Irish Bear's Enemy (Boston Bear Brothers 4)

Maeve left him there to finish sleeping it off, writing him a note and letting Becky know he was there as she took her to pick up the food truck at the garage. She shook her head disapprovingly but didn’t say anything further about it.

As much as Maeve wanted to not think about him, as pissed off as she was, she couldn’t shake him from her thoughts all day. It was obvious that he was not handling things well, and that worried her. It was only when she arrived at the garage that Becky decided to address the situation.

“Listen, honey. Lord knows I’m no expert on love, but if you love one another, sit down, and talk this out. You’re miserable. He’s obviously miserable. Fix it or move on. Life is too short to wallow.”

“Noted,” Maeve told her, getting out and thanking her for the ride as she shut the car door.

Thirty minutes later, she had the keys to her food truck and was driving back home. She had no idea what she would say or what she should do about all this, but she knew that she needed to talk with him. Becky was right. It was time to stay or go but lingering in limbo was doing neither of them any favors.

When she got back to her place, Ronan was gone. She threw herself into cleaning the place to keep herself busy, then went down to check on the animals in the barn before coming back up to contemplate what to have for dinner. She felt outside of herself, numb and yet agitated.

She jumped each time her phone rang, but it wasn’t him. This time the call was from Becky, checking in on her after her shift at the bank. Maeve answered the call and tried to sound like she wasn’t quickly becoming some sort of basket case. Instead, she found herself listening to Becky complain about some guy who had called off their dinner plans at the last minute.

“What is it with men?” Becky said.

“Well, I’m hardly one to give advice in that department,” Maeve told her.

“Still no sign of your fellow, I take it?”

“Nope. Not a word.”

“Well, maybe he’s just blowing off some steam, getting some fresh air. Anyway, I called to see if you wanted to come down to the house tonight for dinner. We could order a pizza and have some wine.”

“You know no one delivers food out this far,” she laughed.

“Right. Like I said, I’ll stop by and pick up a pizza for us. Maybe some wine?”

“Sounds like a deal.”

An hour later, Becky arrived with an extra-large sausage and mushroom pizza and two bottles of Merlot. It smelled amazing, and she was more than ready for it.

“Thank you for picking this up. I’ve just been so busy trying to get everything together for the food truck that I haven’t even had time to shop for food. It’s all school, chores here, and getting the truck together. I don’t even know how to get people to come to it once I set up.”

“Don’t you just park it somewhere and let them show up?” Becky asked between bites of pizza.

“Mostly, but it helps to have some advertising, which I can’t really afford right now. I’ve done well stretching out the money I had saved up when I came here from Ireland, but a lot of it has gone toward my classes and the truck now.”

“I can help with that. Let’s print up some flyers and I’ll pass them out to folks at the bank. They’ll love having somewhere to pick up a quick bite to take home or on their trips out to town. There are so few places to eat around here.”

“I appreciate that, but I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Pfft. Don’t worry about me. I happen to know about a little fling going on around there that makes me bulletproof.”

“What? Who?”

“Carl Rittenberg and Abby Feldstein, the head teller.”

“Carl? The guy that always tries to talk me up when I stop by to see you at work? Gross! He’s so . . . ewww.”

“Right? Can you imagine him all naked and sweaty?”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And then there’s Abby. She looks like she’s afraid of her own shadow. I can’t imagine her having some torrid love affair with anyone.”

“Are they both married? I know I saw a wedding band on his finger, but I haven’t met Abby, I don’t think.”

“Yeah, she’s married, all right. No one knew who the father was, and she wasn’t telling. Turned out it was Jake Ramsey.”

“The preacher’s son?”

“Yep. Pastor Ramsey made him marry her, and they’ve been together since. She can’t stand him—I mean, who could?—so I guess she found herself someone on the side.”

Maeve laughed. She didn’t even know half the people Becky regularly gossiped to her about, but it was always amusing, and right now, it was a welcome distraction. Some of the people, like Jake Ramsey, she’d never met but had heard so many tales about him that she felt like she knew him.