Chapter Three

Jameson

I can’t stop thinking about Big Win, lying in his hospital bed. I should be there. I would be there, except that it’s Tuesday and O’Halloran’s is always a zoo on Tuesday because of our very popular pub quiz.

“So you still have no idea if Scott’s even coming?” Hennessy asks as we help our younger sister, Walker, fill drink orders at the bar.

I shake my head. “No clue.”

“Are you sure he got the message?” Walker asks. She’s wielding a pair of cocktail shakers like they’re maracas.

I set two martini glasses down in front of her and watch the magic as she pours both at the same time. Walker has elevated bartending to an art form.

“I called the Project Peace Headquarters, and they promised to let him know as soon as possible. How long that’ll be, I have no clue. And then—how long it takes for him to make travel arrangements… Anyway, it looks like I’m on my own for now.” I glance around at the packed pub, torn between staying here and going to my former father-in-law’s bedside. Henny knows me well enough to recognize my emotional dilemma almost immediately.

“James, you were there all day,” she reminds me. “Doc Douglas knows where to find you if he needs you, and you could be there in under ten minutes if you had to be. Besides, you don’t want to miss…you know what.” Her voice drops to a whisper for the last three words so no one will overhear.

“Hey, Walker, you got those martinis for the Pink Ninja team at table six? They’re getting a little rowdy…”

I glance at my youngest sister with her torn jeans, O’Halloran’s T-shirt, and apron. Her long blonde hair is tied back in a ponytail. She looks cute—just like always. But considering what’s going on tonight…

“Hey, Bailey?” I begin tentatively.

“Hmmm?” She doesn’t look at me as she loads up her tray with drinks.

“You know…those jeans are looking a little…raggedy… Why don’t you grab a pair of Henny’s from upstairs? Or maybe even that cute denim skirt of hers that you like so much…”

Her head swings around in my direction, and I see this is not going to be good even before she opens her pink-frosted lips. She puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrow.

“James, you know I love that you and Jax moved back home. But I’m not a kid anymore…and you’re not my mother. So would you please just quit with all the ‘helpful’ suggestions? I can dress myself.”

She spins around, grabs her drink tray off the bar, and stomps off before I can utter a single word. I try not to look as hurt as I feel. Her comment shouldn’t sting, but it does. She’s right, I’m not her mother. And God knows I’d give anything to have the woman who is her mother—and mine—walk through that door right now. But she won’t.

“Oh…wow,” Henny murmurs. “Just…wow…”

“Ha! She’ll regret not listening to you when her picture’s in the paper tomorrow and she’s wearing that outfit.” Walker chuckles.

“Ummm…well, I guess we know she doesn’t suspect anything,” I mutter.

“James…” Henny starts to say something that I’m sure is meant to comfort me, but her boyfriend, Bryan, interrupts her. I’m actually relieved.

“Did I miss it?” he asks, emerging from the back of the pub where there are stairs up to the apartment that he and Hennessy share.

“Shhhh!” we all say at once.

Bryan holds up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry!”

“All right already, enough with the drama!” Walker snipes. “We’ve got, like, eight orders pending here and I could use a little help. So how about it? Or are you two lovebirds too busy planning your next eco-friendly strip club or something?” She’s referring to their new real estate venture—creating smart, ecologically sound buildings that still fit within each town’s character. Though, as far as I know, they haven’t tapped into the adult entertainment industry. Yet.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bryan replies with a wagging finger and faux indignation, “nothing wrong with a conscientious gentlemen’s club! Haven’t you heard? We’re all kinder, gentler, and more sensitive now.”

He’s beaming, Walker’s scowling, and I keep glancing at my watch. “They should be here any minute now.”

“Right…now, tell me one more time… Bailey’s going to be crowned Princess Lisa of Midwestern Pizza?”

“Ugh! How many times do I need to explain this to you?” Henny groans, swatting him with a bar towel.

“She’s going to be crowned as one of the four princesses of the Magawa County Fair’s Royal Court,” I explain once again for our incredulous L.A. boy. He knows what’s going on, he just likes to hear us say it. “They do public appearances, there’s a big parade, and a sculptor carves their busts in butter.”

Bryan’s eyes grow wider as I explain. “Butter? Now that part I haven’t heard before! They actually make…butter busts?”

He’s holding his pecs, using his hands as a makeshift push-up bra.

“Jeez! Are you a perv or what?” Walker accuses with a scowl. “Bust, Bryan, bust. Think: ‘A bust of Beethoven sitting on a piano’ or ‘Shakespeare sitting on a bookcase.’ That kind of bust.”

