His cousin Brian elbowed him discreetly in the ribs, tilting his head left in the direction of the living room as they stood in the foyer. “There's the old devil.”
Liam glanced left. Sure enough, there was Padraig's coffin laid out upon a tabletop. It was surreal to him, but of course everyone around him was unfazed.
“We should go pay our respects,” he said.
Liam led his cousin into the room, his aunt and uncle right behind him. His gaze quickly swept the space: no Aislinn. She had to be in the kitchen. He hoped it wasn't that she was too distraught to leave her room. The thought killed him.
A mild sense of uneasiness overtook him as he watched his aunt go over to the casket, make the sign of the cross, and kneel before it. He'd seen this before at countless wakes, and it had always freaked him out a little bit. An image of himself laid out in a coffin suddenly blazed through his mind, and he forced himself to make it go away. That guy asking questions about you all over town. whoever he is, is not going to kill you. Not only that, but what the hell are you doing thinking about yourself? ft's Aislinn you should be concerned with.
His aunt finished her prayer and returned to where he and his cousins stood. “Mr. Stanley did a beautiful job on him. He looks very handsome.”
“That's good,” said Liam, not knowing what else to say.
His cousins headed toward the casket, kneeling down like their mother before them. Where was Aislinn? Liam was relieved when Nora came into the room.
“Nora.”
She waded through the crowd toward him, squeezing his hand when she got to him.
“Sorry about Padraig,” Liam said.
Nora looked guilty. “Thank you.” Liam knew she didn't care about the old man the way the Aislinn did.
“Where's Aislinn?” he asked.
Nora snorted quietly. "Where do you think she is? In the barn checking in with Alec Fry! And she's all dressed up, not that she cares!”
Liam smiled to himself. That was Aislinn.
“How's she holding up?” he asked with concern.
Nora leaned in closer. "Truthfully? She's a wreck. It's hit her very, very hard. Not that she's going to let anyone here see that.
“Everyone here probably knows it, whether she shows it or not.” Liam paused. “Do you think she'll be upset I'm here?” “No, I think she'll be glad - again, not that she'll show it. But you never know.”
*****
Aislinn came into the mudroom, sitting down on the long bench to pull off her wellies. Even though Alec knew her farm as well as his own, slipping outside to “check on him” gave her a chance to catch a breath of fresh air, which she desperately needed.
The house was spilling over with people. Padraig would have been pleased. Aislinn had bought some whiskey for those who wanted to stay on past the official end of the wake to chat and reminisce. Two of the musicians from the pub, Simon Bothy, the bodhran player, and George Terkle, the fiddle player, said they wanted to stay on as well to play some music. “We'll send him off good and proper,” George told Aislinn. It made her happy: between the whiskey and the music, the odds of things turning morose were small. Padraig would have hated it if they all sat around moaning over the loss of him. They were gathering to celebrate his life, not his death.
She wondered if people would notice she was wearing the same dress she'd worn at her parents' wake and funeral. It was the only proper dress she had. Simple and emerald green, Nora said it made her look gorgeous, since it played so well off her red hair. Looking gorgeous didn't concern her at all; looking respectful did, though the devilish thought did streak through her mind that since Padraig knew her best in her barn coat and wellies, he would have gotten a real kick out of it if she wore that. Sorry, old man, she thought. I've got to bow to decorum for a feiv days.
She walked into the kitchen, where a sizable number of people were milling around, many of whom had coming bearing casseroles and had yet to offer condolences. This time around, Aislinn let them comfort her. She didn't shut down or push them away emotionally the way she had when her parents died. When tears started to flow, she let them come. She let Liam's aunt wrap her in a hug and Old Jack fetch her a glass of water. It made them feel useful, and it felt good to be cared about.
