“Jake Stone, you . . . you scoundrel. I’ve been waiting for two hours. Two whole hours, and you didn’t show! We had an agreement. You promised.” Her finger began to shake and she chewed her bottom lip before blurting out, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me!”
As Sean watched, she burst into tears and then ran out the door, the skirt of her floral print dress flapping and floating wildly around her bare knees. Aidan Booker was just stepping through the door when she charged through and rammed into his side. She mumbled an apology and disappeared onto the sidewalk, then out of sight.
Aidan tipped his head in the direction Apple had gone. “What’s the deal with her?” He looked past Sean to where Jake was standing behind the bar with a deep scowl on his face. “What the hell did you do?”
Jake let out a loud sigh and crossed his arms. “Nothing, man. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” He gave an ill-natured shrug of his broad shoulders. “Okay, so maybe I had told her I’d let her ask me some questions about my family’s history for this thing she’s writing about Fortune, or something. I don’t know. It didn’t seem like a big deal and I tried to text her when I couldn’t make it. Not my fault if she didn’t get it,” he finished, grumbling.
Aidan pulled up a plain wooden bar stool and sat down, his tone casual when he asked the very question Sean had been wondering. “So you did stand her up, then?”
“Yeah, so what if I did? I had good reason.”
Feeling sorry for the girl, but knowing his friend wasn’t normally such an arsehole, Sean sat down next to Aidan and glanced around the mostly empty pub. The only other person there besides them was Bart Hoffer, and he was thoroughly engrossed in whatever online thing he was doing with headphones and his computer. He hadn’t glanced up once during Apple’s outburst, for which Sean was glad, because he liked her. She was a lovely lass and he’d hate for her to feel embarrassed. She was normally so shy as it was. He was a regular user of the library, but he’d never been able to get more than a sentence or two out of her before she started blushing profusely.
“I’d be interested in hearing this reason, mate. That lass looked fair crushed when she ran out of here.”
Aidan chimed in, “Yeah, man. She was in bad shape all right.” He took a pull from the bottle of ale Jake had just slid down the bar to him, and Sean caught the frown he was trying to hide. But Aidan couldn’t quite hide the irritation in his voice when he added, “That project of hers that you blew off so casually is the nonfiction book on the history of Fortune that she’s under contract with one of the big publishing houses to write. You know, no big deal.”
Sean noticed a tick had started under Aidan’s right eye. Every time he looked at Jake, it went off. Something about the situation was definitely getting under his skin.
Jake began wiping down the bar and grumbled, “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
Aidan jerked in his seat like he’d been poked with an electric cattle prod, his face blank with disbelief. He sputtered, “You, you really don’t know?”
Even Sean had to call bollocks on that one. “You know damn well what she’s after, Stone.” It was his loony family who’d founded Fortune the first time around. “You’re just being stubborn.” Being obstinate for the fun of it was his forte. Sean snagged the beer bottle Jake had sat in front of him and took a swig, suddenly feeling a little irritated on Apple’s behalf too.
Obviously trying to change the subject, the pub owner placed his elbows on the bar top and said, “Have we decided yet if we’re going to help host that pet adoption day for Mimi’s Animal Refuge that’s happening in a few weeks? I just got another call from one of the volunteers.” He looked from Aidan to Sean and back, his brown eyes filled with humor. “Honestly, I think it’s a great idea for the Bachelors of Fortune to be available for autographs. It’ll draw people out to the event, and God knows those pets deserve families.”
Stubborn Jake might be, but the guy was mush when it came to animals. Especially ones in need. “I’m willing, if you two are,” Sean said.
“I’m okay with it. It’s the least we can do for being such lucky bastards,” Aidan chimed in. “I might even land a date.”
Not that any of them had had a problem getting dates, particularly. Not since the day the three of them had struck gold in the river behind Jake’s cabin. Overnight their lives had changed. One day they’d been just three best friends, regular guys who, after testing out one of Jake’s homebrew recipes and getting pissed as the wind, had decided it would be fun to try their hand at prospecting. They’d joked that since Jake’s place was the area’s original homestead and the river behind it the same one his ancestors had panned, maybe they’d get lucky. Little had they expected that to be exactly what occurred.