“Ah. Okay,” he says, nodding. “That makes more sense…although…” He stops short when Hennessy shoots him a warning glare. “Yeah. Butter. Got it.”

“Anyway,” I continue on with my Mayhem civics lesson, “the court consists of four princesses, each representing a different industry—there’s Princess Di of Midwestern Pie, Princess Reed of Midwestern Feed, Princess Drew of Midwestern Brew and the most coveted title of all, Princess Mary of Midwestern Dairy. About a week before the fair opens, the previous year’s princesses just sort of ‘pop up’ all over the county to surprise the girls who’ve been chosen for this year’s fair.”

“This is starting to sound like a Cohen Brothers movie,” he observes with a chuckle. “So which princess is Bailey?”

“We won’t know until they show up,” Hennessy says as she hands him a beer. “But I think we’re about to find out. Look over there by the entrance!”

When the front door to the pub opens, it takes the young woman a few tries to wedge herself—and her outrageously puffy dress—over the threshold. But once she’s through, the petite brunette appears to float across the floor on a sparkly cloud of taffeta, tulle, and satin. People are beginning to notice, including Father Romance, who’s been serving as quizmaster tonight. We let him in on the secret earlier, and now he can barely contain his excitement as he offers the princess a hand up onto the dais with him.

“Uh, well, ladies and gentlemen, it would appear we are in the presence of royalty!” he exclaims excitedly into his microphone. “Oh, and look who else is here…Mayhem’s own Mayor Ollie Erikson!”

A small, fussy man with a comb-over, Ollie strides up to Father Romance, leans in, and says something that makes both of them laugh. Then our priest hands over his microphone and steps back so Ollie can address the bewildered but excited audience. All around us people are starting to murmur.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mayor Ollie begins, “on behalf of the Magawa County Fair, I’d like to introduce you to Molly Forky, a member of last year’s royal court.” A hardy round of applause goes up for the sparkly girl as she swishes her long skirt from side to side and smiles pretty. “As you know, the princesses are chosen from among the county’s finest young women—all of them standouts in their academic careers and their commitment to community service. I’m pleased to say that a member of this year’s royal court is right here, right now.”

“Where’s Bailey?” I ask, scanning the room until Bryan points her out.

She’s leaning against the wall, trying not to look too interested as she hugs a big round serving tray to her body like a shield. I see what she’s feeling, and I know it well—hopeful…but afraid to be too hopeful. Oh, yeah, baby sister has no clue what’s coming her way, and the idea of it gives me my first real smile in the last two days. My eyes dart back and forth between her on the one side of the room and the mayor on the other.

“Our Princess Mary graduated from Mayhem High School with honors. But she’s not just an exceptional student, she also gives to her community by volunteering at the county food pantry and singing in the choir of the Basilica of St. Mary of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mayhem.”

I feel my eyes well up with tears as she realizes that she’s the one the mayor is talking about. A hand flies to her mouth—but only for a second, because she knows what’s coming next. In three seconds flat, Bailey’s tossed the tray on a nearby table, lost the apron, pulled her hair out of the ponytail, and is pinching her cheeks to make them rosy—a trick our mother taught us before we were old enough to wear makeup.

“It is my honor to present to you this year’s Princess Mary of Midwestern Dairy,” Ollie says, pausing for dramatic effect. “Miss Bailey Irish O’Halloran!”

Bailey looks a little shy—a rarity for her—and absolutely stunning as she takes the dais.

I feel a swell of pride for the young woman she’s become. “Mama and Pops would’ve been so proud,” I murmur, my comment lost in the raucous applause as the tiara is fitted to Bailey’s head. I take a deep breath, still applauding as I walk to the bar and grab some napkins for my damp face.

It isn’t until I turn around again that I see him.

He’s standing there just to the right of the front door, all long legs and broad shoulders. There’s a hint of scruff on his face, as if he hasn’t been in the company of a razor for a day or two. It looks good against his golden brown complexion. And his eyes…I can’t see the color from here, but there’s an intensity to them that travels all the way across the room as he watches me watching him. I gasp involuntarily as an electric pulse zaps through me right to my core.

What on earth…?

It’s then that I realize, to my great surprise, that this isn’t a totally unfamiliar feeling. And that he’s not a totally unfamiliar man.

I’m looking at my ex-husband’s brother.

I’m looking at Scott Clarke.

And he’s looking back at me.