Selkie's Song (Fado Trilogy) Read Free Page A

her a beautiful fairy tale that would be the talk of Beantown for generations.
    Kerry’s marriage to Aidan Kennedy was a small gathering. The weeks preceding the joining of the “voice of Celtic music” and the former IRA operative turned humanitarian had been traumatic at best and deadly at worst. They needed a quiet nuptial attended by family and close friends that did not draw unwanted attention. But Kerry had always wanted to go to Italy on her honeymoon, and Tynan made sure that happened for her.
    In his youth, Ty would have given his left testicle to be in the music business and successful. Now his dream had come to fruition and it hadn’t taken the sacrifice of any body parts.
    He was single, successful, and living—maybe not la vida loca, but any day above ground was a good day. To Tynan, making an offer on O’Fallon’s was a no-brainer when Jamie announced his intention of returning to Ireland. In a way, Tynan thought of the deal as keeping the pub in the family.
    “What’s the letter? Looks official?” Cade indicated the large manila envelope in Ty’s hand.
    “Don’t know.” Tynan glanced at the return address. “From a solicitor: J. P. Warren, Dublin, Ireland.” He hoped he wasn’t being sued and tried to recall if he had left a debt behind that had finally caught up with him. One more unexpected outlay of money and he would be hard-pressed to make his bid on the pub any time soon, if ever.
    “Let me know if you need help from my legal department,” Cade said and stood. “I’d better go calm my little butterfly before she throws something at Jamie and puts him out of commission for a week.”
    Tynan set the solicitor’s letter aside and leafed through his other mail. Coupons from the local chemist shop for mouthwash and a “buy one, get one” on depilatory wax, a popular dress shop was having a sale on ladies’ foundations. If he was interested, he could win a trip to the Bahamas if he bought a new, gas-guzzling SUV from a desperate American auto company.
    When he couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer, Ty pried the brad open on the envelope from Dublin, pulled the sticky flap free from the opening, and removed the one page.
    Dear Mr. Sloane, it began .
    We regret to inform you of the passing of your great-uncle thrice removed, Albert O’Malley.
    A derelict building set on a two hectare parcel of land has been bequeathed to Máire Ni Miollain or her heirs.
    Máire Ni Miollain, God rest her soul, was Mary Malone Sloane, Tynan’s mother. She’d been gone four years now. Seeing her name on this letter gave him a burning sensation behind his eyes and a tickle of impending tears in his throat.
    He suspected, since he was the eldest, even if only by minutes, he was now the proud owner of an ancient mound of building stones on a postage stamp size plot of ground in North Clare, Ireland.
    Ty took a deep breath to keep his focus and read on.
    A map is attached of the townland of Ballinacurragh, Co. Clare…
    Ballinacurragh? Ballinacurragh.
    His pulse racked up several notches at the mention of the little village nested near the cliffs where he had played as a boy. The scenery sparked a fire in his imagination and heat in his memory.
    His memory of the first taste of a girl’s lips.
    Muireann O’Malley’s lips to be exact.
    Images, sounds, and the fragrance of warm, female skin came rushing up from long-hidden coves of his mind. Turquoise seas, emerald fields, and Muireann’s sable eyes pulled him back to his sixteenth year, full of sexual energy and the foolishness of youth.
    They had slipped away from the cottage where the seanchaí , Bertie O’Malley, had sat by the turf fire and spun his tales of Ireland’s past. The stories were intriguing, but the girl, with her lithe limbs and teasing smile, far more tempting.
    His mother had been furious with him and threatened to never bring him back to hear the storyteller again. Ty would not let that happen. Though he liked the yearly visit and