But it had. And once word got out about their miraculous gold strike, they became local celebrities, the regional papers and media outlets eating up their story like candy. In no time, they’d been dubbed the Bachelors of Fortune and had gained a public following—mostly single women. Now they were often asked to make appearances together, like this adoption event. The three of them figured it was the least they could do. Kind of like paying it forward for getting so damn lucky.
Still, though he never admitted it, having a public presence made Sean uneasy. And, well, sometimes those women could be so pushy and enthusiastic that it was a little scary. He remembered a particular incident when one woman followed him into the bathroom there at the pub and flashed him her boobs. It hadn’t been pretty. She hadn’t been wearing a bra.
And she’d been like, eighty.
He cringed at the memory. “When are we going to stop being called the Bachelors of Fortune, anyway? Shouldn’t our popularity be waning? Besides, I’ve got better things to do with me time than fending off desperate females only out for a poke and a chance at me cash.” Just the thought made Sean shudder. Days of meaningless sex with nameless, faceless women were so far in his past. And he was glad for it.
Jake cracked a grin as he dried a pint glass with his towel. “It’s what you get for being so damned charming.”
He chuckled and said to his friends, “Speaking of charms, your plan to find me a stable manager worked out beautifully in my favor today.”
Jake’s gaze whipped up and he looked across the bar at Aidan. “See? I told you he wouldn’t be pissed about it forever, man.”
Aidan shook his head, openly disagreeing. “I know that it’s natural behavior for you, but I didn’t want to overstep my bounds, is all.”
Jake didn’t rise to the bait, only grinned and replied, “Why not? It makes life way more fun and interesting.” He dismissed Aidan and turned to look at Sean, his brown eyes full of curiosity. “So who’d you hire? Was it Bryan Harding from the feed co-op? I heard he was looking for work the other day when I had breakfast at the Claim Jumper Cafe. Joe Sherman told me over biscuits and gravy.”
An image of Shannon flashed through Sean’s mind again, looking all sexy and warm with her down-to-earth sensuality. Heat bloomed gently in his chest and his pulse picked up pace. A feeling began to surface, one that made him uncomfortable because the echo of it felt a lot like yearning or longing or something somewhere in his gut, so he clamped down hard on the emotion and rejected it outright. But he couldn’t stop the warm, fuzzy feeling that had taken up residence right in the center of his chest at the mental image of his new stable manager.
Aidan kicked the bottom rung of his bar stool, jarring him from his thoughts. “Hey, Muldoon. Who’d you hire?”
Sean reached for the bottle of Jake’s signature brew and brought it to his lips. Before he took a drink, he said quietly, “Her name is Shannon.” He smiled briefly, secretively, before taking a good long sip of the craft beer. Jesus, even just saying her name was satisfying.
For a guy with an uncertain future who had nothing to give a lady, that could potentially be a problem.
At that moment, something caught his attention and he swiveled his head, startled. A reflection rippled
in the large pub window directly across the bar from him, there one minute and gone the next. It lasted just long enough to give an impression of menacing dark eyes and blunt, ugly features. His throat instantly went tight and he wheezed, caught completely off guard by a surge of fear that had come out of nowhere.
Feck! It couldn’t be. He thought that guy was dead.
Sean zeroed in on the spot where he could swear he’d just seen someone from his past, hoping if he stared hard enough the reflection would magically reappear and he could know for sure.
But there was no one there.
Did dead men walk?
Aidan spoke. “Hey. You all right, man? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” His mate eyed him with concern before following Sean’s gaze to the empty window, frowning with confusion. “What’s got you spooked?”
Inhaling a steadying breath, Sean counted to three and then blew it out slowly, encouraging his body to relax. Instead of answering, though, he asked his own question. “Did either of you see anything in that window just now?”
Jake tossed him a curious look, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That depends. What am I supposed to have seen?”
