An Irish Christmas Blessing Page 3

  But as she turned away, she caught him with a faint smile that caught her by surprise. Her heart lifted.

  Maybe it wouldn't be so hard having him around after all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BRIGHT WINTER SUNSHINE streamed through the window of the bookshop when Eve unlocked the front door at ten o'clock.

  The dog had been in and out, in and out the back door and—apparently exhausted by his morning ritual—was curled up on his blankets behind the front counter. Maybelline had received his birdseed and fresh water and was upstairs, mumbling to himself.

  Devlin remained her biggest challenge. Unwilling to have breakfast in bed, he had gamely wobbled—nearly falling twice—to the table and chairs in the break room, where he propped his injured leg on the extra chair while polishing off scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

  Now he was in a back corner of the bookshop with his leg propped on a stepstool, working on his laptop. Whatever he was doing, he appeared completely engrossed. Eve brought him a cup of coffee, then returned to the front desk to check through Shauna's extensive list of instructions. She'd studied them last night, but some things on the list weren't very clear.

  Two elderly ladies had come in as soon as the shop opened. They wandered through the store flipping through random books, then re-shelving them while darting surreptitious glances in Devlin's direction.

  They whispered to each other in the cookbook section, then scurried up to the front desk, their eyes sparkling. The heftier woman gave her companion a firm nudge. "Ask her, Jane," she whispered.

  "We were wondering, Miss—could that be Devlin O'Connor in back?" A faint blush bloomed on Jane's parchment cheeks. "Moira and I both bought his last two books. We were so thrilled to hear that he's Shauna's brother."

  Eve blinked. They'd heard of him? She debated for a full second, then nodded. "Yes, that's him. Very friendly man, and I'm sure he would just love to visit with you."

  She'd raised her voice enough for him to hear, and sure enough, he lifted his eyes from his laptop and shot a dark look at her. She smiled sweetly in return, then picked up a duster and began dusting the display in the front windows.

  From the excited voices surrounding him, he apparently had quite a fan club among the older set, at least. Intrigued, she found the photography section and searched for his name. Long. Lynch. MacKenna. O'Connell. Shea. Sullivan....

  Surprised, she checked the shelves again. Wouldn't his own sister stock his books?

  Then her gaze fell on an endcap display two rows over. How had she not noticed it while acquainting herself with the store?

  Three heavy, coffee table photography books were propped in display holders, and the stunning wildlife and scenery shots on the book jackets literally took her breath away. Below, there was a dozen other titles on Wales. Australia. Africa. Afghanistan. Soldiers at war. Poverty in Appalachia. She lifted them one by one, immersing herself in the moving, poignant faces looking back at her. The breath-taking scenery. Haunted expressions of soldiers after battle.

  She sank into a nearby chair and reverently leafed through the first book . Touched the glossy paper, drawn by the deep emotions and beauty Devlin had captured with his lens.

  Last night she'd assumed his Rolex was a fake—something anyone could pick up for ten bucks from vendors on Times Square in New York. Now she knew she'd probably been wrong.

  With this level of success he was so far out of her league he may as well reside on a different planet. Not that it mattered, of course. He probably had groupies who hung around at book signings and a line-up of eager girlfriends, while she wasn't looking for anyone at all. Ever. Sweet, gentle Josh was an irreplaceable, unforgettable presence who would always linger in her heart.

  So where she once might have been tongue-tied and self-conscious, when dealing with a handsome rogue like Shauna's brother, she'd long since walled off her heart and had matured beyond the silly infatuations and shyness of her early twenties.

  But still.

  Devlin O'Connor now had those eighty years-plus ladies blushing and giggling like besotted school girls while he spun tales about his adventures, and Eve could certainly see why. Sorely tempted to join them, she firmed her resolve and went back to dusting, catching only bits and pieces of his deep voice with its lilting cadence and occasional foray into what must be Gaelic.

