Page 15 of Beer & Broomsticks
“And now?”
“I’m making no promises. I’m not the starry-eyed girl I was. But I’m willing to be friends if you’ve a mind.”
He closed the short distance between them. His warm gaze swept her face, paused on her mouth, and lifted to meet her eyes. “No, Bridget O’Malley. I’ve no desire to be your friend. From here on out, it’s either all or nothing.”
Hands on hips, she glared. “You aren’t the one to be deciding such things.”
He laughed, and the ice encasing her heart melted a little at the stomach-flipping sound of his genuine delight.
“Yes, I am. Leaving it up to you will get me nowhere fast,mo ghrá,” he said huskily.
“I’ve things to do,” she muttered as she turned away.
He caught her hand and gently tugged her back around to face him. His brows were drawn together in a slight frown. “Don’t fight it, Bridg. We could be happy together. Forever this time.”
Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure Roisin could hear it behind the closed guest-room door. “You don’t think too much time has passed us by? We’re not children anymore, Ruairí. How would we blend our lives?”
The building concern eased from his features, lending to a boyish appearance when he grinned. “Sure, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy. If it means always working by your side here or at the pub, then that’s what it will be for me. For us.”
Because his hope was too intense for her when she wasn’t ready to commit, she glanced down at their joined hands, startled to see her knuckles were white where she gripped his fingers. He’d not shown a moment’s discomfort, although the strength she exerted had to be somewhat painful for him. Easing her hand from his, she sighed.
“I’ve a riddle to solve first, then we can talk, yeah?” She hadn’t been aware of holding her breath until he nodded.
“I’ve something for you.” From his back pocket he withdrew a folded parchment, and it crinkled as he opened it. “I think this could help you find what you’re lookin’ for,mo ghrá.”
His expression grew guarded as he handed the paper to her, and as she accepted it, she continued to watch him. Years of dealing with the local patrons had given her an ability to read others with little effort. If Ruairí was anxious, he was hiding something up his sleeve.
And wasn’t this why she had trust issues? Men!
To hide her disappointment, she dropped her attention to the map she held. “What’s this then?”
“Look at the margin here, here, and here—” he tapped the spots as he spoke “—I think it’s meant to help you solve the riddle. Clues to the whereabouts of the Sword of Goibhniu.”
“How do you know about the prophecy?” Her suspicion flag was flying high, and she wondered, not for the first time, if he was somehow involved in his family’s schemes. A lot of time had passed, as she’d said, since they were innocent children wrapped up in each other’s happiness, oblivious to the battle around them. But she’d rejected him, and a man’s pride was a queer thing. Did he now intend to lead her on a merry chase, diverting her from her true goal, all so his uncle could finish what Ronan, Moira, and Seamus had started?
“We’ve always known. It was all my uncle could talk about. He drummed that fecking thing into the heads of all the O’Connors, McLearys, and Doyles. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to be related to the man.”
“But youarerelated, aren’t ya? And I can’t be forgetting that, Ruairí.”
His disappointment with her was obvious in the way his mouth turned down and a shadow passed over his face. The color of his irises darkened marginally. “No, you should never be forgetting it, Bridget. I’m like to steal the silver while I’m under your roof, don’t ya know.” He flicked the parchment. “Do what you will with that.”
Turning on his heel, he left her alone in the hall with her doubts and self-recriminations. She’d tried to be candid, but it had backfired—as any honest moments where she bared her soul usually did for her. She’d find a way to ease the tensions so they could talk again. Luckily, Ruairí wasn’t one to hold grudges.
* * *
As Ruairí reached the kitchen,he spotted Carrick raiding the refrigerator. The other man grinned as he held up a plate.
“Brain food, needed for writing.” He paused in taking a bite of his sandwich and narrowed his eyes. “You’re looking irritated. Who or what’s got you in a tizzy?”
“Who else? Bridget.”
“Do I want to know what she’s said or done to you this time?”
“She’s determined to make my life a misery with her cool words and suspicious nature, ’tis all.”
Carrick chewed slowly as he considered the problem. After swallowing and taking a sip of water, he nodded. “I doubt she’s ever likely to trust a man completely, and especially not one called O’Connor.”
“All from a stupid misunderstanding?” Ruairí asked in disbelief.
