It's in His Kiss Holiday Romance Collection (6 page)

“But I’ve been here the whole time.”

“I wasn’t ready to learn about love then, but I am now. Can you teach me everything you know about true love?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Rosie … “

They kissed again, and when he pulled away he whispered in her ear. “Heavy cream and sweet butter.”

She looked at him. “You
do
love me.”

He tilted his head. “Was there ever any doubt?”

Rose spotted the crystal up on the shelf, swirling with color so bright it hurt her eyes to look at it. “Never.”

“Wow,” he said, following her gaze and looking up at the crystal. “That’s incredible.”

“It sure is,” Rose said, and as she kissed him they were both encircled in a red shimmering glow.

Epilogue

Rose sat in the back of the limo in the only evening dress that would fit over her ever-expanding belly. Her mind should have been on Max who was sitting next to her dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo, looking absolutely heavenly, but she couldn’t help wondering if everything was going well in her kitchen at
With a Twist.
There had been several reservations for parties over seven and she liked to be there to make sure everything went smoothly, but her new Sous-Chef had assured her several times that he could handle it. Which she knew he could, but still …

So there she was, stuffed in a sky blue strapless gown, seven months pregnant, a white rose corsage strapped to her wrist, headed for a formal attire required lecture given by that same French winemaker Max had been so hot on last February.

“This is it,” Max said as the limo came to a stop.

Rose hadn’t really paid much attention to where they were going, so when the driver came around and opened their door, she expected to see a theater in front of her. Instead, it was a group of buildings that looked a lot like their old high school.

Max got out first and extended his hand to her. “He’s giving his lecture here?” she asked, completely dumbfounded by the location.

Max chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“Then why are we here?”

“Something I needed to take care of before our baby comes.”

Rose took her time exiting the limo. Getting out of the backseat of any vehicle was difficult enough, let alone a stretch limo.

When she was upright and looked around, she realized they were standing in front of the school gym.

“What’s this all about?” She knew her reasoning had gotten a little slow since her pregnancy, but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why a French winemaker would want to give a lecture in a high school gym.

Max chucked again. “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

“Of course I do,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

But she was totally clueless.

Funny thing was, there was no one else around. No kids. No parents. No one else but the two of them.

It hit her like a wet towel in the face: the dress, the limo, the tuxedo, and the corny sweet wrist corsage. “Max … what is this?”

They were walking up to the double doors as the hard driving beat of a drum, and the steady deep vibration of a base guitar echoed from the other side.

“You didn’t.”

As he swung open the door and the music blasted her ears, he said, “But I did.”

Rose walked under a banner that read,
Senior Prom, 2002,
then she stepped inside a massive room that was decorated entirely in gold and white, the same colors from the original prom that she’d never attended. Lights hung from the ceiling, a fine haze intensified everything, including the DJ, a guy wearing a white suit, who was spinning Pink’s
Get The Party Started,
the number one hit from their senior year.

Daisy and Jasmine were tearing up the floor with their dates, but the rest of the room was completely empty.

“I thought about inviting our classmates, then the girls reminded me that you guys hated most everyone we graduated with,” Max yelled over the song.

“Wise decision. This is insane!” Rose shouted. “You did this all for me?”

“I thought it was about time.”

“I love you,” she said as she turned to face him.

“Me too, babe. I love you too.”

Daisy and Jasmine came running over and the three women squealed just like they had when they were girls.

And just at that moment, while everyone was hugging and squealing, Rose spotted the gypsy, sitting at a small table, watching them, nodding and smiling.

Rose turned to Daisy, “How did you find her?”

“Who?”

“The gypsy.”

“We didn’t find her,” Jasmine said.

“But she’s sitting right over there.” Rose pointed, and sure enough, there she was, brilliant blue scarf wrapped around her head, bangles on her wrists and ears. More gold hanging around her neck. And in the palm of her hand sat the glowing red crystal heart.

The gypsy laughed then as Rose and her friends started to walk toward her, but as they got closer she vanished in a burst of red haze.

