by Robb, J. D.
Sydney found herself drawn to those deep, soulful eyes, while ignoring his unkempt appearance. It was a result of her years of tutoring. At the community center, some of her most talented pupils turned out to be those who least looked the part.
He patted her hand and indicated the sea of puffy clouds outside their window. “You see? We’re already airborne.”
It was a jolt to Sydney’s system to realize the truth of what he’d said. Now that they were high in the air, her fears began to subside. She let out the breath she’d been holding and opened the folder containing the various tours she was considering at the end of her flight.
Seeing them, her seatmate smiled. “Your first trip to Ireland?”
She nodded. “How about you?”
“I’m headed home after two weeks of holiday spent biking, hiking, and touring your lovely land.”
She heard the pleasure in his voice. “Your first time here?”
He shook his head, sending shaggy hair dancing. “I’ve been a time or two. But this time I pushed myself to the limits, climbing higher, biking until I thought my legs would fall off. I can honestly say that the best thing about a holiday is looking forward to soaking my aching muscles once I get home.”
“I’ve heard grand things about your home.”
“Have you now? And who’s been bragging about Ireland?”
“My father was born there. When I was little, he used to tell me stories about his wonderful, carefree childhood to cheer me up. He used to say he couldn’t wait to show me his birthplace.”
“Ah. And are you meeting him there?”
Sydney’s smile faltered, the grief a sudden, sharp pain around her heart. “He died when I was a teen. But I’ve never forgotten the joy he felt whenever he talked about Ireland.”
“And you’re going alone?”
Sydney nodded. “Well, not exactly alone.” She indicated her travel bag. “I carry my da’s photo tucked away in a little pocket of my purse. I suppose it sounds silly, but I feel like a little part of him is with me.”
Her seatmate nodded. “Not silly at all.” He lifted a silver chain he wore around his neck. On it dangled a small silver locket. “This was worn by my grandfather, and then my father. Wearing it makes me feel close to both of them.”
“That’s nice. Are they still living?”
He shook his head. “My grandparents died when I was twelve. My parents when I was in my teens. I miss them still.”
“I know what you mean. Even after a lifetime, I’ll be able to see my da’s face and hear his voice.”
“Though you’re American, there’s a hint of the Irish in your voice, especially when you speak of your da.”
Sydney smiled. “I know I should say Daddy or Dad, but it just seems right to call him Da.”
The brogue beside her softened. “Mine were Da and Mum. And Granda and DeeDee.”
“That’s sweet.” She leaned her head back and felt her nerves begin to subside until she was pleasantly drifting. Not only had the liftoff gone smoothly, but her seatmate was turning out to be a charming distraction. A distraction that was badly needed at the moment. She was still reeling from her out-of-the-blue decision to leave home, so uncharacteristic for the usually conservative young woman, and from the blistering anger when her stepmother had learned of her plans.
It had been, as always, an ugly scene. But now, she would put aside all the unpleasantness and just think about what was to come.
It was her last coherent thought before she slept.
“ENJOY YOUR NAP?”
At the deep voice beside her, Sydney’s head came up sharply.
She glanced down at the blanket covering her lap. “Did you do this?”
Her seatmate’s smile had her heart doing a slow somersault. “I asked the flight attendant to fetch a blanket. They have the air blasting in here.”
“Thank you.” She sat up straighter. “I can’t believe I slept so soundly. I guess I was more tense than I realized.”
“Traveling can be stressful.”
Especially if your family members call you a fool for even thinking about taking a trip. Though Sydney thought the words, she didn’t speak them. It was too personal, too painful, to say aloud. Perhaps because she wasn’t at all certain whether Margot had been right or wrong.
“My name is Cullen.” Her seatmate offered a handshake.
“Sydney.” She felt her hand enfolded in his big palm.
“No ring, I see.” He glanced down at her hand, still firmly held in his. “Does that mean no husband?”