Eventually, she excused herself to go into the living room. It still gave Aislinn a small jolt every time she saw Padraig lying there in the pine box on the table. Thank God she'd stopped Nora from giving their father's clothing to the Salvation Army; had she done so, there would have been nothing to lay him out in. He was wearing an old but well-kept suit of their father's, his hands at his sides. Aislinn had nearly burst out laughing when the funeral director, Mr. Stanley, asked if she wanted him to twine a set of rosary beads through Padraig's fingers. Oh, Padraig would have loved that, all right! She was tempted to ask if he could put a pair of shears in his hands instead, but she had the feeling Mr. Stanley would find it highly inappropriate. She did, however, place a picture of Padraig and her father, taken in the pub when they were young, in the one of the breast pockets of the suit. They'd been best friends since childhood.
“Hey.”
Aislinn turned around to find Liam standing directly behind her. She hadn't seen him since the night she'd come down to the pub to tell him about the mystery man asking questions about him. He looked handsome in the suit he was wearing, even though it was clear it wasn't his.
“Hey,” she returned.
He hesitated a minute, then pressed one of her hands in his. “I'm really, really sorry about Padraig.”
“Well, it was bound to happen sometime,” she returned, trying to sound brave. “But thank you.”
Aislinn closed her eyes for a moment. She wished she could ask him to hold her tight, right here and now. But she couldn't. It would send the wrong message to him, and it would open a door she wasn't sure she was ready to open.
She changed the subject. “Did you see the collage I made? Here, I'll show you.”
She steered him over to the large collage of pictures on display at the foot of the casket. She and Nora had been up half the night working on it, and in her opinion, they'd done a great job, even though they did tear up numerous times as they sorted through pictures of Padraig with their parents.
Liam studied the collage. “Wow.” he said, impressed. “This is amazing.”
“Thank you.”
He pointed to a picture of her as a little girl sitting on a tractor with Padraig. “That's you?”
"Of course it's me; look at the hair color. Not only that, but do you think Nora would ever have been caught dead on a tractor?
Liam laughed, leaning in closer to study the picture. “You were gorgeous even then.”
Aislinn swallowed. “Don't.”
“It's hard not to.” He looked back at her, a small, wry smile on his face. “You smell nice. I guess Nora let you borrow some of the perfume you gave her, huh?”
Aislinn's face felt hot as it turned red. She'd completely forgotten he'd be here. “She's quite generous about those things, yes,” was all she could manage.
“You're a terrible liar,” Liam whispered in her ear. “It's one of the things I love best about you.”
“This isn't the time or place for this, Yank.”
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Can I tell you just one more thing, and then I'll leave you alone?”
“What's that?”
Liam leaned in for another whisper. “You don't have any shoes on your feet.”
Aislinn looked down. He was right; when she'd taken her wellies off, she'd forgotten to slip back into her flats.
“Oh, God,” she said, mortified, glancing around. “Everyone here must think I'm a flaming eejit.”
"I'm sure they realize you have a lot on your plate right now.
“I better go put them on before Nora accuses me of being some kind of wild woman.”
“You are a wild woman.”
“Enough
now. I mean it,” She hesitated. “Will you be staying on after?”
His eyes searched hers. “If you want me to.”
“If you want to.”
Liam shook his head, chuckling. “I'll stay. But if you want, we can pretend you didn't ask me.” He kissed her cheek softly. Hang in there."
Straight Up
Chapter Thirty-one
************************************************************************************************
“Do you remember the time he was repairing the roof of the church, and the windows were open and he heard Father Bill bellow to the congregation, 'I hear the voice of the Lord!” and he hollered down. 'You're a liar! I'm up higher than you, and I don't hear a damn thing!” ”Old Jack swiped at his eyes, he was laughing so hard. “That was brilliant. Brilliant.”
Aislinn laughed, taking a sip of her whiskey. It was close to ten, but per tradition, a number of people stayed on past the wake to swap memories of Padraig. The youngest ones there were her and Liam. Nora had gone to bed shortly after they'd cleaned up the kitchen, saying she was bone tired. Aislinn had to admit, that bothered her slightly. It would have been nice if Nora stayed for just one drink, seeing as she'd known Padraig her whole life. She had to have at least one good memory she could share.
