Breakaway (15 page)

Erin smiled wickedly. “I’ve got a picture of that somewhere, you know. Them having to dismantle the ride.”

“Hanging on to it so you can blackmail me someday, eh?”

“Believe me, if I wanted to blackmail you, I’ve got loads of other things at my disposal.”

“So, you haven’t thrown things out,” Rory said softly, going to touch her arm.

Erin jerked away.
What the hell are you doing, strolling down memory lane? You’re not even supposed to be talking to him.

“No, I don’t throw things away, Rory, unlike you. And memories are sweet, but that’s all they are: memories. I’d appreciate it if we could get back to wrapping this day up.”

Rory cocked his head appraisingly. “I like this new you, standing your ground and all.”

“I thought you said I’d become a hard one.”

“More tough than hard, I’d say now.”

“Go to hell, Rory. You make it sound like I let you push me all over the map.”

“You did. And I didn’t even think twice about it. Sorry for that.”

“Apology accepted.”

Rory took one bite of his Mars bar and tossed it into the rubbish bin with a disgusted face. “I’ve eaten loads of crap in my day, but that topped the list. How can you eat that?”

“Ah, what do you know?”

“Nothing about how your taste in sweets has changed, apparently. What now? Home?”

He was calling her bluff. Well, she’d call back.

“I’d like to finish my candy bar, please. Then home—though I would like to buy some jam and chocolate first.”

“Well, there’s something I need to do, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Come along and see.”

Erin hung back a moment, then shrugged. “No skin off my nose,” she said diffidently, when really, “come along and see” were words too enticing to ignore.

Rory led her to the long avenue of tented booths where the games of chance were. She saw herself and her brother, darting from game to game, competing. The sweet smell of the treats being sold, the swirl of the carnival music accompanying the surrounding tide of voices—it was still magical.

“Rory, what are you doing?”

“What do you think? I’m going to win you something.”

“No need. I’ve decided I’d like to go home after all.”

“Five more minutes won’t kill you. Besides, I thought you wanted to buy some jam?”

“Can I point something out? You’ve always been awful at games of chance. Worse than darts.”

“Maybe I’ve improved.”

“Doubt it.”

She ignored Rory’s arrogant smile as they strolled past booth after booth. Eventually, they stopped at the shooting gallery. Hit one of the moving ducks with the air rifle, win a stuffed animal. The line was short, but it seemed to be moving quickly. All of the shooters were men determined to win a prize for their sweethearts. Rory took his place in line.

“You’re a masochist, Rory Brady.”

“We’ll just see.”

It was only a few minutes before it was Rory’s turn. He slapped down a stack of euros, picked up the rifle, and, closing his left eye, took aim at the moving gallery of ducks. Three shots a game and he missed them all. And each time he lost, he put more money down.

“Rory, this is crazy,” said Erin, beginning to feel self-conscious as the crowd of carnival goers around them began swelling, everyone wanting to see just how much time and money this big, handsome man was willing to go through for the small woman beside him.

Ten games. Twenty games.

“Rory…”

“He must love your arse,” a gum-popping teenage girl caked in cheap makeup remarked enviously.

Rory heard her. “I do.”

“C’mon, mate!” The crowd urged him on each time he lost a game. “You can do it.”

Finally, he did, on his thirty-second game. Cheers went up, claps were pounded out. Yet despite paying a small, unnecessary fortune, Rory somehow managed to look gallant as he put the gun down and turned to Erin. “Pick your prize.”

Erin, flushed and mildly panicked at being the center of attention, picked the first thing that caught her eye: a stuffed lamb. The carnival barker handed it over to her, his eyes glazed with boredom. “Who’s next?”

Erin and Rory started to walk away from the booth so the next Romeo could take his shot at winning. Erin caught a few looks of envy coming her way. Suddenly, she felt ashamed for how horrible she’d been to Rory today. She owed him
something
.

“Thank you for the lamb,” she said shyly.

“For Chrissakes, girl!” boomed a raucous male voice. “You can at least give the bastard a kiss!”

Rory was smiling beguilingly. “You heard the man.”

Erin felt light-headed as she rose up on tiptoes to kiss Rory’s cheek. Except it wasn’t his cheek: Rory shifted his head so their lips met. It was over in the wink of an eye, but Erin couldn’t deny to herself what was still there between them: desire as intense and electric as that first time he’d ever kissed her, round the back of the school one lunchtime. Anger hadn’t dulled it at all. If anything, it made it sharper.

“There,” Erin said, minimizing their contact. “You’ve won your prize, you’ve gotten your kiss, now let me go get my jam and choccies and we’ll be done with it.”

“How’re you getting home? And don’t lie.”

“I was going to ride with Aislinn and Liam. I’m going back to their house for supper.”

Rory looked alarmed. “Where, in the back of that death truck?”

“No! I’d be squeezed up front with them!”

“It’s still a death truck. I don’t want you in it.” His expression was adamant.

“Oh, is that so? Has it not dawned on you yet that I couldn’t care less what you want or don’t want?”

Rory’s brows came together and he rubbed his forehead as if trying to ward off a headache. “I’m just sayin’ I don’t want to risk anything happening to you. Besides, Liam and Aislinn won’t be closing up shop for a few hours yet. What are you going to do? Hang about and help them sell wool?” He looked uncharacteristically tense. “Erin, please: just let me give you a lift home. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want.”

“You promise?”

“I’ll put tape over my mouth if it’ll make you feel better.”

