Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
“Ms. Donaghue, might I have a moment of your time?”
Emmie slowed to a halt before facing the woman determined to get her attention coming up from her left as she strode up the street.
“I’m sorry? Who are you?”
“My name is Mrs. Angel Garcia.” She offered over a business card. “You’re a hard woman to find.”
Emmie shrugged yet still took the card and looked at. She didn’t believe herself to be difficult person to find, her schedule was the same, day in and day out. At her job, she stayed in the back, so the owner’s wife could take the credit for the work. She stared at the woman beside her. Short, a natural black afro that made her face appear nearly cherubic. A delusion for Emmie sensed an iron will lurked beneath that shell. Her dark suit fit her perfectly.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Garcia?”
Her gaze relaxing a bit as if to understand right now she wasn’t going to have to continue chasing her down. She reached into a dark satchel and pulled out a thick envelope. “This is for you. My information is stapled to the final page if you need to get in touch with me once you’ve read over it all.”
Accepting the thick packet, she slid it into her bag. “Thank you.” What had she just been given?
Her lips compressed. “It’s important to read it soon, Ms. Donaghue.”
Trying for a smile, she failed and ended up shrugging once more. “I’ll read it today while on my lunch. Have a good day, Mrs. Garcia.”
She continued on her way, leaving the woman behind. The last thing she needed was to be late for work. True to her word, she opened the packet on her lunch. She went to the park as she did everyday. Grabbed a bite from a food truck and enjoyed the nice day.
What the heck is this? Surely there is some mistake. Emmie had to read it a few times before it all sank in her mind and made a tiny semblance of sense to her.
I’ve inherited a business in Ireland?
Her breaths came short and shallow. She didn’t know much about her history other than her dad was from there, had come here, and married her mom. Then she came along. Losing them at the tender age of five she’d grown up in foster care. Six bad homes before she’d landed in a gem. The woman there, Marissa Hollingsworth, had taught her all about sewing, quilting, and crocheting.
They’d learned this was how she stayed calm, as she truly didn’t react well in large crowds after the other foster homes had been such shoddy experiences.
But this, to read she had something that tied her to her father, across the world from here, it wasn’t anything she was able to comprehend right away. Why would they have waited so long to tell her? Was this just a trick?
Shoving the packet back into her bag, she finished her food, dusted off her hands once the paper wrapping was in the trash, and hoofed it back to her job.
The rest of the day flew by and before she knew it, all of her work had been completed. Mrs. Rollins said it was fine for her to leave early and Emmie wasn’t about to turn it down.
I need to reread those papers and call Mrs. Garcia back.
As she shoved her items in the bag, Mr. Rollins strolled in and Emmie cursed her dallying. He only comes in when she’s gone.
Her heart pounded like she’d just run a marathon when he pushed the door shut behind him.
“Emmie, Emmie, Emmie.”
“Mr. Rollins.” She finished packing her bag up and slung the strap over her shoulder.
“What’s the rush?” He prowled closer.
She eyed him like he was a hyena watching his next meal. And she was on the menu. God, she could use a shower now. Bag gripped in both hands despite it being on her shoulder, she held it between them. As if it even remotely possible for the patchwork handcrafted item would be of any assistance to her.
As he crept one way, she edged the other. Fear had done far more than slither up her spine, it had dug in deep. The look in his eyes advised her, he wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. Not this time.
Emmie abhorred violence and wasn’t a fan of blood either. She wanted to remain in the background.
“Stay. I have to talk to you.”
“Sorry, I’m meeting Paul. My boyfriend. I called him when your wife told me I could leave early.”
His blue eyes flashed with irritation. “He can wait. Work takes priority.”
Don’t think what you have in mind is work. At least not under labor laws. Unless you’re in Vegas but I’m not about to be a prostitute for anyone, least of all you.
“I need to go.” Emmie asserted forcefulness into her tone. She’d been working on that, to not be the quiet little mouse who let people run all over her. They had some great dvd’s to help with that on the market today and she had to admit she was doing great with them.
At home.
Right now, she felt as assertive as a kitten.
“You and I,” he said, shoving through a row of fabric, spilling it to the floor. “We have things to address.” He loosened the knot of his tie as he neared.
“Leave me alone!” She lunged to the left, but he was there, blocking her in.
