Love and Mistletoe (3 page)

Brian opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of a car roaring into the yard sent his instincts soaring into high alert. The car door slammed, and someone stomped into the mudroom and toward the kitchen. Beneath the generous application of blusher, Sharon’s cheeks paled.

He took a protective step nearer to her. “Who—?”

The door swung open. Colm MacCarthy stood in the frame, wafting whiskey fumes and malevolence in equal measure. His beady, bloodshot eyes took in each of the room’s occupants and come to rest on Sharon. “What the fuck are two cops doing in my house?”

“It’s grand, Da.” All good-natured humor had evaporated from her demeanor. “They thought they saw something suspicious in one of the fields and came up to see if we were okay.”

“Something suspicious? What? A stray sheep?” Colm’s dark orbs swiveled. “What have you done this time, Sharon? Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Brian didn’t like the way Colm’s gaze bore into his daughter, nor the way she flinched under her father’s harsh stare. “Nothing.” He moved between father and daughter. “She’s done absolutely nothing. Sergeant Mackey and I heard barking. We came up to check if you were up to your old tricks. Turns out the dog was Wiggly Poo.”

The canine in question growled at Colm and edged his furry arse closer to Sharon. Brian was impressed. The mutt must be smarter than he’d given him credit for.

“Sorry to disturb you on a Saturday night, Ms. MacCarthy.” His look was laden with subtext. “I’d love to take you up on your offer of some fresh eggs, though. Will you show me where they are?”

Her facial expression exuded studied indifference but she took the hint. “Sure. I’m sending a few home with Naomi too. We have far more than we can use.”

She allowed him to lead her through the mudroom and out into the yard. When they reached the henhouse, he yanked her inside. It was pitch black and stank of poultry. He groped for a light switch and struck gold on his third attempt. “Are you all right?” he asked after light flooded the small building. “I wasn’t getting a good vibe off your father.”

She focused on the dirt floor, then hit him with the dazzling high-beam effect of her direct gaze. “I’m fine. In any case, I won’t be living here much longer, so there’s no need for you to be concerned.”

“You’re leaving Ballybeg?” The notion hit him like a blow to the abdomen. Sharon MacCarthy drove him crazy, but he didn’t want her to
leave
. She was part and parcel of his life here.

She gave him an arch look. “Don’t get too excited. I hope to leave the farm in a few weeks, but I’ll be staying in the area for another few months. Once I get my degree, I’m out of here.”

“About the drugs, I might have—”

“Jumped to conclusions?” Sharon crossed her arms under her breasts, recalling his attention to her fabulous cleavage.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling like the proverbial village idiot. “I might have made a mistake.”

“Indeed?” She unfolded her arms, shoved a few eggs into a cardboard holder, and thrust it at him. “You wouldn’t be the first. Everyone around here assumes the worst of me. It’s one of the reasons I can’t wait to see the back of this provincial dump.”

She pivoted on her heel and marched out into the darkness.

He caught up with her by the water trough. Across the yard, Seán was loitering by the house door, waiting for him so they could go home.

“Listen, I’m sorry for disturbing you. And for jumping to conclusions. Best of luck with your bath products.”

Sharon turned to face him, and he caught a glimpse of the wry twist to her lips in the moonlight. “Good night, Garda Glenn.” She lowered her voice to a sultry whisper. “Watch for wild cows on your way out.”

ON MONDAY MORNING, a blustery wind blew a bleary-eyed Sharon down Patrick Street. She’d used Sunday to catch up on course material from the first two weeks of the semester—weeks she’d spent clearing out the last of Ma’s stuff with zero help from her father. Her brother Ruairí had taken care of the admin in the aftermath of their mother’s death, but sorting clothes and personal effects had fallen to Sharon.

Neither of her sisters would darken the door of the farm now that Ma was gone. Frankly, she wouldn’t either if she had somewhere else to go. However, that was about to change. Once she and Naomi started selling their bath products, she’d have the money to move out of home—and away from Da.

When she reached the Book Mark’s familiar turquoise door, she fumbled for the key. Inside the shop, she stumbled to a halt and gasped.