“No need to go that far,” Erin replied, alarmed that the thought of tape covering that gorgeous mouth of his struck her as a sin. There could be only one explanation for it: the sun beating down on her head was beginning to cook her brains.

Rory looked impatient. “Well?”

“I accept your offer.”

“Good.”

Erin couldn’t see his expression as he turned away, but she knew a small smile of victory was playing across his lips this very moment. In Rory’s mind, he’d won. It was sad how wrong one person could be.

Erin was having a lie down in one of the spare bedrooms in her cousin’s house, surprisingly tired after the fair, when she was jolted awake by the sound of crockery smashing downstairs in the kitchen. She checked her cell: it was too early for Aislinn and Liam to be back from the farmer’s market, which meant only one of two things: either Jake was rooting around down there, or Alec. Maybe both. She’d been so rattled driving with Rory that by the time he’d dropped her off at the house, she’d failed to even register the brothers’ presence in the far south meadow. But judging by the annoyed look on Jake’s face when she appeared in the kitchen doorway, she knew he’d seen Rory drop her off.

He was crouched on the stone floor, picking up the pieces of a large ceramic bowl. “Hey. Surprised to see you here.”

“I’m having dinner with Aislinn and Liam. I saw no point in waiting around the fair for them to finish up, so—”

“You had Rory drop you here.” He rose, carefully laying the broken pieces of bowl on the sideboard. “All it needs is a good glue,” he said, more to himself than to her. His back remained to her as he asked, “How was the fair?”

“Crowded.”

He didn’t seem to register her answer as he headed for the sink, still not looking at her. He thrust his mud-caked hands under the running tap. “And did you have fun?”

“Not really.”

“Glad to hear it. You would’ve if you’d gone with me.”

“Rory offered to forfeit the game. You said no.”

“He just wanted to look good.”

Erin hesitated. “I think he might be trying to make amends.”

Jake looked astonished as he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Are you defending him?”

“No. I just think you have to give him some credit for trying to fix things.”

Jake dried his hands, then turned to her. “And how’s he making it up to you, then?” he asked sarcastically.

He’s going to drive me to Crosshaven next Tuesday afternoon
. She couldn’t tell him that. Jake could never match it, and Erin didn’t want him to feel bad about himself, which was silly, since she didn’t want either of them. “I don’t think he’s figured that out yet.”

Jake changed the subject. “Good of you to come up here. Aislinn said it’s been a while.”

“Aislinn’s talked to you about me?” Erin asked, surprised.

“Just in passing,” Jake said offhandedly. “You know, mostly in the context of Liam, him missing you and all.”

“Yeah, we haven’t seen as much of each other as we used to now that I’m the unpaid help at the B and B.”

“It’s a good thing you’re doing for your mam, Erin.”

“I know.” She was plagued with guilt. “But my mother doesn’t seem to understand that it’s not what I’ve planned for my life.”

“And where are you in the planning process?” he asked softly.

“Smack in the middle. But I know one thing: I don’t plan to live the rest of my life here, Jake.”

“People change.”

“Yes, sometimes they do,” Erin agreed tersely, “but trust me on this. That’s one thing I’ll never change my mind about.”

“If you say so.” Jake held her gaze for a moment, then started back outside. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Doubtful that’s going to happen now,
Erin thought grimly. But she’d try to keep a positive attitude nonetheless.

*   *   *

“I can’t believe you talked to Jake about me.”

Erin waited until she, Liam, and Aislinn were tucking into their rhubarb crumble before broaching the subject that had been niggling at her ever since she’d spoken with Jake. After he’d left the house, she was too wired to continue her nap and too restless to read. She decided she’d surprise Aislinn and make dessert herself. Aislinn wasn’t fond of others messing about in her kitchen, but she seemed enormously pleased, which in turn made Erin feel more confident about bringing the subject of Jake up.

Aislinn looked blank.

“He told me that you’d mentioned my not visiting for a while,” Erin clarified.

“I don’t think that constitutes ‘talking about you,’ Er,” said Liam. “At least not in the traditional sense.”

“I can’t see how the subject even came up,” Erin replied.

“Why so tetchy?” Liam wanted to know.

“You know why,” Aislinn said as she helped herself to more crumble. “The bet.”

“Yeah, about the bet,” Liam said carefully.

Here it comes
.

“Don’t you think you should stay away from Rory Brady?”

“I’d have kicked him in the balls by now,” Aislinn declared matter-of-factly. “Would have done it the moment I clapped eyes on him.”

“And that’s why I love you, darlin’,” Liam said fondly. “Because you’re always ready to shoot on sight. You’re like my very own Annie Oakley in Wellies.”

“I’ve no idea who that is, but I’m going to assume it’s not a complimentary comparison.”

“An affectionate one.” Liam dug heartily into his large piece of pie. “Seriously, Erin, what the hell? I can’t believe you agreed to go to the fair with him. What did your folks say?”

Erin’s anger reared its head. “For Christ’s sake, Liam, I’m not some dozy little twit who doesn’t know what she’s doing! And I’m not a child who needs to let her parents know where she is every moment of every day. All I said was that I was going to the fair. Period. I’m a grown woman; I can do as I please.”

“You’re right,” Liam agreed, backing off. “But I still don’t see why you’d ever give that prick the time of day.”

Erin took a sip of tea. “I’m milking him for all he’s got.”

Liam looked completely confused. “What do you mean?”

“He says he wants to make it all up to me—not that he ever can, mind. You’ve seen his posh car, right?”