by Zara Keane
“Missus K.’s well used to me,” Sharon said, shoveling a fairy cake into her face. “She’ll be grand.”
“The next time she’s in here, I want you to make a point of being nice to her.”
“Huh?” Sharon’s heavily made-up eyes widened. “Aren’t I always friendly?”
“There’s friendly, and there’s cheeky, and you don’t appear to know the difference.”
“Do you think I offended her?”
Fiona gave a mental eye roll. “Sharon, the poor woman was scarlet. You embarrassed her.”
Her assistant chewed on her cake thoughtfully. “Yeah, all right. I’ll tone it down. She’s a nice old biddy, actually.”
“When you’re done eating the stock, I want you to unload the dishwasher. We’re out of cups.”
With Sharon occupied and the café patrons served, Fiona seized the opportunity to slip into the tiny stockroom at the back of the shop where two boxes of used books required sorting and price-tagging.
She’d barely begun tackling the contents of the first box when the familiar jangle of the door indicated the arrival of another customer. The second she heard his deep, rumbling voice, she knew who it was. Unfortunately, her body was also acutely aware of his presence. A rush of heat coursed through her, and her hands flew to her wild hair.
It was Gavin. And he wasn’t alone. A high child’s voice accompanied him. Her heart hammered in her chest. She was daft to have this reaction to his presence. Besides, she was still pissed with him over his idiocy in Vegas. Although, truth be told, she was more annoyed with herself for not checking.
Flustered, she smoothed down her creased shirt and fiddled with her hair in an effort to put it in some semblance of order. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the small bathroom mirror at the back of the stockroom. Holy hell. The heat was making her curls even frizzier than usual. Giving her hair up as a lost cause, she took a deep breath and ventured out into the shop.
She spotted him immediately—not that it would be difficult, given his size and the smallness of the shop. “Hey.”
The top of his shamrock tattoo peeked out from beneath his shirt collar. Before he turned around to face her, the back of his neck stiffened.
God, he was gorgeous. Her knees turned to jelly. She’d avoided staring at him since she’d gotten back to Ballybeg and was making up for lost time now. Despite his height, he carried himself well and gave the impression of speed as well as bulk. His dark blond hair shone in the autumn sunlight streaming through the shop window. When he was a teenager, his face had been angelic-looking. Age and experience had made it rugged, lending it a comfortable, lived-in appearance.
His sensual mouth curved into a smile. Fiona was sure she was blushing from head to toe. “Hey, yourself.”
His deep voice did things to the lower part of her anatomy she was sure weren’t appropriate in a public place.
Fiona shifted her attention to the small, dark-haired boy at Gavin’s side who was examining a book on dinosaurs with a stern expression on his tanned face. “You must be Luca.”
“Luca,” Gavin prompted.
The little boy wrenched his attention away from the dinosaur book. “You’re the pretty lady who lives in Bridie’s house.”
“He takes after his dad,” Gavin said, grinning. “Has an eye for the ladies.”
Luca squinted at Fiona. “Did that hurt?” he asked, pointing to her lip ring.
“At first, but not anymore. My tattoos hurt more.” Fiona shoved a stray curl behind her ear. “Can I offer you two something to eat?”
Luca made a dash for the W.B. Yeats table.
Fiona and Gavin exchanged smiles. “I’ll take that to be a yes,” she said. “What’ll you have?”
“An espresso for me and a lemonade for Luca.” He went over to examine the display of sweet treats. “And two berry scones.”
Fiona placed two scones on a large plate. She added two small ramekins, one filled with clotted cream and the other with Bridie’s homemade strawberry jam, and set the plate on their table.
“Say, Fiona…”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”
“You always had great taste in books. I find myself… lacking a library at present.”
“Muireann chucked his books in the pond,” said Luca through a mouthful of scone, “but she’s not pregnant.”
The customers at the next table ceased their conversation and swiveled in their chairs to gawk at Gavin.
He turned the color of Bridie’s jam.
