King Maker (King Maker 3)

And there it was. What Griffin warned me about. I didn’t want to believe that maybe she had something to do with everything.

She tossed her head back and laughed. “Don’t worry. I know how to keep my mouth shut. Besides, I have no quarrel with yer father and no desire to be a mother. But I will if I have to. He’d be better off knowing about the world the way we did so he won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m not giving yer any money, Keely.”

“Is that yer final answer?”

I said nothing.

“Fine. Have it yer way. Though we could’ve had a grand time making a brother or sister for our son.”

She shrugged and turned to walk away.

“This is the last time, Keely. I don’t want to hear from yer again.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Dinnae forgot who called who.”

I had called her because I had to know. I had to see her face when we spoke.

Filled with righteous anger that needed a target, I headed to the pub.

Eighteen

Stepping through the doors, my smile fell when I spotted a man-sized hand on a very familiar arse. By the time I glanced toward the face, she was walking away and through the double doors to the back where the food was made.

Next to the bar to my right, I spotted Jonas and prepared to ask him about a certain redhead that ducked out of sight. Before I could ask, she reappeared.

“Since when have you started working here?” I asked.

“I’m helping,” she huffed as if I should have known better. “What’s crawled up your ass today besides me?”

My firebrand was back, but disappeared just as fast.

“Nowt,” I rumbled, using another word for nothing.

Jonas, who stood stoic at the bar, shouted my way, “Ale?” to be heard over the crowded room.

I nodded and seconds later the lass strolled from nowhere and slapped down the ale, foam spilling over into my lap. “Whi that noo’?” I protested.

Her temper did nothing but stir my desire for her as she walked away.

“What’s wrong, boyo?” Jonas asked in his full-on Welsh accent, which was often muted by his many years of living in Scotland.

“Nowt,” I grumbled, feeling like I was repeating myself.

“I’ll tell you whi’s wrong with yer, eejit. Yer aff yer heid over that lass. Why don’t yer do anything about it?”

The door that led from the bar to the kitchen area opened and the lass popped through, holding a tray full of food and looking pleased with herself.

“Whi’s she daen?” I asked Jonas, having a hard time separating a time long ago when my mother tended bar to a bunch of drunken men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

He didn’t answer as we both turned to watch Bailey serve food with a brightness I didn’t much care for. It wasn’t so much the smile as it wasn’t aimed at me. She hadn’t given me more than a scowl, though I deserved as much. I felt like a voyeur as my eyes followed her every movement, drinking her in. I hadn’t seen her happy since before she had left that motel room.

Jonas said, “Yer need to be honest with the lassie about how yer feel.”

His words trailed out into a space I could no longer hear. My vision blurred with a familiar red haze. I stood. The barstool next to me scraped the floor with my sudden movement. I began moving forward with determined strides.

The lass stood at the table of four men where one previously had his hand on her arse.

With a shove, I pushed Bailey behind me. She protested, but I didn’t hear a word she said. Jonas appeared, blocking my vision. “Whoa.” His hands were up, trying to calm me.

The big dobber glared at me, ready and spoiling for a fight.

As much as I wanted to knock heads, I respected Jonas’ place. So I turned, snagging a protesting Bailey and ushering her back through the doors from where she’d just come, surprising the cook. Then I shoved open the side door, leading us outside.

Bailey slapped at my grip once we were alone.

“What is your problem?” she asked, turning her angry eyes up to me.

“What’s yours? Why are you here working?”

And that was it, wasn’t it? She was mine and she had no business working where everyone would assume I couldn’t take care of my own.

“I wasn’t working,” she stated, shoving at my hands while I still held her. “I told you I was helping.”

My muscles bunched with the urge to strike something. Not Bailey, but rather the wall. I should step away, but it had been far too long and I’d crossed over the edge. I caged her in. I wanted her and I hated myself for it. She’d chosen someone else. So why the feck was I out here with her in reach, yet her heart so far from mine?