Mistletoe and Mr. Right (10 page)

Disappointment sticks out my lower lip but I don't argue, since I have no idea how deep snow has to be to support a giant sled.

“Are you pouting?”

“What? No.”

“You totally are.” He smiles as he saddles the second of two brown fillies. “This is Peig. She's a little feisty, so you'll need to keep a tight hand on the reins. I don't suppose you brought any more carrots? They're her weakness.”

“Nope, sorry.”

We take the fillies out for a run, not going upward this time but toward the village. People bustle from the post-office-slash-grocery-store into the bar, boots laced up their calves and faces hidden by hoods and scarves, all of them taking a moment to wave and call a greeting to Grady and introduce themselves to me. All the while, I think how strange it is that these people see the old Jessica, while inside a new girl is kicking her way free.

Once the ladies are exercised and unsaddled, I help Grady brush them down before he leads the stallion, Uaine, out of his stall.

“What does his name mean?”

“Warrior.” Grady grunts as he slings the saddle onto the giant's back, the horse nudging his fingers with soft lips. “Here you go, beggar.”

Grady fishes a rice cake from his pack by the door, then sighs and gives the horse one more before giving me a sheepish look. “He's a gentle giant.”

“You love him.”

He scoffs. “He's all right.”

I smile, dancing around, hopping from one foot to the other and flailing like a moron. “This has been the best day.”

Then my eyes meet Grady's and just like that, the world stops. We're made of magnets, opposite poles that suck us toward one another until I'm a foot away, my breath coming in futile gasps as my vision blacks around the edges. It's me and him, two people who should never have met, alone in a barn halfway around the world.

I have never, ever wanted to reach out and touch someone more, and the raw ache in Grady's face says he's battling the same desire, but in the end we both adhere to
the right thing to do.

He clears his throat, shattering the moment. “I thought we'd ride him double back to the Thistle. I'll just drop you off.”

“Sure.”

We mount up, the solid comfort of Grady's hard chest at my back, the insides of his thighs pressed against the outside of mine, his crotch grazing my butt sending shockwaves in every direction. My stomach won't stop flopping and my hands sweat on the horse's mane. Grady doesn't seem to notice, guiding Uaine out of the barn and into the late afternoon, which has grown grayer and windier, far colder than this morning. Clouds gather on the horizon like thick, dirty cotton balls, promising more snow. Maybe enough for a sleigh ride.

“So, what's next for you?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn't sound as strangled with lust as I feel. Also hoping to unravel more of what makes Grady tick.

“I've been thinking about it.” His tone is conversational, shoulders relaxed as he leans forward slightly to check on me. “You did really well on the mounts today, by the way.”

“That's what all the boys tell me,” I tease without thinking. It's the kind of joke I'd normally reserve for my sorority sisters or maybe Brennan, and my face blooms with heat as he guffaws, vibrations sliding through him and into my back and turning into shivers down my spine.

“I bet they do, Jessie MacFarlane.” His arms tighten on my shoulders as he asks the horse to veer right. “I haven't laughed as hard in months. Thank you.”

“What have you been thinking about,” I prod, unsure how to respond to the compliment. “School?”

“Eventually. I mean, I love working outside and not having set hours, and I doubt working all day in an office is going to be my gig. I'd like to travel first. Take pictures.”

“Oh, right. Your black-of-night storm photography.”

He snorts, acknowledging the jab. “I've never had any classes or anything but I enjoy it. The camera is a hand-me-down that used to belong to my dad, and maybe he passed along his eye for framing a nice shot, too. Don't let it be said the man was good for nothing.”

“What do you shoot, landscapes or people?”

“A little bit of everything, but I'm not into family photos or wedding pictures.”

“So pretty much you're not into the kind of photography that makes you money,” I comment, pressing my back into his chest to let him know I'm teasing.

“It makes sense that you would notice that, since you're into the kind of journalism that earns you paychecks instead of accolades,” he says fast, trading barb for barb.