  His Irish charm was luring her to the back of the store...but then he fell silent, and the ladies were chirping their thanks over and over. They trundled up to the front counter, each with two heavy O'Connor books in their arms and their faces wreathed with smiles.

  "Ooh, he's a looker, isn't he," Jane murmured, taking a last glance toward the back of the store. "If I were only forty years younger—"

  Moira snorted. "Sixty, maybe."

  "And wouldn't ye be after the likes of him as well?" Jane smile turned to a wicked grin. "And don't be denying it, either."

  "That I won't." Moira hoisted her books onto the counter. "He autographed these for us. Never had a signed book before. It'll make the enjoyment all the sweeter, don't you think?"

  "I'm sure it will." Eve smiled at them as she rang up their purchases. "These are lovely books."

  Moira and Jane exchanged glances, then studied Eve with narrowed eyes as if sizing her up.

  "You're new here, eh?" Jane ventured after a long moment.

  "Temporarily helping out my old friend. Just a couple months." She handed them each their purchases in black plastic sacks with the bookshop name written in old-fashioned script.

  "If you've a mind, Devlin O'Connor would be a fine catch for a smart gal like ye," Jane whispered. "You'd make such a handsome couple."

  Eve choked back a laugh. "You think so?"

  Moira nodded sagely. "Pay mind to us, dear. We've got the best record in County Kerry."

  "Record?"

  "Match-making. We both have the gift." She thumped her ample chest with a fist. "And when we both feel something's right, we're never wrong."

  "Uh...amazing." Her checks felt warm and her voice sounded strangled, even to her. Eve cleared her throat. "It must be very—gratifying."

  "She doesn't believe," Jane said softly with a sad shake of her head.

  Moira waggled a forefinger at Eve's face. "Ye may have had great sadness in the past, but such things aren't always one's fault. Don't blame yourself, and don't throw away chances to make things come 'round, dear. All of us deserve great happiness, don't ye think?"

  The two women grabbed their coats and heavy woolen scarves from the brass hall tree by the front door, bundled up well enough to face an Antarctic winter, then Moira held Jane's elbow as they went outside.

  Eve watched them go, a little shiver working its way down her spine that had nothing to do with the quick blast of cold air that had just come through the front door.

  What could they know about the grief that still clenched her heart in its icy grasp? The guilt that she still faced on sleepless nights?

  Moira's words were just a coincidence—an easy guess, because everyone experienced guilt and sadness over something in their past.

  Believing the women's words of hope would just set her on the path to new sorrow.

  And that just wasn't worth the risk.

  CHAPTER SIX

  EVE PACED THE WAITING room at the hospital, wondering how Devlin's surgery was going. She'd gone into the cubicle with him when the nurses were setting up his IV, but then they'd sent her out to the waiting room. They'd said the surgery might take as long as two hours, and then he'd be in recovery for at least an hour before she could take him home.

  Home.

  This was just her third day in Ireland, yet so much had happened that Shauna's place already felt like home. Eve guessed that Devlin couldn't wait to be on his way, though, off on even more adventures with his camera in hand. Footloose and fancy free, as the old saying went. No ties. No responsibilities beyond his commitment to his book deadlines or commissions for his work.

  What would it be like,
to live that way year after year?

  For a person like her, for whom strong ties and deep roots mattered deeply, it was impossible to imagine.

  She laughed to herself, remembering the arrival of Devlin's octogenarian fan club yesterday morning. They fancied themselves matchmakers with a keen sixth sense about such matters, yet they'd prodded her to pursue Devlin because they were so sure "he was the one."

  It only proved that they weren't as skilled at their "trade" as they imagined. Not that she'd ever mention it to the sweet old dears if they came back to the store someday, but they couldn't have been more wrong.

  "Ms. Blake?"

  Eve turned and found the surgeon standing in the waiting room doorway, a surgical cap still on his head and a mask hanging around his neck. He was young and fresh-faced, and looked like he was of an age to be worrying about his high school prom.