“Yes,” Fiona said, scrambling for something—anything—appropriate to say. “Under the circumstances, that would have been awkward.”
Gavin shot her a look from beneath his lashes.
Her tummy muscles began to spasm.
“Oh, go on,” he said dryly. “You know you want to laugh.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” she said with a giggle.
“Ah, yes. Luca can be relied upon for his attention to detail. Now, about those books…”
“To spare your blushes, I’m willing to roll with a change of subject. Do you still like sci-fi and fantasy? I remember you buying a lot of those when I used to work here years ago.”
“Yeah, I do. Also crime fiction. No need to give me any of Jonas’s books. He’s already given me replacement copies for the entire series.”
She raised a teasing eyebrow. “Signed, I hope?”
“Of course.”
At the sight of his sexy half smile, the butterflies in her stomach came to life. “I’ll pick out a few books and leave them at the counter. How does that sound?”
“Like excellent customer service.” His upper lip was covered in cream from his scone. He licked it off with his pink tongue, and she noticed his tongue piercing for the first time. A jolt of sexual longing hit her groin. She swallowed, shifted position, and moved into the book room to search for his books.
Every once in a while, she stole a surreptitious glance in their direction, her green eyes darting away the instant they met Gavin’s blue ones. She selected six books for him—two fantasy, three sci-fi, and one techno thriller—and set them beside the cash register.
“He’s a bit of a ride, isn’t he,” Sharon said in a voice loud enough to shatter glass. “And the chemistry between you two is flaming sizzling. I can totally see why you got married.”
“Sharon,” Fiona said between gritted teeth, “could you keep the volume down please?”
Her assistant chomped on her gum and stared at Fiona through eyelashes thick with jet-black mascara. “I don’t think he heard me. Sure, look. His back’s turned.”
Fiona felt heat creep up her cheeks. Unless Gavin was deaf as a post, there was no way he hadn’t heard Sharon’s bellowing.
Shite. Her life was devolving into a slapstick comedy with her as the unwitting star of the show.
Luca and Gavin finished their scones and beverages, and Gavin paid what he owed, adding a generous tip. Armed with his new dino book, Luca looked very pleased with himself.
On their way out of the shop, Gavin paused. “Luca, can you wait for a sec? I need to have a word with Fiona.”
Oh, crap on a cracker. He was going to mention what Sharon had said. How mortifying. Fiona buried her curls in an account book and tried to look absorbed.
“Fiona, I’ve been thinking,” he began. “It’s probably a daft idea, but you wouldn’t consider moving to the UK, would you?”
What the feck? She blinked at him, uncomprehending. “Why would I want to move to the UK?”
“I’ve been doing some research. If you and I were to live in the UK for a while, we could file for divorce there.”
Fiona’s belly cramped. “You want us to move to the UK to speed up the divorce process?”
“Yeah.” He flashed that bone-melting smile of his. All she felt was ice in her veins. “I don’t want to leave Ballybeg permanently, but I could cope with living abroad for a couple of years. The divorce would be done and dusted in half the time it’
d take in Ireland.”
“Right,” she said faintly. “And I’m to do what, exactly, during our time in the UK?”
He beamed at her. “You could teach. I looked it up on the net. Your Irish teaching qualification should be accepted in the UK.”
“Let me get this straight. You want me to give up my job in Dublin, postpone my travel plans yet again, and move my entire life so you can get back with Muireann sooner?”
The smile faltered. “I don’t know that Muireann would have me back. I just thought a quicker divorce would allow both of us to get on with our lives faster.”
“I’ll sum up our present situations, shall I?” Her mounting anger was making her cheeks burn. “You are unemployed and unlikely to find a job in this area as long as my uncle wields influence over the building trade whereas I have a permanent teaching position and a home in Dublin—not to mention plans to travel once Bridie is well enough to take over the shop.”
He blinked. “Bridie mentioned something about you going to Australia. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes, you self-absorbed twat. The same trip I’ve had to postpone to stay here and help Bridie. You’re not the only one whose life plans got screwed.”
