Page 14

CHAPTER 14

Dee

J ax had been right. I needed a nap. It was a four-hour one, but that just showed me how tired I’d been. After, I felt better and was down at the pub where everyone had heard of the Clare County Council’s decision. No one talked about anything but that, which I found exhausting because everyone wanted to know what I was planning to do next. I had no plan. I had nothing.

After we closed the pub for the day, Ronan, Jax, and I settled on the bench outside. The cold filtered through my coat, and my breath fogged up the air.

“It’s spring in Charleston,” Jax complained. “It’s freaking March, and it’s still freezing.”

Ronan leaned against a streetlight, cigarette in hand. “Welcome to Ballybeg.”

Jax was right; it was cold, the kind that crept into your bones and made itself at home. Usually, this time of year, I’d have a bit of a spring in my step—even if the weather hadn’t turned—because St. Paddy’s was around the corner. And at The Banshee’s Rest, we always made a grand thing of it. But this year, I didn’t feel like there was much to celebrate. How many more would we have once Ballybeg became something unrecognizable?

I knew that Ronan and I felt the blow of knowing how the vote would go, but Jax didn’t seem immune to it either. He was on our side. But then again, he was a tourist. He’d be going soon enough, and he’d remember that village where he got stranded in Ireland, and wouldn’t care that it had been wiped off the map.

Jax nudged my shoulder with his. “You’re scowling, darlin’ Dee.”

“Am I?”

He raised his glass of Irish Whiskey (from my good stash, mind you). “You certainly are.”

I stared out at the quiet street past where Ronan stood. The village was asleep; the only sound was the occasional rustle of wind in the trees and the distant bark of a dog, probably Finn.

Angus had told me they both were suffering from insomnia. Where would Angus go? Where would Seamus and Paddy? They’d lived here their whole life. So many of us had. Where would we go? Would we disperse to Cork or Limerick? What would I do? I’d have to find a job. I couldn’t afford the taxes on my farm, and the bar was barely hanging by a thread. Once I sold them, I’d probably have enough to start over somewhere else. But I didn’t want to leave. This was my home. I felt fresh pain ram into me. I shivered, and Jax slid his arm around me and rocked me against him.

“I have an idea of what’s going on. But can someone give me details?” Jax asked.

I hesitated, my fingers curling tightly into his sweater. I wanted to tell him it was nothing, that I was fine, that I could handle it. But the words stuck in my throat. The truth sat heavy on my chest, and maybe it was the silence or the late hour, but for some reason, I sighed and gave in.

“As you know,” I started. “The county has sided with the developers. Cillian and his lot have their green light, and now he’s going to be breathing down our necks about the land.”

“What does that mean?” Jax looked from me to Ronan.

Ronan shrugged. “They’re gonna start buying up property. They already have bids out, but no one wanted to sell until they knew what the council planned to do.”

“And now?”

“Now, they won’t have a choice. The land valuation that Cillian had done was inflated, and that increased our taxes. Some of us can pay it, but many of us can’t,” I added.

Ronan straightened. “Cillian is going to come after the Gallagher Farm.”

“Your family’s?” Jax stroked my shoulder.

“Aye.” I leaned into him, taking what comfort I could.

Why this man, of all people, made me feel both strong and utterly vulnerable at the same time was a mystery I didn’t have the energy to solve. “We’ve owned the farm for generations. Maggie and I inherited it after our parents passed. I thought….” My voice faltered, and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to push through. “I thought it’d be safe. But now, with the taxes coming due….”

I trailed off, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. I hated how small I felt, hated admitting what I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud. Generations of my family had kept that farm safe, and now I was going to be the one to lose it. I’d have to sell it off to someone who’d tear it apart, throw up a bloody twenty-one-hole golf course, and let rich arseholes come there to swing clubs and sip overpriced shite whiskey.

“When are these taxes due?” Jax asked, his voice careful, like he was bracing for the answer.

I pulled away from him. “Summer,” I whispered. “I’m going to lose it all, aren’t I? The land, and eventually, the pub…everything.”

Jax didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“I get what the problem is. What can we do to fix it?” he asked.

