An Early Wake Read Free Page A

own age and had quickly become a friend—one of the few Maura had made since she’d arrived—but she knew that Gillian couldn’t make a living selling her paintings during the winter around here. Besides, the creamery building wasn’t heated, certainly not well enough to withstand the wind rushing across Ballinlough. Maura could tell already that this could be a lonely place in winter.
    She stood up. “I should probably be going. Can I pick up anything for you?”
    “No, love, I’m grand. Mick came by yesterday. And don’t worry yerself about the numbers—I’m sure things will come right.”
    “I hope so, Bridget. See you later.”
    She shut the door on her way out, then trudged back to her place. She wasn’t sure why she’d asked Bridget if she needed anything, when Maura was the one with a bare pantry. There never seemed to be any time to shop, much less prepare meals, and she spent most of her waking hours at the pub. It was easier to walk down to the Costcutter at the gas station and pick up something quick.
    She drove into the village, glad in a way that the few clueless tourists who had ventured along the lanes had gone home now. To be fair, she’d been in the same boat herself not that long ago. It was hard for some people to accept that there were no road signs, except on the biggest of the main roads, and that most people gave driving instructions along the lines of “Turn left at the abandoned church and go up the hill until you see the field with the bull, then turn right at the fallen tree.” It took a bit of getting used to, and by the time most people did, it was time for them to leave. Luckily most of the time there were no cars on the lanes, which were pretty much one lane wide anyway.
    Maura parked her car well away from Sullivan’s—parking was at a premium along the main road and she didn’t want to discourage any potential customers—and went toward the front door of the pub, keys in hand. She was surprised to find the door already unlocked and Rose behind the bar. She stepped into the dark interior and took quick stock of the scene: no customers except for a casually dressed young man seated on a stool at the bar and talking to Rose with great animation.
    Rose looked up and saw her, then beckoned her over eagerly. “Maura, this is Timothy Reilly. He’s a student from Trinity up in Dublin and he’s here to work on a project, he says. Tim, this is Maura Donovan—she’s the owner here, since March. Mebbe you’d best explain what it is yer after.” Rose was as animated as Maura had seen her in a while, but then, Tim was a fairly attractive young man. He looked to be around twenty, putting him about five years younger than Maura, and he had an open, eager face.
    “Nice to meet you, Tim,” Maura said. “What brings you to the Wild West of Cork?”
    “It’s a pleasure, Maura. It’s the music that brings me—the music here at Sullivan’s.”

Chapter 2

    F or a moment Maura stared blankly at Tim: this was the first she’d heard anything about music at Sullivan’s. She glanced at Rose, who shrugged, apparently as ignorant as Maura. She pulled out a stool and sat down next to the young man.
    “Can I get you anything, Maura?” Rose asked.
    “A coffee, please. Tim, are you set?” He had an empty cup in front of him, so he must have been here for a while, even though the pub wasn’t officially open yet.
    “Another coffee would be grand, if you don’t mind, Rose.” He smiled at her.
    Rose blushed. “Right away.”
    Maura turned to face Tim. “So, what’s this about music?”
    He cocked his head at her. “American, are you? How do you come to own this place?”
    Maura noticed he hadn’t exactly answered her question, but by now she was used to the roundabout path most conversations here took. “I grew up in Boston, but my grandmother was the niece of the late owner, Michael Sullivan—that’d be Old Mick. I took over about six months ago.”
    Tim looked disappointed.