The Last Bride in Ballymuir (27 page)

“
And you shouldn’t either.
It’s glorious! But it’s not right, me taking your bed,” Breege
said, one hand stroking the silken duvet. “Especially with you left
on that little bed of mine pushed close enough to the fire to singe
your toes.”

Kylie tidied the stack of paperbacks on the
nightstand. “It’s an adventure, like having a new house sleeping
out there.”

Breege looked past her. “Michael, be a dear
and see if I left my eyeglasses in the car. I can’t seem to find
them.”

Kylie raised one brow at
Breege’s glasses, sitting
next to the
books, just where her friend had left them.
Michael muttered something about being back straightaway, then
disappeared.

Breege sighed, then leaned
back against the pil
lows. “Between the
doctors, the visitors, and the way
that man
sticks by you like he’d forget to breathe
if
you’re not in the same room, we
haven’t had a second to talk, just the two of us.”

“
Michael? He’s not like that
at all,” Kylie protested.

Breege’s smile seemed to
hold private memories. “He is, and you should be glad for it.” Her
smile smoothed out and her expression grew serious. “I don’t want
you to think I’m ungrateful, because I’d want my daughter over from
London taking care of me about as much as I’d be willing to put
myself back in the hospital. But I don’t feel right about
this.
You and Michael need your privacy.
The way he was
moping about in the
doorway,
I don’t
think I’m the only one who likes this bed.”

Kylie felt fiery color
climbing her throat and burn
ing her face.
“He’s—he’s—” she stammered.

“
If you haven’t used the
bed, more’s the pity for you.”

If Breege were younger—say,
by fifty years— Kylie might
not
have been shocked. She opened
and
closed her mouth once, then again,
feeling as if
the
wind had been knocked from her.

Her friend laughed outright.
“Why is it the young always think they’re the only ones to have
ever felt
passion? Do you honestly believe
that you’re the
first
not to have waited until your wedding day? If I told you the
names of Ballymuir’s fine citizens—including a certain Garda who
drives up and down this road too many times for my peace of
mind—who were born less than nine months after the ceremony, even
your hair, straight as it is, would curl.”

Even sanctimonious Gerry? Impossible. Kylie
felt compelled to say something. Anything. “I... I, ah...”

Breege waved aside her
effort. “I don’t mean to be
turning you
that interesting shade of red. I’m just telling you not to forget
about that man of yours while you’re fussing over me. If you have
any inten
tion of
not
being the last bride in
Ballymuir, he needs
his attention,
too.”

“
Erm... well . . .” Lord,
what had happened to her powers of speech? Kylie settled for a nod,
then went to the window and pulled aside the drape.

“
It’s beautiful weather
we’re having,” she said, falling back on chat so old that she was
sure it had been trotted out as soon as the first caveman formed
words. “Spring is truly on us.”

Breege chuckled. “Then I expect my barn would
be warm enough for lovers. You might mention that to Michael...
when he comes back from not finding my glasses.”

Kylie choked down her
embarrassed exclamation
and fled to make a
pot of tea. Having family could be
very
unsettling.

Outside Kylie’s small house, Michael milked
the reprieve Breege had granted him down to its last drop. He
searched his car from top to bottom, knowing her glasses lay on
the nightstand. Then he inspected the crumbling shed at the back of
Kylie’s property.

The lack of a roof meant it couldn’t hold
feed for Martin, Breege’s ill-mannered peacock whom even the farmer
down the road wouldn’t take. He had, however, suggested that Martin
might be tasty in a stew if all else failed. Michael snorted.
Knowing Kylie’s soft heart, the damned bird was probably going to
get its own cushion beside the fire.

Since the sun was shining and the air smelled
rich and fertile, Michael took to the fields. The earth was still
soggy with the weight of spring rains, and it squelched beneath the
solid weight of his boots. That was one sound he’d never heard in
the cell block, and hearing it now made him think of how
incredibly his life had changed. As he thought, stone by stone he
cleared the land where he’d first met Kylie months before.

Only months. It felt a
lifetime, and in some ways it
had been.
He’d lived more since landing in Ballymuir than he had in all the
years before. He’d developed patience, too.

He was pleased that Kylie had Breege for an
adopted grandmum, of sorts. She needed family in a way that he
didn’t. Still, he could see where the present circumstances were
going to prove... uncomfortable.

Michael gave a wry shake of the head at the
total inadequacy of the word he’d settled on. Uncomfortable, hell.
It was going to be bleedin’ torture. And after seeing Breege
settled in like Ireland’s answer to the Queen, he’d never look at
Kylie’s bed in quite the same lust-ridden light again.

All in all, though, he had to admit that life
was better than what he’d been expecting. His continuing spite
campaign of posting handyman bills around town was beginning to
produce an odd job or two. A small blessing—infinitesimal,
actually, since Jenna Fahey had told him that just now, she
couldn’t afford to finish what she’d started. As he jimmied loose a
muddy rock, he considered his options. Work, real work—that’s what
he needed if he meant to care for Kylie after they married.

Michael lifted the heavy
stone, then came close to dropping it square on his toes as he
realized what he’d been thinking. Telling himself he was next
in
line for the village eejit, and that he
might as well just
bash in his thick skull
with that rock, he brushed his hands off on the worn denim of his
jeans.

He was more likely to be
made Prime Minister
than he was to bury his
past and marry Kylie O’Shea.
He should take
the sunny day, the soft breeze, and the taste of Kylie’s kisses and
be content.

Somehow it was no longer enough.

Chapter Seventeen

What is in the marrow is hard to take out of
the bone.

