Forever Mine: Callaghan Brothers, Book 9 (18 page)

“Mr. Finnegan no longer owns the bar, Sal,” Jack said clearly. “
I
do, which means I determine what we will stock and how much, not Mr. Finnegan. Is that clear?”

Jack blacklined several of the items and put a corrected version of the receipt on the bar, along with a check for substantially less than the original invoice. “This is what I ordered, and this is what I will pay for. Take the rest of it back. Unless, of course, Mr. Finnegan is planning on paying the difference?”

Color rushed to the older man’s cheeks, and fire blazed in his eyes. He didn’t appreciate being called out, but Jack was finished coddling the old man. Finnegan ran the pub into the ground when he owned it; Jack sure as hell wasn’t about to let him do the same to him.

“No? All right then. Glad we’ve cleared that up. I don’t expect we’ll have any more misunderstandings from now on.”

Sal was not particularly happy about taking back the high-priced inventory, but he did. Afterward, Jack intended to have a long overdue conversation with Danny, but the old man left in a huff before he got the chance.

“Did you know about this?” Jack asked Brian point-blank.

“Finnegan padding the orders? No. But I can’t say I’m shocked. He’s made no secret of the fact that he likes pretending he still owns the place.”

That was true enough. The old man spent a good part of his day at the bar, telling colorful stories and reliving his glory days. Jack didn’t mind; Danny had been a fixture there for as long as he could remember. But the fact was, Danny didn’t own the bar any longer. Jack appreciated his experience and the color and history he brought to the place, but he was not about to allow Danny to make financial or business decisions.

“Do you think it was a mistake to keep him on?”

Brian considered carefully before answering. “No, you did the right thing there. Danny’s got his problems, but he’s one of our own. He’s like the alcoholic uncle that shows up at the annual family reunion. Everyone knows what he is, but plays along out of respect and because he
is
part of the family. Keeping him on the paying side of the bar is probably a good idea, though.”

Jack sighed. Brian was right. Danny was sort of like family. He’d given them both jobs when they’d come back without question, and had wanted Jack to have the Pub over his own son-in-law.

“I shouldn’t have called him out like that, not in front of the delivery guy.”

“It had to be done. Don’t worry about Danny. You hurt his pride a bit, but he’ll be back. Where else is he going to go?”

On that sad note, Jack returned to the table and the accounts while Brian restocked the shelves. Between seventy-five-dollars-a-bottle liquor walking out the door, trying to bring the living space up to code, and greasing the hands of the local politicians in order to keep their coveted liquor license, they were barely keeping their heads above water, surfing the fine line between black and red. Kathleen had done a great job of cutting unnecessary expenses, but it wasn’t going to be enough.

“Shite.” Jack slammed the ledger closed and rubbed his eyes.

“That bad?”

“It’s not good. What the hell was I thinking? Kathleen was right. This place is a black hole when it comes to money.”

Brian drew him a draft and placed it in front of him. “Listen, Jack, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“More bad news, Bri? Because I have to tell you, I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but hear me out anyway, okay?”

His friend’s quiet, somber tones and serious expression had Jack nodding. “Okay.”

“I got a call from Sammy Anderson a couple of weeks ago.”

“Sammy Anderson?” Jack’s brows shot up. Sammy Anderson was in their SEAL unit for a while, until one of his legs was blown off and got him sent home.

“Yeah. He’s not adjusting to civilian life well.”

“No?”

“No. Said he was tired of busting his ass at minimum wage jobs he hated anyway. Most places won’t hire him because he doesn’t have the skills they’re looking for. So Sammy decided to market the skills he
does
have. He’s contracting.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Contracting what?”

“Hits,” Brian said quietly. “Take-downs. The kind where people disappear, you know?”

“Holy shite.”

Brian nodded. “Yeah. It’s fucked up. But it pays damn well. Sammy was calling me from his
yacht
. Asked me if I needed a job. Mentioned your name, too.”