  "Before the operation, Devlin asked me to give you the report. His surgery went fine and he's in recovery right now. He should be ready to take home in an hour or so."

  "Thank you," she murmured. "I'm so relieved. Are there some going home instructions?"

  "Definitely. The nurse will go over them with you both." The man shook his head and chuckled. "Good luck making him follow them, though. Just tell him that if he doesn't, and ends up taking another fall, he'll be right back in my surgical suite, and the next time around, the injury and the repair could be a lot worse. Any questions?"

  "Just the part about making him take the recommendations to heart. I don't know him well enough to really take charge."

  The surgeon smiled. "Independent sort, I can tell. But that and his artistic talent are why he's been able to develop such a name for himself. He travels the world and takes the risks; so we can sit back in our easy chairs and enjoy his travels with a nice mug of tea in hand."

  Another member of his fan club, apparently...yet another surprise. With a brother as acclaimed as Devlin, why hadn't his sister ever mentioned him?

  BACK AT THE BOOKSHOP, Devlin hobbled to his favorite chair at the back, settled with his leg propped up and eyed his white cast in disgust. "Two weeks with this thing," he growled. "I think he put this on out of spite."

  Eve bit back a laugh. "I'm sure that isn't good reason to give you a cast. The nurse said you need to absolutely stay off of that leg for two weeks—no weight bearing whatsoever—and elevate it whenever you can because of the potential swelling. Just think—after two weeks he said you could switch to a removable walking cast. Isn't that great?"

  He scowled. "For another twelve weeks. Most of which I'll still need to be on crutches."

  She gave him her most cheerful smile. "But, you'll be able to take it off for a bath or shower, if you are really careful. And since your grandma installed grab bars in the bathrooms while she lived here, you'll be all set."

  His narrowed gaze met hers. "Wonderful."

  She tipped her head and looked back at him. "It isn't the doc's fault, you know. You were the one who...how did this happen?"

  "Through sheer stupidity."

  She fought back a smile at his frustrated expression. "And how was that?"

  He sighed heavily. "I was starting to climb some cliffs overlooking the Atlantic, getting ready for some sunrise shots. Perfect weather—the fog was lifting just right. Perfect place. But I arrived a few minutes too late and needed to reach an outcropping in time to set up."

  "So you hurried."

  "And missed seeing a slick spot. Moss, wet with heavy dew. Slicker than the proverbial banana peel." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, apparently reliving the moment. "Given the boulders below, I was lucky. I could have broken my neck."

  "A wonderful outcome, given the possibilities. Right?" She beamed at him, feeling extraordinarily relieved.

  "Right. So lucky," he said dryly. "If I ever need a cheerleader, I know exactly who to call."

  She ignored his light sarcasm. "So tell me—what are you planning to do with your unexpected vacation? You don’t seem like a Solitaire, Sudoku or crosswords sort of guy."

  He actually flinched at the thought.

  "Read? Catch old movies on TV?"

  "Work."

  She felt a flicker of alarm. "You can't easily travel right now, though, and you need to see your doctor in two weeks to change out your cast. You need to keep weight entirely off of that leg."

  "I'm staying put, for now. I've been needing to take a few weeks and go through photographs anyway, so I can begin planning the next book."

  "They sure must be popular. You had quite a fan club stop by yesterday."

  He cracked a weary smile. "Sweet old gals. I could've sworn they were trying to set me up with...someone."

  "Sweet, but deluded." Embarrassment sent a warm flush into her cheeks. "They hit me up with their schemes, too."

  "I'm sure they could guess I travel too much to have any real connections." He stared out the window for a long moment, his gaze pensive and tinged with sadness. "And it's true. Relationships don't last long when ye don't see someone for months at a time. Trying to make things work just becomes excess baggage after a while."

  Perhaps the residual effects on the anesthetic were making him more open than he'd been. She guessed he might regret sharing so much, later on. "You should probably go lie down. The nurse said you'd likely sleep for hours this afternoon, and I don't know what I'd do with you if you fell out of this chair."

