The Last Bride in Ballymuir (36 page)

“
That’ll teach you to listen
to pub gossip, because
I’m no murderer,
either. And as for you, I’ll grant you
a
certain amount of deference because you’re Kylie’s father. But for
the very same reason, I need to know exactly what you
are.”

“
I don’t know what you’re
getting at, Kilbride.”

“
You’ll know what I’m
getting at when I’m ready to
get there,” he
said. The man would show his true col
ors
in time. “For now, be the soul of respect to your daughter, and I
promise I won’t rearrange your face.
Sleep
well, Johnny,” he added over his shoulder as he
left. “And be ready to find yourself a new roof come
morning.”

Full dark had fallen by the
time Kylie neared Breege’s
property. Though
she’d intended to leave straightaway and be sure her father was
tucked away for the night, Vi had caught up with her outside the
Village Hall. A minute of chat turned into more as they covered
the last details of the art exhibition.

Kylie turned into the drive,
then hesitated. Her da
was probably asleep
by now, and what a blessing that
would be.
As she fidgeted in her seat, debating whether to continue up the
drive, the whitish glow of a pair of headlights came toward her,
then stopped. Michael, of course. They climbed out of their cars,
leaving engines on and headlights shining.

Kylie stepped into the
circle of his arms and rested
her head
against his chest before asking, “How is he?”

“
Better now that he’s
through fouling the inside of my car. Six pints of stout in the
man, at least.”

Pulling away, she winced. “Oh lord, did he .
. .” She trailed off before giving the act its evocative name.
“I’ll clean it.”

He drew her back into his embrace. “No. Your
da and I had ourselves a chat. You’re not cleaning after him, not
the mess in my car and not anything else he might do.”

Kylie sighed. She’d already learned that
cleaning up after Johnny was futile.

“
You’re a wise man, Michael
Kilbride. Where were you four years ago when I was starving myself
and needed the sense knocked into my head?”

He laughed. “Getting some
sense knocked into my own, of course.” He paused and hugged her
tighter. “And you’re still not treating yourself nearly well enough
to suit me. I’m serious about us getting away I was thinking the
west—Connemara, maybe. Or
someplace else if
you’re in the mood for a city.”

She smiled and let her
fingertips trace the line of his
jaw, sexy
with a day’s growth of beard. “Wherever you want sounds
grand.”

He gave her a quick kiss, then set her away
from him. “Any more and I’d be tempted to take you into that field,
sheep and stray dogs be damned.”

The deep timbre of his voice let her know his
words were more truth than joke. She loved the feeling of power
that gave her.

“
Get some sleep, love,” he
said. “I’m sure your da will be knocking at your door come
sun-up.”

“
G’night,” she replied, then
murmured a softer
love
as he walked away.

He paused as if startled, then turned back.
Kylie wished it were light enough to read his expression, because
as usual, when she most wanted him to speak, Michael Kilbride said
nothing.

Michael opened the door to Vi’s house, then
took a step back from the blue haze of cigarette smoke that reached
out to draw him in. Frowning, he entered and hung his jacket on the
hook next to the door.

“
I liked it better when you
celebrated with music and orange drink,” he called to his
sister.

No smart remark flew back his way.

“
Vi?”

The sounds of scraping
chairs and muffled voices came from the kitchen. He pushed open the
door. Pat and Danny were hunched over the table. Each had one
handful of playing cards, the other hand beneath
the table, and a face that couldn’t bluff worth a
damn.

Michael nodded. “Boys.”

“
Didn’t expect you home so
soon,” Pat offered.

“
Been smoking, have
you?”

“
N-no,” Danny stammered.
“Nasty stuff, that.”

“
Might stunt our growth,”
Pat chimed in.

Michael raised a brow at the absurdity of
that statement. “And is your belly bothering you, Pat? You’re all
folded over.”

“
Nah, just
tired.”

Michael came closer and settled a hand on his
brother’s shoulder. “Let me help you up, and we’ll get you to bed.”
He hauled Pat from his chair.

Michael shook his head at the whiskey bottle
that tumbled from Pat’s lap. Pat bent down to retrieve it.

“
You might as well get the
glass and the ashtray while you’re down there,” Michael commented.
“And you, Danny, put your glass on the table.”

Pat dumped the contraband, then edged toward
the door.

“
Back here and sit,” Michael
ordered without look
ing away from Danny.
Pat was smart enough not to try to run.

Michael pulled out a chair, then sat, too.
“Cards, cigarettes, whiskey... What’s the matter, couldn’t you find
a couple of willing women to round out the picture?”

He sighed, wondering whether it was the full
moon that was making throats seem parched for a drink, or if it was
just his stinkin’ luck. “Here’s the thing of it, boys. Most any
other night than this, I’d be a bit more tolerant of your
activities, but you’ve shown the Kilbride talent for timing. I’m
not feeling inclined to mercy.”

“
Honest, it’s the first
time—”

“
Don’t be adding lying to
the list.” Michael hefted the whiskey bottle. Only a few inches
remained, and he was damned sure the balance hadn’t gone down the
twins, or they’d be dead by now. “Where’d you find
this?”

Jaws grimly set, the boys
stared down at the table-
top.

“
You don’t want to do this
the hard way.”

“
In Vi’s closet,” Pat
finally said.

“
Well, I’ll give you credit
for meeting my eyes and
telling me the
truth. But I still have to say you’re the stupidest pair to have
come my way in a long time. Snooping and stealing from the woman
who took you in?”

“
She wouldn’t take us to the
pub like we asked, then Mam called and said—”

He ignored the second bit, though a call from
Mam would put him in need of a drink, too.

“
You’re underage, you
fools.” He unscrewed the whiskey bottle. “Give me your
glasses.”

