. “Thank you for saying so.”

  “It’s the truth, Jill. I know maybe I’m a little biased when it comes to your maintenance man, but I’m not talking about Aidan—”

  “There’s a refreshing change,” Jill said, tongue-in-cheek.

  Patrick laughed and felt a bit of a flush rising, but not so much. How wrong he’d been to assume Jill was a…cow. Just the thought of his insult ashamed him. But what she didn’t know…so he made the apology in his head: I’m sorry, Jill, but in a fit of rage I called you a terrible thing. “I just wanted to say how much I admire you for the way you handled the situation with that woman.”

  “I had something of a personal motivation.”

  “Yeah, sure, you did. And maybe that gave you a bit more emotional insight, but what I will say is this. With Aidan’s accident and his moving into the apartment, it’s been a stressful time for us both, and we wouldn’t have got through it without your support. I swear, Jilly, you and Arthur have got to be the most understanding, tolerant managers on the planet.”

  “Jilly, huh?” She narrowed her eyes. Patrick’s blush deepened. Jill shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to get used to that again, seeing as Harry always called me that when we were kids, and now Lil’ does too.” She took a mouthful of her wine and pondered. “Jill and Lily. Lil’ and Jilly. Meh. Whatever.”

  Patrick laughed heartily. It was good to see the woman so relaxed and happy.

  Jill continued, “So what do you think? About offering Aidan the promotion. He’d be overseeing the maintenance staff in all our apartment buildings.”

  “It’s not my decision.”

  “I know. I just wanted your opinion before I put it to Aidan, because you know him best.”

  “What does Lily think?”

  “She said to ask you what you think.”

  “Well then. I think you’ll need to be asking the man himself.”

  Patrick hadn’t heard him arrive, but Aidan’s arms snaked around his waist, his chin resting against Patrick’s shoulder. “Ask me what?”

  Jill bowed her head, notably uncomfortable at being “caught.”

  “Jill wants to make you an offer,” Patrick explained.

  “Yes ?”

  “Yeah,” Jill confirmed. “But, er, I think maybe this isn’t the time or place. We’re both off duty and—”

  “You talked to Paddy about it,” Aidan reasoned, his expression serious, determined. “You can talk to me.”

  Jill nodded. “Okay. I’ll just put it out there, and whatever you think, it’s fine. If you’re not interested, no problem, all right?”

  Aidan stepped to Patrick’s side, keeping one arm around his back and waiting for Patrick to reciprocate before he said, “Go ahead.”

  “The board wants to offer you the job of maintenance manager.”

  “For all the buildings?”

  Jill nodded. Patrick noticed she was nervously chewing the inside of her cheek.

  “Is it still shift work?”

  “Weekdays, nine to five, weekends on rotation.”

  Aidan inhaled deeply, thoughtfully. Lily bustled past, keeping her face turned away from them, though her sniffling gave her away. Aidan’s gaze followed her movements, his eyes unfocused.

  “You don’t need to decide right away, my love,” Patrick said, then looked to Jill. “Does he?”

  “No. The board wanted to give you first refusal, Aidan, and if you don’t want the job, they’ll advertise. I can ask them for a couple weeks’ grace?”

  “Do I get a car?”

  “Do you want a car?”

  “Not really. I’d like to book a vacation in the summer though.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Patrick eyed Aidan suspiciously. “Planning on going somewhere without me?”

  “No, yer eejit,” Aidan laughed, and with that appalling accent, Patrick couldn’t help but join in, though he’d no idea what Aidan was talking about. He met his boyfriend’s gaze and held it. Aidan’s laughter dwindled to a smile. “I was kind of hoping we could go and visit Seamus. I’ve never been to Ireland.” He looked back at Jill and nodded. “Yes. I accept.”

  “You do? Oh, that’s great.”

  Across the kitchen Lily sniffed, still tearful but doing her best to rally. “Nadia would be pissed,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Aidan agreed, “but she’s not the boss of me.” He turned to Patrick and gave him the brightest, most beautiful smile. “Not anymore.”

  Were it not for the company, Patrick would have pulled Aidan into his arms and kissed him stupid. “Ah, to hell with it,” he said, and did it anyway.

  Behind him, somewhere, he half heard Jill mutter, “Shall we, er…” and she and Lily dodged past, leaving the two of them alone.

  As the kiss came to an end, Patrick opened his eyes, but Aidan’s remained closed.

  “I can still feel her, Paddy. Like if I open my eyes, she’ll be sitting at the table, singing to her baby bump. But I think it’s time now. If I can let go, then Lily can too.” Slowly, Aidan opened his eyes, looking past Patrick, to the table. For a moment, he remained completely still, just watching. Then he smiled and raised his hand a little, and he whispered so very quietly, “Goodnight, Na-Na. Godbless.”

  Epilogue

  “I brought you flowers.”

