Love and Blarney (9 page)

“But you said you were sick of the rat race of Wall Street and happy here in Ballybeg.”

“I said I was
content
. Your absence left a gaping hole. As long as I’m with you, I don’t care where we live. Whether we make our home in Manhattan or Ballybeg is something we can decide later. The most important thing is to decide we want to be together, regardless of location.”

“I definitely want to be with you,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “But I want you to be happy.”

“If I move back to New York, I doubt I’ll go back to being a stockbroker.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Could you live with me bringing home less money than I used to earn?”

“Of course.” She didn’t hesitate before answering. “If there’s one thing the past year has proved, it’s that material things don’t mean a damn if you’ve no one to share them with. If you find a job that makes you happy, we’ll find a solution.”

He caught her up in his arms and kissed her hard. “I love you, Jayme King. So damn much. I want to make our marriage work.”

“So do I. I’m willing to give it a few months to decide where we want to live.” She nuzzled his ear. “But there’s one condition.”

“And what’s that?” he asked, teasing the cleft in her chin.

She fingered the indent on his wedding finger. “We’re getting you a new ring.”

Seven Months Later

THE WEEKEND AFTER Molly’s funeral, Jayme and Ruairí packed a picnic and drove out to Mizen Head. A wet August had given way to a blissfully sunny September. The leaves on the trees were showing the first signs of fall, and the busy tourist season that had kept them busy in the pub was starting to ebb.

Jayme had surprised herself by how much she’d enjoyed spending the last few months in Ireland. Their living quarters over the pub were cramped, and the constant awareness of Molly’s illness was stressful. However, she’d cherished the opportunity to get to know her mother-in-law before she died. She’d never warm to her father-in-law, but she liked most of Ruairí’s siblings, especially Sharon and Marcella.

And as for Ruairí himself… she lowered her binoculars and eyed her handsome husband with appreciation while he set out their picnic. Reconnecting with him had been a wonderful experience. They’d talked more over the past few months than they had during the three years they were together in New York. At times, it had been painful, but the newfound emotional trust between them more than made up for her discomfort discussing the aftermath of her surgery.

He caught her watching him and grinned. “Didn’t I tell you the view up here was good?”

She placed the binoculars on the blanket. “Good? Honey, it’s spectacular.”

He shaded his eyes against the low September sun. “Funny to think our apartment in Manhattan is all the way across the ocean.”

She stared out at the crashing waves below the cliffs and at the vast expanse of ocean beyond. “Funny to think I don’t miss it. Who would have thought I’d enjoy living in a small Irish town?”

Ruairí flipped open the picnic basket and extracted a bottle and two champagne flutes. He popped the cork and poured a generous amount of bubbly liquid into each glass.

“No, I can’t,” she said when he handed her one.

Amusement creased his eyes. “Am I to continue ignoring your sudden reluctance to drink alcohol, or are you finally ready to tell me why?”

She laughed. “I like to keep you in suspense.”

“Does it have anything to do with what you told Ma just before she died? Whatever it was, it certainly put a smile on her face.”

Jayme placed her champagne flute on top of picnic basket. Her fingers trembled slightly. “It might.” She took a deep breath. “As of today, I’m twelve weeks pregnant.”

His face split into a wide grin. “I knew it! Sweetheart, that’s the best news I’ve heard since… well, forever.” He moved to her side of the blanket and caught her up into a kiss.

“I wanted to wait until I was past the first trimester,” she said, leaning into his chest. “I’d have told you no matter what happened, but I couldn’t let myself think about it until then, you know?”

He stroked her cheek. “But you told Ma.”

“Yeah.” She glanced up. “You don’t mind?”

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “Not at all. I wish she’d lived long enough to see our baby born, but I’m glad she had the chance to know he or she was on the way. Thank you for giving her that gift.”

“Seeing as we’re talking babies, I’d better tell you I’ve been offered a part-time position at a pediatric clinic in Cork City.”

“Seriously?” Hope flickered across his face. “Did you accept?”

“Yes. I can’t guarantee I’ll want to live in Ireland forever, but we’re happy here at the moment. I’m more than willing to give it a chance.”

