Love and Mistletoe (9 page)

Sharon crossed her arms and fixed her father with a belligerent stare. “Here to buy bath products, Da? I recommend something containing ylang-ylang. It has a sedative effect.”

He bared his nicotine-stained teeth in a snarl. “I heard a rumor weeks ago about you and that fuckwit, Brian Glenn. I thought it was nonsense, but your uncle Buck tells me you’re in and out of Glenn’s house at all hours of the night.”

“Buck should mind his own business and clean his house for a change. There’s a weird smell wafting out of that place every time I walk past.”

Her father’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed to serpentine slits. “Forget about Buck.”

“Gladly.
You
brought him up.”

Colm’s jaw flexed. “Is it true about you and Glenn?”

“Yeah. So what? I’m twenty-one, Da. Old enough to spend time with whomever I choose.”

“Not while you’re living under my roof. No daughter of mine is going out with a cop.”

“This one is, so you’d better get used to the idea.”

He let out a low growl like an animal about to go on the attack. “I want you out of my house by tonight. You’re no longer welcome at the farm.”

His words hit her like a lash. She’d expected anger. She’d expected insults. She hadn’t expected to be evicted with two hours’ notice.

Brian shoved through the curious crowd and deposited two plastic cups of punch on the table.

At the sight of him, Colm’s features contorted in a spasm of rage.

“Don’t even start, MacCarthy.” Brian’s northern lilt deepened into a growl. “You’re a pig and a crap excuse for a father. If you don’t want Sharon in your house, she’s welcome in mine.”

Sharon started. “What? That’s very good of you, but—

He put a hand on her arm and looked at her earnestly. “It’s no problem. You can stay with me until you move into your new flat.”

The flat… oh, crap.
Beside her, she heard Naomi’s sharp intake of breath.

“Ah, thanks, Brian,” she said hastily. “That would be great. I’ll be out of your hair after Christmas.”

“If you want her Glenn, take her.” Da jutted a finger at Sharon. “I’ll be at the pub until late. I want your crap gone by the time I get back.”

And with that charming parting shot, Sharon’s father stomped into the crowd.

Brian glared daggers into Colm’s retreating back. “That man is a bastard.”

“He’s always been a nasty piece of work,” Naomi said. “Why don’t you head out to the farm now? I can pack up the stand.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

“You won’t be. Our bath products were such a success that there’s hardly anything left to pack up.” Naomi threw Sharon her winter jacket. “Go on,” she said with a loaded look, “I’m sure you and Brian have stuff to talk about.”

Like the fallen-through flatshare that she’d postponed mentioning. Yeah, she should have told him about that three days ago, but she didn’t want him to feel obliged to offer her a room in his house. She absolutely did not want him to think she was taking advantage of his good nature. Accepting his hospitality for a couple of weeks was one thing, but longer than that wouldn’t be fair.

Coaxing her features into a cheerful expression, she shrugged on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. “Talk to you later, Nomes.”

Brian linked his arm through hers. It felt good to walk through the crowd as a couple. It felt right.

“You okay?” he asked when they were outside the town hall.

“No, but I will be.” Her father’s fury had shaken her more than she’d expected. “I’d say his Christmas dinner is screwed now that he’s evicted the family chef. Neither Mickey nor Shea can cook.”

Brian gave a low laugh and took his car key from his coat pocket. “I take it none of your other siblings are planning to invite him round for the festive season?”

“Hell, no. To be frank, I’m dreading Christmas.” Sharon dug her hands into her pockets.

“Because it’ll be the first one without you mother?” he asked gently.

“Yeah, but it’s not just that. I feel like all the siblings I get on with are abandoning me, even though I realize I’m being irrational. Ruairí and Jayme are going to America to spend time with her family before their baby is born. Marcella’s going to a hotel with her girlfriend. Sinéad and her kids are invited to her in-laws’. Until Da’s little outburst, I was scheduled to cook for him, Shea, and Mikey. Not that I regret missing out on that experience. It would have gone like last Christmas. Ma was too sick to cook, so I took over. Then the men all bitched about my lack of culinary skills and left me to wash up while they passed out in front of the telly.”

