by Bianca D’Arc
Bells Will Be Ringing
by
Bianca D’Arc
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2017 Bianca D’Arc
Published by Hawk Publishing, LLC
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my own angels, who I hope are looking out for me the way Eileen’s are looking out for her. I like to believe they are.
With special thanks to Peggy McChesney for her help and opinion, and to my editor, Jessica Bimberg for being such a great help through all these years.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books by Bianca D’Arc
CHAPTER ONE
Three weeks before Christmas, an angel looked down from heaven at the sadness in two fragile human hearts…
She didn’t like what she saw. Though they hadn’t yet met, these two living mortal souls shared a lot of sorrow between them. They were both just existing, dwelling too much on the past and not enough on the right now.
That wouldn’t do at all.
Maybe… Just maybe…there was something she could do to help them. It wouldn’t be easy, and maybe it was against the rules—she wasn’t completely sure because she was still somewhat new among the heavenly host—but she had to try.
There was a girl down there who still held a big piece of her heart, and it was hard to just watch over her and do nothing to help. That wasn’t her style.
*
Christmas was going to suck this year. Eileen had no doubt about it. She’d lost her mother last year, the day before Christmas Eve, and her best friend, Mary, had finally succumbed to the hard living she’d done for so long, just a few weeks ago.
Mary was the reason not a drop of liquor passed Eileen’s lips. She’d seen what it had done to her friend—causing her to get into one bad relationship after another, fueling her self-destructive streak until nobody could stop her downward spiral.
Interventions hadn’t worked. After one, Mary would be better for a while, then go right back to her old ways. Her ex hadn’t helped either. The bastard had remarried someone younger and prettier within months of the divorce becoming final, waltzing her all around town, rubbing Mary’s nose in it. Eileen had seen the way it had shaken her friend each time they’d run into the bastard.
Sadly, he’d been pretty much unavoidable. Mary’s job had kept her in the limelight, and he’d gone out of his way to show up wherever she was playing. Not every night, but often enough to keep them all guessing about whether or not he’d show, and what nasty passive-aggressive thing he’d say or do while there.
Because Mary was the star of their little band, she couldn’t leave. Oh, Eileen had taken the mic whenever Mary just couldn’t handle it anymore and had to leave the stage, but she couldn’t stay away long. The crowds came to see Mary. To hear her sing. Not Eileen.
Then, the accident had happened. A car accident at sunrise on a lonely road. That Mary had been drunk, sadly, didn’t surprise anyone who knew her well. She’d died on impact, and her tragic life had been snuffed out like a spent candle. No mercy. No remorse on the part of whatever had distracted her enough to cause her to drive into a tree.
At least, that’s what Eileen hoped. She didn’t really want to think about the fact that Mary might have aimed for the tree.
Her best friend, gone in a flash, in the prime of her life. No more snowy winter evenings spent at the ski lodge upstate, playing guitar and harmonizing softly in front of the fireplace. No more raucous evenings at the pub, playing requests ‘til all hours. No more St. Patrick’s Days or Christmases. No more Mary. No more friendship. Just like that, it was all over.
Eileen had done her best to keep the band going. They had contracts and commitments that none of the pub owners wanted to cancel—much to Eileen’s surprise. As she looked in their eyes, one after another, she realized they all felt some small bit of responsibility in providing the alcohol that had eventually ended their star attraction’s life.
And the rest of the band still had bills to pay. The crowds seemed to feel a sort of sentimentality toward them, now performing without their lead singer. Eileen had stepped up, as had Brendan and the others. She and Brendan had taken over most of the singing duties, and folks were familiar enough with them both that they didn’t complain, though many a drunken patron had lamented at length about the loss of Mary’s golden voice.
Eileen bore it as best she could, but she still felt the loss of her friend keenly. She would play the long gigs at the pubs, knowing the other members of the band needed the money—as did she—but she didn’t really enjoy it. Not anymore.
Mary had been the sister she’d never had since they’d first met in high school. Mary had been a year older, but they’d both been born on the same day—a huge coincidence that had bonded them—as had their shared love, and gift, for music. Mary mainly played keyboards of all kinds, and Eileen had started out with guitar. Both of them could switch off and do a passable job on other instruments, but for duet work—which they’d been assigned a lot in their advanced music classes in school—they’d stuck to what they knew best.
Mary would sing lead most of the time, with Eileen harmonizing, and they’d taken that skill into their band when the time had come, gathering some of their friends around them into a small group that played the Irish music scene on Long Island, where they all lived. They’d gotten popular enough over the years that they had bookings all over the metro area—New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, parts of New England, and even down to Baltimore and D.C.—but their home was on Long Island, at The Rose. It was a family-owned pub they played almost every week.