Even though he's mostly kidding, the Jessie clawing her way out of the past, begging to have a future, considers the ramifications of a life spent behind a desk in a studio. Maybe it would be a waste of my life—this
one life
—to not have love for my work.

We ride the rest of the way home in companionable silence, my mind reeling with possibilities, taking on fear and uncertainty like a boat punched full of holes. But for some reason, this guy and this day have left me with a big bucket in my hands that's helping me bail water.

It's okay to not be okay.

The concept shines in my palm like a glossy marble, a piece of currency that's valuable because it's different. I cup it gently, my hand sweaty but determined not to let it go.

The first thing I see when the house comes into view is Katie and Brennan sitting together on the porch, their heads bowed together in quiet conversation. The second thing I notice is that the storm clouds on my boyfriend's face at the sight of Grady and me pressed together on a horse make the ones in the sky look positively friendly.

Brennan leaps off the porch to greet me, as though either his pants are on fire or he's guilty of something. I look at Katie, sitting quietly, and know nothing happened. Nothing that could be considered cheating in the strictest sense of the word, anyway. Her belief in their story not being finished is too unshakable. I'm positive that, in Katie McBride's mind, I'm no competition at all.

A few hours ago I would have fought tooth and nail, made a plan to get rid of her once and for all, but the new Jessie isn't so sure what she wants anymore. Not really.

“Hey,” I say, picking pieces of hay out of my hair.

“Hey, yourself.” Brennan's voice is tight, the words squeezed too small, and his steely gaze follows Grady as he clomps back the direction we came. When he turns it back on me, accusations reach out and stab me. “Have a good day?”

I step back, pushing a pointed glance toward Katie, still watching us from the porch. “Did you?”

The fight bleeds out of him, pooling on the ground under our feet until we're knee-deep in a tepid pond of apathy. He gives me a weak smile, an attempt at a truce. “You smell like horse.”

“Which is exactly why I'm going to go shower,” I say, and manage a tired smile. “What time are we leaving for town?”

“You sure you want to go?”

“Are you sure you
want
me to go?” I snap, still bristling from his gall, acting like I've done something wrong while he's snuggled on the porch with his ex.

“Of course I do.” His hands reach out, squeezing my biceps. His expression swings to apologetic, looking to smooth over any rough edges—his particular contribution to our relationship since the beginning. “We're going to head in right after dinner.”

I take a deep breath, letting him soothe me. “Okay. I'll be ready.”

Brennan shoos me away, pinching his nose closed with two fingers. For a guy who grew up on farmland he has a pretty weak tolerance for animal fumes.

I stand under the hot shower's spray, the stench of the day swirling down the drain but the feeling it leaves me with stamped much deeper. I stare at my reflection while I straighten my hair, wondering why I look the same—nothing's different about my flyaway chestnut hair, my long lashes, or the freckles dotting my cheeks.

I haven't changed yet. Haven't decided whether I really can, but the simple consideration lights my eyes. Pinks my cheeks. Brightens my smile.

Even my hair looks good when I'm finished, which is a rare and beautiful thing. At least Brennan's high school friends won't be talking about what a dog he's dating.

Dinner goes smoothly, for once, with Molly and everyone else excited about the Christmas festivities and Brennan and Katie hurrying through the corned beef and hash and potatoes so that we can get into town on time. We've all agreed not to stay out late—they said they want to pop in and say hello, catch up for a few pints and get out, which is more than okay with me.

Brennan gets behind the wheel this time but we all know I'll be the one piloting us home. I don't mind so much now that I've got at least some experience driving on the wrong side of the road, and it's not raining. And surely the need to stay out of my way has made its way through the livestock whisper down the lane.

Thick awkwardness followed us from dinner and into the toy car. Brennan and I might have come to a truce as far as not discussing the things that are pissing us off right now, but that leaves us with nothing but oppressive silence. Katie gives conversation a go or two but gives up when I look out the window and Brennan barely manages a grunt.

So, I don't know about my boyfriend, but for me, keeping my mouth shut seems like the best way to stop from screaming. Or crying.