He drew her into his arms. “I love you, Jayme King.”

“And I love you, Ruairí MacCarthy.” She patted her still-flat abdomen. “But I think it’s time we searched for a house.”

“In Ballybeg?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

She smiled. “Where else?”

Thanks for reading
Love and Blarney
. I hope you enjoyed it!

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Love and Blarney
on Amazon, Goodreads, your blog, etc., please
email me
the link and I’ll send you a free copy of my upcoming Christmas novella,
Love and Mistletoe
, as soon as it’s ready.

Love and Blarney
is the second story in the
Ballybeg Series
. All the stories are designed to stand alone—Happily Ever Afters guaranteed! However, you might prefer to read the books in order of publication to see the development of the secondary characters. The first story in the series is
Love and Shenanigans
. The third story,
Love and Leprechauns
, will be released in November 2014. Turn the page to read the blurb!

Don't miss a release! Join my
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and be the first to know when there’s a new Ballybeg story.

Coming November 2014

Tattooed in Tipperary…

Olivia Gant is determined to escape her abusive marriage and live life on her own terms. Desperation drives her to agree to rent premises for her new café from her teenage nemesis, the man who tattooed her arse and stomped on her heart. Can she maintain a haughty distance, or will she succumb to temptation once more?

Jonas O’Mahony is a struggling single father to a child with special needs. The last thing he wants is the beautiful-but-infuriating Olivia under his roof and underfoot, but a childcare crisis forces him to accept her offer to babysit in return for the lease on the cottage. Can Jonas resist Olivia’s allures, or will he finally admit he’s in love?

…True Love in Ballybeg

When Olivia’s ex is clobbered to death by a garden gnome, the fickle finger of suspicion points to Olivia and Jonas. Can they prove their innocence? Or is their happily ever after doomed?

Vows in Vegas…True Love in Ballybeg

Three days before leaving Ireland on the adventure of a lifetime, Fiona Byrne returns to her small Irish hometown to attend the family wedding from hell. When she discovers the drunken vows she exchanged with the groom during a wild Las Vegas trip eight years previously mean they’re legally married, her future plans ricochet out of control.

Gavin Maguire’s life is low on drama, high on stability, and free of pets. But Gavin hadn’t reckoned on Fiona blasting back into his life and crashing his wedding. In the space of twenty-four hours, he loses a fiancée and a job, and gains a wife and a labradoodle. Can he salvage his bland-but-stable life? Or will he lose his heart to Fiona all over again?

Available Now!

Ballybeg, County Cork, Ireland

GAVIN STEERED HIS BMW down the winding road leading to Clonmore Lodge, windows down, punk rock blaring. Through the gaps in the trees, he glimpsed the sea. He inhaled deeply, tasted the salty air on his tongue, and felt it sting his nose.

Ballybeg was the best place on earth. He’d loved this area from the first moment he’d seen it. Adored the wildness of the sea, the rolling green fields, and the seaweed-scented wind. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. While he liked to travel, the best part of every holiday was coming back home.

He rounded a last bend in the road and turned into the drive that led to a spacious three-level house. It was gorgeous; of that there was no doubt. Built in the mid-nineteenth century, it combined the quaint elegance of Old Ireland with modern comforts. It boasted five bedrooms, a sauna in the basement, and a small tennis court out the back. As his fiancée assured him daily, it would be the perfect home to raise kids.

And yet he’d trade it in for his cozy cottage any day. Yes, the cottage was too small for a family. Yes, it wasn’t as fancy as this house. And yes, it wasn’t in the most desirable area of Ballybeg. But the cottage was the first place he’d called home, and leaving it was a wrench.

He pulled his car to a halt outside the ivy-framed door. He was on the verge of opening his car door when his mobile phone flashed a message. A glance at the glowing display made his stomach cramp. He read the message several times. By the time he tossed the phone back on the passenger seat, the words were imprinted on his brain.