“No husband. Are you married, Cullen?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t found that special one, yet.”
“I’m sure there will be a lovely Irish colleen who will suit you perfectly.”
“Someday.” He shrugged. “Do you live in New York, Sydney?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do there?”
It was all the push Sydney needed to begin telling him about the children she taught, and the fascinating countries they’d lived in before coming to America, and the harrowing tales they told about their struggles to begin a new life so far away from the troubles and turmoil they left behind.
While she talked, he caught the glow that came into her eyes. “You love your work.”
“I do. Is it that obvious?”
“It is, yes. And how do you fill your nights after teaching second graders all day?”
“I teach art at our local community center.”
“You’re an artist?”
“Not much of one. My da was a gifted artist. I wish I could be like him. But I’m afraid I’m better at teaching than doing.”
“But you love teaching others?”
She blushed. “Guilty as charged.”
“Don’t make light of it. I think teaching is a wonderful gift.”
Feeling a wave of self-consciousness, she tried to divert attention away from herself. “Do you live in Dublin, Cullen?”
“I do when I’m working. But my home is in Innismere.”
She knew her jaw had dropped. But she was so startled, all she could do was gasp.
Cullen arched a brow. “Have I said something wrong?”
“No. It’s just that . . .” She gave a toss of her head. “That’s where I’m headed. Innismere. That’s where my da was born.”
His smile deepened. “Now what are the odds of such a coincidence?”
As the flight attendant began preparing the passengers for their descent into Dublin’s Shannon Airport, Cullen laid a hand over Sydney’s. “As long as we’re both heading in the same direction, why don’t you let me drive you to Innismere?”
“I thought you worked in Dublin.”
“I do. But for now, I’m still on holiday. Since this is your first time in Ireland, I’d love to show you around. I have a car at the airport,” he added. “It would save you the cost of hiring a car and driver. And I promise to deliver you right to the door of your inn. I assume you’re staying at the Inn of Innismere, since it’s the only decent place in town.”
“I am.”
“Well then. What do you say?”
She bit her lip. This man was a stranger, after all. Did she risk riding with a stranger for an hour or more?
She knew all the reasons why she ought to refuse. But there was something about this charming stranger that had her warming to him, despite all the little warning bells that were going off in her head.
Sydney shrugged. “Thank you for the offer, Cullen. I’d love to ride with you to Innismere. But only if you let me pay for the gas.”
She saw the look of surprise that came into his eyes.
“Now why would you do that?”
“You said yourself you’d be saving me the cost of a car and driver. The least I can do is pay for the gas, since you’re providing the car.”
He took a moment to consider before the smile returned. “All right. If you insist.”
“I do.”
And then s
he was fetching her carry-on and following Cullen from the plane. She pushed aside the nagging little worry that her rumpled seatmate had charmed her into breaking her first rule—to take on no more strays. But after all, she did need a ride, and he was going to the very same town where she was headed. It made perfect sense to pool their resources. And he certainly looked as though he could use the gas money.
Still, she’d broken her first rule.
And to think she’d done it before even setting foot on Ireland’s soil.
Tomorrow was another day. A clean slate. Tomorrow was soon enough to swear off strays. Both the two-legged and four-legged variety.
CHAPTER THREE
They drove along narrow ribbons of highway, past ancient ruins, and sailed through pretty little towns and villages with their church steeples gleaming in the sunlight. Everywhere Sydney looked, there were people walking and shopkeepers chatting. They drove by fields of sleek cattle or leggy horses, and Sydney exclaimed over the acres of glorious flowers that grew alongside the roads.
“There’s so much to see. And all of it so grand.”
Cullen smiled and nodded. “I love traveling the world. But best of all, I love coming home.”
“How could you not?” She pointed to the tumble of giant stones in a pasture. “Think about the hundreds of years that have passed, and still those stones remain to let us know that someone once lived there, and made it their home.”
