Wild Devotion

by Mari Carr

  Wild Devotion

  Wilder Irish, book three

  Mari Carr

  Copyright © 2018 by Mari Carr

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Praise for Mari Carr

  “Like every good romance, this is celebration of love, of its power to change us and move us and make our lives beautiful.” ★★★★★ Fedora, Goodreads

  * * *

  “Did I cry? Hell yes. Did I laugh? Yep. Did I love? You bet I did.” ★★★★★ Katherine, Goodreads

  * * *

  “It was provocative, intense … it was beautiful and fun. It made me smile, it made me cry, it made my heart full and then broke it.” ★★★★★ Kitty Angel, Goodreads

  * * *

  “Believe me, you will laugh, you will cry and you will want to hug every single character in this story and then maybe cry some more, but once I turned the last page, I cried again because the story had ended.” ★★★★★Evita, Goodreads

  * * *

  “An incredibly beautiful love story that I will never forget.” ★★★★★ Phuong, Goodreads

  * * *

  “Not all love stories are perfect but they are real and everyone wants them.” ★★★★★ Chris, Goodreads

  * * *

  “This book touched my heart and soul.” ★★★★★ Daniela, Goodreads

  * * *

  “Not many authors would write this kind of romance, but that's why it's so powerful and so memorable.” ★★★★★Jody, Goodreads

  Contents

  Wild Devotion: March

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  FAQs

  Wild at Heart: April

  About the Author

  Wild Devotion: March

  Life isn't measured in time. It's measured in moments...

  Padraig is a carefree bartender, filled with hopes and dreams for his future…which are thrown off course when Mia walks into the bar. When she leaves in tears, Padraig follows. He hopes to give the young woman comfort and assurance. What he gets in return is a massive dose of reality.

  Mia has an inoperable tumor with a diagnosis of only six months to live. As Padraig listens to her detail the things she’ll never get to experience, he’s forced to face some hard facts about the way he’s lived his own life.

  An evening of soul-searching leads to a life-changing decision—Padraig will help Mia accomplish everything on her bucket list. But that goal changes into something far deeper when Padraig falls in love with her.

  This story is dedicated to all the dreamers.

  Dream big.

  Then go chase them.

  Prologue

  “Turn off the television, lad. It’s time for bed.”

  Padraig groaned, prompting Patrick to grin. The six-year-old boy’s twin brother, Colm, had fallen asleep nearly an hour earlier, but Padraig was tireless.

  “Just a little longer, Pop Pop. Please.”

  “You asked for more time an hour ago. It’s already way past your bedtime, and your mother will have both our heads if you wake up grumpy from not enough sleep.”

  “I’ll be good tomorrow. Honest.”

  “Come on, Paddy. I’ll tell you a story.”

  Padraig rolled his eyes. “Stories are dumb.” He pointed to the cartoon he was watching on TV. There were a bunch of babies getting up to mischief. Patrick simply couldn’t understand the appeal, but his grandchildren loved it.

  “What’s that show called again?” Patrick asked.

  “Rugrats.”

  “Sounds about right. Come on, rugrat. I’m going to prove to you that stories aren’t dumb.”

  Padraig begrudgingly turned off the television, and the two of them climbed the stairs to the room Padraig’s father, Tris, had shared with his brother Killian when they were growing up.

  Padraig and Colm had begged their parents earlier to spend the night, something they’d been asking to do more and more lately. Patrick suspected it was because he was more lenient with bedtimes and tended to indulge their requests for junk food. However, as the grandfather, that was his God-given duty. It pleased him to be able to spoil his grandkids.

  It didn’t hurt that these little sleepovers gave Tris and Lane a night off from their rambunctious, energetic twins. It allowed Patrick a chance to spoil them as well.

  Padraig crawled into the twin bed, scooting over to allow him room to sit next to him. They both lowered their voices to almost whispers, as Colm was sleeping soundly in the other bed.

  “This is a story about a boy named Padraig.”

  “Like me?” Padraig asked. The small lad took great pride in his name, and Patrick hoped he always felt that way.

  “Yes. A long time ago, Ireland was a magical place filled with fairies and unicorns. Padraig was there as well, and he played a flute.”

  “Was it magic?” Padraig asked, his eyes wide.

  “Not at the beginning, but…well, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll get to that. Padraig loved where he lived very much, but there was one problem. Snakes.”

  While Padraig thought the magic was cool, his love for snakes was on an entirely different level.

  “What kind of snakes? Rattlesnakes? Boa constrictors? Pythons?”