They slid them his way. As Michael divided
the rest of the whiskey between the two, their eyes grew huge.

“
One of the things I’ve had
to learn is my way around the kitchen,” Michael said as he pushed
back his chair and strolled to the fridge. “No point in having a
dull diet, now is there?”

He opened the fridge, then pulled out two
eggs and whatever the white mess was that Vi had been keeping. “You
two seem to be in the mood to try new things.”

He set the bowl and eggs on the table. The
boys, he noticed, were looking a wee bit washed out. He cracked an
egg into each whiskey, then reached his hand into the bowl of moldy
God-knows-what.

As he dropped globs into the glasses, he
said, “You’ll have to tell me if this bears repeating.”

He shoved a glass toward
each boy, hoping he was
doing right, and
admitting to himself that he didn’t know jack-all about being a
parent. “Now drink up.”

“
You’re f-f- insane!” Danny
howled.

“
Fifty pence from you both
because I know what you meant to say, Danny. And no, I’m not
insane. Now drink up or I’ll let Vi decide your punishment. She’s a
regular ball buster when she’s got the mind to be. Hell, this’ll
look as tasty as a trifle by the time she’s done with
you.”

“
I don’t see as we got much
choice,” Pat said to Danny. “And it’ll be over with
quick.”

Michael smiled. “And boys, see that it
doesn’t come back up. I won’t vouch for its flavor the second time
down.”

Half an hour later, the boys were sprawled on
old blankets in the backyard—in case the whiskey ventured back
up—and because a night outside their sister’s roof might give them
a finer appreciation of her privacy.

Michael was looking forward to a night spent
in a real bed. Room to stretch out, room to roll, and room to
dream. He was halfway up the steps when the phone rang. Mentally
fining himself fifty pence for his muttered comment, he made his
way back down.

“ ‘
Lo?” he growled into the
phone.

At the silence on the other end, he gave it a
full, formal “Hello?”

“
I paid Ballymuir a visit,
size of a flea’s ass that it is.
Saw your
teacher, too. She’s really quite pretty. Seems
almost a shame to put a bullet through her head.”

The breath slammed from Michael’s body.

“
Who is this?” he asked,
even though he knew. God help him, he knew.

“
You can’t have forgotten me
so quickly. I haven’t forgotten you...
Mickey.”

“
What do you
want?”

“
To be paid back for what
you took from me. Time’s
come, my
friend.”

The line went dead.

“
Goddamn you, Rourke,” he
whispered to a ghost.
“Goddamn
you.”

Michael hung up the phone
and leaned his head against the wall. He’d eaten little, which was
a blessing because soon he was bent over the toilet losing
everything he had. After a long shower, he lay in
bed,
hollow and horrified, almost afraid to
sleep.

There was an answer to this
ugliness, one so bleak
he could scarcely
let the thought form in his mind.
But he
had no choice. He rose, made a call to Galway
Information, then stared at the ceiling, trying to find the
grace to accept the unacceptable.

When exhaustion overtook him, he dreamed he
was tumbling down a mountainside, a bloody fall with breath and
heart and hope torn from him. Dervla McLohne and Brian Rourke
cheered as he fell.

But what terrified him most was that Kylie
was falling with him.

And he couldn’t save her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Treachery returns.

—
Irish Proverb

No matter how much he’d drunk the night
before, Johnny O’Shea was an early riser. Until the rapping at the
front door awakened her, Kylie had forgotten this. She pulled on
her old velvet robe and staggered toward the noise.

After steeling herself for the inevitable,
she opened the door. Johnny strolled in. He flicked a glance toward
her wrapper. “Still own that, do you? Doesn’t look fit for the rag
bag.”

“
I haven’t had money for
extras.”

Her father didn’t comment. He made his way to
the kitchen on what had to be sheer instinct. Kylie followed,
marveling that it wasn’t even dawn and already she was apologizing
for something that was his fault. While he rooted around in the
fridge, she looked out the kitchen window for any sign of sun.

“
What time is it,
Da?”

“
Not quite gone six. Where’s
the eggs and rashers?”

“
At this hour, the eggs are
still with the chickens
and the rashers on
the hoof. Though you can feel free
to start
a pot going for tea, and I think there’s some muesli in the
cupboard.”

“
Muesli?” He spat the word
as if it were toxic. “You call that food?”

“
Yes, I do. I’m going to
shower now and get ready for work. I’d say make yourself at home,
but I think you need to keep firmly in mind you’re a
visitor.”

“
So you won’t be fixing me a
grand welcome-home breakfast?”

“
No, but I’ll give you a
lift into town when I leave. You’d best be thinking about finding
work and a place to stay.”

“
Work?” If muesli had been
toxic, work appeared to be utterly lethal. “You mean work for
someone—in a shop?”

“
Or an office or a back room
or sweeping the streets,
if that’s what it
comes to. I won’t support you, Da.”

Mouth sloping in a mournful
curve, he announced,
“I’ll go on the dole,
then. If my own daughter won’t
care for me
‘til I get back on my feet, at least my coun
try will.”

She rolled her eyes. A fine time to embrace
patriotism. And even more convenient how he’d failed to mention
the money he said he’d hidden away.

“
Do what you must. Just make
sure it’s legal.”

“
I’ll settle for not being
caught.”

And that, Kylie decided as she stalked off to
the shower, was Mr. Johnny O’Shea’s problem in a nutshell.

Despite his protestations that O’Connor’s Pub
was more centrally located, at seven forty-five Kylie dropped her
da in front of the hardware store.

“
If another pint’s all you
have in mind, you can walk to the pub and wait ‘til opening time,”
she said. “The exercise’ll do you some good.”