Jack kept his expression neutral. Brian was doing him a huge favor by helping him out with the bar, tending a few hours every day so Jack could concentrate on the dozens of other things that needed his attention. Jack insisted on paying him minimum plus tips. That was more than the old man had been paying, but it wasn’t a hell of a lot to live on, even under the table. With Brian planning to ask his girl to marry him, he had to be concerned about finances.

“And what did you tell him?”

“Christ, Jack.” Brian shook his head, his eyes holding disappointment. “You’ve known me for how long and you can ask me that? I said no. But it got me thinking. Maybe what we learned
does
have some marketable value.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Brian leaned forward. “Like handling situations where conventional means fail.”

“Vigilante justice? You’re talking crazy.”

“Maybe. But I bet if you put your mind to it, you could think of a few situations where the bad guys won because of some bullshit loophole or backroom deal. How many innocents have died because the authorities’ hands are tied? All I’m saying is, what if there was a way to stop the bad guys? To save those innocent lives, and do it
off the books
?”

Jack’s lips thinned, but he said nothing. The truth was, after seven years in-country, doing whatever it took to survive and try to make things right, it was difficult to embrace the rhetoric of politicians and government officials who’d never stepped foot on a bloody field or held a dying brother in his arms, yet made back room deals with power brokers and despots in the name of democracy and foreign relations.

But he’d done his part. He’d given his country—– hell, the fucking world—– seven years of his life and a huge part of his soul. He was done.

“Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I don’t need to think about it, Bri. The answer is no.”

Brian sighed and concentrated on wiping down the bar. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Well, I hear the paper factory is hiring for third shift.”

––––––––

S
eptember 2015

Pine Ridge

“Just think about it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“I don’t need to think about it. The answer is no.”

“Dad, you can’t go back to living at the Pub just yet. You’ve got to take it easy for a while, and that means not going up and down two flights of stairs a couple times a day,” Michael explained, his normally calm voice belying his frustration.

“I’ll not be a burden,” Jack said, setting his jaw.

“You wouldn’t be a burden. We’ve got more than enough room at the farm. Maggie’s already converted the downstairs playroom into a bedroom for you. She bought new flannel sheets and extra-fluffy pillows, and is stocking the pantry with all of your favorite, heart-healthy foods. Do you want to be the one to tell her she’s been busting her ass for the past week for nothing? Because
I
sure as hell don’t.”

Jack almost smiled at that. Maggie was a good woman, as fierce as a mama bear when it came to protecting her family. She was the perfect complement to his level-headed, intellectual son.

“She’s going to take it personally, you know,” Michael continued, taking advantage of his hesitation. “And she’s already upset with you.”

Jack sighed. “I didn’t plan to have a heart attack.”

“No,” Michael agreed, leaning back against the window sill. “And deep down, Maggie knows that. I think she’s more upset with herself than you, anyway.”

That surprised him. “Why would Maggie be upset? It wasn’t her fault.”

“She says she sensed something was wrong, and thinks if she had pushed the issue or talked to me about it, she might have been able to do something.”

“My arteries were blocked,” Jack scoffed. “What could she have done?”

Michael shook his head. “Maggie? Nothing. But you, you might have.”

Something in his third-born son’s tone grated. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“The kind of damage you had doesn’t happen overnight, Dad.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “If you’ve got something to say to me, boy, you’d best say it.”

“Fine. You want me to say it? I think you’ve been having the warning signs for a while. I think you’ve known there was something wrong, and you chose not to do anything about it.” Michael looked pointedly at this father. “Tell me I’m wrong, Dad.”

He couldn’t. Not without lying, and he wasn’t going to lie.

“That’s what I thought. The question is, why, Dad?”

How could he explain something like that to his thirty-six year old, happily married son? What kind of words could he use to express what it’s like to live without your
croie
for almost twenty-five years? To have her be the first thing you thought of every morning and the last thing every night, even after all this time?

He couldn’t. Nor did he want to. The last thing he needed was his son believing he had suicidal tendencies. Some snot-nosed psychiatrist would show up, wanting to talk about
feelings
and past traumas and all kinds of crap he had no intention of discussing with anyone. Some things a man was better off keeping to himself.