For a bloody bartender, the guy was too fecking perceptive for his own good. Deciding to err on the side of truth, Sean replied with forced casualness as he scanned the brewpub. “A bloke I used to know back in Dublin.”
Jake’s look was deadpan. “That’s not helpful.”
“Fine. He’s an ugly bugger.” He held a hand up to his face, his palm flat on the tip of his nose. “Flat, almost shapeless nose, blunt features. Big head. Beady, small dark eyes.” Still feeling a little shaky and wondering more than a little about the state of his sanity, Sean reached for his ale. It helped to have something constructive to do with his hands, a way to diffuse the nervous energy.
Aidan chuckled. “Sounds like a real looker. Too bad I didn’t see him.”
Pulling a pint from tap, Jake shook his head. “Sorry, man. I didn’t see anyone who looked like that. By the way you’re sitting all tense though, I’m guessing this isn’t somebody you were friends with?”
Sean thought back to the last time he’d seen Billy Hennessey. It hadn’t been Hennessey’s finest moment. Nor had it been his, honestly. Being scared for one’s life didn’t typically bring out the best in them. “You could say he’s got a grudge against me.” If he was still alive, that was.
Both Aidan and Jake asked at the same time, “Why?”
Sean smirked despite himself. “Because I’m the one who gave him the fecked-up face.”
“No shit?” asked Jake, his eyes bright with interest. “You two got in a fist fight? Was this one of your commissioned matches you used to fight or a personal thing?”
“It was personal.”
“Yeah?” Aidan added. “Did you kick his ass?”
Talking to them was helping Sean calm down. It was reassuring that they hadn’t seen anything, especially since Jake had been facing the window, too. If Hennessey had been there, no doubt his mate would have seen him. Jesus, maybe he was just being paranoid.
Because those two were like family, he divulged a little more truth. “I did kick his arse, actually.”
That was putting it gently—sugarcoating it, for sure. The truth was, the last time he’d seen Hennessey had been directly after his fight with the crazy Russian. He’d just come to again after being knocked out hard. He’d opened a swollen eye to discover the place quiet and still, except for the confusing sound of a horse nickering softly somewhere nearby. Lying face down on the cold concrete floor of the old abandoned warehouse he’d fought in, which had recently been brimming with spectators, he’d tried to gain his bearings. Why was the place empty? How long had he been unconscious? His body bruised and aching profusely, Sean had blinked to clear his blurred vision when a shadow fell over him. Hennessey hooked a booted foot under him, rolling him over.
Crouching down next to him, the hit man had smiled as he stroked the flat of a knife blade against his cheek, a crazed light in his dark eyes. “Ye just made me day, bugger squat.”
His mouth dry as dust and his ribcage screaming in agony, Sean had whispered raggedly, “How?” Had the thug bet against him?
Hennessey reached out a meaty, stubby-fingered hand and brushed back a clump of sweat- and blood-matted hair covering Sean’s eyes; the gesture had been weirdly kind and maternal for a cold-blooded killer. “Because ye lost, lovey.” He tipped his head toward the far corner. “See yer prize?”
“What prize?” Sean asked weakly, his brain struggling to make sense of things.
“Why, yer new racehorse, of course! Ye won him fair and O’Banion’s already paid up. Look,” Hennessey said, grabbing Sean’s chin and forcing him to see the bay colt that stood restlessly, nervously in the corner, as his nostrils flared. “Ain’t he a beauty?” He’d stared at Sean, his expression almost childlike and innocent.
“I don’t want him,” Sean had protested instantly.
Hennessey laughed. “Too bad, a bet’s a bet. And now that the boss has made good on his end, it’s my turn with ye.”
Dread had curdled Sean’s blood, making him queasy. “What’s that mean?”
Suddenly Hennessey had contorted and he’d spat in Sean’s face, rising to his feet with the big knife clenched in his fist. “That yer the mouse and I’m the fecking anaconda. Yer dead already. Ye better feckin’ run, Donaghy.”