“Maybe they’ll appreciate the effort you made while they’re burning the turkey this year.” Brian stroked her cheek, sending pings of awareness skittering across her skin. “You’re not their slave, Sharon. We’ll cook our own Christmas dinner.”

She blinked in confusion. “Wait… aren’t you going to Donegal to be with your family?”

“No can do. I’m on duty while Seán is in Dublin. I can’t leave Ballybeg until he gets back on the twenty-seventh.”

“Oh.” Her voice held hope. “So you’d have been all on your own?”

“Just me and a microwave dinner from Marks and Spencer.” He pressed the automatic lock on his car and opened the passenger door. “I’m delighted to have your company over Christmas.”

She slid her hands beneath his coat. “I’d love to spend the holiday with you, but I draw the line at a microwave dinner. A turkey for two is a bit much. How about ham, spuds, and brussels sprouts?”

“Sounds perfect. We can toast our academic success and your new flat. Come January, you’ll be escaping your father for good, not just for Christmas.”

Her smile wavered and she averted her gaze.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t you and Naomi earn the money you’d been hoping for?”

“We did.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. “But?”

“But nothing.” She kissed him on the cheek and got into the car. “Let’s get going before we freeze.”

WHILE NEITHER OF THEM would earn a Michelin star, their Christmas dinner had turned out surprisingly well.

Sharon reached for the wine bottle and topped up their wine glasses. “Nice job, Garda Glenn. We rock at coproductions.”

“Yeah, we do.” Brian held up a hand to stop her from filling his glass to the brim. “I’m on call, remember?”

“What’s going to happen in Ballybeg on Christmas Day?” she asked, taking a generous swig from her glass. “Even my crazy relatives tend to be too full to do more than pass out in front of the telly.”

He twisted his mouth into a half smile. “You’d be surprised. Christmas brings out the worst in families. We’re usually called out on one or two domestics.”

“Can’t the reserve police handle it on their own?”

“If it’s nothing serious, yes. We have a part-timer and two reservists on duty today, with me at the ready if needed.”

She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward, relishing the sight of his dilating pupils when he admired her exposed cleavage. Having the power to turn him on was a powerful aphrodisiac. “Who knew Ballybeg needed so much policing? Apart from the murder over the summer, not much happens around here. Don’t you long for a bit more action?”

Brian shook his head. “Not me. I like the pace of policing Ballybeg. Seán’s the one keen for more action.”

“Bridie said he used to be a detective. How does a Dublin detective end up in a place like Ballybeg?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t know the particulars, and I don’t ask. It’s none of my business. I assume he was demoted for some reason or other. Whatever happened, he’s a damn good cop, but definitely not cut out for a country posting.”

“And you are?” she teased.

“I think so,” he replied after giving it some consideration. “For me, this job is all about the people. I like going out on patrol. I don’t want to be stuck in an office all day, even one with a nonleaking roof and a better computer. If my degree leads to a promotion, I hope it’ll be around here or in Cork City.”

“Thanks again for letting me stay. I hope my gear isn’t crowding you out of your house.”

“No problem. It’s been a pleasure having you here.”

She toyed with his knee under the table. “In more ways than one, I hope.”

He wagged a finger. “Sharon, Sharon. Always with the sexual innuendoes.”

“Ah, go on. You know you love it.”

“I know I love—” He broke off and flushed to the tips of his ears.

Sharon’s heart pounded against her ribs. Had he been going to say he loved her? If anyone had told her at this time a year ago that she’d be anxiously waiting for a guy to declare his love for her, she’d have busted a rib laughing. Yet here she was, fingers tense around the stem of her wine glass, anxiously waiting for Brian to utter those three words.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. He took a swig from his water glass. Tension hung in the air, taut as a rubber band.

Sharon broke the silence. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been putting off saying it because I was afraid you’d think I was trying to take advantage of you.”

A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Go on.”

“It’s about the flat Naomi and I were going to rent from Bridie. It’s not happening.”

His pale blue eyes flew upward. “What? I thought you had enough money to pay the rental deposit.”