The thing is, I don't even know why we're fighting. Because of Katie? Because of Grady?

Because I showed up here and uncovered the ugly truth—that Brennan never told me about his past, never let me in on his plans to return to Fanore to run the B&B, and when he looks into the future I'm not the girl he sees by his side?

I'm not convinced Brennan ever takes a peek into the future, which is a big reason I came here—to force him to do just that. It had never occurred to me that I wouldn't like what he saw there.

Ballyvaughan turns out to be the name of a town, and an adorable one at that, just over a half an hour drive from Fanore. There are actual side streets and more than one row of businesses—including bars and restaurants—to choose from, and as Brennan leads us into a traditional Irish pub called Greene's, I can't help but notice how handsome he is and my heart twists.

Katie looks beautiful, too, in a clingy but modest brown dress that skims her knees and highlights her eyes. Boots with a small heel complete her outfit in a way that says she's not trying too hard. I'm confident in the way my cranberry top and slinky black skirt offset my curves while my boots keep my legs from impersonating an ice statue until we get inside.

The pub is overly warm and like something out of a dream, all ragged booths and cherry-colored leather, dark wood, flickering lanterns casting deeper shadows in dark corners. Bottles of liquor stack on the mirrored wall behind the bar, and the men with their backs to us can only be referred to as regulars. I want to take a picture but don't want to look like a tool, so I close my eyes, committing Greene's to a panoramic-style memory.

“Hey, it's Donnelly and McBride, just like old times!” a burly kid with dark brown curls bellows from the bar. He slams down a pint of Guinness and grabs Brennan in a giant hug, tugging him away from me.

“Put me down O'Brien, you big oaf.” Brennan disentangles himself with a smile and the guy, O'Brien, goes after Katie.

A second boy, this one tall and skinny with a shaggy mop of blond hair, wanders over with a smile. An impossibly short girl with dull brown waves and eyes that are a faded blue behind her glasses follows.

“Emer! Finn! What's the
craic
?” Brennan hugs them, too, and then they greet Katie, meaning that all in all it's several minutes before anyone remembers or realizes there's a stranger in their midst.

“This is Jessie,” Grady's now familiar half-amused, half-irritated voice interjects from behind me. “Brennan's girlfriend, despite his lack of manners.”

I feel the barest presence of Grady's hand on the small of my back before Brennan scowls and pulls me to his side. The farmhand looks smashing, cleaned up in a way that's different to me. I can't help but notice the way his jeans fit his butt perfectly, fraying a bit at the hems where they hit the floor around his worn boots. His ripped upper body fills out a blue-and-gray flannel shirt that matches his eyes, leaving my heart to stumble.

“I was getting to that.” Brennan frowns harder. “You know O'Brien doesn't give anyone time to breathe.”

Grady gives me a smile but I shake my head. I don't know what's happening here or what I want to happen, or what's possible in this brand-new world, but I do know that I'm not a cheater. Figuring out my future with Brennan has to be my top priority, and Grady, no matter how intriguing, can't fix that.

“I'm Jessi
ca
,” I tell O'Brien, leaving off my last name on purpose.

Brennan doesn't offer it, either. “Jessica, this is Danny O'Brien, Finn Gallaher, and Emer Flannigan.”

“Nice to meet you all.”

“You're an American,” Finn observes while Danny attacks Grady in a fashion similar to the greeting he bestowed on Brennan.

“Guilty.”

“Well, how about a pint?”

“She doesn't really—”

“Sure,” I reply, cutting Brennan off, then shrugging at his questioning look. It's not going to kill me to hold and sip it, and by the time the end of the night rolls around, there's probably not much chance any of them will remember how much I did or didn't drink.

Danny turns back to the bar to order three more, and Brennan leans down to murmur in my ear. “No one drinks until everyone has their glass, then we all toast. Make sure to look everyone in the eye.”

I nod, committing the practice to memory, then take the lukewarm black beer from Danny. Once everyone has a glass we raise them and Finn begins a boisterous toast. “Here's to a long life and a merry one.”