“And fell in love there, and married and raised their children. It’s easy to forget the very real people who lived and loved, just as people have from the beginning of time.”
Sydney sighed. “When you say it like that, it all sounds so romantic.”
“Not to spoil your illusions, but people fought and died here, too. Our people were forced to go to war on this very land. We Irish have a bloody history.”
“But you endured. You remain. And you thrive.”
“We do indeed.”
Cullen drove up a long, curving driveway and came to a halt in front of the steps of a charming old two-story inn. The walls were covered with ivy. Flowers of deep purple and palest pink spilled from urns that lined the long front porch and wide steps—a porch dotted with several cushioned rocking chairs.
“Here we are.” Cullen popped the trunk and a white-haired man with a ruddy complexion, wearing a fisherman’s knit sweater and charcoal cords, opened Sydney’s passenger-side door and offered his hand.
When she stepped out, the older man called, “Welcome to the Inn of Innismere, miss. I’m Sean McCarthy. My wife, Bridget, and I manage the inn.”
“Thank you, Sean. It’s nice to meet you. I can’t wait to see the inside of your lovely inn.”
Before the man could remove her suitcase, Cullen was there first, hauling it out and carrying it up the steps where he set it down.
“Thank you, Cullen.” Sean clapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Home from your latest jaunt, are ye, lad?”
“I am.”
“Bridget and I have missed you.”
Cullen winked at the old man. “Then I’ll have to make it up to you by spending more time here.” He turned to Sydney. “I’ll leave you here to settle in. You’re in good hands with Sean and Bridget. If you’d like, I could come by in the morning and show you around the town.”
“You’re just being polite. I’m sure you have better things to do than act as tour guide for me.”
“Nothing would make me happier than to show you my town.”
Sydney hesitated for only a moment. “If you’re sure you can spare the time, I’d like that. Where shall we meet?”
His smile was quick and easy. “I’ll pick you up right here at nine.”
Whatever doubt she was entertaining was forgotten under the spell of that smile. “Nine it is.” She removed some bills from her wallet. When he tried to refuse them she closed his fingers around them. “A deal is a deal.” She offered her hand. “Thank you for driving me here, Cullen.”
Seeing the arched brow of the old man, Cullen shot her a wicked grin and a wink before accepting her money and her handshake.
“It was my pleasure.”
Sydney felt the quick tingle along her arm, like magic fingers brushing her skin, and she was forced to absorb a rush of heat before he released her hand.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” With a jaunty salute to them both, Cullen turned and settled himself behind the wheel and was gone before Sean managed to climb the steps and hold the door for her.
If she had any concern about her unexpected agreement to spend more time with a man who was still a perfect stranger, it was swept away by the business of signing in, examining her room, unpacking, and going down to a light supper before finally falling into bed and drifting into a sound, dreamless sleep.
“AH, GOOD MORNING, SYDNEY.” THE INNKEEPER, BRIDGET McCarthy, wore a fashionably tailored navy dress and pearls at her throat and ears. Her white hair, short and neat, bobbed at her shoulders. She had the sunniest smile Sydney had ever seen, and a comforting warmth that seemed to radiate from her in waves.
Sydney felt drawn in by that warmth.
“I hope you found your rooms comfortable.”
“More than comfortable, thank you, Bridget. They’re lovely. I especially love the view from my window.”
“Ah, yes. The courtyard. You’re here at the best time of year to appreciate it. The gardens are always lovely, but I was just saying to Sean that this year they seem to be at their very best. ’Tis as though pixie dust was scattered over all of Innismere, turning it from pretty to picture perfect.” The innkeeper pointed to the front steps, where Cullen stood talking to Bridget’s husband. “I believe you have company, Sydney.”
“Cullen.” Sydney turned hopeful eyes to Bridget. “Do you know him?”
“Know him?” The woman gave a delighted laugh. “Sean and I are his godparents. We’ve known him from the day he was born. But that’s true of most everyone here. Innismere is a small enough town that everyone knows everyone.”