He pushed into her, allowing her to feel along her hip, the unimpressive length of his cock. His breath was rank and her stomach rolled. Fear churned and began to rise as bile in her throat.
“You want this,” he breathed against her face, yanking at the buttons on his shirt. Desperate in his jerky actions. “You’ve had a thing for me. I’ve seen it.”
“No!” She pushed him just as a feminine screech filled the air.
“Roger!”
He jumped back as if she’d tasered ten thousand volts through him. The man paled and shoved his finger in her direction as his wife stomped in view, her considerable bulk hitting the rows of material as she moved.
“It was her, she was displaying all that dusky skin. She’s a vile temptress, you know I only love you, Sheryl. I was weak in the flesh but never in my heart.”
“You,” Sheryl seethed, her multiple chins wobbling with her anger. “I took you in out of the goodness of my heart because it was the Christian thing to do. But for you to blatantly throw yourself at my husband is immoral.”
You took me in because I was a boost to your business.
She trembled, needing to sit but realizing she wasn’t out of the woods yet. This was going to not go in her favor. “He’s the one undressing. Not me. I’ve been harassed by him since I’ve started here. But you insist on blaming me because your husband is an ass and feels it appropriate to harass women then blame them when caught. I have never had an interest in him. I came to work, that’s all. I was trying to leave.”
Tears of anger burned in her. She whirled and stomped to the door. There she gripped the knob so hard her knuckles turned white. Emmie peered over her shoulder to glare at them both. “I quit. Mail my last paycheck.”
Perverse pleasure coursed through her at the look of pure panic that covered both their faces. Emmie walked out, eternally grateful she always kept her stuff at home or in her bag that she used.
Unfortunately, her adrenaline wore off with each step taking her closer to the apartment she rented from a sweet little old lady. She was hoping Paul would be there. She could use some comfort and assurance she had done the right thing. He’d always been so supportive of her, in a gentle kind caring way. He didn’t get loud or beat his chest. He was good. A calm man that made her feel, content.
Ducking her head, she picked up her pace, determined to outrun the approaching storm. Ominous black clouds rolled in, heavy with rain. Lightning cracked and she hurried, disliking storms, especially when the clouds swirled as they were doing now.
She pushed open the door to her place after fighting with the sticky deadbolt. The first drops fell as she made it into her apartment. Closing it behind her, she stood there and shivered. That wind had a serious bite to it. The temperature from yesterday alone had dropped about thirty degrees.
Days like this I could be okay with having a car.
She didn’t have one. While she had a license but no car. An expense she had no wish to incur. Plus she truly enjoyed walking, it gave her time to think, and also create in her mind. Many a quilt design had come to her while walking to or from work.
Shrugging out of her coat, her lips turned up as the scent of fresh brewed coffee reached her nose. She hadn’t called Paul on her way home but was grateful he was here. Who knew, perhaps she could get him in the mood for a bit of sex. Lately that hadn’t been happening between them, he was so tired from work. When it did happen, it was short and completely unmemorable from her point of view.
“I’m going to get you,” Paul hollered up the hall.
Her smile grew. He’s in a playful mood and must have seen me come up from the bus stop. Also explained why he hadn’t been up there. He wanted to surprise her.
Unfortunately, Emmie’s world slowed to a crawl as a busty brunette ran naked into view, boobs bouncing and shaved sex right there in front of her.
She paused but didn’t cover up. In fact, she seemed happy by Emmie’s perusal. Paul wasn’t far behind. He smacked the woman on the ass as he moved by. Emmie blinked as she took in his nakedness. His cock, hard and full, pointing out as he stepped around his lover.
It sank in. The real reason he didn’t want to have sex with her. He was cheating on her. In her place. With a woman from his building.
He covered himself and gave her a worried look.
Damn right he should be worried.
The piled on shit from the day was to much. The issues at the job with the faithless lout of a boss. Quitting her job. And now to not just find out her boyfriend of two years was cheating but he was doing it in her place? The booted foot behind her, kicked her ass out over the cliff and straight into a free fall.
“Emmie.”
She clenched her hand around her keys, ignoring the pain they gave her. “My place. My bed. You bring some whoring slut over here but tell me you’re too tired?”
Her chest burned, and she tightened her fist, the urge to throw things at him—and her—nearly overwhelming.
“Get out,” she rumbled.
“Babe understand. We had to come here.”
“My boyfriend lives with me so we couldn’t meet over at our building.”
