The man sighed and shook his head.
“If he crosses the hedge again,” Ronan said, voice low, “he’ll end up in a stew.”
A gasp ripped from her throat. “You wouldn’t.”
“I’m already picturing the marinade. It will be delicious.”
“Don’t touch my goat, Gallagher. Or your roses will only bloom for the dead.”
He stepped closer. “You’re a little spitfire. That red hair and those damn emerald eyes are a clear sign of your heritage. I bet you have men eating out of your palm.”
If only he knew her track history with men. Not good. Not good at all.
“Hardly. You don’t grow up and go to school in New York City without learning how to take care of yourself. You should talk to my ex-fiancé if you want to know how far I’ll go when you do me wrong. Don’t thinkyoucan scare me.”
His brows lifted. “You really are an O’Byrne. Stubborn as a fence post and spitting mad.”
“And you’re really starting to test my patience.”
He grinned again. “I’ll speak to Father Callahan about posting the bans.”
“You do that. I’ll be right behind you with a public announcement that I object to everything you are, including your roses. What kind of man grows roses?”
“A botanist, that’s who,” he said.
Bríd chuckled softly behind her teacup. “Lord, the two of you will kill each other by week’s end.”
“Exactly,” Aisling said. “So, no, I will not be selling this place to him. I’m here to restore the estate, understand my family, and decide my future.”
Ronan stepped back. “To understand your family, you’ll need more than a few weeks.”
“Why, thank you, Ronan. I’m sure your family tree is spotless and clean of any scandal.”
“Not hardly,” he said. “But don’t worry. You’ll learn about the feud soon enough if you do any research on how our great-grandfathers fought a duel to win back the land. How your grandfather used to let his sheep run through our pastures and onto our land until my father started keeping them. You’ll learn how your grandmother liked to make the Gallagher boys stand up in class and recite Shakespeare. How, for nearly a century, we have fought over the property lines, and the O’Byrnes have always cheated us out of at least an acre.”
“Please tell me there are scrolls,” she said.
“There might be. And if you get a surveyor to prove that your side didn’t cheat us out of the land, I’ll eat my boot.”
“Oh, I plan on it. I’ve already scheduled a topographical scan.”
It had been one of the first things she’d done this morning when she made the decision she could not do the renovation herself.
He blinked. “You what?”
“I called a local contractor. He has a drone.”
His mouth worked for a moment without words. “The war is well and truly back on. Your drone, better not cross the stone wall fence or I’ll shoot it down.”
She flipped on the burner beneath the kettle. “Do let me know who fires the first shot.”
He grinned. “Me. At your goat.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him so hard, the windows rattled.
Aisling blinked at the now-empty doorway, then slowly turned to Bríd.
“I don’t even know how to unpack what just happened.”