Ronan grinned. “What do you want to do, Yank?”

“Save Ballybeg,” he said artlessly.

“It’s not that simple, Jax,” I protested, but God, I wanted someone to step up and work with me, save the feckin’ village, keep it as it was, but still keep it economically sustainable. I might as well want him to bring down the moon and set it at my feet.

“Of course, it’s not. If it were simple, you’d have already taken care of it,” he stated annoyingly, factually, and logically.

“I don’t know what we can do.” Ronan crushed his cigarette against the rubbish bin and threw it in. “I’m gonna head home, Dee. You get some sleep. Tomorrow…well, it’ll be here, and we’ll get with it.”

Get with what? I wanted to ask: How long would it take for everything to change? Six months? A year? Two? At what point would we forget who we are and become someone else? Ballybeg was a community, not a business—but that’s what Cillian and his lot were going to make it. They were going to take the heart out of my village and put in a vault of money instead.

Once Ronan left, Jax turned to face me. He looked me in the eyes intently. “Dee, what if I?—”

“No,” I cut him off immediately, turning away from him. “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he growled.

I gave him a look that could’ve melted steel. “You were going to offer money. Weren’t you?”

He hesitated, then shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’ve got money. If it’s just the taxes, tell me how much, and I can?—”

“Stop,” I snapped, cutting him off again. “Just stop. I don’t need you—or anyone else—coming in here and playing hero.”

I saw frustration flash in his eyes. “Dee, it’s not about playing hero. It’s about helping someone I care about.”

“You don’t even know me, so why would you care about me?” I threw it at him, rudely, unfairly, cruelly. I was running, scared, and hurt, and I did what people like me did: I kicked at the innocent.

“Darlin’ Dee—” he began, but I stood up quickly. The bench creaked loudly, silencing him.

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, wild and raw and full of pain. “I don’t need you swooping down to take care of me.”

“Why the hell not?” he drawled. He did this, I realized. When my temper flared, he went ice-cold calm, no, not ice-cold emotionless, but amused, like he was mocking me. The arsehole !

“Why the…I don’t even know you. You’re a stranger.”

“Aw, come on, Dee, I saw your bits today…in the water,” he joked.

I blinked. I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, mad as a bag of cats, and he was behaving like he was at a tea party in Gone With the Feckin’ Wind .

He rose and put his hands on my shoulder, bent his head to kiss my angry mouth. It was a brush, light, soft, sweet. I softened. He was unraveling me.

“I don’t want your money,” I said petulantly.

He cuddled me to him and kissed my hair. “Maybe you don’t want it but you do need money, mine or yours or someone else’s. It’s just money, Dee. It’s not a big deal.”

“Only people who have a lot of it say gobshite like that,” she grumbled.

He laughed. “ Gobshite . I think I’m gonna add it to my swearin’ repertoire. I have to say my swear game has been on the up and up since I came to Ballybeg.”

“I doubt it very much,” I scoffed.

“ Feckin’ gobshite doesn’t know his arse from his elbow and wouldn’t find it with a map and a flashlight .”

I nuzzled his chest, letting him ease me. “Not bad, Yank. You’re gettin’ the hang of it.”

He pulled back and grinned widely. “Oh, I’m just warmin’ up. How about: feckin’ useless gobshite, thicker than a bull’s arse in fly season .”

That got a proper laugh out of me. “I can hear you’ve been learning from Mickey.”

“I’m a quick study.”

I’d never had a man hold me like Jax was—look at me like I was precious, enough, more than he could believe. He made me feel wanted and…I took a shuddering breath, halting myself from going down a rabbit hole. If memory served me, Alice didn't do all that well when she took a tumble and almost lost her head.

“It takes a lot of practice, time, and effort to swear like a proper Irishman,” I chided.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m planning on stayin’, isn’t it, darlin’ Dee?”

My heart raced. I licked my lips. “I like the thought of that,” I admitted.

This time, when he kissed me, it wasn’t sweet; it was hot and made me want to do all kinds of naughty things with Jax Caldwell, Two-Time PGA Champion, who I was afraid would break my heart.