Love and Blarney Read Free

“No, Ma doesn’t know. The thing is, Jayme and I are getting a divorce.”
    “
Might
be getting a divorce,” Jayme corrected.
    His eyebrows shot north. “What do you mean,
might
? You filed for—”
    “Enough.” She held up a hand. “I’m cold, I’m tired, and I’ve learned you didn’t think our marriage was
relevant
information to share with your family. I’m not in the mood to argue over semantics.”
    Guilt gnawed at his stomach. Jayme’s look of utter devastation slayed him. His eyes wandered down her too-slender frame. Memories of what lay beneath that cashmere sweater surfaced in all their X-rated glory.
    He blinked the image into oblivion. He had to think of something to say, preferably fast. Problem was, he hadn’t a clue how to handle this situation. “Ten minutes till opening time,” he heard himself mumble. “Anyone up for a cuppa?”
    His sister put her hands on her hips. “No, I don’t want a fecking cup of tea. I want an explanation.”
    Jayme’s startled face regained some of its former composure. “What she said. You owe us answers.”
    He exhaled sharply. “Right. No tea. How about a coffee?”
    “Ruairí!” they exclaimed in unison.
    “Fine, fine. I’ll talk.” He ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. “When I left Ballybeg ten years ago, I cut ties with my family. I had no intention of ever coming back. Frankly, I didn’t think they’d miss me.”
    “Not miss you?” roared Marcella. “You daft eejit. Poor Sharon sobbed herself to sleep for months.”
    He stopped his pacing. “Months?”
    “A few weeks,” she conceded. “Okay, a few days. But still. She was upset. We all were.”
    “I should have told you about Jayme when I got home last year,” he said with a sigh. “I was going to but couldn’t find the words. It’s hard to discuss the stuff that matters, and I was still raw from the breakup. Once the letters from Jayme’s lawyer arrived, I figured there was no point.”
    “Why did you leave Ireland?” Jayme cut in. “I’m assuming you didn’t move to America on a whim.”
    He shifted his focus to her pale face. Hurt lurked in her soft green eyes. He dropped his gaze to her mouth—her sweet Cupid’s bow mouth… Okay, mistake. “Our father… isn’t an easy man.”
    His sister snorted. “Which roughly translates to, ‘He’s an abusive prick with ready fists and a drinking problem.’ In other words, he’s an Irish cliché. One of the best days of my life was when Ruairí broke his nose.”
    Jayme’s jaw slid lower.
    “Marcella, would you mind giving us privacy?” He gave his sister a significant look.
    She ignored him. “What you need,” she said to her newly discovered sister-in-law, “is an Irish coffee.”
    Jayme gave a wry smile. “I’m not much of a drinker, particularly not at this hour.”
    His sister’s grin widened. Ruairí’s heart sank. What devious plan was she concocting this time? “You should take Jayme out to the farm,” she said. “Get Ma to make her one her famous Irish coffees.”
    He shook his head. “If she drank one of Ma’s coffees, she’d be legless.”
    Jayme frowned in confusion. “I’d be what?”
    “Drunk. Very drunk.”
    “I would like to meet your mother,” she said in a quiet voice, “but I might pass on the fortified coffee.”
    “She’s home now.” Marcella smirked at him. “Better take her earlier in the day rather than later. Da is in Mallow looking at cattle.”
    He massaged his temples. Taking his almost ex-wife to meet the clan was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. What would she think of them? What would she say when she saw the state of the farm? “What about the pub?”
    “As long as you’re back by lunchtime, I’ll be grand on my own.” She wagged a finger at her brother. “And when you get back, I want to know why you didn’t let on you had a wife.” She winked at him and headed towards the bar, whistling off-key.
    The sweat under his collar began a slow