The fury expanded through her chest. She snaked her gaze to the naked bitch in her living room, she hissed in her direction. Reaching toward a vase on the end table, she paused when her fingers brushed an old statue her father had brought with him from Ireland. Bypassing it, she hitched up her dark pink glass vase.
“Get out!”
She chucked it at her.
“Don’t be like that,” Paul said. He didn’t even try to get between her and his slut. Just stood there, covering his dick.
She glared at him and picked up another item. “Don’t be like what? Pissed you’ve used my place for your affair? Furious some naked woman has been rolling around in my bed?”
Another item flew from her hand, shattering by them. Emmie reached for her bat that she kept by the door. and swung it. Circling round to get between them and her bedroom, she demanded once more, “Get. Out.”
“Our clothes are back there.” Paul pointed, like she didn’t know where her bedroom was.
Like she gave a damn.
She yanked out her phone and dialed 911. “I have two intruders in my house. One male and one female.”
“Emmie!” Paul stepped toward her.
“Stay away from me. Get out.” She hefted the bat once more.
“Ma’am. The cops are on the way. Stay on the line with me until they get there.”
“I will. I want you as a witness if I have to use my bat on them.”
αβ
“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me again, Mrs. Garcia.” She curled her fingers around the mug of hot chocolate before her. Outside the café they had met at, a late spring storm dropped icy sleet around the city.
“I am just glad you called. Is there anything else I can do for you to help?”
The woman’s kind expression brought another wave of tears to her eyes.
“No thank you. Just a bit overwhelming. I knew next to nothing about my parents and to learn I have a business in Ireland.” She shrugged. “Like I said, overwhelming.”
“Of course it is, but I think it is wonderful you are going there to see what you have.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Besides, I need to get away for a while. Go somewhere Paul can’t show up at my door and work doesn’t try to get me to come back.
“You have my card,” Mrs. Garcia said as she waved off her reaching for the check and took care of it. “My treat, this is business.” She smiled. “Call me if there is anything I can do for you and that even includes a ride from the airport if you need one.”
“Thank you again. For everything.” She finished her drink and stood along with Mrs. Garcia.
“I hope you find what you need, you’re such a sweetie.” She gave her a hug and walked out.
Four days later, Emmie closed the door behind the moving guys who’d just taken out the last bit of her personal items and were taking them to storage. All she had in there with her were the two suitcases. She wasn’t staying here, however, the cleaning guys were just about down as well and then she was taking herself to a hotel room near the airport for her flight over to Ireland.
She was going to check out this business she’d just inherited. Emmie had to tell herself this multiple times, because it still didn’t seem like anything she would do.
Perhaps this adventure was the luck she needed.
Can’t get any worse.
Ten minutes after the cleaning crew left, she walked to the waiting taxi. The driver put her items in the back as she slid over the seat.
She allowed herself one glance back, only a brief one. Her life for the first time was without a plan. It didn’t sit well, and her gut clenched and churned with her unease.
At the hotel, she saw another phone call coming in from Paul and answering it, she moved to the window allowing her to overlook Pittsburg.
“What is it going to take for you to lose this number?” she snapped into the phone.
“I made a mistake, honey. I miss you.”
“Bullshit. You tried to reason with me why you had to use my place to cheat on me. Do you really think I give a fuck about anything you say? I hope you and your whore are very happy and I wish you both all the STD’s in the world.” She hung up and fiddled with her phone long enough to figure out how to block his number.
She headed to the shower, needing to get clean after even just hearing him. Despite that unpleasantness, she was well rested, if not still extremely nervous, for her ride to the airport.
The following day as she sat on the plane, she thought about the small figurine in her carryon. The one her father had brought from Ireland. A reed thin man with an impressive wooden carved cane, a dark green bowler on his head and cheeks red from either the cold or drink. Somedays she imagined cold, most she figured it was drink. The statue was smooth from all the times she’d rubbed her fingers along it.
A faint memory she had of her family, sitting on his lap, her mom to the side, humming a tune she could never find no matter how hard she looked. There was a fire in the hearth and the scent of fresh warm bread in the air. Darkness outside the small window but inside was full of love. He told a story of long ago when the wee folk loved to get in the lives of those around them.
Honestly, she didn’t remember much of the tale, but she wouldn’t ever forget the way her father’s lilting brogue washed over her and made her feel so loved and protected.