“Steady on.” As if realizing he’d raised his voice, Gavin’s gaze darted around the shop. “I didn’t know the ins and outs of your trip.”
“Why would you?” she snapped, losing the battle to keep her temper in check. “You’re too caught up with your own woes to spare a thought for mine. There’s a sense of déjà vu about all this. You thought only of yourself the morning after our Vegas wedding, and you’re just as selfish now.”
“Calm down, Fiona.” He held his palms up in a gesture of peace. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“No? You never mean to insult or hurt anyone, Gavin, you just bloody do.” She slammed the accounts book shut. “You never even asked me if I was okay with you paying Drew Draper not to register our marriage. You’d decided you’d made a mistake and to hell with what I thought.”
His mouth gaped. “You wanted us to stay married?”
Yes, she had—with every atom of her being. Watching him walk out that hotel room door and out of her life smashed her heart to smithereens.
She took a shuddery breath. “I’m not bloody well moving to the UK for your convenience. How dare you suggest I uproot my entire life to suit your agenda?”
“I’m sorry, Fee,” he said, taking a step back. “Forget I mentioned it. It was a stupid idea.”
“Too right it was a stupid idea. The only person you care about is yourself. What happened to you, Gavin? Back when we were teenagers, you used to have a personality. You used to have dreams. Now you’re yet another Celtic Tiger cliché—selfish, entitled, and mercenary.”
He flinched as though she’d struck him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then obviously thought the better of it. “I’d better go. We’ll talk another time, yeah?”
She glared at him, piercing him with her gaze. “You have Aidan Gant’s number. Call him if you want to arrange another meeting.”
After Gavin and Luca left the shop, she noticed the pile of books she’d selected for him by the cash register. Feck.
Sharon sidled up to Fiona. “You handled that well, boss. Sarcasm intended.”
“Sarcasm unwelcome. Keep your snout out of my business.”
“Keep your granny pants on,” Sharon said. “I was only going to share a few words of wisdom.”
“Wisdom?” Fiona looked her assistant up and down. “How old are you, anyway? Twenty? Twenty-One?”
She stuck her chest out. “I’m a mature nineteen.”
“When I was a mature twenty-one”—Fiona made quotation marks with her fingers—“I married the eejit who just exited the shop.”
Sharon cocked a painted-on eyebrow. “And the moral of the story is…?”
“Stay the feck away from Las Vegas.”
Chapter Eighteen
AFTER CLOSING THE SHOP, Fiona headed for Cork University Hospital. She drove faster than she should, foot to the metal.
Damn the man!
One minute he was Mr. Nice Guy, his maple-syrup smiles making her forget every morsel of common sense she possessed. The next, he’d reverted to selfish mode, the change swift and brutal, like battery acid on an open wound.
Well, feck him. She’d just dumped one selfish manhole. She was damned if she’d let another screw her around, lawfully wedded husband or not.
When she arrived at the hospital, visiting hours were drawing to an end. St. Ignatius ward was the quietest she’d ever seen it. Bridie’s room was half empty with only a couple of beds occupied. Her aunt was propped up in hers, lounging on pillows and leafing through a magazine.
Fiona kissed her plump cheek.
Her aunt peered over her spectacles. “How’s my shop? Still standing, I hope?”
“The shop’s grand,” Fiona said with a little too much force to come off natural. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“How are you getting on with Sharon?” One corner of the woman’s mouth quirked.
“Sharon is… an interesting employee.”
Bridie guffawed with laughter. “That’s one way of putting it. She’s a good girl at heart, though, and she hasn’t had the easiest of lives. She deserves a chance.”
Fiona’s smile froze. “Sure.”
Bridie sighed and lowered her magazine. “You’ll have seen the numbers by now. Business is bad.”
“Yeah.” Fiona pulled up a chair and sat down. “But if I’m going to be in Ballybeg for a while, I might as well make myself useful. I’ve come up with few ideas to attract more customers into the café.”
