Love and Mistletoe (7 page)

“All right?” Ruairí reached underneath the counter for a fresh pint glass and sent his pirate hat askew in the process.

“I’m grand. Yourself?”

“Fine.” A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. “More than fine.”

She gave him a bear hug. “You’ll make a great daddy, bro. Jayme’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have her.” He beamed and disentangled himself from her fake witchy talons. “This pregnancy seems to be dragging, though. Seems forever until March.”

“I’ll remind you of this conversation when you’re haggard from lack of sleep. Will it be a St. Patrick’s Day baby?”

“He or she is due on the nineteenth of March, so it’s a possibility.”

“Fingers crossed. We have no little Paddy in our family.”

Her brother grimaced. “If Jayme has her way, we won’t have one in March, either.”

“What names does she like?” Sharon was fond of her American sister-in-law, but their disparate backgrounds caused the occasional difference of opinion or culture clash.

Her brother wrinkled his slightly crooked nose. “If the baby is a girl, Jayme wants to call her Lucrezia.”

“As in Borgia?” Sharon roared with laughter. “Ah, no. I can’t see that name flying in Ballybeg. You’ll have to talk her down.”

“I’m doing my best.” Ruairí’s smile turned sly. “Speaking of romance, I hear you’re spending a lot of time with a certain policeman.”

Sharon felt her cheeks turn pink. “Would you have a problem if I were?”

“Not at all. Just surprised. Glenn’s not your usual type.”

“No, he certainly isn’t.”
And thank goodness for that
. In the fortnight since they’d first slept together, Sharon had spent at least a couple of nights a week at Brian’s house. It served a number of purposes—apart from the obvious benefit of the amazing sex. First, it got her off the farm and away from Da. Second, Brian had no problem with her staying on at his place to study when he headed out to work in the morning. And last but definitely not least, Brian himself. She’d never been short of men to date, but she’d gravitated toward the reckless bad-boy type and had never expected—or wanted—the relationships to last.

Until now.

And that was the part that scared the bejaysus out of her. Brian was different. He listened when she talked.
Really
listened. He made her hot milky coffee when she had a crying jag about her mother. He let her rant about Da and never once said a word about the number of times he’d had to deal with the man in his role as cop. And he treated her with respect. None of her previous boyfriends had done that, and the difference in how it made her feel about him, about herself, and about their relationship was a revelation.

“I like Brian,” she admitted. “I like him a lot.”

The corners of Ruairí’s warm brown eyes creased in concern. “I know you do, kiddo. And that’s what worries me. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She placed her hands on her hips. “Well, aren’t you the hypocrite. You were always complaining about my boyfriends. Now I find a fella with a steady job, and you’re still bellyaching.”

He held up his palms in surrender. “Calm down, sis. I had no time for those other eejits because they were likely to lead you into trouble. Brian Glenn is a decent bloke.”

“So what’s the problem?”

He patted her on the head just as he’d done when she was a little girl. “I don’t want to see you with a broken heart.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “When he dumps me for someone more suitable, you mean?”

Her brother shook his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of when you screw it up and he ends the relationship.”

His words burned like acid on her skin. She drew back, wounded. “Why does everyone in this town have such a low opinion of me?”

“They don’t.” Ruairí took her shoulders. “I don’t.”

“And
I
certainly don’t,” said a very familiar Donegal-accented voice.

Sharon jerked round to see Brian standing at the counter, looking both ridiculous and ridiculously sexy in a glam rock vampire costume. “It was all Nora Fitzgerald had left at her suit-rental shop,” he said by way of explanation. “I left it a little late to book my costume.”

Beside Brian stood her sister Marcella, resplendent in a leprechaun outfit, complete with a pot of gold around her already substantial waist. She’d even dyed the tips of her spiky peroxide hair green for the occasion. “Hey, Sharon. I promised lover boy here”—a jerk of a thumb in Brian’s direction—“that I’d release you from your duties.”

Brian gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “What can I say? We met in Nora’s costume section. I persuaded Marcella to work your shift and let me spirit you into the night.”

“In other words, he bribed me,” Marcella said cheerily, maneuvering her wide costume behind the counter. “He’s doubling my wage for the night. More moolah for my Christmas trip away with Máire. How could I refuse?”