She closed her eyes only to open them moments later when a man claimed the seat next to her, wiping away her memory just as quick as that accident had wiped away her family. He smiled at her as he lowered his lanky body to the seat.
Emmie blinked, stared, then blinked once more. He’s like my figurine.
His smile was contagious, and she found herself responding. Part of her nearly reached out to touch him just to make sure there was flesh and blood there, instead of wood.
“Beautiful day for a flight. I’m going home. What about you?” His brogue was thicker than her father’s had been, at least in her memory and made tears burn the backs of her lids.
“Oh, I’d say I’m trying to change my luck.” Because my shit sure can’t get any worse than it is now. At least I don’t think so. But then, I’ve been wrong before. So, many times.
“Ahh, Ireland then is your end destination.”
He didn’t make it a question, but a statement. She gave him a smaller smile in response before settling in deeper to her seat. Part of her hoped he would let it go after that but to no avail. He canted his head as he clicked his seatbelt into place. All his attention, still focused on her.
“Where in Ireland are you headed?”
“County Kerry.”
He repeated it and she found herself listening to the cadence with which he pronounced it all. Sounded so much more exotic and lovely when it rolled off his tongue than hers.
“Wonderful, it’s such a beautiful place and full of lovely people. I’m sure you’ll have a beau or three in no time.”
“I’m not looking for a beau but it’s good to know they are nice there.” It’s not like I will have any allies where I’m going. Not that I had a lot where I was either.
The flight attendants began their preflight demonstration and she released her hair from the ponytail to allow it to settle around her shoulders.
“So you have a beau?”
She closed her eyes against the pain of finding Paul with his whore in her place. “Nope, not anymore.”
He tsked. “You shouldn’t be single. You will see, lass. There will be men falling over their feet to get to you.”
She angled her head toward him. “Still not looking.”
His smile increased the sparkle in his eyes. Damn if his cheeks weren’t even ruddier than she recalled. “Doesn’t matter. It’s Ireland. Have you been before?”
“Nope, never been out of the United States.” Does that make me sound pathetic? I think it does. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to travel, just been too much of a puss to go anywhere. Until now.
“Then why now? Why are you taking this trip?”
“Besides my need for luck and an apparent beau?” A smile accompanied her words.
“Exactly.” He waved off the flight attendant as she came by.
“I apparently inherited some business, so I’m heading over to see what it is.”
He nodded sagely and didn’t even ask what kind of business it was that she had inherited. “You will be so happy when you get there, you’re never going to want to leave.”
Tucking the blanket around her, she smiled again. “I hope you’re right.”
αβ
“Oh my God, I need to go home. That old man was wrong, so damn wrong.”
She stood with her few luggage bags at her feet staring up at the establishment that was hers now. The village name was Dunphy. Dung heap in her mind and that extended to the state of her business. Honestly, she was shocked the damn thing hadn’t collapsed into a heap of crumbled mortar, rotten wood and nails. Size wise, it was bigger than some of the houses she’d seen on the way through the village.
Figures because in Ireland they drink.
It didn’t stop people from being inside and apparently enjoying their drinks. They entered through a wide door that was propped open and to her untrained eye, looked as if it were about to fall from the hinges She didn’t trust it at all, personally. A two-story building with who knew what on top.
The green paint had peeled from more than one place, leaving it looking splotchy and completely all around unappealing. The windows on the second floor were either broken or had spider web cracks throughout them and of the four she could see from where she stood three were missing drapes. The one with them, it was crooked and holey.
At least the windows on the first floor were in one piece, even if they were filthy and made her long for a hot shower to wash the grime off.
And I’ve not even set foot in here yet. Some work was an understatement. This would take far much more money than she had to fix up. As it sat right now, it was nothing more than a lawsuit waiting to happen. Maybe she could just sell it and wash her hands of it all then run back to Pittsburgh and never leave the country again.
And yet, yet, she couldn’t help the tingle in her fingertips that begged her to make something of this place. Put her touch on it and show some pride in her own work.
There was a partial sign over the door, faded and broken, she could make out the word Myst, only because she knew what the bar was supposed to be named. Otherwise, no way in hell would she have managed to get that figured out.
Emerald Myst my ass, more like Hepatitis Headquarters. Are you not infected? No worries, step right on through, we are happy to accommodate your request. Your choice as to how it is delivered. Rusty nail? Broken glass? A bit of both. We aim to please and do our part to ensure you don’t leave here until you’re infected.
