An Irish Christmas Blessing Read online

  The woman's laugh was bitter. "As if it's even possible. Times are hard around with the economy the way it's been. If someone has a job they'd be an eejit to let it go."

  It wasn't possible to make a world of difference here, but maybe this was one small way she could try. "I would need to talk to Shauna...but I think she could use some part-time help here, if you'd be interested."

  A look of raw, desperate hope flared in the young woman's eyes. "That I would."

  "I can't promise anything except that I'll try." Eve grabbed a small notebook and pen, and handed it to her. "Write down your name and phone, and I'll see what I can do."

  THE RICH AROMA OF SOMETHING cooking drew Devlin out of a deep sleep.

  He sat up. Winced at the sharp stab of pain in his ankle. Then he took a deep, steadying breath and slowly eased out of bed. The clock radio on the bedside table claimed it was already seven in the evening and through the window he could see the night was dark as pitch. But could he have slept this long? Whatever the doc had given him for pain was only now fading away, and it had knocked him out for hours.

  The prescription bottle on the table beckoned, promising continuing comfort and a hazy sense of well-being, but instead he reached for the Ibuprofen and took two. He eased onto his one good leg, grabbed the crutches and followed the incredible scent of food to the break room.

  He found Eve hovered over one of his books, and a Crockpot on the counter.

  She looked up and smiled. "Back with the living, now? That was one whale of a good nap."

  "Guess so."

  She put the book aside and pulled out a chair for him, then positioned a step stool so he could elevate his cast. "Hungry?"

  "Definitely."

  She busied herself at the counter, and soon placed a big bowl of beef stew in front of him, and a plate with thick slices of homemade bread slathered with butter.

  He studied it in awe, then dug in. "I don't know when I last had a home cooked meal. You made all this?"

  "Both recipes were on the Internet. Just a no-knead cheddar and ale bread, and Guinness beef stew. There was a single bottle of Guinness in Shauna's refrigerator, so I nabbed it."

  He savored the last bite of the rich, buttery bread. "Amazing."

  "Ready for dessert?"

  "You're kidding. Really?"

  "Just from what I could find in the cupboards, freezer and fridge." She turned away to assemble something on the counter, then set a wide shallow bowl in front of him. "Ordinary strawberry shortcake, covered with a mountain of whipped cream."

  "How did you know? Did Shauna tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  "This is my all-time favorite dessert. Bar none." He savored a few bites, then looked up. "This isn't ordinary—what did you put in this? It's fantastic."

  "I do like to cook for a man who loves his food. That's a rare treat." She smiled. "It's a homemade biscuit, made with real butter. I found some frozen whole strawberries, so I pureed part of them with Grand Marnier and a little sugar, then mixed that with sliced berries. The whipped cream is just that—but I only found 'double cream' instead of whipping cream the fridge, so I had guess if it was the same."

  He sighed with pure bliss, then winked at her. "I think I'm in love."

  She snorted. "Only with my food. So enjoy it while you can. Once you're steady on your feet, you can help with the cooking if you're still around."

  Settling his book in front of her once more, she leafed through it to the piece of paper she'd stuck between the pages. She shot a glance at him, then dropped her gaze to the page. "This is incredible. Where did you learn so much about photography? Your lighting and composition blow me away."

  "College. And after that, lots of great weekend workshops. It's ongoing, with all the great developments in cameras, lenses and software."

  "What kind of—" she faltered to a stop, blushed. "I was going to ask about your camera equipment, as if it's solely responsible for your beautiful shots. But I do enjoy photography myself on an amateur level."

  "I use an older Canon 5D, mostly. Sometimes a Canon 7D with L-series lenses."

  "Really? A 7D." She grinned. "That's what I have—but I don't come close to your results. Which goes to show that it's the photographer behind the lens who makes all the difference."

  He grinned right back at her, feeling more relaxed and content than he had for longer than he could remember—and not just because of her cooking.