“I forgot about that,” said Grace Finnegan, reaching for the whiskey bottle to pour herself another glass. Aislinn wondered if she'd wind up in her cups, and Jack would have to take her home. Well, that would be all right. Her Fintan's cancer treatment in London wasn't going very well. If memories of Padraig and a few drams of Jameson helped her forget, even if it was for just a little while, then it was worth it.
“Union, Aislinn, girl,” urged Simon Bothy, his bodhran drum at his feet. “You've only shared a few stories. You must have loads.”
“Well, he was softhearted, though he tried to pretend otherwise. Anytime we lost a lamb in birthing, he'd cry like a baby.” Her eyes filled up, but it was a good, happy memory, not painful. “And God knows he loved going to the sheepdog trials.”
“Had a winning streak going there for about five years in a row, if I remember correctly,” said George Terkle.
“Six,” Aislinn corrected. “In the late nineties with Cilia, the dog we had before Deenie.”
“Sad that he never married,” said Grace.
“Truth be told?” said Jack, dropping his voice as if Padraig could hear him. “I think he was always sweet on your mother. Adored her. I don't think any woman could even come close in his estimation.”
“I always thought that, too,” Aislinn agreed softly.
“If your dad knew, he never let on.” Jack shook his head sadly. “Terrible, the three of them gone now.”
“Come now, let's have no mournful talk,” said Simon, picking up his drum as George picked us his fiddle. “Any requests?”
*****
Chat. music, and memories stretched on until 1 a.m. Eventually, one by one, everyone headed back to Ballycraig, until finally it was just Aislinn and Liam left. She was regretting her impulse earlier in the day of asking him to stay on past the wake. It was done in a moment of weakness, but there was no way to take it back.
“Do you want me to turn out the lights in the living room?” Liam asked, interrupting her reverie as he walked into the kitchen. The whiskey had been put away. the glasses washed, the whole room tidy.
Aislinn considered the question. “I know I'm going to sound soft in the head, but I'd like to keep one lamp burning in there all night.”
Liam looked moved. “You don't sound soft.”
“I remember my father once telling me that in the old days, someone would stay up all night with the body. Can you imagine?”
“Would you like me to stay with him?” Liam asked quietly. “It'd be no problem.”
Aislinn choked up. “No, no, don't be daft. I mean, he's dead, after all.” Dead. Really and truly. She'd never see him again, never eat his stale biscuits, witness his pride in having trained Deenie, never bring him coffee in the morning, none of it. “Oh, God.”
She turned away from Liam, covering her face with her hands as she began to cry.
“C'mere. It's okay.”
Liam drew her into his strong, protective embrace. Her first impulse was to resist so as not to appear weak. But he was right; he knew her, and so there was no hiding her grief from him. No need to hide it.
She let the pain consume her. Liam holding her tight. “I'm here,” he whispered over and over. “And I'm not going anywhere. Ever.”
She sobbed freely, her anguish tearing her apart. She realized she wasn't just crying over the loss of Padraig: she was crying over the loss of her parents and the knowledge that things would never, ever be the same on the farm again. Her rational side knew that life was constantly changing: up, down, joy, sorrow. But the vulnerable part of her was overwhelmed by it all. She wished she could go back in time with the magical power to erase Connor, bring her parents and Padraig back to life, make it so Liam had never made that bet with Old Jack.
“Hey.” Liam tilted her chin up, tenderly swiping away the tears pouring down her face. “Everything's going to be okay.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
He looked deep into her eyes, then slowly covered her mouth with his. Aislinn had neither the will nor the inclination to resist. She wanted to lose herself in him - lose herself, period. She wanted to be enveloped in joy, not sorrow. She twined her arms around his neck, returning his ardor, near swooning when the tip of his tongue slid between her lips. Dizzy, dizzy, so wonderfully dizzy. So wonderfully alive. Liam's mouth moved from her lips to her earlobe, nipping, his heated breath sending quivers through her body. “Do you know how much I'm dying to make love to you?” he whispered into her ear huskily.
