Running Back

  “Natalie Sullivan. ” I extended my hand to grip his firmly.

  “Ah, you also have family here?”

  “Oh, no, I’m Irish in name only. ” That didn’t sound as eloquent      out loud as it had in my head, so I grimaced and then wished I had some      capability to keep my emotions off my face, and that the older man didn’t think      I was grimacing at him.

  But Mr. MacCarthy had already returned his attention to Mike,      whose smile looked a little fixed to me. He wasn’t asking, as I would have, for      every last hopefully rapscallion recollection Mr. MacCarthy could whip up about      his father. I remembered Mike saying I      don’t talk about Kilkarten when we first met, and I      wondered if he didn’t talk about his father, either.

  Except that he just had, with me.

  In any case, the silence kept stretching, so I hurried to fill      it, because who liked silences? Silences were for black holes. “I do specialize      in Irish history, though. I’m an archaeologist. ”

  At my overly bright tone, MacCarthy focused on me. “The one      Patrick hired? I thought you’d be a bit older. ”

  Well. Patrick hadn’t hired me. The      brightness corroded. “Well, I’m not. ”

  Beside me, Mike’s smile eased into a slightly more natural      version, and he nodded to Mr. MacCarthy. “We should get going but—it was nice to      meet you. ”

  Mr. MacCarthy wasn’t done, even though Mike had already turned      away. “Where are you off to?”

  I hesitated, unwilling to walk off on this old man. “Um. . . ”

  Mike’s hand reached back and wrapped around my mine, tugging me      gently after him. “To pay a call,” he said over his shoulder as I stumbled to      catch up, “on my dear Aunt Maggie. ”

  * * *

  A pair of main streets cut through the village, lined      with two story buildings painted pale yellows and blues and greens. Ivy climbed      up the level walls and low peaked slate roofs. All the signs were written in      Gaelic as well as English, a language of curlicues and accents.

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  Maggie O’Connor lived at the far side of the village, so we      walked past O’Malley’s Restaurant, the village pub and a café with outside      seating. Several patrons looked up with curiosity as we passed, and Mike’s hand      tightened on mine.

  And then we were before a lavender house nestled between two      off-white ones. Window boxes filled with white flowers hung beneath long, thin      panes of glass, and the door itself was painted blue. I sighed happily before      knocking.

  The door opened immediately.

  Maggie O’Connor stood five-feet tall, with thick black hair      gathered at the nape and streaked through with silver. I put her somewhere in      her fifties, and she gave me the same puzzled look most women her age gave me,      like some dusty corner of their mind recognized my face from when they’d been      seventeen and poured over fashion magazines.

  “Mrs. O’Connor. ” I let loose my brightest smile. “I’m Natalie      Sullivan. Thank you so much for seeing me today. ”

  Her expression cleared of confusion and settled into polite      curiosity. “Ah, the archaeologist. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Yes, thanks. ” I entered, and then hesitated. Mike stood      stiffly on the doorstep, arms crossed against his chest. “And, um, this      is. . . ”

  Maggie turned back and paled. She ran her blue stare      unblinkingly over Mike. Her lips moved for a moment before any sound made it      out. “Brian’s son. ”

  I saw him do it. Just like flicking on a switch. One moment,      his posture indicated discomfort, and the next warmth suffused his face. He      aimed such a charming grin at Maggie that I almost smiled, too, and his voice      dropped to low, confidential registers, like he was speaking to his best friend      or his beloved grandmother. “My family and I just arrived—I think my mother sent      a note. But I thought I’d come around with Natalie. ”

  She flicked her eyes up and down. “Ah, yes. ” She turned sharply      and vanished into the house.

  The entry hall was low and dark, the striped green wallpaper      hung with old portraits, but the sitting room had plenty of light from the      street and a brass chandelier. Mike and I settled on an old, striped sofa. The      single bookcase held mostly trinkets and only one shelf of books, but white      cracks lined their spines and made me think well of Maggie O’Connor.

  Maggie obviously did not feel the same way toward Mike, because      when she returned after placing a kettle on, she said, “Eileen O’Rourke said      your family arrived yesterday, yet they haven’t called. ”

  Mike’s smile didn’t waver. “It’s my teenage sister, Anna.      Didn’t bring a thing she could wear, so she dragged the rest off shopping. ”

  Maggie’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’re twenty-six?” At Mike’s nod,      she continued. “You have two sisters, is that right?”

  “Lauren’s twenty-three. Anna’s seventeen. ”

  Maggie raised her brows. “An accident, the last one?”

  Mike didn’t look thrilled under his smile. I jumped in, trying      to smooth the tension. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. O’Connor. While I never      met you husband, he was always very kind to me when we spoke on the phone. ”

  Maggie regarded us scornfully. “Patrick hasn’t been kind to      anyone for the last ten years. And I certainly don’t expect Brian’s son to miss      him. ” Her lips tightened and she seemed to drift off into her thoughts for a      moment, and then she shook herself and rose to fetch the tea.

  I leaned in close to Mike so there’d be no chance of her      overhearing from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, but did your father try to poison your      uncle? What is going on?”