  Bright light filtered through the trees and a warm, fresh breeze rustled the verdant grass around Aidan’s shoes. He crouched beside his sister’s tombstone, three sunset roses from her rosebush in his hand. Slowly he placed each of them in the empty vase, arranging them so each rose was showcased like a prize. Their petals seemed to draw in the light.

  “I thought you’d want to see the product of Patrick’s hard work. The roses are every bit as beautiful as when you were still here.”

  With a smile he touched the front of the warm marble headstone. He no longer felt the need to share his day out loud with her final resting place, because wherever Nadia was now, he felt certain she could see him and knew all that had transpired.

  She knew spring had come, knew Lily and Jill made each other happy, knew about his new friends and his new job, knew… Aidan looked down at the Claddagh ring on his left hand. Well, she knew that too, didn’t she?

  And Nadia had watched him as, on his very last day living at The Grand Heights, he’d gone straight up to Ms. Ashmore’s apartment and banged on the door. When she opened it, glowering at him for all he’d “done” to her, Aidan tossed the fifty-dollar bill in her face and said wi
thout fear, “You used to haunt my thoughts, but now…now you’re nothing.” At her confused look, he continued, “And you know what? I don’t think there’s a Fun Boy waiting for you in the afterlife, Ms. Ashmore. I think you have something much different in store.”

  Whether or not the law punished her now, was out of his hands—but if it went to court, he would tell his story without shame.

  Aidan slowly stood up, kissing his fingers and pressing them against the top of the headstone. “I can’t stay, Na-Na. I’ve got to visit Poppy, and then Patrick and I are going home. But I just wanted to say…thank you. And I love you.”

  <<< >>>

  Patrick met him outside the towering gates of Babyland, a matching tungsten Claddagh engagement ring on his own finger, and they locked hands.

  “You gave her the flowers?”

  “Aye,” Aidan teased, and tugged Patrick so that he fell into his shoulder. “I think she would have loved them.”

  “I bet so.” Patrick peered through the gates and back at Aidan. “Shall we, my love?”

  On Aidan’s nod, Patrick opened the gate and held it back for Aidan to lead the way, stepping to his side once they were through the portal. Aidan’s grip on his hand tightened; Patrick squeezed back in gentle reassurance. They hadn’t planned in advance to visit Poppy—God knew it was hard enough for him to set foot in Babyland and it wasn’t his niece buried there. Although, he supposed, Poppy was now his niece too.

  Springtime, Arthur said, was the time to hold back, let Nature cast her color spells. How foolish Patrick had been to think the man was just after putting off the work a bit longer, for it was here in Babyland more than anywhere else in Oak Wood Cemetery that the senior groundskeeper’s wisdom was apparent. Abundant. Astounding.

  “Look at all these flowers!” Aidan said, taking the words right out of Patrick’s mouth. So many buttercups, drifting into even the darkest shaded spots and illuminating with their glorious vibrant yellow. Spring beauties, phlox and bloodroot had also flourished under Arthur’s perennial tender loving care, offering their multitude of whites, yellows and pinks in gratitude.

  The wildflowers paved the path to Poppy’s resting place, merged with it, as if they had climbed that little white tablet and taken root wherever they could. Patrick gazed in awe, truly appreciating Lily’s artwork. He glanced Aidan’s way, expecting to see tears, but there were none. Aidan was smiling, more radiant than any late spring bloom.

  “I never did get around to showing you Na-Na’s sketch book, did I?”

  Patrick shook his head.

  “Lily tried to teach her to paint flowers. She was—” Aidan laughed. “She was a dreadful artist, Paddy. But Lily…” He studied the painted flowers again, leaning into Patrick. “You’d think she’d know how to care for them too, huh?”

  Patrick shrugged modestly. “I know how to help them thrive, but paint them? I wouldn’t know where to start.” Aidan placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. “What’s that for?”

  “Just thank you. You think we can grow our own roses some day?”

  “Definitely. We’d need a house first, though.”

  Aidan nodded, “I’d like that.”

  “The house?”

  “The house, the flowers, you.”

  “Well, at least one of those things is already yours.” Patrick’s smile was warm, gentle. “Do you mind if we visit one more grave?”

  Aidan seemed more than a little confused.

  “It’s just, well, I’ve met your family, haven’t I? And in all this time, I’ve not brought you to meet my mam.” He swallowed, surprised at how hard it was to get the words out. “She would have loved you so, Aidan Degas. She’d have thought the sun rose on ye.”

  <<< >>>

  They walked silently toward Arthur’s shack, the weight of their time at each grave lingering long after they’d left. Patrick had promised to make Aidan a cup of tea—more sugar than tea, just as he liked it. The only sound was their footfalls on the gravel road and the occasional happy bird, cheering on the warm weather. They’d almost arrived when Patrick caught Aidan, pulling him around.

  Aidan stumbled forward, just a little, and wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck.

  “I love you, Paddy.”

  “I love you, too, darlin’.”