“I do, but I can’t afford to pay the rent on my own now that Naomi is moving to Dublin.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I wanted to sort out an alternative solution for the New Year. I think I’ve found one. A girl in one of my psychology classes is moving in with her boyfriend. I might be able to take over her room on campus.”

He fixed her with one of his knowing looks. “Do you want to live in a dorm during your final semester?”

She shrugged. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be spending most of my time in the library anyway. So,” she said, keen to steer the conversation in a more pleasant direction, “if you’re in danger of being summoned to work at any moment, why don’t we defer the Christmas cake until later and go upstairs? I still have to give you your Christmas present.”

“Sounds very naughty.” His slow-burn smile made her want to reach across and kiss him.

“Oh, it is.” She leaned forward to nibble his earlobe. “But I think you’ll like it.”

“What about the dishes?”

“Leave them. I don’t want to waste time.”

Upstairs in Brian’s bedroom, Sharon kicked the door closed. “I went all out for the festive season.”

She pulled her top over her head to reveal a sheer red bra with little silk ribbons barely holding the material together over the nipple area.

Brian whistled in appreciation. “Very nice.”

“And, of course, I bought matching knickers.” She slid her skirt over her hips, watching his pupils dilate when he caught sight of the thong.

He stepped forward and ran a finger over her hip and unraveled one of the ribbons holding her thong together. “I’m going to have fun getting you out of that.”

Her breathing turned shallow. “I’m going to have fun letting you.”

He lowered her onto the bed and applied himself to the task of undoing all her ribbons. “You certainly wrapped this package very nicely,” he murmured, “but I’m looking forward to exploring its contents.”

When he freed a nipple from its gauzy confines and claimed it with his mouth, Sharon arched her back and groaned. “Oh, yes,” she sighed. “I think I’m going to enjoy your present just as much as you will.”

She was relaxing back into the pillows when a sudden blast ripped through her eardrums and rattled the windows in their frames.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Brian leaped off the bed and ran to the window. “Jaysus, Sharon. Your uncle’s shed is on fire.” He snatched his mobile phone from the nightstand and hit the button for the emergency services while he threw on a pair of jeans. Pulling on a shirt, he raced down the stairs and out the door. “Stay here,” he yelled. “It might be dangerous.”

As he pounded down the pavement, it occurred to him that those words were more likely to send Sharon after him than persuade her to stay inside.

Out on the street, a crowd was gathering. Brian ran the length of a few houses until he stopped outside Buck MacCarthy’s shabby dwelling. It was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, and the roof was missing more than a few slates.

He scaled the wooden gate at the side of the house that separated the front from the back garden and gasped at the sight before him.

Buck’s shed was engulfed in a fiery ball. The man himself and his partner in crime, John-Joe Fitzgerald, stood on the grass, singed and filthy but otherwise unharmed. It would take an atomic bomb to fell that pair, Brian thought grimly.

“What the hell happened?” he yelled at them over the roar of the flames. He ran to the garden tap and switched on the hose. Aiming it at the shed, he angled himself close to the exit in case a quick getaway was called for. “Don’t loiter, lads. Start filling buckets of water.”

Thankfully Buck and John-Joe’s halfhearted attempts at hurling water on the flames weren’t essential. Even before they heard the sirens of the fire brigade approaching in the distance, it was clear that Brian and the hose were winning the battle against the flames.

When the last burning piece of wood had been extinguished, he stood back and wiped the sweat from his brow. “What the hell was in that shed?”

Buck and John-Joe shuffled on the spot, shooting guilty glances at one another.

“Out with it,” he demanded. “We’ll find out no matter what.”

After hacking phlegm, John-Joe found his voice. “Just a spot of the old
poitín
.”

“You eejits were making
moonshine
in Buck’s garden shed? Buck’s
wooden
garden shed?”

Again, the guilty shuffle and shifty glances. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Buck muttered. “We didn’t think.”

“When do you ever think?” Brian tossed the hose on the grass in disgust. “So that’s what you were up to at the Christmas bazaar. Did you pass any of the stuff on to customers?”

“A few,” muttered John-Joe. “Pat Dolan, Colm MacCarthy, and some others.”