  His head almost touched mine as he answered. “Did I mention my      dad and uncle had been estranged for twenty years? And that Maggie and Patrick      didn’t come to my dad’s funeral or anything?”

  Gee, I was so glad I’d been dragged into a family feud. Because      there weren’t enough feuds in my life. “Why, no. No, you did not. ”

  Maggie returned with a tray of mugs and, to my endless joy,      shortbread. She placed everything on the coffee table. “And how did the two of      you come together?”

  Mike took a sip of the boiling tea. Despite the likely loss of      taste buds, he didn’t flinch. He just set the mug down and smiled at his aunt.      “Natalie tells me Patrick had signed on for an excavation at Kilkarten. ”

  “That’s right. ” Maggie stirred her tea. “Your excavation’s      stirred up a lot of excitement. ”

  I tossed a look at Mike, wondering if he’d told this estranged      aunt the excavation was no longer happening. “Do the people here care a lot      about it?”

  Maggie looked amused. “It’s all anyone’s talked about for the      last six months. ”

  That was unexpected. “But Patrick only signed the final paper      work three months ago. ”

  “It took the village three months to convince him. ”

  “Um. . . ” I looked again at Mike. I didn’t want to be the one who      broke the news that all that work went out the window.

  Mike frowned. “Why did the village want the dig?”

  Maggie took a slow tip of tea. “A site would boost the local      economy. There would be more tourists spending money at the shops and      restaurants, more jobs—Ms. Sullivan said she would probably hire a good dozen      people to help her excavate this summer. ”

  Mike turned his frown to me.

  I shrugged. “It’s easier to hire and train locals t
han bring      workers over, especially for Phase 1 excavations where not a lot of detailed      digging happens. ”

  “Mrs. O’Connor. ” Mike leaned forward, hands clasped between his      knees. I wondered if it tasted strange, his mother’s name applied to a woman      he’d never met before. “Why was Patrick was okay with the excavation? I wouldn’t      have thought he’d want strangers all over his property. ”

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  “Wouldn’t you?” Her sharp eyes peered over the brim of her cup.      Beside me, Mike tensed. I couldn’t pick out the thickest tension between      them—accusation, unease, challenge.

  “Patrick was a big proponent of rediscovering Ireland’s early      history,” I said quickly and a little too loudly, trying to dispel whatever      strange sentiment the O’Connors had stirred up.

  It worked. Both of them scoffed. “The money had a large part to      do with it,” Maggie said. “And if you’d ever met Patrick, you would have known      that once he’d made up his mind, nothing would change it. ”

  Mike nodded slowly. “I’ve heard stories. ”

  “’Course you have. ” Maggie stirred her small silver spoon      through her tea.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Is there a bus out to the farm? I      wanted to look around. ”

  His aunt shook her head. “It’s only accessible by car. I’m busy      this afternoon, but could give you a lift tomorrow. Or my nephew Paul’s in town.      I’m sure he can bring you over. ”

  Mike and I exchanged a glance, and then Mike nodded.

  Maggie lifted her tea. “You can find him at the pub over on      Blue Street. Just ask for Paul Connelly. ”

  Chapter Eight

  We broke for lunch first. We picked up pre-made      sandwiches at the local Spar, a tiny chain convenience store, and ate them      sitting on a bench looking over the tiny harbor. Boats bobbed in the water, and      people occasionally stared. We were stopped three times for introductions before      we were finally able to unwrap our food.

  I liked it here, with the warm summer breeze and the scent of      the sea and the warm bread in our hands. I turned to say as much to Mike, but      switched topics when I saw the furrows in his brow. “So what’s up with this      estrangement? What happened?”

  The furrows melted away when he looked at me, replaced by a      grin. “You’re pretty nosy. ”

  “Who, me?” I widened my eyes. “I just have an active interest      in understanding the world. Also, that was a little weird, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t      we have talked about Patrick and your dad and your lives, considering that you’d      never met before?”

  He finished off a bite of his sandwich. “My dad and Patrick      grew up on Kilkarten, but by the time Dad was ten, they’d moved to the      village—actually, probably to the house Maggie’s in now. ” He threw a glance over      his shoulder, like he’d only just realized his father might have spent years in      that same house. I had to touch his knee before he shook himself and went      on.

  “Right. Anyway, after my grandparents died—and this was when my      dad and Patrick were in their late teens, early twenties—Dad wanted to sell the      farm. Patrick didn’t. They had some huge fight and then Dad moved to Boston. ”

  “What was the fight about?”

  He shrugged.

  Right. “Personal reasons. ”

  He gave me that crooked smile.

  We finished off our sandwiches. I looked out over the water,      dark blue and endless. Mike’s dad had wanted to get rid of the land, and now      Mike refused to. What had that fight been about? Did Maggie know? Did Mike’s      family? “So I’m guessing you haven’t met this cousin of yours, then. ”

  The idea seemed to astound him. “Cousin?”

  His shock was kind of cute. “Almost. If he’s Maggie’s      nephew. ”

  He groaned. “I should be back home celebrating the off-season      and instead I’m meeting lost cousins and bitter aunts. ”

  I hopped off the bench. “Come on. Let’s go find this pub. ”

  Blue Street looked a lot like Red Street, with just a handful      of shops and houses and the cobblestone road interrupted by a small fountain. A      signpost pointed toward shops and the church, written in two languages.