  His last few girlfriends had been beautiful, and skilled in the social situations he dreaded, which meant he'd been spared the agony of attending shows at galleries and museums alone. Small talk had never been his forte.

  But those gals hadn't been anything like Eve. Not only didn't they cook, they never seemed to eat, apparently prizing their bone-thin bodies above anything else.

  Eve looked perfect. Slender, with all the right curves.

  They fell into an easy conversation as she asked him about lighting and exposure and the lenses he preferred, the evolution from darkroom to digital and what might be ahead.

  With a start, she glanced up at the clock on the wall and her face filled with regret. "Holy cow—it's already midnight? I'm so sorry I kept you up like this. You must be exhausted."

  Time had passed in the blink of an eye for him as well. If not for her glance at clock, he could have talked to her all night. "I've enjoyed it.”.

  He awkwardly rose to his feet and positioned his crutches, nearly dropping one as he started to pivot for the door. Eve grabbed it and helped hold him steady as he hooked his arm over the top.

  She was so close he could detect the faint lemony scent of her shampoo. Feel the warmth of her. His breath hitched and their gazes met. Held.

  Until the one thing he wanted at this moment, more than anything he could remember, was to wrap his arms around her, kiss her and see if she tasted as sweet as he imagined.

  He wobbled. Instinctively caught himself by lowering his injured foot to touch the floor. A blinding explosion of pain shot up his leg, sparking a wave of nausea and dizziness that nearly dropped him to his knees.

  But Eve was right there, gently steadying him, her face a mask of concern. "Do you need to sit down a while?"

  He clenched his teeth, willing himself to go on, but the irony of this moment didn't escape him. "Some big adventurer I am," he muttered. "Laid low by a patch of slippery moss...and the joy of surgery. And now, I nearly fall on my rear. I think...I'd just better go back to bed."

  Her eyes twinkled. "Probably so." She walked beside him to his room, then hesitated at the door. "Will you be all right?"

  "I'm better now. I can take it from here." He looked down at her, feeling longing and regret and a good dose of confusion in the mix. When had he ever known someone for so short a time and felt this way?

  It had to be the medications.

  But maybe she felt a little of the same thing, because she reached up, framed his face with her soft, delicate hands, then brushed a kiss against his cheek that sent an arrow of heat and longing straight to his heart. "You'll feel better tomorrow, I promise. Sleep well.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER LETTING WALTER into the back yard one last time, Eve hurried up the stairs, covered up Maybelline's cage for the night—a nifty trick she'd learned from Shauna's list of instructions—and sank onto the sofa as another wave of embarrassment crashed through her.

  What had she been thinking?

  She was thirty-two. Clearly destined for spinsterhood, if that term was even used anymore. No romantic prospects. No intention of finding any. Devlin undoubtedly figured she was a pathetic, lonely woman who...

  Had just kissed him.

  Maybe women were more forthright these days, but she'd never been that type. Ever.

  She grabbed a fluffy pillow from the end of the sofa and hugged it to her chest. Did he feel sorry for her, now? Was this going to be an awkward situation from here on out, while he warily kept watch for the madwoman who might pounce on him at any second?


  Maybe, if she was lucky, he wouldn't even remember the incident in the morning. In the whole scheme of things, with his sophisticated world traveler life, it was probably totally forgettable and so was she. The thought was strangely reassuring.

  Her heart settled back into its normal rhythm.

  And then she heard the squeak of the door hinges at the bottom of the steps.

  Thud...bump

  Thud...bump

  A much bigger thud, a litany of Gaelic words.

  Then Thud...bump again.

  Glancing around the living room at everything she hadn't yet put away since moving in, she drew in a sharp breath and gathered an armload of sweaters, a jacket, and several pairs of shoes, and stuffed them in the front closet.

  She opened the door at the top of the stairs and sure enough, Devlin was almost a third of the way up, hopping on one foot to the next step, dragging his crutches and holding the railing for dear life.

  One of the crutches escaped and tumbled down to the bottom.

  "What on earth are you doing? What if you fall?"