Rose, Daisy and Jasmine stopped in their tracks.

After a moment, Daisy said, “Okay, I didn’t really see her. Did either of you?”

Jasmine slowly shook her head.

Rose said, “Probably just my over-active hormones.”

“Yeah, that was it. Along with the haze machine,” Jasmine added.

“Anything wrong?” Max asked from behind Rose.

“Not a thing. Everything’s just as it should be.”

The women all turned towards their men. “Hey,” Rose said, as loud as she could. “It’s prom night. Let’s dance.”

And everyone did just that.

# # #

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Gypsy’s Valentine

Copyright © 2013 by Mary Leo

Published by Pryde Multimedia, LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author and/or publisher.

Irish Kiss

Chapter One

The phone rang just as Ronan Kelly placed his weapon on the dresser and was unbuttoning his shirt, anxious to get out of his clothes and fall into bed. He decided not to answer. Whoever it was could leave a message.

It had been one of those tough days on patrol in South Chicago where being a cop tested his endurance. Two shot-up dead guys lying on the ground and nobody knows nothing. Not that he wanted to do anything else. He just sometimes questioned why he had to do it in the city where even some of the good guys hated the “Boys in Blue.” Certainly there was a small town somewhere that needed another Sheriff.

Okay, so he’d been in a sour mood all day, ever since he’d heard that not only would he have to work the South Side parade on St. Patrick’s Day, but he’d have to pull a double. Not exactly his idea of celebrating his favorite holiday.

Chicago took St. Patty’s Day seriously with two major parades, countless parties, and green beer served in almost every tavern. Everyone was Irish on St. Patty’s Day. Hell, even the river reflected the “green” attitude, with the local plumbers union pouring forty pounds of green vegetable dye in it each year before the parade. Even some of the fountains become a perfect shade of Irish green. But just once he’d like to have the time off to do a little celebrating of his own.

One day he’d get out of this tight city, get away from the street noise and move out where his nearest neighbor was a goat.

At least that was his dream, especially on days like he’d just had.

Now his damn land phone wouldn’t stop ringing. He knew it wasn’t anything to do with work or he’d be getting the call on his cell. This had to be a very determined friend, an estranged family member who didn’t have his cell number or some kind of junk call. After three sets of rings, and no message on his machine, he finally picked up and gave whoever it was a curt “hello.”

“‘Tis me,” a raspy voice answered.

“Yeah, and who’s
me
?”

“What? You don’t recognize your own cousin?”

Damn!

It was Tommy, a relative he’d rather not recognize. The guy always meant some kind of trouble.

“Tommy! It’s been awhile. How the hell are you?”

“Not so good, cuz. I think I got some guy tailin’ me arse.”

“So why are you calling me?”

“You’re still a cop, ain’t ya? Or did you feck that up, too?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

His cousin’s raspy chuckle rumbled though Ronan. The man was like a recurring bad dream, popping up whenever Ronan was at his most vulnerable.

“I hear Rourke’s gone missing again. I tried to get ‘hold of him, but ‘tis like he’s dead or turned into smoke. Nobody can pin him down.”

“He’s not dead. Just busy.”

Rourke was another cousin, a detective who seemed to like life better undercover, but Ronan wasn’t about to tell Tommy anything about that.

“Feck, all you
gobshites
are always busy.”

Tommy liked to think anyone who worked on the side of the law was an idiot.

“What do you want, Tommy. It’s late and I’m beat.”

“I be here in Chicago. Got somethin’ I gotta do tomorrow that’s gonna set me up pretty. Then tomorrow night I thought we’d go on the lash at one of them Irish Pubs in your old haunt. The Village Tap, around eight?”

The last thing Ronan wanted to do was meet Tommy for a drink at the Village Tap, a bar he hadn’t been to in almost a year. But the guy was his cousin, and he liked to hear stories about their small village,
Talamh an Óir,
back in Ireland where they were all born. A town Ronan longed to return to if he ever had the chance.