—
Irish Proverb

Kylie pushed aside the piece of old lace that
served as a drape over the kitchen window. Looking out the ancient
glass, she felt a sudden and surprising burn of tears. Michael
stood in the field, staring at the house as though he didn’t
recognize it. She didn’t understand half of what went on in his
head, and wished that he’d open to her enough so at least she could
give a fair guess. Not very likely, she admitted to herself. He
gave up nothing—not even guilt—without a battle.

He was so stark and male and beautiful that
she hungered for him. Physically, to be sure. But also from
someplace even more intimate, someplace where heart and soul melded
into a yearning so strong that she wanted to weep from it.

That was the trouble with
having wishes come true. Once fate had granted her one favor, she
had begun to build her expectations. Having Michael as
even a secret part of her life was more than she’d
ever
dreamt possible. To be asking more,
for all of him and
to be able to give all
of herself in return, was nothing
more than
greed. And nothing less than impossible.

Kylie let the curtain drop, then put together
the tea tray to bring to Breege. Once her friend was settled, and
Kylie was certain that she could handle the tea without scalding
herself, Kylie found her coat, slipped out of her shoes and into
her wellies. If she couldn’t have Michael forever, she’d steal what
moments she could.

He was attacking the field with a ferocity
that would have been amusing if she had any idea what motivated it.
She waited until she had pulled abreast of him before speaking.

“
Breege’s glasses were on
her nightstand.”

“
I saw them.”

She thought she heard a bit of humor in his
voice. That gave some comfort since he still threw rocks with an
effort just skirting violence.

“
It’s grand of you to finish
clearing the field for me, but it really doesn’t have to be done by
sunset.”

He stopped to slant a sidelong look her way.
“Just working off steam. Sorting through some matters.”

“
Such as?”

“
What to do with that fool
peacock of Breege’s, for
one.”

She pushed back her hair where it flew wild
in the breeze. “Breege says he’ll forage well enough, or adopt
himself into another family, as he did with her.” Now wasn’t the
time to tell him she already considered Martin part of her new
clan. “And the other matters?”

He hurled a rock to the far
corner of the fence line.
“Nothing that
talking about will make come any clearer.”

She laughed, then stood on
tiptoe to brush a kiss against his cheek with its dark stubble of
beard just beginning to show. She smiled as it tickled her,
lov
ing his feel, his scent. Loving him.
“Well, I’d be a fool
to suggest otherwise
when I’m getting my field
cleared in the
bargain. But if you ever want to tell me
what’s truly bothering you, I’ll be waiting to
hear.”

He nodded in response, as if he deserved no
less. Annoyance nipped at Kylie. Like the high king, himself, she
thought. “It helps to be good at waiting where you’re concerned,
doesn’t it?”

His eyes narrowed as though he’d just spotted
trouble. He didn’t know the half of it.

“
Trouble is,” she continued,
“I’ve spent my whole life waiting for one thing or another... for
Da, for happiness, for forgiveness. I’ve decided that I’m through
with it. So you can stand here and hurl rocks, or you can tell me
what’s bothering you and get on with the day.”

His squint hardened to a scowl.

Kylie waited, this time
liking it, this time relishing
the coming
clash of wills. That in itself amazed her. Before Michael, she’d
have fled from the first sign of discord as fast as her feet could
carry her. Before Michael, she’d been so frightened of stepping
even the smallest bit out of line.

“
You’re becoming just a bit
of a harridan, aren’t you? I can see you sixty years from now
smacking your poor husband with a cane—” His brows lowered and his
jaw clamped shut on whatever else he’d been intending to
say.

“
Quiet so soon?” she
challenged. No walking away
now, neither
emotionally nor by foot. “All those
stormy
looks and nothing else to say? I don’t believe it
for a minute.”

“
Believe it.” He kicked a
rock and sent it skittering. “Shouldn’t you check on Breege? She
might be needing something.”

Kylie crossed her arms and stood her ground.
“She’s in finer shape than you are. And she’s far clearer in what
she’s wanting and not wanting. What you need is someone to take you
by the shoulders and shake you until that tongue of yours
loosens.”

His mouth opened, then closed. He made a
huffing sound that was so out of character she struggled not to
laugh. A small snicker escaped.

“
Are you laughing at
me?”

Though she
knew she was already caught, she put
her
hand
over her mouth to hide her smile.

“
I asked if you were
laughing at me.”

When she was sure she’d regained her
composure, she let her hand drop. “Not at you, exactly... more with
you.”

“
I’m not
laughing.”

“
But you should be. And you
should be talking, too.”

He moved closer, so close that her heart
jumped.

“
Or you’ll take me by the
shoulders?”

Kylie danced back a step,
then circled, sizing him up. Michael was a big man, and she’d
noticed time
and again that he was all the
more careful for it. Now
he loomed over
her, using physicality when he couldn’t chase her off with silence.
She rolled her eyes. Dangerous indeed.

“
A little thing like you, I
wish you luck in trying,” he scoffed.

All bluster, she thought, smiling again.

He didn’t slow. “I’ll see a field full of
flowers in this rock heap before I see you taking hold and shaking
me. And—”

She darted in and settled her mouth over his.
A low sound of surprise echoed from deep in his throat, and his
hands clamped onto her shoulders like he was readying to push her
away. Twining her arms around his neck, she held on for all she was
worth. No running, she willed him. Just wanting.

She knew the moment when he accepted her and
understood she wouldn’t be bullied or placated. She didn’t let go.
His hands, cool and gritty from the work he’d been doing, cupped
either side of her face and held her. She could feel the streaks of
mud now painted on her skin, and didn’t mind in the least.