  They kissed then, in the graveyard where they’d first met, a slow, gentle, promising kiss—full of hope for their shared future—with all the flowers as their witnesses.

  ~ Fin.

  Where the Grass is Greener

  Seeds of Tyrone Book Two

  Mistakes were made, that’s for sure. But was it the night of passion? Or walking away afterward?

  That’s the question Seamus Williams must face when he gets a late night phone call from someone he never expects to hear from again.

  “I miss you, Shay.”

  Chancey Bo Clearwater is a cowboy through and through. He spends his days finding work on whatever ranch will take him and his nights at the pool hall. He’s always done what needed doing and never thought much about what he wanted. ’Til that drunken night with Seamus.

  A world of problems now stand between Seamus and Chancey exploring what might have been, the least of which being the Atlantic Ocean. On one side there’s Chancey’s daughter who mood swings from angel to demon in two seconds flat; on the other there’s the new lodger, hogging Shay’s telly and his cornflakes, and making private Skype time hard to come by.

  Is this relationship doomed before it ever begins? Or can a surprise announcement from Seamus’s brother be enough to help the two find their second chance?

  Where the Grass is Greener is book two of the Seeds of Tyrone Series, but can be read independently of the first novel.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to everyone who came to the Leaving Flowers chat and helped me ‘forcefully persuade’ Debbie McG that a Seamus story had to happen. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  —Raine O’Tierney

  Chapter One:

  At the Bottom of a Glass

  “So we’re agreed, then, Seamus. You were running away.”

  Across the bar counter, Seamus stopped mid-slurp, as if the words had turned him to stone, and for a moment he didn’t so much as breathe. He glared at Marie over the top of his pint glass, wishing he’d been able to affect more of couldn’t care less, and less of oh shit, I’ve been rumbled.

  “You finally found your soul mate and you did a runner, so you did.”

  Seamus swallowed the beer that had been settling on his tongue so long it had lost both its froth and its taste. He set the glass on the counter, trying not to slam it down. “No, Marie. You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Is that right? Only you had a grand job, plenty of money in the bank—you near enough had your own ranch, for God’s sakes. And you gave it all up to come home?”

  It had been nowhere near enough to buy his own ranch, but that wasn’t the point. The way she stressed the word ‘home’, like it was no longer his, simultaneously made Seamus’s hair prickle in anger and his heart sink.

  “You know, Marie, I’m not the same spritely young lad I was when I left.”

  “True enough. Neither of us is getting any younger, but I’ve known you since you were knee-high to a grass—”

  “I was never that small,” Seamus protested.

  Marie laughed and reached over, giving his hand a firm, friendly squeeze. “All I’m saying is I love yer like you’re me own son, Seamus Williams, and times like this you could do with your mammy’s guidance.”

  “Oh aye, can’t yer hear her now?” Seamus roughed up his mop of dark copper hair and put his hands on his hips, affecting a broad Limerick accent, “Seamy! What the hell do you think you are doin’, leavin’ your brudder on his own again? If he gets himself into bother I’ll be having your guts for garters, so I will.”

  Marie shrieked with laughter. “Uncanny. Sounds exactly like her.”

  Seamus joined in with the laughter for a little while, and then fell
silent and thoughtful once again. “I do miss her, Marie. Even if Paddy always was her blue-eyed boy—if you see what I mean.”

  “I do, aye, and it still makes yours shine greener. You were always my favourite, let me tell you,” she said, giving his cheek an affectionate pinch. A group of men at the other end of the bar called for her attention, and she glanced at the clock. “God, is it time already?” Marie rang the bell for last orders and moved off to serve the men. She called back to Seamus, “I’ll get you another in a sec, all right, lovely?”

  “No, thanks. I’m heading home anyway, Marie. Thanks very much. See you tomorrow.”

  “Aye, no doubt you will. Sleep well now.”

  Seamus finished the dregs of his beer and, with a quick nod to Marie, left the welcoming warmth of The Village Inn and stepped out into the wet September drizzle, head down, as he set off on the five-minute walk back to the cottage. Home.

  Marie was right; it didn’t feel like home at all. Sure, he was glad to be back in Omagh, and he didn’t regret leaving Kansas, not even after giving up work on the ranch, and spending half of his inheritance on a place to live—not even in this terrible rain. After all, he’d been planning to do it for years, just never quite found the impetus to do so, until…well…that was his mistake, wasn’t it? To imagine that by putting four thousand miles between them he could forget what had gone on.

  Stepping through the gate and up the flag steps to the front door, Seamus faltered: this was the hardest part, opening a door onto an empty house. Maybe I should get a dog, he mused, and withdrew his key. The door, as always, put up a fight. That was the thing with inheritance. It looked a tidy sum in the bank, but when it came to buying a house, it was next to nothing. He’d settled on the old tumble-down cottage, confident he could fix the place up in no time, but that he could find the motivation to put his thoughts into action.