Her boss, Bridie Byrne, leaped up from a chair, half-moon spectacles askew. “You scared the bejaysus out of me. What are you doing here this early? You’re not due to start work until nine.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sharon’s book bag slid off her shoulder, forcing her to make a grab for it before it hit the floor. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here already.”

“Obviously.” Bridie was regaining her composure. “Now that we’re both here, let’s have a cuppa and a catch-up. I barely get a chance to talk to you these days. You’re always rushing off to the library.”

“I’m late starting my final year at uni. I need to get my arse in gear and hit the books.”

“Laudable,” Bridie said, “but we can still have that chat. Coffee?”

“Yeah. An espresso would be great.”

The older woman filled the kettle with water for her tea and switched on the coffee machine. The latter was a relatively new addition to the Book Mark Café, and a welcome one as far as Sharon was concerned. “I could kiss your niece every time I see that machine. The memory of that instant crap you used to serve still gives me the shudders.”

“You, Fiona, and half of Ballybeg have made that perfectly clear, missy,” Bridie said dryly. “As for me, I’m sticking with my tea.”

Within a few minutes, the hot beverages were prepared. Sharon scooted into a seat at one of the six tables in the bookshop’s little café. Bridie lowered her bulk into the chair opposite. She’d recently tinged her iron-grey hair with a purple rinse. Bridie alternated between purple, peach, and pink, adjusting her bright lipstick to suit her current hair color. She didn’t give a damn what people thought of her, and anyone who objected got an earful. Sharon totally wanted to be Bridie when she grew up.

“How’s life treating you, Miss Sharon? You’ve been positively quiet lately. Punctual, even. I’m starting to fear for your mental health.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “After all the lectures you’ve given me about embarrassing the customers and coming to work late, you’re complaining because I’ve cleaned up my act?”

Bridie took a sip of her tea and contemplated her employee over the rim of the porcelain cup. “Not complaining. Merely observing. Seriously, Sharon. I know the past few months have been hard for you, and you know I’m not the touchy-feely type. But if you ever need to get something off your chest, I’m here for you.”

A lump formed in her throat, painful and resistant. “Thanks, but you know me. I’m a survivor.”

“I do know you. I see a forty-years-older version of you every time I look in the mirror. That’s
why
I’m concerned.”

Sharon toyed with the handle of her espresso cup. Bridie had been great after Ma died. Never asked the usual concern-tinged questions or spouted pat condolences. She’d just given Sharon a reassuring pat on the back and plenty of work to keep her occupied while she muddled through the grief at her own pace.

She released her espresso cup and shifted back in her chair. “I miss Ma but I’m relieved her suffering is over.”

“Cancer is an awful disease.”

Sharon nodded and took a shuddery breath. “I promised her I’d finish my degree and that’s going to be my focus over the next few months. I’ll never be as smart as our Ruairí, but I’ve brains enough to do well in my exams if I knuckle down and study.”

“Does this newfound motivation have something to do with you coming into the shop so early?”

Sharon shrugged. “It’s quiet here. Peaceful. There’s no Da. No pesky siblings. No farm work that I might as well do, seeing as I’m sitting on my arse doing nothing, to paraphrase my father.”

Bridie grimaced. “Colm always had a way with words. So you’ve been using the Book Mark to study?”

“Yeah. I know I should have asked your permission first, but—”

The older woman held up a hand. “It’s fine. Provided the shop and café are fit to receive customers when we open, I have no problem with you coming in before your shift.”

She released a ragged breath. “Thanks, Bridie. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Her boss stood, her gait awkward. Despite a recent hip operation, she wasn’t as spry as she ought to be for a woman in her early sixties. Sharon knew better than to ask her if she were in pain. Bridie got enough of that from her niece, Fiona. Although Sharon had worked alongside Fiona at the Book Mark for several months while the older woman had been ill, they’d never advanced beyond the point of tolerating one another for Bridie’s sake.

Sharon cleared their cups and wiped down the table. “By the way, I’ve ordered a couple of college text books using my staff discount. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s a perk of the job. What courses are you taking this semester?”

“I need to get the last credits toward my psychology degree, then write my thesis. Starting this week, I’m taking forensic psychology and advanced social policy.”