  Patrick had to admit he was probably to blame for Padraig’s fascination with all things that slithered. He’d taken the twins to the Maryland Zoo a few months earlier, and they’d spent quite a bit of time studying the reptiles. Since then, Padraig had checked out every snake book in the library, much to his mother’s dismay, and never failed to find programs on the Discovery Channel about the creatures. Lately, he’d been begging for a pet snake for Christmas, but hell would freeze over before Lane allowed that.

  “The snakes in Ireland were not so deadly. Let’s just say they were black snakes. The problem was there were just too darn many of them. They were everywhere. Slithering along the streets, in the crops, hiding in people’s beds.”

  Padraig drew his feet up, tucking them under his butt with a grin.

  Patrick laughed at his grandson’s animated look of horror. He ruffled Padraig’s hair.

  “One day, the king had had enough, and he decided that the person who could get rid of all the snakes could marry his daughter.”

  Padraig crinkled his nose. “That’s a dumb prize. I’d rather have a BB gun or a scooter.”

  “Well now, I wouldn’t say it was such a bad reward. After all, the princess, Maureen, was very pretty, with long red hair and big green eyes. Everyone in Ireland loved her because she was sweet and kind and gentle. A lot like your mom. Padraig thought she was lovely and knew there was really nothing he wouldn’t do to claim her hand in marriage.”

  “Did he get rid of the snakes?” Padraig was clearly unimpressed by the girl and ready to get back to the good stuff.

  “He tried, along with a bunch of other men. They all wanted to earn Maureen’s love. But every single one of them failed. Then one afternoon, Padraig was sitting alone in a field, playing his flute when all of a sudden a leprechaun appeared, a lively little man nam
ed Seamus. He had a flute as well.”

  “His was the magic one!” Padraig said, his voice loud in the quiet room.

  Patrick nodded. “Shh,” he warned, lest they wake up Colm. He lowered his voice even more. “Padraig caught Seamus, which was a very hard thing to do because they’re so small and quick, you see. Anyway, once a leprechaun is caught, they must take you to their gold. Only Seamus didn’t have any gold, so he gave his magic flute to Padraig and told him to play a marching song. Padraig did, and when he turned around, do you know what he saw?”

  “What?” Padraig was clearly enthralled by the story.

  “Snakes. They were following him. So Padraig kept playing and marching, and as he went, more and more snakes joined the strange parade. Padraig marched all the way to the ocean, and when he got there, he borrowed a boat, hopped on and kept playing. Do you know what those snakes did?”

  Padraig shook his head.

  “They followed him straight into the ocean, where they were all washed away by the waves. No more snakes in Ireland. Padraig had driven them all out. And when the king heard what he’d done, he brought Maureen to Padraig and she took one look at him, saw that he was a good man with a big heart, and she fell in love with him right on the spot. They got married and lived happily ever after.”

  Padraig yawned and slid down the bed, burrowing under the covers.

  Patrick stood up to tuck him in, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Do you still think stories are dumb?”

  “That one was alright,” Padraig replied sleepily. “I like the part about the snakes and the leprechaun.”

  “But not the girl?” Patrick teased.

  Padraig revised his previous statement. “Girls are dumb.”

  “I suspect you won’t always think so. And when you decide they aren’t dumb, you can drive away snakes to earn her love.”

  Padraig closed his eyes as he twisted to his side, sleep coming fast to claim him. “I’d rather have a scooter,” he said through a large yawn.

  “Good night.” Patrick tiptoed to the door, then turned around to look at his grandsons. While they were both rough-and-tumble boys—bulls in a china closet, he liked to say—they had big hearts.

  “These two are going to be heartbreakers, sweetheart,” he murmured to Sunday, his beloved wife, certain his personal guardian angel was always listening from heaven. “Going to have to trust you’ll find women who are worthy of them. And patient,” he added with a chuckle. “They’ll definitely have to be patient women. Preferably ones who like snakes.”

  1

  March 28

  * * *

  Padraig Collins glanced up when the front door of Pat’s Pub opened, sending a gust of the coldest air the Inner Harbor could produce into the bar. It knocked the temperature inside down another degree or three. Mia Curtis made her way to the bar, took off her heavy coat and hung it on the back of her usual stool. He waved and pointed at the tray of drinks in his hand, indicating he’d be with her in just a second.

  Of course, it was more than a second, as the older couple at the table wanted to make small talk about the “damn cold weather” and how March had come in like a lion and was going out as one, as well. They were just a few days away from April, but no one could tell that from the frigid wind that seemed to blow nonstop.

  After a murmured “I hear you” and “you’re so right about that,” he returned to the bar, stopping first to check on the other two tables of customers. Business was slower than usual, probably because nobody wanted to risk frostbite just for a draft beer.

  He snuck a quick peek at Mia as one of the tables requested their check. She’d moved to Baltimore four months earlier, renting an apartment across the cobblestone street from the pub. She’d only been in the city a few days when she’d ventured over to Pat’s Pub for dinner.