“Well, well,” Sharon teased. “I thought you were above resorting to bribery, Garda Glenn.”

His gaze roved her naughty witch ensemble. “Cute outfit, but you’re going to need a warm coat for where we’re going.”

“I’m intrigued.” She grabbed her coat from a hook beneath the counter and turned to her brother. “See you, bro. Have fun rescuing glasses from Marcella’s costume.”

“Oy,” her sister said. “Don’t be so cheeky. It took a lot of time and effort to look this bad.”

Ruairí winked at Sharon. “I’ll safeguard the glasses. Have a nice evening.”

“I intend to have a nice
night
.” Sharon whacked Brian on the behind. “Right, Garda Glenn?”

His wicked grin sent a tingle down her spine. “Let’s see how enthusiastic you are when you see
where
we’re going.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Brian pulled into his designated parking space outside Ballybeg Garda Station. It was lashing rain outside, causing rivulets of water to cascade down the windshield. He cast an impish grin at his passenger. “What do you think of our secret destination?”

Sharon let out a hoot of laughter. “What’s this? Are you arresting me again?”

“Nope. Impromptu Halloween party.”

He climbed out of the car and held the passenger door open for her. “Mind the puddle. The car park is riddled with pot holes.”

Inside the station, buckets had been placed at strategic intervals to catch water dripping from the numerous leaks in the roof. The two reserve policemen on duty had made a halfhearted attempt to decorate the lobby. Between the leaks and the damp in the walls, they didn’t need to make much effort to turn the place into a house of horrors.

Sharon surveyed the mess. “This place is a total sinkhole. It’s worse every time I’m here.”

“I know. Thankfully, this is a good-bye-and-good-riddance party.”

Her step faltered. “You’re… leaving?”

“Yeah. Finally.” He steered her in the direction of the station’s tiny recreation room, past the leering stare of the older reserve
garda
. “I can’t wait to get out of this dump.”

“I see,” her tone was subdued, her body language stiff, her heavily made-up face crumpled.

Wait, she doesn’t think
… “Sharon, no.” They were outside his office, so he pulled her inside and shut the door. “I’m not leaving Ballybeg.”

She stared at him through fake spidery eyelashes. “You’re not?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t slip in something that important as a conversational aside.”

Uncertainty clouded her eyes until she blinked it away and reverted to her customary bravado. “Then what did you mean?”

“The station is moving. The superintendent called us this afternoon to say the force is finally making good on the promise they made five years ago. This building will be razed and a new one constructed in its place. We’ll be in prefabs for a while. Hardly ideal, but better than needing an umbrella in my office.”

“Oh. Right.” Her tinny laugh rang false.

How had they gone from joking and flirting one second to emotion-laden awkwardness the next? And how come loud and brassy Sharon MacCarthy was ten times less confident than his own bashful self?

He dropped a kiss on the tiny spider she’d painted on her nose. “Was it a mistake to bring you here? I did it on impulse. Thought it might give us both a laugh, considering all the times I’ve brought you to the station under different circumstances.”

She emitted a small snort. “No, I get the joke. But when I assumed you were leaving Ballybeg… I guess I’m surprised by how much the idea upset me.”

He cupped her chin in his hands. “Am I moving too fast for you? If so, I’m sorry. I haven’t done casual in the past. I don’t think I know how.”

“You’re not moving too fast, Brian. Truth be told, I’ve never been happier.” Her tentative tone made his heart skip a beat. “Being able to
talk
to a man is weird, though. My Da… well, he’s not exactly the warm fuzzy type. I love my brothers, but our relationship is based on teasing and fighting. Until I started going out with you, I saved all my emotional stuff for the women in my life.”

He grinned down at her. “Let’s just say the women in
my
life left me with no choice but to learn to express my emotions and listen to them express theirs. I grew up with three sisters, a mother, several aunts, and loads of girl cousins. Dad and I didn’t stand a chance.”

“How did they feel about you joining the police?”

“Not happy, but I needed to strike out on my own. I love them to bits, and I enjoy visiting, but they’d suffocate me if I lived there. My mother refuses to believe I can actually work a washing machine.”

“Apart from Ruairí, my brothers genuinely
can’t
work a washer. They expected Ma to do their laundry.”