Aislinn nodded silently, and taking him by the hand, slowly led him upstairs to her bedroom. She realized she'd never had a man in her room before; since she'd always lived on the farm, she'd always respected her parents' rules pertaining to “romancing” under their roof.
For a split second she wished she had a small candle to light to make things feel a bit more romantic. But then she saw that she needn't worry: moonlight was pouring through the windows, bathing the room in a radiant pearl glow. And there was something else that could heighten the mood.
She steered Liam to sit down on the bed, playfully nipping his bottom lip. “Can you excuse me one minute?”
Liam, sloe eyed, ran his index finger over her lips. "Of course. Take your time...”
Aislinn went to her dresser drawer, pulled out the lingerie he'd given her, and headed for the bathroom. Anticipation tumbled through her as she stripped off her clothing as quickly as she could and shimmied into the sheer pink nightie. The silk against her skin felt almost decadent. She loosened her braid, letting her hair fall free around her shoulders, tousling it for good measure. Then she returned to the bedroom.
Liam was stretched out on the bed with his back against the headboard. He'd stripped down to his briefs, and the moonlight shining in on his bare chest made him look even sexier to her than usual, like some kind of nocturnal god waiting for her to come to him so he could show her what heaven was really like. The desire smoldering in his eyes when he caught sight of her caused a bolt of heat through Aislinn's body so strong, she felt giddy.
“God, you look beautiful in that,” he murmured, drinking her in. .bJ knew you would."
Aislinn approached the bed slowly, taking the hand he held out to her. She lay down beside him, reveling in the slide of his skin against hers as he took her in his arms. They lay there a few moments, just drinking each other in. He was breathtaking: Those stormy gray eyes of his, already making love to her with just a look. His dark, silky, tossed hair that she so loved to run her hands through, the sexy way it looked when he let it get too long and it fell into his eyes. The sound of his voice, the one he used just for her when they were in bed: pure male growl, sensuous yet demanding. She grabbed his face
in her hands, kissing him hard. Her whole body was screaming for him, his hot mouth, his hard body.
She'd shocked him. Liam's head jerked back slightly, and then he was on her, his tongue snaking in and out of her mouth in a way that was almost obscene before he tore his mouth away and began nipping and scraping at her neck. Aislinn gasped and shuddered beneath him, her whole body on fire. She could feel his hardness against her, the pulsing heat making her feel helpless.
“Take off your nightie,” Liam commanded hoarsely. He sat up, his legs still straddling her, and helped her slip the nightie off over her head. She reached for his hands and put them on her breasts, watching his eyes turn darker and darker with desire as his fingers circled, pinched the nipples lightly, explored with his fingers. Aislinn closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his burning fingertips on her flesh. But it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. She opened her eyes, took his hands from her breasts, and leaning forward, put one of her breasts into his mouth.
Liam's groan was primitive as he laid her back, positioning himself above her again, his tongue flicking her nipples, sucking, licking. She was greedy for him, rough, desperate, pushing up against him hard, wanting him to devour her with his mouth. Delirium threatened as desperation grew. When he reached down to cup her between the legs, she exploded, screaming with pleasure and bucking wildly against him as a golden, shuddering heat poured through her.
It was more than Liam could take. In one swift motion, he tore off his briefs, his hands possessively grasping her hips. Aislinn rocked against him, conveying her need with her body as she opened herself to him. Liam growled, and then he was inside her, the rhythm hard and deep, self-assured and unhesitating. Sweet pressure began to gather inside Aislinn again, concentrated, explosive. She quickened the pace, breathless, wanting, on the edge. And that's when Liam began slamming into her with an abandon that left her mind spinning and her body roaring once again for release. It came within seconds, the amazing delirium of it catapulting her into another dimension where there was only here, now, them. . .
Straight Up Page 24