I frown. “Really? Just you?” That hardly seems fair to his brothers.
“Tradition says it always goes to the eldest, to keep the feuds to a minimum. My uncle Thomas—the one killed in the riots—was supposed to inherit it, instead of Da. Their other brother—Uncle Samuel—would be helping run it, but he passed on when I was ten. Tumbled down a flight of stairs one night, drunk. That was the end of him.”
I gasp. “That’s . . . horrible!”
“Yeah, well, it happens,” River says casually, as if he made peace with it long ago. “And he had no family of his own, so running Delaney’s is all on Rowen and me now.”
“But, you’re not the oldest, are you?”
“No . . .” River’s forehead puckers. “Aengus isn’t interested.”
There’s something very wrong with this brother. I can feel it in the air every time River mentions him. But I don’t like that feeling, so I change the topic back to us. “So, after Rowen finishes class . . .”
He yanks his shirt over his head with a smile. “Then we’ve got the after-work crowd.”
“And after that?”
“After that . . .” He dives back down for another kiss. “I’m coming to get ya.” His lips stretch into a smile, even pressed against mine.
“That’s right. You are.”
He breaks away, pressing his forehead against mine. “You’re far too good for me, you know that, right?”
“Like Charles Beasley and Marion McNally?”
He chuckles. “See? You’re hooked. You’re going to be begging me to tell you that story again.”
“At least twice a week, at bedtime.”
With a heavy sigh, he stands and stretches, peering down at me, a strange look on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just . . .” He hesitates. “I wish you didn’t live so far away.”
“I know. I’ve been trying not to think about that,” I admit, chasing away the sadness that comes with the reminder. I haven’t completely dismissed the notion that came to me last night while resting against his body, to just stay in Ireland for the next three months. It is crazy, of course, and my conscience was quick to remind me that I promised myself not to abandon my plans for a man ever again. I’m trying to ignore that little voice for the time being. Besides, now that I’m out of the sex haze, I realize that it’s not something I can decide today. Or even suggest to River. For all I know, this thing between us is so appealing to him—and to me—because I’m leaving on Sunday.
Still, knowing he’s at least thinking the same thing brings me comfort.
“But, since I do live so far away . . .” I slowly push the sheets down, until the cool morning air skates against my exposed skin.
River’s breath hitches. With the quickest glance at the clock on the nightstand, he peels his clothes off.
NINETEEN
River
I can always count on Rowen to be on time.
Except today, it would seem.
“What the hell happened to you?” I glance at the old grandfather clock that ticks away on the wall across from me. Though it doesn’t look like much—the wood dented, the glass casing scratched—it’s a Delaney family heirloom. “You’re an hour and a half late!”
“I needed a nap,” he mumbles, giving his eyes a good rub.
“A nap?”
He grins at me. “A nap.”
It finally clicks and I start chuckling. “I’m impressed.” Ivy’s obviously even harder to read than I ever suspected. “Her place or ours?”
He takes his time, stretching his arms over his head and releasing an exaggerated yawn. “Ours. Her cousin was home.”
“I hope you at least straightened the place up. The real estate agent called. She has a showing this afternoon.”
“Yeah. Did you warn Aengus? I haven’t seen him in days.”
“Left him a message.” The guy never answers his phone.
“Right. Danny! You ready for the next one?” he calls out to a regular—a lonely old man who comes in every day from one until four and drinks exactly two pints of Guinness.
“I’m heading to the office for a bit,” I announce on my way past with a load of glasses for the dishwasher. The truth is, I’d kill for a nap right now. The last time I glanced at the bedside clock last night it was after four, and it was a long while after that that I drifted off, too enthralled with studying Amber’s peaceful face.
If I inhale deeply enough, I can still smell her perfume.
Dropping into the desk chair with a groan, I power on the laptop, a luxury that Da fought for years, until Rowen and I gave up and fronted the cash. Once Da saw the value of it—how easily we could keep employee records, inventory lists, and the like—he reimbursed us.
Between the two of us, Rowen is the more computer literate. He’s taken college-level computer courses. I’ve thought about enrolling a few times, but I’ve always had one excuse or another not to do it. I know enough to get by. I can use the internet, which I open up now, Googling “map of Oregon.” The screen proves to me exactly how far Amber’s life is from mine. Searching images of the area, I get a glimpse into her world. It’s a beautiful one, full of mountains and farms that look very different from ours. Just for fun, I do a search of plane ticket prices. Seven hundred euro. Not too bad.
I heave a sigh. Fuck. Why does she have to be American?
And why am I even thinking about this right now!
Folding my arms over the desk, I lean forward and close my eyes, hoping a fifteen-minute nap will clear my mind of the ridiculous thoughts that have been churning inside my head since I kissed her goodbye at the door this morning.
Unfortunately, I don’t manage to drift off before Rowen barrels into the office. The second I look up, the second I see his face filled with worry, I know.
“A garda’s at the bar, asking for you.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“He just asked when you’d be around.”
I sigh, closing out the tabs open on the screen, but not before Rowen sees them and shoots me a questioning stare. I ignore it. He trails me down the hall to the door. I crack it just enough to see down to the end of the bar, where the garda is sipping on his coffee and reading his paper, before ducking back. “He hasn’t said anything else?”
“No,” Rowen says, adding in a voice too low for the busboy washing dishes behind us to hear, “That’s the one with the hard-on for Aengus, isn’t it?”
“His name’s Duffy. Yeah.”
“What’s this about, River?”
“It’s probably nothing, as usual.” The gardai do this every once in a while, I remind myself. They think Delaney’s is a hub for IRA information. It’s not a big deal. I grab a rack of fresh glasses and push through the door, keeping my features relaxed and my eyes away from him as I make my way over to the counter.
“So you got the message?”
I look up, feigning surprise as the lanky-limbed man watches me from his seat, resting his elbows against the counter. “What message?”
His tight smile answers. “Have you talked to your brother lately?”