“And now they expect you to do it?”

She grimaced. “Spot on.” She leaned in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re not leaving Ballybeg.”

He stroked her wild blond hair and bent down for another kiss. “The only place I want to be is where you are. Now what about a dance?”

She tugged on his hand. “Lead on.”

The decorations in the recreation room were more lavish than those in the lobby. It was also the one room in the small police station building that sported
only
two leaks. Ballybeg Garda Station was relatively small and was responsible for the town of Ballybeg and several nearby villages. In addition to a superintendent who oversaw Ballybeg and two other stations, there were two full-time policemen (Brian and Seán), four reservists, and one part-time receptionist-cum-secretary. McGarry and Doyle were on duty tonight, and everyone else was swaying on the makeshift dance floor.

Brian and Sharon’s entrance earned them a few stares: Some friendly, some wary, and—in O’Shaughnessy’s case, some downright hostile. Brian put his arm around Sharon’s waist. Screw anyone who objected to her being his date tonight.

Seán was manning the punch bowl. He ladled orange liquid into two plastic cups and shoved them across the counter. “Here you go.”

Brian sniffed his cup. “Jaysus. What concoction is this?

“Pumpkin punch,” Seán said. “Or so I’ve been informed. Tastes like vodka and orange juice with a few spices thrown in.”

Sharon took a cautious sip. “Ugh. Vile.”

Brian’s own taste test brought him to the same conclusion.

“They should have waited for you to make cocktails,” she said.

“Maybe.” He dumped his cup beside her discarded one and coaxed her onto the dance floor. “But then I’d be on barman duty all evening, and I wouldn’t get to dance with you.”

A boppy chart-topper blasted through the speakers. Brian and Sharon twirled around with more enthusiasm than grace.

Three fast-paced tunes were followed by a slow song. They were enjoying a slow dance when Brian felt a blow between his shoulder blades.

“Well, would ye look what the cat dragged in.” O’Shaughnessy leered at them through bloodshot eyes. If appearances were anything to go by, the retired police officer had liberally partaken of the pumpkin punch.

“Mind your manners.” Brian heard the steely edge to his voice. “Sharon is my guest tonight, and I’ll have her treated with respect.”

O’Shaughnessy took another swig from his plastic cup, spilling most of the drink down his creased shirt. He jabbed a fat finger into Brian’s chest. “I spent my career arresting her father. The whole family is bent. You watch yourself, Glenn. Once she’s had her laugh dating a policeman, she’ll dump you for one of the lowlifes she usually lies down with.”

Sharon was mad enough to emit sparks. “Piss off. I remember you barging into our house and beating the shite out of my father before cautioning him. Da is no saint, but neither are you.”

O’Shaughnessy leaned close enough for them to smell the stale cigarettes on his breath. “You’re nothing but a little tart. I don’t care what sort of fancy course you’re doing at university. You’ll end up in the ditch like the rest of your family.”

Having had prior experience with Sharon’s temper when confronted with a belligerent police officer, Brian picked her up and swung her out of the line of fire. O’Shaughnessy, drunk though he was, had survival instinct. The old man lumbered to the side, clutching his crotch protectively.

“That prick,” she snarled, struggling wildly to get free. “He deserves a good kick to the bollocks.”

“Sharon,” Brian cautioned, not letting her go. “We’re in a police station, and he’s a former police officer. However justified you feel in physically attacking him, it’s not going to happen. Not on my watch.”

“She’s out of control,” the older man muttered. “I’m only saying what everyone else thinks.”

“No,” Brian snapped, “you’re saying what
you
think. Yeah, she has a temper, but you’re behaving like a boor.”

“Well, now,” O’Shaughnessy sneered, “Fancy that. The young pup is developing claws.”

“Go home, man. You’re drunk and obnoxious.”

Seán appeared at O’Shaughnessy’s side. “Come on, you old eejit. Let’s get you home. Brian’s right. You’ve had a few too many.”

The old man gripped Seán’s hand as though it were a lifeline. “Ah, you were always a good lad, Johnny. I remember the time you—”

Seán’s face registered alarm. “Right,” he said with forced jollity, “I’ll get this fella home. Have fun, kids. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”