2 Chapter 2

“If you’re in town?”

“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth curled in a grin. I liked when I could get him to smile, and I wished I could have kissed it. He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it across the back of his chair. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s nice.” It reminded me of the pubs I’d visited in Ireland. I took off my own jacket and draped it on the back of my chair. I wore the jeans Mark had insisted I buy, loose enough in the cuff to conceal the clutch piece strapped around my ankle, but the fisherman knit sweater was one made especially for me by the daughter of a woman I’d met years ago, on that trip to Innishfree.

A barmaid approached us. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, all of five feet tall, and with long dark hair that hung down her back in a thick braid. She wore a green blouse—an appropriate color for the day—with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and a pair of snug black jeans. A bar towel was wrapped around a waist that would have left Scarlett O’Hara green with envy.

“Céad míle fáilte, gentlemen.” She had an infectious smile. “I’m afraid welcoming you is the sum total of my Irish. Let me be the first here at Dungarvan to wish you a very happy St. Paddy’s Day. I’m Mary Kate, and I’ll be your server tonight.” People must have questioned her about her name, because she continued, “My mom and dad love The Quiet Manand named me after Maureen O’Hara’s character. They named my brothers Flynn and Michaleen.” She bit back a giggle. “Mick hates it.”

“He should look on the bright side,” I said as I pulled out the wooden chair for Mark.

Mark paused in the act of sitting. “There’s a bright side?”

“There always is.” I kept my expression bland. “Her parents could have named him Oge.”

Mary Kate burst into laughter, and Mark grinned a little himself. “You’re a pistol, babe.” He sat down and crossed his left ankle over his right thigh, and the leg of his jeans rode up. However, the little Mini-Max I’d given him for Christmas was at his right ankle. He’d never do anything so unprofessional as reveal to civilians he was carrying a weapon. “We’ve just seen it.”

“Mom and Dad make us watch it every year. It’s almost a religious experience.”

“Some movies are like that.” I thought of the John Wayne movie, Hondo. Although it hadn’t been available to the public in DVD format at the time, with Uncle Bryan’s assistance, Mother had obtained a copy of it and had given it to Mark as a thank-you gift for rescuing me when I’d been kidnapped by Prinzip. He loved that movie, could quote entire scenes, and I was... enchanted every time I watched it with him.

“Now then,” Mary Kate said, “what can I get for you?”

“We’ll have corned beef on rye, plenty of mustard,” I said. Mark had mentioned how good it was, and I was looking forward to trying it.

She nodded. “And to wash it down?”

Mark glanced at me, and I couldn’t help grinning. “What else but beer?”

“Our Irish Red Ale is very good,” Mary Kate told us.

“Then give us two of those as well.”

“We have it on tap or in bottles.”

Mark answered before I could. “Bottles, and bring us a church key as well. We’ll open them at the table.”

“I’ll get right on this. And in the meanwhile, we’ve got the Colonial Boys playing tonight, so enjoy the music.”

After she’d hurried off, Mark traced patterns on the tabletop. “Bottles are safer.”

I reached across the table and rested my hand on his. “And if we open them ourselves, they’re safer still. You don’t have to explain, Mark.” He met my gaze, and I smiled at him. “I know, smart for a spook.”

“Yeah, you are. Blew me away when I realized that.” He cleared his throat. “So what plans for tomorrow?”

“You mean beyond riding with Mother?”

He groaned, and I chuckled and brought him up to speed on Kathy Thorn, the mare he usually rode

We wound up having a couple of sandwiches each, which resulted in more beer to ease our thirst. Well, my thirst. Since Mark would be driving, he’d switched to Coke.

How sad that he couldn’t really enjoy a drink due to the worry he’d become like his mother. If I’d known him when he was a boy, I’d have gotten him out of that situation.

Then I smiled ruefully. Being three years younger than Mark, I wouldn’t have been able to do very much. Although I would have tried.