One glimpse in the hit man’s abnormally bright eyes, devoid of any sanity, and fear had flooded Sean. On a surge of adrenaline, he had lashed out a hand, grabbing the thug’s ankle and pulling him clean off his feet. Hennessey released a sound of surprise and fell hard, hitting the ground with a grunt. Taking advantage of the moment, Sean had lunged after him.
Riding on panic and knowing he was fighting for his very life, he’d climbed on the cold-blooded murderer and begun slamming his fists into his face. Over and over and over. He couldn’t think. Could barely see. He’d just kept punching until he felt bone crush beneath his hand and blood spewed from Hennessey’s nose. Then he swung some more, not stopping even when the hit man went limp. He didn’t stop until the sound of hooves clapping sharply against concrete registered in his panicked brain and he looked up to see that the colt had moved close and was standing over them, wide-eyed and snorting softly.
Sean had looked from the horse down to the prone mobster, one of his hands fisted and frozen in midswing. He couldn’t tell if Hennessey was still breathing. Maybe he was dead; maybe he’d killed him with his bare hands.
With that new fear riding him, Sean had climbed off the hit man with terrible, shaking legs, his mind confused and reeling. Without thought and without knowing why, he’d grabbed the colt’s lead rope and stumbled out of the abandoned warehouse into the night, the young horse following obediently.
Then they’d run.
Coming back to the present, Sean shook his head to clear it and sighed, feeling heavy. He’d thought his days of running were behind him. Prayed they were. Maybe he’d just been fooling himself.
“At any rate, I’m probably imagining things,” he said to the guys finally, not wanting them to worry. Besides, this wasn’t the first time he’d imagined seeing Hennessey. It wasn’t even the fifth or the tenth. Maybe, just for kicks, his recurring nightmare that starred the hit man and woke him in cold sweats was finally permeating his waking hours too.
It was either that or the past was really catching up to him. Sean glanced once more to the window where he thought he’d seen Hennessey’s reflection.
Shite.
He hoped like hell he was just going crazy.
Chapter Five
SHANNON WOKE THE next morning with two distinct thoughts in her head, the first being how in the heck she was going to pull off this scheme like her father expected her to, and the second being decidedly R-rated and involving mentally rehashing the sexiness factor of Sean Muldoon.
Off. The. Charts.
Rolling onto her back and cove
ring her eyes with a forearm, she sighed heavily at the unfairness of it all. But of course, it fit right in line with everything in her life always being so much more complicated than necessary. Why wouldn’t the bad guy she was sent to spy on have a megawatt smile sexy enough to start her undercarriage steaming? Yes—in that way.
Last time she’d even felt the temperature rise down there had been a few years ago when she’d watched one of the Avengers movies and become transfixed by Captain America’s chest-hugging uniform as he battled the naughty Norse god Loki all over New York City and back. Now that was quality entertainment.
But this, this instantaneous attraction she felt for Sean, was unreal. And completely unacceptable. Just because his eyelashes rivaled Ian Somerhalder’s and he had an ass as firm and round as a juicy apple (yes, she’d had the desire to bite it just like one, too) and she’d had all kinds of wild dreams about him last night didn’t mean she could do anything about it.
Even if she did have the nerve—or the blind stupidity—to go and jump his bones like she’d dreamt last night, there were still the unwelcome facts of the situation: Sean Muldoon was putting her parents out of business. She was only there to learn how and find a way to stop him. It didn’t matter what her personal feelings about the subject were. It never did.
Kicking off her covers, Shannon climbed out of bed, anxiety immediately by her side and making her mad. God, she was so sick of it—all of it! The overbearing, hearing-impaired parents, the anxiety issues, the constant feeling of dread she’d dragged around with her since the moment her father made saving the family business and legacy her responsibility.
This was the last straw. After this, she was done blindly doing what she was told. Done letting others push her around. It was time for a whole new Shannon—a brave one.
And the new her was finally going to grab the courage to open her own riding school for children like she’d always wanted to as soon as she got back to Saratoga. No more Grand Prix. She’d never loved it anyway. No more denying her needs in favor of everyone else’s and putting off her happiness for tomorrow.
Getting Lucky Page 4