Page 9 of Beer & Broomsticks
Bridget didn’t argue when Ruairí helped her clean up after the morning meal. It felt foreign yet comfortable with him beside her, drying the dishes she handed to him. Neither of them spoke other than for her to direct him where to put the occasional plate or cup, and he picked up the routine quickly enough.
“Why are you really here?” she asked. When he opened his mouth, she recognized the tall tale forming. “If it’s a lie that’s about to depart that mouth of yours, keep it. I’ve not the time nor the inclination to deal with such foolishness.”
“And why would you believe I was lyin’?”
“Your lips are moving, aren’t they?”
Those same lips twisted in amusement, and Bridget’s heart beat faster for it.
Damn him.
Ruairí surprised her with the truth. “My uncle escaped from prison.” A troubled look settled on his face and the furrow between his brows deepened. “Ronan told me early this morning. Though why the delay, I’ve no bleedin’ clue.”
“I remember the stories you told me about Loman O’Connor’s cruelty. So, he’s Ronan’s father then?”
“Aye.”
Bridget dried her hands, taking the time to properly form the question plaguing her. She didn’t want him to believe she was being overly suspicious, so she needed to tread carefully. “Why did you never tell me Moira was your cousin back when Cian was dating her?”
“I didn’t know he was, did I?” He placed a plate on the counter, set down the towel, and faced her. “You locked me out of your life. Remember, you only let me into the farthest corner of Lucky’s two years past.” Ruairí leaned in and met her questioning gaze. “I swear on me life, I didn’t know Moira was the one he’d taken up with. If I had, you can be sure I’d have warned him that she was dangerous.”
Oddly, she believed him. “And there’s nothing wrong over at your place, is there?”
He rubbed his neck and crinkled his nose, an old habit he had when he knew he needed to confess but hated to give himself away.
She fought a grin and lost. “Ah, Ruairí, you never change. I suppose there’s comfort in that.”
A ghost of a smile played on his mouth, then he turned serious. “The truth is, you don’t have magic enough to fight Loman,mo ghrá.Maybe all of you together, sure, but I’ll not stand by and let you be hurt when he makes an attempt on your family.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek. “And he will. He’s an evil man and wants the O’Malley power. Knowing him as I do, he won’t stop until one of your lot is dead.”
“You think, with you here, you can stop him?”
“I can try.”
His sincerity tugged at her heartstrings. Despite the kiss with Molly Mae, he’d never wavered in his devotion. He’d always treated Bridget’s brothers well, too. Ruairí watched her with cautious eyes, and she felt terrible that he feared her reaction as much as he did. Had she truly been such a bitch to him? Probably, but she didn’t know any other way to guard her heart against his easy charm. He made her want things she was better off ignoring.
Nodding, she gestured to his bag in the corner. “Grab that and come with me. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
“Sure, and it won’t be where I want, but beggars can’t be choosers now, can they?”
Laughter bubbled up inside her, and she ruthlessly tamped it down. If she gave Ruairí one bleedin’ inch, he’d damned well take a mile. In their younger years, he’d always gotten around her moods with humor, his quick quips never failing to make her smile.
“How long has Loman been on the loose?” she asked him, mostly to divert herself from the tempting heat of his body next to her.
“According to Ronan, a few weeks now.”
“Why do you suppose he’s not shown himself?”
“He’s a thinker, he is. The opposite of Seamus and Moira. Loman will have a plan before he attacks, but don’t be lettin’ your guard down, yeah? He won’t make the mistakes my cousins have. He desires power at any cost.”
“That sounds ominous, doesn’t it?” she muttered.
He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I mean it, Bridg. If you go anywhere, you need to go with another. Preferably someone with magic.”
She lifted a brow and planted a hand on her hip. “And that someone, should it be you?” she challenged.
He dropped his bag and stepped into her, caging her with his palms pressed to the landing’s wall. “Is that an invitation to be your constant companion,mo ghrá? Because if it is, I’ll be takin’ ya up on your offer faster than you can say,yes please, Ruairí.”
Ignoring her pounding pulse, she placed a hand against his chest and felt the hard planes she’d noticed he was sporting beneath his coffee-splattered shirt yesterday. Ever so slowly, she trailed her fingers over those beautifully sculpted muscles until she reached the area above his heart. With a hard thump in warning, she narrowed her eyes. “You’ll not get an invitation from me, Ruairí O’Connor. Not today, not any day. You’ll mind your manners in my home and pub. And if I see you kissing the likes of Molly Mae, you’ll be out on your feckin’ ear, yeah?”