  As seemed to be the habit of most lonely souls, she’d opted for a spot at the end of the long mahogany bar rather than claiming a table of her own. Padraig was used to making small talk with folks who came in to dine alone, and Mia had been no exception.

  Since that first night, she’d come over once or twice a week for dinner and he always enjoyed her company.

  Padraig smiled as he walked behind the counter. As he made his way down the bar to her, he poured her a glass of Chardonnay, her usual order. She wasn’t looking at him, but instead she was staring at the counter, very deep in thought.

  “You’re a brave soul.”

  She jerked at the sound of his voice, and he realized she really had to be distracted, not to notice him standing right in front of her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I said you’re a brave soul. To venture out in this godforsaken March wind. You’re one of the few.”

  She nodded, but didn’t reply.

  Padraig frowned. It wasn’t like her not to hop in on any conversation. He tried again. “Let me guess. There’s no food in your house and you’re here in search of dinner. Tonight’s special is—”

  “I don’t think I’m eating.”

  “Oh. Okay. You feeling alright?”

  “Yeah.”

  As far as reassurances went, Padraig was fairly certain that was the worst in history. Something was obviously bothering her, but Padraig didn’t feel right prying. It wasn’t like they were friends. In truth, apart from the innocuous conversations they had about sports, the weather and his tips on how to survive in Baltimore as she ate her dinner, he didn’t know much about Mia.

  “Well, tell you what. Why don’t you wave me over if you decide you want some food?”

  She nodded, but she was already looking away, her eyes distant as whatever was bothering her crept back in.

  Padraig tidied up the bar, poured another round for his cousin, Finn, who was indulging in an extended happy hour with some of his friends, and snuck more than a few glances at the hockey game playing on one of several televisions in the bar.

  Through it all, Mia sat at the counter without speaking, her wine untouched.

  He left her alone for nearly forty-five minutes before he broke. He possessed more than his fair share of Collins blood, which meant it wasn’t in his genetic makeup to let anyone be sad in his presence.

  Besides, he’d caught several unguarded expressions, and while he didn’t know what was wrong, he could tell it was big.

  “Only got a couple more weeks until the Stanley Cup playoffs. Caps are going all the way this year.” He figured that would jerk her out of her depression. Mia, a Chicago native, was nothing if not loyal to her Blackhawks.

  “Cool.”

  He frowned at her distracted response. He tried again. “Blackhawks don’t stand a chance this year. Loaded the bench with too many showboats. Bunch of damn cherry pickers and no defense.”

  She nodded, and he realized she wasn’t listening to him.

  He leaned down, resting his elbows on the bar so that his face was level with hers. He waited until she lifted her downcast gaze and met his. Again, he got the sense she was startled to see him there.

  “Caps own the ice this year,” he said, trying once more to evoke a response.

  “Okay.” The words were little more than a whisper.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, Mia?”

  For the first time, his words penetrated. Unfortunately, not in a great way. Her green eyes filled with tears that she tried desperately to blink away.

  “I shouldn’t have come here. I just…”

  “What is it?” he prodded, his concern growing. While Mia was essentially a stranger, his protective instincts rose to the forefront.

  “I should go.” She dug in her purse for her wallet to pay for the wine, but he waved her away.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You didn’t drink it.”

  “But—”

  “You didn’t even order it. I’m not taking your money, Mia.”

  She put her wallet away and stood, shrugging on her heavy coat. Padraig studied her face more closely as she did so. She was p
ale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her body was rigid, and he got the sense she was just barely holding herself together.

  He tried again. “If you need someone to talk to…”

  Mia looked up at him and for a second, he thought she might take him up on the offer. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but then she closed it again, swallowing heavily.

  Padraig felt helpless to comfort her, something he didn’t experience often. He sort of prided himself on his ability to cheer people up. God knew, as a bartender, he’d had plenty of opportunities to hone that skill over the past ten years. He’d started working at the pub during high school. Unlike his twin brother, Colm, school was not his thing. Over the years, he’d bussed tables, then waited them, and once he hit twenty-one, his dad, Tris, taught him everything there was to know about mixing drinks.

  Dad had always run the pub side of Pat’s Pub with Aunt Kiera and Ewan managing Sunday’s Side. Padraig had only been tending bar a couple of years when his father decided the two of them should split the head bartender duties. His dad held the reins during the daylight hours and Padraig took over at night.

  “Thanks again for the drink,” Mia said, her voice barely audible.

  He nodded, but he was already invisible to her again as she turned and left, letting in a whoosh of the freezing winter air.

  Padraig remained where he was for about a minute before walking out from behind the counter and over to Finn.