Her aunt’s cheery look faded. “I can’t afford a major investment at this time, and the bank won’t loan me any more money.”
“Don’t worry about the money. None of my plans require a major cash-out. For starters, I’ve bought a new coffee machine for the shop.” Bridie started to protest, but she cut her off. “Consider it a get-well-soon gift. Besides, it was an act of self-preservation. If I’m to work at the Book Mark for the next few months, I need decent coffee.”
Bridie’s eyes welled with tears. She blinked them away as if they’d never existed. “You’re a good girl. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Truth be told, I should’ve had this operation months ago, but I couldn’t afford to pay someone to run the shop in my absence, and the business would fold if I closed it while I’m out sick.”
Fiona ached at the sight of her usually hale and healthy aunt so poorly. “Concentrate and get back on your feet—literally and figuratively. I’ll keep the shop afloat.” And Sharon in line.
“I feel awful you’ve had to cancel your trip, love.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll spend a few weeks traveling once you’re back on your feet.” She squeezed her hand. “That’s what family’s for.”
“I wish Bernard shared your feelings,” Bridie said with a sniff. “If that bastard hadn’t ripped us off, I wouldn’t be in this mess, and you’d have money in the bank.”
Fiona stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
Her aunt opened her mouth to respond, then shut it again when a nurse arrived with the tea tray.
The tea was black to the point of being stewed. Fiona dumped a lump of sugar into her cup and added a splash of milk to Bridie’s. Once tea was served, she focused on her aunt’s pale face. “What’s all this about Bernard ripping us off?” She lowered her voice so the woman in the next bed wouldn’t overhear.
Her aunt sighed and took a sip of tea. “Don’t mind me, love. I should’ve kept my trap shut. I’ve no proof.”
“Ah, come on. You can’t leave me hanging.”
“All right. But what I’m about to tell you stays between us.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The last thing I need is Bernard suing me for slander.”
Fiona’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Surely he wouldn’t sue you. You’re his sister.”
/> “Sister or not, I wouldn’t put anything past Bernard.” Bridie cradled her cup of tea, and the grooves on her forehead deepened. “My father did pretty well for himself. The farm was large and prosperous, and he invested in property back when prices were low. When he died, I inherited the cottage and the house on Patrick Street. Your father inherited the house you lived in until your parents died, and Bernard got the house in Cobh that he now rents out to holidaymakers. The farm and the surrounding land were left to Mammy.
“Mammy always said she’d split the farm house and land between me, Michael, and Bernard when she died. We all knew Bernard was her favorite, but she was a fair woman, and I can’t imagine her cutting me and Michael out of her will.”
“Yet that’s what happened,” finished Fiona.
“Yet that’s what happened,” Bridie said with a sigh. “Your father predeceased her, making you the rightful heir of his share of the farm. Only when my mother died and her will was read out, she’d left everything she owned—house, land, family photos—to Bernard.”
Fiona exhaled sharply. “I knew the land had been unfairly divided between the siblings, but I had no idea you thought there was something fishy about the will. What makes you think something was amiss?”
“Put it this way—the will was dated two months before Mammy died, and the witnesses were Deirdre and a woman called Ann Dunne, one of the nurses at the nursing home where she lived for the last year of her life. I don’t know what her previous will said, but I’d bet my porcelain dog collection that it was a three-way split.”
Fiona thought of Wiggly Poo’s ornament-smashing rampage and made a mental note to get cracking on finding replacements before Bridie got home.
“Soon after Mammy died, Bernard sold the farm and much of the land surrounding it and bought Clonmore House with the proceeds. I’m not saying he’s not a shrewd business man, but I’ve always felt there was dirty dealing going on.” Bridie put her mug of tea on her bedside table and looked out the window. “But I’ve no proof. And even if I did, Bernard has so many politicians in his pocket that I’d have no chance of getting justice. It’s not what you know in this country. It’s who you know and who you’ve paid off.”