The guys were setting up while Eileen fixed her makeup in the ladies’ room. She would stop at the bar on the way back to pick up bottled water for herself, and maybe a few for the rest of the band. She didn’t mind if they had a beer or two, but nobody seemed to want to drink to excess anymore. Not after what had happened to Mary.
Of course, nobody else in the band seemed to be an alcoholic—closet or otherwise. Eileen had played the if only game so many times with herself in the weeks since Mary’s funeral. If only they’d tried another intervention. If only Eileen could have done something about Mary’s ex. If only Mary had never met him. If only, if only, if only. The list went on and on.
Eileen sighed, finished touching up her mascara, and put her makeup bag away. She looked at herself in the mirror. Average height. Slightly auburn hair. Fair complexion. Green eyes accentuated artfully—she hoped—by just the right amount of makeup. She didn’t really go for glitte
r. The natural look was more her speed. Mary had been the shiny one. The glitzy one. The one everyone’s eye was drawn to, no matter the occasion. She’d been the bright light at the center of their group.
Eileen only hoped she could hold the band together for a little while longer. They had bookings into the New Year, but after that, she had no idea what would happen. The odd goodwill generated by the loss of their star wouldn’t last forever, and it felt like the rest of the band was looking for Eileen to sort things out and figure a way forward for them all.
She hadn’t asked for that responsibility, but it seemed to have fallen to her nonetheless.
Taking a deep breath, Eileen headed out into the pub. The band was set up at one end of the small dance floor, tables all around. A few brave souls would probably get up and dance before the night was through, but most just sat, ate dinner, drank and listened or sang along, depending on their mood and the songs the band chose to play.
She was walking fast, head down, thinking deep thoughts and expecting the place to be relatively empty this early in the evening. But it wasn’t empty, and she collided with a wall. Or what she thought, at first, was a wall. It took a moment to register that it was a person. A very tall, very hard-bodied person.
She looked up—and then up some more—into amused blue eyes.
“I— I’m sorry!” she stuttered, suddenly breathless. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She stepped back hastily, sorry to lose his warmth and the scent, that only just registered, of his yummy aftershave.
“It’s okay, ma’am. Are you all right? No broken toes?”
She frowned. He’d just ma’am’d her. She wasn’t that old. Taking a closer look at him, she thought he was probably a little older than she was, so he had no right to call her that. She wanted to dislike him on that alone, but he seemed so…
Charming. That’s what he was. Totally and completely charming with his ocean-blue gaze and his polite manner. Faint lines around his eyes held stories and life experience she could only guess at. His deep voice seemed calculated to make her shiver, and he had just the right look of amused concern on his face. Just her luck to run head-first into Prince Effing Charming.
No, thank you. Mary’s ex had been another Prince Charming—though not as devastatingly handsome as this one—but he’d been nothing but bad news under that smooth exterior. Really bad news.
“My toes seem to be intact, thanks,” she told him, backing away so she could move around him. “Again, sorry for nearly running you over. I’ll tell Liam at the bar to get you a drink on me.”
He seemed surprised by her gesture, his head cocking to one side as he studied her. “There’s no need—” he began, but she cut him off, waving her hand as she moved past him.
“No worries,” she said as breezily as she could manage, trying to complete her escape. “This gig comes with a few freebies, and I never use them.”
No doubt about it, the confusion on his face was real. He didn’t realize she was part of the band. He’d figure it out soon enough, if he stayed for any length of time. The musical part of the evening was about ready to start, just as soon as she took her place on the bandstand.
She could feel Prince Charming’s eyes follow her as she made her way first to the bar and then to the small platform on which the rest of the band was already set up. She just had to do a final tune on her guitar strings and they’d be good to go. She delivered a few beers to the boys and set her bottled water within easy reach before sitting down and collecting her guitar. Time to go to work.
*
The angel looked at another spirit who was lurking beside her. “Well, they’ve met. Now, let’s see what develops.”
“If I know Eileen, she’ll chicken out at the first sign of difficulties. This isn’t going to be easy,” the younger spirit said with a frown.
“Have a little faith,” the older and far wiser angel replied, but secretly, she worried about the same thing…
CHAPTER TWO
Alan could hardly believe it when the angel he’d literally almost tripped over made her way to the stage. She was one of the musicians. Part of the band his buddies had raved over and the reason they’d chosen to come to The Rose tonight, his first night back on Long Island after a long overseas deployment.
