Running Back (New York Leopards 2)

“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.

I looked back at Paul. “Are you from Dundoran originally?”

“From Dublin. Came down to take care of my aunt since my mum couldn’t get away from work and I have the summer off.” His accent was gentle and lulling. “Came for the funeral and everything too.”

My hands twisted in my lap. In front of me, I caught a quarter of Mike’s profile as he looked toward Paul. A muscle pulsed in his cheek. “Look, man, I don’t know what your problem with me is. Did you want Kilkarten to be left to you?”

Paul scoffed. “What do I want with a heap of grass? Not like there’s anything interesting there.”

I leaned forward. “I beg to differ. There’s a whole freaking harbor.”

Paul glanced back. “Sorry, love. Forgot about that.”

My lips twitched at the endearment. Mike let out an unimpressed hmph.

The ride to Kilkarten had taken us out of the village and through rolling hills. The sun glided over the land, picking out a dozen shades of green, so many that I found my brain stunted by color and the inability to think of anything new to say. We passed a turnoff for someone else’s farm and a few sheep watched us go. A handful of miles later Paul took another turnoff, and the road rambled upward before leveling out. Green and blue stretched out before us, the water a flat line in the distance.

Paul threw the truck into park in a dirt lot next to the dead remains of a building. Ah, the O’Connor farmhouse, burned years ago when Patrick and Mike’s father were boys. “Here we are. Good old Kilkarten.”

A chill of anticipation swept through me, and I fumbled for the door and fell out of the car.

The air caught in my chest. This land was everything. Ivernis’s past, my future, Jeremy’s redemption. My eyes scanned as far as I could see, and I knelt and threaded my fingers through the grass. Here had been dark blue water. A calm bay; a drastic change from outside the cove, from the great Atlantic waves crashing against the shore, whipped by frenzied winds into white foam and spray. Here—right here—the water had only rippled, surrounded on three sides by land. Small ships sailed from Ireland to Britain. Traded for iron, introduced a whole age. Beneath me could be the skeletons of ancient curraghs. Buried in the harbor’s mulch could be coins fallen overboard, from Rome—even Greece—there could be anything fallen over. There could be a whole story buried here just waiting to be read.

I sucked in a deep breath and stood, searching for Mike, wanting more than anything in that instant for him to share my happiness. I thought that he, out of all the people in the world, would also be able to feel how wonderful this place was. I jogged to his side. “Mike, isn’t it fantastic?”

He didn’t seem to hear. Standing like that, with his spine straight and his gaze distant, he looked just like the lord of the land, surveying his kingdom.

Because, of course, he did understand how special this place was. He owned it. As far as he could see, until the quiet strip of blue, this land was his.

To cover my disquiet, I kicked off my flip-flops. “Race you to the ocean.”

He blinked, and his attention shifted back to me. “What?”

I took off. It must have been two miles until the sea, but it slipped away beneath my bare feet in a blur of grass and sky and the occasional impressionistic blur of flowers. I glanced behind and saw Mike gaining. His legs were longer than mine, and he had to be just as used to running as I was. Arms pumping in a steady rhythm, he caught up, and then passed. I summoned a burst of energy and ran flat out after him.

We went up a small hill, a gentle roll that disappeared under our long strides, and I almost lost my breath at the top. It slanted down steeply on this side, falling ten feet into a narrow strip of hard sand.

Mike turned with a grin. His chest rose and fell. “I win.”

I ignored him, dropping to a dangling seat on the edge of the small cliff, twisting my body so my arms were braced against the grass while my feet found small crevices in the stone. “What are you doing?” Mike demanded, grabbing for one of my arms, alarm passing over his face.