  The pub clearly took precedence, busy even at two in the      afternoon. A green pennant hung outside the brown brick building, while inside      it looked like the Irish pubs at home, except the music didn’t hurt my ears and      the TVs didn’t blast. People ate as much as they drank, and off in the back a      group of teenagers played pool.

  We headed for the bar, and the college-aged kid watching the      soccer game from behind it. “Hey,” Mike said. “We’re looking for Paul Connelly.      Is he here?”

  The teenager dragged his gaze from the screen and raked it over      us, with the amount of judgment I usually associated with NYU student bartenders      in the East Village. It morphed slowly to recognition. “You’re Michael      O’Connor. ”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Is Paul here?”

  The kid slouched back and crossed his arms. “Connelly! Your      American cousin’s arrived. ”

  Every head in the pub swiveled in our direction.

  From the back, a man detached himself from a clump of Guinness      guzzlers. He was about my height and age, but he had thick black hair and dark      eyes. Black Irish, they called it, Iberian blood. He shoved his hands in his      pockets and sauntered over.

  “Well. ” Paul Connelly had a low, lilting voice, and I      immediately thought of Cam’s Operation:      Irish Boyfriend. “That didn’t take very long. ”

  Beside me, Mike relaxed very slowly. The great control that      went into his apparent laziness was more alarming than if he’d tensed up all      over. “’Scuse me?”

  Paul propped his elbow on the bar and shrugged. “Seems to me      you swooped right in as soon as you inherited some land. ”

  Mike curved his lips up. “Actually, my uncle just died. I’m      here for his month’s mind. ”

  “After twenty-six years of never even talking to the man?”

  Mike relaxed his body even more, like he was lounging in      midair. “You’re pretty well-informed for a guy I never even knew existed. ”

  Paul scoffed and shook his head. “Just like a Yank. ”

  Mike didn’t even twitch. Like a snake before the death-strike.      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

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  Great. Could no one in this family communicate without weird      accusations? If Paul Connelly’s body language was any indication, Mike was about      to get punched in the face.

  I squeezed between the two guys and stuck my hand out. “I’m      Natalie Sullivan. Sorry for your loss. I never met your uncle, but we spoke      several times. I’m an archaeologist from Columbia University. ”

  Paul waited a moment, his square jaw working, before he      transferred his attention to me. When he did, surprise crossed his face. “You’re      a lot prettier than I expected. ”

  “Hey,” Mike said sharply. He moved up beside me.

  I stepped on Mike’s foot and kept my gaze trained on Paul.      “Your aunt said you might be able to take us by Kilkarten today. ”

  Paul looked back and forth between Mike and me. “You two a      thing?”

  I refused to look at Mike. “No. ”

  Mike spoke at the same time. “What’s it to you?”

  Paul smiled slowly and Mike scowled. Then, focusing all his      attention on me, Paul said, “Right this way. ”

  Mike caught my arm as we headed out the door,
leaning close      enough that his breath brushed my neck. “Watch that guy. ”

  I shivered, focus stolen by the thrills of attraction running      down my arms. “Why?”

  “Because I have two younger sisters, and can spot an asshole a      mile away. ”

  I shook my head at him and followed Paul out onto the street.      We piled into Paul’s truck, and Mike and I had a brief, silent struggle for the      front seat while Paul headed toward the driver’s side. Mike won.

  Paul had to start and stop several times as oblivious      pedestrians wandered into the streets before us. He didn’t speak. Mike didn’t      speak.

  So of course I did. “So your aunt says you live in Paris?”

  “That’s right. ” He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “You      been?”

  “No, but it’s on my list. Do you travel a lot, out of      Paris?”

  He slowly grinned at me in the mirror. For a moment, he looked      shockingly like his cousin, despite the lack of blood between them, and the      darkness of Paul’s looks compared to Mike’s brightness. He nodded. “A bit. ”

  I kept babbling. “I’ve never been to Paris but I did a whole      circuit of Eastern Europe—Prague and Istanbul and Croatia. . . ”

  A spark of genuine interest lit, and some of the tension      drained from the car. “You ever get to Dubrovnik?”

  “I loved Dubrovnik. ” I turned to      Mike. “It’s this gorgeous walled city with red roofs and these winding      streets—”

  Paul interrupted. “Did you walk the walls? See the Old      Town?”

  I nodded. “Oh yeah, of course. Did you go out to that      island?”

  “With the monastery?”

  “Yeah. Okay, listen to this. We met the weirdest old man on the      ferry. . . ”

  Mike didn’t seem to like the conversation going on without him.      “We might go to Paris later this summer. ”

  Paul switched his attention to Mike as though I hadn’t been in      the middle of a sentence. “You and her?”

  Mike shrugged non-committedly.

  Please. Though if Mike’s family invited me to go to France, I’d      have a hard time resisting. Think of all the croissants!

  Still, I didn’t really appreciate Mike using me as a chew toy      to make Paul jealous.