Hi, Gavin. Best wishes on your wedding day. Sorry we can’t make it. Too much to do on the farm. I know you’ll understand. All the best, Mum xx

He exhaled sharply. He was used to his mother’s offhandedness. Resigned to her disinterest in his life. So why did this latest rejection hurt so damn much? He was thirty-two years old, for feck’s sake. Too old to get maudlin over her lack of interest and old enough to have developed a thicker skin.

He grabbed his briefcase and architect’s tool bag, climbed out of the car, and slammed the door.

Inside the house, seventies pop music drifted down the hallway. He laughed softly. One thing he and his fiancée definitely did not have in common was their taste in music.

“Muireann,” he called. “I’m home.”

Over Abba’s crooning, he heard what sounded like a dog barking. He frowned. That couldn’t be right. He and Muireann had a strict “no pets” rule.

He dumped his bag and briefcase and headed toward the living room to investigate.

Muireann was sitting on the sofa, humming and cradling a curly-haired puppy in her arms. “Isn’t he adorable?” She beamed and the puppy slobbered all over her face. The same face Gavin was barely permitted to air-kiss these days in case he smudged her makeup. She’d always been particular about her appearance, but in the months leading up to the wedding, she’d become obsessed.

Gavin stared at the scene before him, slack-jawed. There was an overturned vase, claw marks on the leather sofa, and a suspicious yellow stain on the hearthrug.

“
Jaysus
. That dog peed on a one-thousand-euro rug.”

“Hmm?” Muireann glanced at the hand-tufted rug Gavin had specially commissioned for her engagement present. “He’s not quite house-trained, but we’ll soon have that sorted. Won’t we, Wiggly Poo?”

Gavin sank into an armchair and groped for the whiskey decanter. “Why is a dog urinating in our living room? Why is a dog
in
our living room in the first place?”

“Daddy gave him to us as an early wedding present.”

“What?” He clenched the decanter. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Yeah.” She nuzzled her nose into the canine’s curly fur. “But he’s an Australian labradoodle.”

“A labra-
what
?”

“It’s a cross between a Labrador and a poodle. They’re supposed to be hypoallergenic.”

“
Supposed
to be. That’s reassuring.”

Muireann’s pink lips compressed into a perfect pout. “You’re not suggesting we give him back?”

“We discussed marriage. We discussed babies. We never discussed labrawhatsits.”

“If you want rid of him,
you
talk to Daddy.”

“You can be damn sure I’ll talk to Bernard. I bowed to pressure over the house. No way am I allowing him to foist a pet on us.” Gavin sloshed a generous helping of Jameson into a tumbler and knocked it back in one. This wedding business was getting out of control. The sooner the ceremony was over and they were sunning themselves in Mauritius, the better.

“I realize you wanted us to live in your cottage, but you must see it’s not practical.”

Gavin sighed. “Yeah, I do. That’s the reason I agreed to move in with you rather than vice versa.”

“We’ve been spoiled by our years of living in separate homes.” She patted his hand. “It’ll take time to adjust. For both of us.”

The dog barked, drawing his attention back to his unwanted guest. “Who came up with the daft name?”

“Mummy. Wiggly Poo wouldn’t be my first choice, but I didn’t want to offend her. Besides, it rather suits him.”

Gavin eyed the animal with suspicion. It resembled a walking bath mat. The dog panted and batted canine eyelashes at him.

“Do you want to hold him?” Muireann raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

He edged back in his seat. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug.

Gavin gestured at the dog with his whiskey glass. “Who’s minding the mutt while we’re in Mauritius?”

“Aunt Bridie.”

“What about her bad hip?”

Muireann sniffed. “After all Daddy’s done for her over the years, it’s the least she can do.”

“Why can’t your parents dog-sit?”

“It would be too much for Mummy’s Chihuahuas. Wiggly Poo’s a little wild.”

Gavin’s gaze dropped to the stained rug. “You don’t say.”

“Mummy called boarding kennels, and none had a free place at such short notice.”

“I’m not happy about having a dog thrust upon me. By the time we get back from our honeymoon, I want him gone.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Can we discuss this later? It’s the day before our wedding. I don’t want any unpleasantness between us.”