He’d been on his way to the bar to get the first round when the little pixie with dark auburn hair had run into him. As he made his way to the bar, following bemusedly in her fast footsteps, his mind was tracing out the possibilities. She hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring, though that didn’t mean she wasn’t involved with someone. Maybe even one of the guys in her band. But if she was single and unattached…Would she consider taking a risk on a world-weary soldier? Alan certainly hoped so.
She was already stepping onto the low bandstand by the time Alan made it to the bar. The bartender smiled at him and took his order, being sure to say that Alan’s drink was on the house, courtesy of the lady. Alan felt like he was getting a definite once-over by the barman, but he paid it no mind. If the staff was protective of the woman, so much the better. It meant she had people looking out for her, which Alan thought was always a good thing in this day and age.
Alan watched her through the night from his table in the corner, where he was surrounded by friends he hadn’t seen in far too long. The drinks kept coming, though Alan wasn’t one to drink to excess. He’d done all that as a teenager and was through acting the fool. Tonight was all about reuniting with his old crowd, learning what everyone was up to and sharing a great meal with fantastic music as the backdrop.
The noise level in the pub dipped when the band was playing and rose on the breaks. The band started off with a set of traditional Irish tunes, getting things started with a lively instrumental jig. The energy was high, and they held it throughout the first half of the set, engaging the appreciative audience. A few folks even got up and danced on the postage-stamp-sized dance floor in front of the stage.
All the members of the band took turns singing, but when the pretty woman he’d bumped into earlier took the mic, Alan was entranced. She had a sweet, pure tone, not a high soprano like the other woman in the band, but a deep, rich alto that send warm waves of appreciation through him.
His high school friend, Dylan, seated next to him, nudged him with an elbow.
“She’s not for you, Alan,” Dylan warned, gesturing with his beer bottle toward the stage. Dylan was a bit drunker than the rest of them, but it seemed he was more observant than the others, too.
“Who?” Alan tried for innocence, but it was clear from one look at Dylan’s face that he wasn’t buying it. “All right. Why not?”
“Tragedy,” Dylan said mysteriously. “That band isn’t all roses and rainbows. They’ve had tragedy recently, and for that girl, it was double. She lost her mother last Christmas and then her best friend, just a few weeks ago. The friend was the lead singer of the band. We’re all surprised they’re still performing without her, but they’re good enough on their own. With the dead girl, they were even better, but they’re learning how to go on without her.”
“Who was she?” Alan was intrigued by the story.
“Mary Kilkoyne,” Dylan answered after taking another long swig of his bottle. “I was a bit sweet on her myself—from afar, of course. She had lots of admirers, and a right bastard of an ex-husband. The lady drank a bit too much, we could all see, but nobody ever expected her to collide with a tree early one morning.”
“She was drunk at the time?” Alan frowned. That was a lousy way to go. He wondered what demons that poor woman had suffered to turn to the bottle so hard that she was drunk in the cold light of day.
Alan understood about demons. He’d battled his fair share. And he knew all about loss. He’d suffered the loss of enough of his Navy buddies to never want to feel that pain again, even though he was philosophical enough to realize that loss was a part of living.
“Plastered,” Dylan confirmed. “Kyle responded to the scene of the accident.” Dy
lan pointed to another of their group, seated on the far side of the table. Kyle had retired from the military after his last tour and settled into his new job as a county police officer. “Said she died on impact, so at least she didn’t suffer. We come down to the pub most weeks for dinner and to hear this band, so Kyle told us a bit about what he saw. He recognized her, even though the car’s airbag had broken her nose in the crash. It was the low-hanging oak branch through her chest that killed her quick.”
“Ouch.” Alan had seen worse after roadside bombs went off. He could very well picture the scene.
He raised his beer bottle in silent salute to the poor young woman whose life had ended so painfully. He hadn’t known her, but he thought maybe he understood the mournful undercurrent in the band’s music now, after hearing of their recent loss.
Since it was so close to Christmas, the band threw in a holiday tune every once in a while, including a mash-up of a bunch of different carols with a rock n’ roll flair. Alan was impressed with their musicianship and ability to take requests on the fly.
He was at the bar, buying another round, when the band took their first break of the night, and he lingered when he saw the woman he’d run into before heading his way. She smiled as she joined him at the end of the bar. It was busy enough that he’d have to wait a bit for the order he’d just placed, but the bartender saw the woman and came right over with a cold bottle of water for her fresh from the cooler.
She took a sip before turning to him.
“So, what did you think?”
“Of the band?” he asked, caught a bit off guard by her direct question. Based on their earlier encounter, he’d expected her to be shy.
She nodded. “The band. The musical selection. The food. The pub, in general.” She gestured with her water bottle. “I haven’t seen you here before.”