Bridie’s jerk to attention sent her glasses sliding down her nose. “Forensic psychology? Interesting. Know anyone else taking that class?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll bump into a few classmates from previous courses.” Apart from a couple of coffee buddies, she didn’t really have friends at university. Many of them lived on campus or in student digs in Cork City. While she’d attended some social functions, she’d spent the first couple of years of her degree rushing back to Ballybeg the second her classes finished for the day, either to help look after Ma or to work in the Book Mark. That didn’t leave much time for leisure. Hell, it hadn’t left much time to study, she reflected ruefully, as her mediocre grades from the previous semester could attest. But she would turn it around this year, make her studies her primary focus. She’d never graduate top of her class, but with hard work and concentration, she could push up her average.

Laughter rumbled in Bridie’s throat. “I heard a rumor you had a visit out on the farm from Brian Glenn and Seán Mackey.”

“Those eejits.” Sharon scoffed. “Glenn had the audacity to accuse me and Naomi of making drugs in our kitchen. Drugs! What a plonker. We were practicing making bath products to sell at the Christmas bazaar.”

“Aha! So that’s what you two were scheming last week. How did your sample wares turn out?”

“Not bad at all, if I do say so myself. We need to adjust the dosage of the essential oils in the bath bombs to get the right amount of scent. Other than that, it was easy peasy.” And surprisingly fun. She’d been so preoccupied of late that she’d been neglecting her friends. It had felt good to hang out with Naomi, especially once Da stomped off to the TV room and left them in peace.

“Are you and Naomi still planning to find an apartment to share?”

“Yeah. Hence the bath bomb scheme. We’re hoping to save enough for the deposit on a flat plus the first few months’ rent. With our part-time jobs, we’ve both got money coming in each month, but I can’t really take on more hours if I want to pass my exams.”

“Hmm.” Bridie wore a contemplative expression. “Are you set on finding a flat in Cork City, or would Ballybeg do?”

“We’re aiming for Ballybeg, actually, at least until the end of the academic year.”

“Good to know. One of the tenants upstairs wants to sublet his flat for six months, starting after Christmas. If you and Naomi can cobble some cash together between now and then, the flat’s yours. It would only be until next summer, but it would see you through your final exams.”

Sharon’s stomach gave an excited leap. “Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t. Talk it over with Naomi and get back to me.”

“Will do. I’ll mention it to her this evening.” She’d seen the flats above the Book Mark. They weren’t large, but they were clean, furnished, and central. In short, they were exactly what she and Naomi were looking for.

The bell above the shop door jangled. Sharon straightened, ready to serve the first customer of the day. Her jaw muscles slackened at the sight of the man striding into the shop, police hat off-center, drawing attention to his adorably lopsided ears.

Brian’s mouth opened and shut a couple of times before words came out. “Morning, ladies.”

“I have your order ready.”

Sharon spun round at the sound of her boss’s voice. Bridie didn’t meet her eye.

“Ah, yeah.” The flush on Brian’s cheeks deepened. For some bizarre reason, his tendency to blush charmed her. The rosy tinge added color to his freckled cheeks, complementing his auburn hair. She’d bet he’d been teased at school for that hair. Yet it was a gorgeous shade of rich red—browner in winter and redder in summer. Not for the first time, she resisted the urge to run her fingers through it, muss it up good and proper. Wouldn’t he freak out if she tried!

Brian approached Bridie and the cash register, but his wary gaze was trained on Sharon.

Her boss reached under the counter and withdrew a plastic bag. Sharon itched to know what it contained. Books, yeah, but which ones? She hadn’t pegged Brian Glenn for a big reader.

“That’ll be the amount we discussed,” Bridie said, further fueling Sharon’s curiosity. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought her boss was engaging in money laundering.

Brian slid his credit card into the card machine and typed in the code.

She didn’t bother to feign disinterest. “Tell me, Garda Glenn, is Bridie catering to your secret penchant for
Fifty Shades of Grey
?”

“Sharon,” Bridie said in a warning tone. “Garda Glenn is a customer. He placed an order, and I fulfilled it. It’s not your place to speculate on his reading material.”

Sharon folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, yeah? Because I’m imagining all sorts of naughty scenarios occurring in his
reading material.
”