  He slowly conquered another step. "I—had to talk to you."

  She hurried down the steps to meet him and took over the crutch still in his hand. "What about the bell? Your cellphone? You had surgery this morning, for heaven's sake. That nurse specifically said no stairs.”

  He leaned against the stairwell, breathing hard. "Tried the bell. Couldn't find my phone."

  "Please stop right here. I can't imagine you going back down an entire flight of steps. Let's go down now, before you go up any farther."

  "Last week I hiked for five hours along the coast. Tonight, I can't manage a flight of stairs."

  "Considering your present disability, I think you accomplished a lot just navigating stairs, even if it was a really, really bad idea to try." She helped him descend to the main floor, where she gave him both crutches but still kept her arm firmly crooked around his elbow. "Back to bed?"

  "Not yet." He looked half asleep on his feet, but a glimmer of a smile tipped up the corners of his mouth, and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. "I started imagining you up here, maybe embarrassed by that chaste kiss you gave me, because you're one classy woman. And maybe, you were wondering if it changed anything...if things would be awkward from now on."

  She looked up at him, wondering how he could know her so well in such a short time.

  "So I wanted you to know I meant what I said earlier. I'm about as graceful as a giraffe on skates right now, but...I need to try this one more time and get it right."

  He let the remaining crutch fall, leaned against the wall, and pulled her into his arms, then brushed a gentle kiss against her mouth. Held her even tighter and came back for another, sweeter kiss that made her heart pound and her knees go weak.

  He drew back and looked down at her, his eyes dark and warm and filled with tenderness. "I knew it would be this good."

  "I—I'm not looking for an affair," she managed when her pulse slowed. "I can't...can't be that casual."

  "I understand. I don't expect anything more. But maybe we can just enjoy each other's company while we're both here. Get to know each other better?"

  She relaxed in his arms. That seemed safe enough. No pressure for anything beyond friendship. No risk to her damaged heart. "I—I guess so. No long-term commitments, no expectations. Right?"

  "Right." He hesitated. "But can I ask you a question?"

  She stilled.

  "When we came back from the hospital, you said you weren't taking chances ever again, because someone died and it was your fault."

  She drew in a sharp breath and pulled back from his embrace. "I thought you were asleep," she said stiffly. "I never would have said that otherwise."

  He cupped the side of her face with his hand. "I just wanted to say that I can't believe you could ever be responsible for anyone's death. For that to change how you live your life is just—"

  "More appropriate than you know," she snapped. Her heart twisted into a painful, familiar knot. It was all she could do to stand her ground and explain rather than just race upstairs. "Yes, it was my fault. Two years ago I was driving, and I didn't see another car racing through a stop sign at an intersection. If I had, I could've slammed on my brakes. But because of me, my sister and my sweet, kind fiancé were both killed. They lost every chance they had for full, happy lives...and I never want to be responsible for anyone else, ever again."

  CHAPTER NINE

  JUST AS SHAUNA'S TYPED instructions had predicted, Saturday brought a continual flood of customers into the village for horse-drawn sleigh rides, cocoa and hot chestnuts sold in booths along the main thoroughfare, and caroling along the narrow, historic streets of the little village. All of the shops along Main were bustling, from what Eve could see when she had a spare moment to peer out the windows.

  But as festive as her customers were, she couldn't get past the deep sadness that weighed on her heart. Devlin hadn't deserved her outburst last night. It never served any purpose to unburden her grief on others who could do nothing at all to change the past.

  He had only been thoughtful, despite his own physical suffering, and she'd been an absolute witch. She wistfully glanced toward his closed bedroom door, but she hadn't seen him since breakfast and then he'd just taken a plate and hobbled back to his room to eat alone.

  With a sigh, she pasted a smile on her face and turned back to her customers.

  What's done is done, her mom had always said. You can't take back your words. You can only ask for forgiveness.

  As a teenager she'd resented those words, but as an adult she knew they were true.