“I don’t know. That place—”

“Cathy O’Toole will be waitin’. She says she ain’t seen your sorry arse in a while. I thought you two was gonna tie the knot? What’s up?”

Cathy O’Toole was everything Ronan ever wanted. Unfortunately, he was everything she didn’t want. The last time he’d seen her she’d hurled her stilettos at him and told him never to come back. Those damn things could poke out an eye or kill a fella.

They should be illegal.

“It’s complicated.”

“Nothin’s that complicated when it’s a garl like Cathy. I’d a’given me left nut for a night with that one, I would. Hey, I best be goin’. I’m gettin’ a funny feelin’ ‘bout this here saloon. Goin’ back to my room. Meet me straight away tomorrow night for a bit of a laugh. I won’t be takin’ no excuses. Maybe you can give a good scare to the freckin’ guy who be tailin’ me. A guy like you’s gotta be worth somethin’.”

As much as Ronan didn’t want to meet him or Cathy, who probably hated him even more now, he knew he better agree. There was no telling if Tommy was actually being followed or not, and if he was, at least Ronan could find out why.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be there. Eight o’clock, right? And don’t keep me waiting or I’ll leave.”

“Ah, and you’d leave a grand garl like Cathy? You must ‘ave rocks for brains, man.”

“Just be on time.”

“‘Tis my way.”

They hung up and Ronan headed straight for the shower. It wasn’t bad enough he’d just made a date with a troublesome cousin, but he’d be seeing Cathy again. The one girl he couldn’t shake no matter what kind of shoes she threw at him.

* * *

It was a few minutes past nine in the evening when Cathy O’Toole considered the possibility that she’d been royally stood up. Not the best situation to find oneself in, especially since she hadn’t wanted to meet up inside the Village Tap to begin with. Now, as she worked on her second pint while sitting at the elbow-end of the mahogany bar, she felt like a complete arse.

To hell with the two of them!

She had better things to do with her time, like finishing the sweater she’d been knitting for her five-year-old niece’s upcoming birthday, rather than waiting around for men who obviously didn’t think enough of her to call and cancel the date. Not that this was in any way, on any level a date of any kind. She had made that quite clear to Tommy. Still, there she sat, alone in a somewhat crowded neighborhood tavern in Roscoe Village, her new hometown.

The tavern itself brought back memories she would rather not dwell on, so getting up and leaving seemed like a smart move. Unfortunately, the beer had already intensified those memories causing her to want to wait around just a wee bit more to see if either one of them would show up. Plus, she had promised Tommy she’d be there.

But an hour late? Who did that?

She’d brought her knitting along with her, like she always did, but she was too mad to knit.

It didn’t seem worth the pain the
date
was bound to cause if she waited around much longer only to realize that Ronan Kelly had stood her up, and he’d done it at their favorite tavern in all of Chicago. The very place they’d spent countless hours talking about their futures together. The very place where he’d proposed in front of a hundred people, some of which were there right now, watching her, glancing over at her, probably wondering where the hell she’d been for the past year.

Cathy only lived four blocks away on Oakley Avenue, but ever since her relationship with Ronan had fallen off a cliff, she had avoided the Tap at all costs.

Until tonight.

She would do almost anything for Tommy, especially since he was one of the few connections to their old village in Ireland,
Talamh an Óir,
which she desperately missed with all her heart. She had tried to get him to meet her at any number of other taverns Chicago had to offer, but he’d insisted it be this one.

Still, he was late or more likely had blown her off for a better offer. If she waited much longer, she’d undoubtedly be crying in her beer. She had thought about leaving for the past half-hour, then changed her mind when she reminded herself not only did Tommy say he had something important to tell her about Adhamh, the leprechaun who’d been terrorizing their village in Ireland, but that he’d invited Ronan, the one man on the entire planet she truly hadn’t wanted to see ever again. At first she’d said no to Tommy’s invitation. Then the more Tommy had insisted, saying he needed to see them both at the same time, the more he had broken her resistance down.