“I didn’t think things were that bad,” Jack finally said on a careful exhale. “I thought if I took it easy for a while, laid off the spicy foods, it would pass.”

Michael didn’t say anything, probably trying to determine if he was full of shite. Thank God it wasn’t his son Shane doing the asking. That boy had a bullshite detector on par with Kathleen’s.

“A man doesn’t like to admit he’s getting old,” Jack added quietly. “Not even to himself.”

Seconds ticked by in the silence. Jack said nothing more. Either Michael would accept that or he wouldn’t, but that was all he was going to get.

“All right, Dad,” Michael finally said. “Try to get some rest.”

“I will.”

Michael was at the door when he looked back. “What should I tell Maggie?”

As much as he opposed the idea, it was probably the best way to get Michael and everyone else off his back. Taking the path of least resistance wasn’t something he did often, but he wasn’t feeling strong enough to fight every battle.

“Tell Maggie I like the orange juice with lots of pulp.”

Michael grinned back at him triumphantly. “I knew you were a smart man.”

“Y
ou outdid yourself, lass,” Jack told Maggie, taking in the remodeled playroom. It resembled a studio-sized, modest man cave. The walls had been painted a calming blue, the windows fitted with remote-controlled, light blocking shades. A full-sized, adjustable bed with half a dozen pillows in deep tans, greens, and blues dominated one side of the room. There was a massaging, heated recliner, side table, and mini-fridge on the other. A thirty-two inch flat screen was mounted on an adjustable arm, visible from anywhere in the space.

Thankfully, Michael had given him a heads-up that Maggie had gone a little overboard. Had he not been forewarned, his first reaction would have been, “What the hell have you gone and done all this for?” Then Maggie’s feelings would have been hurt, and he would have felt like an arse.

“Do you like it?” Maggie asked hopefully.

“Aye, but you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.” Michael shot him a warning look. Jack ignored it. He had to say something to that effect, or Maggie would know he’d been coached and primed.

Maggie beamed at him. “Anything for you, Dad. We are so glad you agreed to stay with us. Michael didn’t believe you would.” She shot her husband an I-told-you-so look.

Jack, wisely, kept his mouth shut and said nothing.

After a couple of days, Jack had to admit, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. He enjoyed spending time with his grandchildren. Ryan, who had just started Kindergarten, couldn’t wait to tell his grandpa all about his day and the things he’d done the moment he got off the school bus. Ryan reminded Jack a lot of Ian at that age, brimming with energy and mischief. The baby, Colin, was very much like his father, Michael. At only a year old, he already gave the impression that he was quietly processing everything around him.

Maggie respected his privacy, too. He’d been worried that she’d dote on him constantly, but she didn’t. In fact, he often found himself wandering out to her big kitchen for some company and to sample her latest creations. Baking was how Maggie dealt with stress, but since his heart attack, she’d been experimenting with healthier foods. He appreciated the effort, but his son Ian, who was addicted to Maggie’s gooey, homemade bear claws, shot him angry glances whenever he came by and found baked apples or whole-grain muffins instead.

Maggie’s kitchen was also the central hub of family intel, he’d learned. Not a day went by when someone didn’t stop over for coffee or one of Maggie’s homegrown herbal teas. He learned a lot about what was going on that way.

“You are positively glowing,” Maggie told Lacie one such afternoon.

“Thanks,” Lacie replied, blushing. “Is it that obvious?”

Having wandered into the kitchen at the sound of Maggie’s Basset hound’s welcoming bark, Jack had no idea what they were going on about, but Lacie did look exceptionally happy.

“Does Shane know?”

“Yes,” she confided. “He’s thrilled! We just took the test this morning.”

Realization dawned. He was going to be a grandfather again. Shane was the only one of his sons who hadn’t had a child yet. It was understandable; Lacie had gone through some awful things at the hand of a psychotic family friend. She’d come a long way with the help of his quiet, empathic son, but the journey had not been an easy one.

“Congratulations, lass,” Jack beamed.