  He lifted an eyebrow and their gazes met. "I can't believe some lad hasn't nabbed ye long ago. What are ye doing in our fine country all alone, Ms. Blake? Or is there a sharp young lad countin' the days til ye return?"

  It had been two long years, but even now a comment, a headline or a fragment of memory from that horrible night could catch her unaware, sending a crushing landslide of grief and despair down on her that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

  She forced a smile and hoped it would stave off further questions. "There has been someone, now and then. But not now."

  He was clearly becoming more weary by the moment, so she retrieved his crutches from where they were leaning against the wall and offered him the crook of her elbow so she could help him stand. "We'd better get you off to where you can rest, O'Connor—where you should have gone in the first place. It won't help business if customers find you out here, laid out on the floor like a homeless person."

  This time, he nodded and rose gingerly to his feet. She walked him slowly to his room and helped him get into bed, then lifted a silver bell on the nightstand. "I found this upstairs. If you need something, clang it a few times and I should hear it...or you could even call my cell."

  "I still hope for some answers about who might be waitin' for you back home..."

  Addled by the drugs still in his system, he'd apparently forgotten that she'd already given him a blithe answer. He yawned, settled back against the pillow and within minutes his deep, steady breathing told her that he'd drifted off to sleep.

  She watched him for a moment, envious of the easy transition into oblivion that so often eluded her. "There's no one now," she whispered softly. "Because he died, and it was all my fault. So I'm not taking that chance ever again."

  But if she could ever be tempted, this would be it. Devlin was a handsome, witty, intelligent guy who clearly wanted no attachments...who would soon soar off into the wild blue with his camera in hand and never look back.

  So there would be no worries.

  No tentative commitments, no heartbreak. No awkward goodbyes when she left Ireland, because the last farewells would have been in sight from the very beginning.

  What would be the harm in a casual flirtation—a brief time to enjoy laughter and companionship with a talented and intriguing guy?

  She felt the crushing grip of grief loosen around her heart, opening it to a new possibility that would be safe, free of risk...and then she laughed aloud at her assumptions.

  She could think all she liked, but what would a man like him ever see in an ordinary librarian like he
r?

  Probably not a thing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WITH DEVLIN SAFELY asleep in his room and no worries about him risking a fall, Eve opened the store for the afternoon. Business was slow until teenagers started drifting in after school, followed by a surge of Christmas shoppers in the late afternoon.

  "Happy holidays," she said as she handed a receipt and sack of purchases to a man in a long wool coat. "I'm sure your kids will love these books."

  She smiled as the next people in line stepped forward. "Merry Christmas."

  The woman dropped her gaze to the young boy standing at her side, his head bowed. She shook his shoulder lightly. "Come on, do ye have something to say to this nice lady, boy?"

  He twisted out of her grasp without lifting his head. "Sorry, Miss."

  Eve glanced between the two of them, mystified. "About what?"

  "Sean?"

  At the hint of impatience in his mother’s tone the boy finally looked up, though he fixed his gaze on the wall instead of Eve. "I'm sorry for calling the Gardai down on ye, miss."

  Now that she could see his face, she remembered him well. "I thought you were very brave, actually. You saw something suspicious going on. You told me what you would do about it, and you did. If I'd been a thief, I would've taken off running and had less time to steal things. So you were doing Shauna O'Connor a great favor."

  He shot a quick glance at his mother, then dared meet Eve's eyes before looking away. "Thanks, Miss."

  "We are surely sorry for any trouble Sean caused ye, with the Gardai and all. I heard it was your first day here, and not such a good welcome to the village."

  "No problem. You've done a great job at raising your son to be responsible."

  The grim set of the woman's mouth softened. "I do what I can. Not easy, without his da around."

  Now Eve noticed the threadbare edges of the cuffs on her coat, her son's shaggy hair and the faded plaid shirt peeking above the collar of his faded denim jacket. "Do you work around here?"