  At least she'd done one kind thing...she'd talked to Shauna this morning, and her friend had agreed to hire Claire Fitzgerald, the woman who had stopped in with her son yesterday. She'd be starting the end of December, just part-time on a trial basis, but at least it was a new beginning.

  Just before closing time, a man in a bulky jacket shouldered his way past the other customers on his way to the back of the store. Glancing over his shoulder, he disappeared behind a floor-to-ceiling stack of bookshelves.

  Eve smiled at the woman in front of her, counted back her change, than handed over her purchases. "Thank you, and have a Merry Christmas."

  The next person in line, a lanky teenager with windblown russet hair splaying out from under knitted cap and a serious case of acne, pushed a book across the counter. "This one."

  Eve looked over his shoulder, her uneasiness growing. The burly guy who had hurried to the back of the store hadn't looked like someone who'd be buying from the needlework and cookbook section—though she supposed it could be a gift. The extensive mystery and suspense titles were in the opposite corner. "Could you excuse me for just a moment? I'll be right back."

  The teen fidgeted. "I—I need to get back to me mum—can't you hurry?"

  "I'll be right back." She hurried through the browsing customers, but when she reached the back of the store the guy was nowhere to be found. Surprised, she checked the other stacks, then turned for the register.

  The teen had slipped behind the front counter—she could see just the top of his cap. "Hey, you!" She shouted, grabbing for the cell phone she kept in her pocket.

  She hit numeral nine—now the emergency speed dial for Ireland's 999—as she hurried through the customers filling the store.

  The teen was just darting for the front door when she reached the cash register—its cash drawer open and empty. Apparently loaded with cash and on the run, the kid inexplicably folded over at the waist and dropped to floor in a heap, gasping for breath.

  She stared.

  There stood Devlin in the doorway, leaning on one crutch. He pulled the other one from beneath the thief, and winked at her. "I guess these things come in handy."

  A milling crowd began to form on the sidewalk outside the store, trying to gawk at the teenager.

  From between them the burly man reappeared and grabbed Devlin's sh
oulder. "What are you doing with that poor boy," he barked. "Big guy like you attacking an innocent kid. Did you see this, folks? This is my son, and I'm filing charges against this brute."

  The crowd grew, pressing in from all sides and effectively cutting off his escape, and in a swift motion Devlin twisted the man's arm up behind the middle of his back. "Just in case you decide to leave, buddy."

  Devlin looked over the man's shoulder and motioned to someone out on the sidewalk. Seconds later, two Gardai—not the ones who had just been here on Wednesday—muscled through the onlookers.

  "These two guys were working together," Devlin said. "This fat guy provided distraction, then the kid emptied the till. I wouldn't be surprised if they've hit other businesses in the area."

  With the thieves handcuffed and stowed in the Gardai patrol car outside, the officers came back in to fill out their reports. She watched Devlin in wonder as he deftly handled their questions.

  Fifteen minutes later it was all over.

  "Wow. That was unexpected." Eve surveyed Devlin from head to toe. "Are you all right?"

  He did the man-shrug thing again, dismissing the entire incident.

  "I mean, really. You were awfully nimble when you got that guy's arm behind his back. But if he'd caught you off balance it wouldn't have been pretty. Just imagine two broken ankles."

  "I'd rather not."

  "I didn’t even see you leave your room this afternoon, though I guess I was pretty busy at the register. But if you hadn't been in the right place at the right moment, the thieves might never have been caught. Thank you, for stepping in."

  "It was no problem. Those guys deserved to get caught."

  "And while you’re here, I really want to apologize for last night. There was no reason for me to be rude."

  He reached out and brushed a strand of long hair away from her face. "I can't imagine how tough it was to lose two people so close to you, in such a terrible way."

  "The accident—from start to finish—used to run through my head constantly. It was like an endless flashback loop that never had a happy ending.. It’s gotten a little better lately, but I still can't escape the guilt and the grief. How could I, when nothing will ever change? DeeDee and Josh are dead. And I was the one behind the wheel."