A few men and women went in and out, looking at her oddly as she stood in the falling mist, staring at her inheritance. The one she gave up everything in her old life to come and discover. Everything.
If it was her coloring that had them tossing questionable looks in her direction, she wasn’t sure. Hell, it could be the fact she had two suitcases at her feet as well as a carryon. Perhaps it was the fact she was getting drenched, mist or not, if one stands there long enough and it will soak you. Even a combination of all three.
“Fancy meeting you here again. Are you looking for a place to stay, lass?”
She turned to find the man from the plane standing there, his sharp blue eyes watching her with concern. That same ruddy look in his cheeks were there and his bowler cap had droplets of moisture hanging from the rim.
He gestured to the building before them. “This is a pub, not an inn.” The skies opened up and it was no longer mist she stood in but actual rain.
“I’m aware of that.” Her words were sharp and she closed her eyes, trying to rein in on her temper. “I’m sorry, I’m just frustrated.”
He chuckled, apparently not at all put out by her attitude, and picked up all her bags then carried them inside the rundown building.
“You shouldn’t be out in the rain. Canna be tracking down your inheritance if you are sick.” He tossed the words over a thin shoulder as the darkness swallowed him up.
She hastened after him, not wanting her bags out of sight. Even so, she couldn’t help but hesitate as she stepped over the threshold to her bar. What if I enter here but never leave? Like Hotel California?
She really needed to stop reading so many horror books.
I shouldn’t be here in Ireland.
“McSweeny why for all the green in Ireland, are you dragging a wet bedraggled woman into my bar and with a wee bit of luggage? I figured you’d forgotten about this country and were staying over there in America.”
Emmie’s knees buckled at that thick, deep Irish brogue that skirted along her skin akin to heated velvet dipped in a side of sexual promise.
“Now, now, Brannon. Is that anyway to greet your grandfather? I don’t believe so. Your father may have been an ass and a drunkard but we both know your ma would put a switch to you for acting like that. Plus, I wasn’t about to allow this lovely young lass to remain out there. It’s raining in case you didn’t notice. Bring her a towel.”
Her mind whirled with everything she’d just heard, trying to ingest and make sense of it all. A man strode into view. Nope, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t striding. He swaggered.
Oh my God.
Her reaction had to be given her exhaustion. Right? Because no way she was looking and drooling over a man she’d just seen move into her line of sight.
Short dark hair cut around his face and settled against his neck, reminded her of razor sharp points. Lining his squared jaw sat about two days’ worth of growth and holy hell it gave him a look that tempted her to just hand over her panties. I mean really, why make him ask for them when I’m perfectly happy to hand them to him.
He wasn’t even close enough for her to smell and yet she had already created this wild, outdoorsy scent for him. His gaze was a clear bright blue that sliced over her skin as he took in her appearance.
Raggedy for sure. An over the ocean flight and standing outside in the rain, she knew she wasn’t the most well put together. Even now, her ponytail dripped down her back, adding to her increasing chill.
Without a word to her, he tossed the large towel in her direction then focused on the old man beside her, drawing him into a big hug and pounding him on the back. He didn’t seem to mind the man was wet as well. Their speech flowed so quickly she didn’t have any way of following it, the brogue between them was far too thick.
Closing her eyes, she put the towel over her face to wipe off the rain. At least it was a thick towel and clean. Soft too, if she wanted to think about it. Allowing herself a moment to regain her composure, she was almost ready when a strong hand gripped her wrist and lowered the hand and towel from her face.
Almost was a word she hated, because she hadn’t been ready, not for this man.
Those amazing eyes watched her from behind lowered thick, curved lashes. He was every sexual fantasy she had come to life, even ones she’d not experienced yet.
“And who might you be, lass? And why are you in my pub with your wee luggage?” His blue gaze raked over her and it may have been her lightheadedness or exhaustion, but she thought she spied some heat in there for what he was looking at.
I shouldn’t be proud of that but at least someone may find me passably attractive.
She didn’t like confrontations and she desperately wanted to hide until her backbone would come out from wherever it had gone on vacation to. She didn’t have that choice.
Emmie lifted her chin, dug deep for all those courses she’d done in the privacy of her own place and replied, “This is my pub. I’m the owner.”