“What can you tell me about him, Bridget?”
“Tell you?”
“About Cullen. About his family.”
“Why . . .” The woman blinked and seemed to search for something to say to fill the sudden silence. “Why, I can tell you what I’d say about all our young people. Cullen’s a fine man who makes us all proud. But then, I’m sure the same could be said about you and yours.” She began fussing with the papers on her desk. “Isn’t that so?”
“Yes. Of course.” Sydney couldn’t decide if the innkeeper was flustered or merely being polite. She seemed clearly at a loss for words.
“Will you be joining him now, Sydney?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Sydney walked out the door and the two men, who’d been conversing in low tones, abruptly looked up before turning to greet her.
Cullen stepped up beside her. “Ready for your grand tour of Innismere?”
“More than ready.” Her heart gave a sudden hitch, and she blamed it on the fact that she was actually here in Ireland, and about to see her father’s birthplace. It wasn’t, she told herself, because of her handsome tour guide, or the fact that his lips curved in a fascinating smile that reminded her of a rogue. And though he’d shaved, and had exchanged his torn denims for a fresh pair of faded khaki pants and a soft knit shirt, those smoky eyes and killer smile still gave him the look of a dashing hero of one of her favorite romantic novels.
He put a hand beneath her elbow. Instead of guiding her toward his car, he turned toward the ribbon of sidewalk. “I thought we’d walk through the village first, and I can show you a few of my favorite places. Would you like that?”
She’d seen the price of gas, and understood completely. She was glad now that she’d chosen comfortable shoes over stylish ones. “I’d love it, as long as we can stop and eat along the way. I slept in and didn’t bother with breakfast.”
“I know the perfect place.” He kept his hand at her elbow and moved along beside her a
s they headed toward the heart of town.
It was pleasant, Sydney thought, having this man as her own personal tour guide. His charming brogue, his warm laughter, and those strong fingers brushing her skin were a lovely bonus.
“This is Kelly’s Bakery.” They paused to return the smile of a young girl placing a pretty platter of cupcakes in the display window. “Mary Francis Kelly bakes the finest barmbrack.”
At her questioning look he chuckled. “You aren’t familiar with barmbrack?”
“I never heard of it.”
“It’s a sort of tea cake, with bits of fruit that are soaked in a pot of tea overnight.”
“It sounds . . . interesting,” Sydney said with a very doubtful look.
“Oh, you of little faith. I can see that you’ll have to give barmbrack a try another day. Mrs. Kelly’s is the finest in the county. And she’s passing her skill along to her three lovely granddaughters.” Cullen lifted a hand to the older woman behind the counter, who waved back. “We’ll stop by later and indulge ourselves.”
They walked on, strolling leisurely, as though they hadn’t a care in the world. And, thought Sydney, she didn’t. Right this moment, there was nothing more pressing than a walk through her father’s hometown. And wasn’t that grand indeed? For a person who’d known nothing but hard, demanding work since she’d been a teen, it was a particularly pleasant feeling.
“This is Brennan’s beauty shop.”
Three women in smocks seated in chairs while their hair was being cut or colored or permed waved their hands, and both Cullen and Sydney waved back.
“Is everyone always so friendly?” Sydney avoided a dip in the sidewalk and Cullen’s hand was instantly there beneath her elbow to keep her steady.
“And why not? They know everyone who passes them on the street, unless”—he turned to her with a grin—“’tis a visitor like yourself, in which case they’ll make it a point to get to know you soon enough.” His eyes danced with laughter. “Could you say the same about New York?”
She chuckled. “Don’t be fooled by the throngs of people. New York’s not as big and impersonal as you may think. Though there are a lot more strangers walking the streets of my city, those of us who live there have formed our own sort of bond. Take Mr. Colosanti, who rents me the flat above his deli. It’s a comfort to know that he looks out for me. And though he doesn’t say much, he takes care of me in his own fashion.”