The Last Bride in Ballymuir (12 page)

The corners of her full mouth began to curve
upward. “Are you trying to ask me out?”

He nodded. “I think I might be.”

“
Well then, when you figure
it out for sure, let me know.” Her wink was sheer flirtatious
promise, mak
ing him laugh at his own rusty
skills. As he got out of
the car she said,
“And Michael, I’m sorry for what happened at the pub. I’ll be a
better friend to you. I promise.”

He stood on the curb and watched her pull
away. In fact, he watched even after the little car was gone from
sight. Moonstruck. He was past thirty and embarrassingly
moonstruck.

He turned back to
Spillane’s, where the grocer still
stood in
the front of the store. Michael waved a greet
ing and came to the door, mentally savoring all the food he
meant to buy. But Spillane didn’t move or acknowledge him with
anything more than a flat stare.

“
Closed,” he mouthed through
the thick glass, then turned away.

Michael could feel the darkness gather around
him, the anger at knowing this was how things were to be. After
last night he’d still hoped he could make some headway before his
past rose to claim him. Another dangerous emotion, hope.

He stood at the front door
to Spillane’s intent on making life no more comfortable for the man
on the
inside than it was for him, out
there. Finally, ten min
utes after opening
time, Spillane unlocked the front door and hovered nervously by the
cash register.

His hunger dull and dead,
Michael grabbed the
first bit of breakfast
food he found and made his way
to the
grocer. When he reached into his pocket, he saw Spillane flinch.
Spitting an obscenity, Michael slapped a few bills on the low
counter.

“
I’ve not yet killed a man
over a box of cereal,” he
said, then left
without waiting for his change.

Halfway down the block he
realized that he had
no idea where he was
heading. Not that it really mat
tered.
Glancing at the box of sugary cereal clenched in one hand, he
turned toward Vi’s house. Milk to top his cereal wasn’t much of a
reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other, but it was
all he had.

Half an hour later, showered, dressed, and
hungry again, Michael poured himself his third bowl of cereal and
dug in his spoon. The problem, he decided, was in his expectations.
Somewhere deep inside, he was still waiting for an apology from
everyone at that bloody farce of a trial. He was waiting for that
bastard Brian Rourke to tell the truth. For that he’d die waiting,
too. They’d set him free, and that was as good as he was going to
get. Maybe as good as he deserved.

Michael gave a disgusted scoff, then crunched
another shovelful of sweet cereal. Before he had abandoned his
faith—or it him—the part he’d rebelled against was the guilt. And
it seemed that was all that stayed with him.

And what did he really have
for this start on a life?
A sister who
loved him fiercely, enough money to last a time, and...

He chomped through the last of his breakfast,
drowning out thoughts of Kylie O’Shea. There was no having her now,
not without harming her forever. And wittingly or unwittingly, he’d
done harm enough in his years.

After he scrubbed the teetering mountain of
dishes in the kitchen sink, Michael made his way back to town.
Recalling his sister’s words about help being wanted at the
hardware, he stopped there first.

The store owner—tall, skinny
as a walking stick—
looked familiar,
probably one of the men Vi had introduced him to after church the
other day. His expression looked familiar, too. It was the same
blank stare he’d gotten from Spillane.

A sick feeling curdled in Michael’s gut. He
turned down one of the narrow, cluttered aisles. Take the worst
chin up, his nan had always said. And that was what he intended to
do. As an excuse to be there, he grabbed the clamps, wood glue, and
sandpaper he’d need to start on Vi’s apothecary’s chest.

After paying, Michael said, “I saw the sign
in the window, and was wondering—”

“
Not hiring.”

“
But the sign
says—”

The man walked to the window, pulled out the
sign, and tucked it under the counter. “Not hiring.”

Michael nodded his head toward the sign’s
hiding spot. “And when I walk out?”

“
After that, I might be
hiring.”

Nan had her favorite curse,
too:
Go hifreann leat
—
the hell with you. In her honor
Michael used it, and got a harsher one in return. There was no
mistaking the direction of the wind that blew through town. Pure
northerly and icy cold.

“Just what are they saying about me?”

Michael’s sister looked up from her work. “I
didn’t stay long enough last night to hear all the particulars,” Vi
answered slowly. “And I’m sure even those have been well
embellished by now. Where have you been?”

He slapped his bag onto the
edge of her worktable,
making a framed bit
of painted silk rattle and dance. From beneath, Roger growled in
warning. Michael gave a narrow-eyed snarl of his own. “I’ve been
trying to find food and work. Spillane all but slammed
the door in my face, and at the
hardware—”

She raised a hand. “I don’t need to hear
about the hardware. Clancy, the owner, was at the pub last night,
his mouth flying faster than any but Flynn’s after you, ah, left.
Incredible tales that Flynn was weaving, based on the few spoken
loud enough for me to overhear.” Riffling through the contents of
the sack she commented, “I’m surprised Clancy took your money.”

“
It’ll be the last time I
offer it to him.”

“
Then consider yourself
blessed that there’s another hardware one town over,” she said,
flashing a quick grin before her face grew serious again. “But why
don’t you just tell people the truth of your past?”

He dragged a hand through
his hair. “What am I to do, call everyone for a meeting in the
village hall?
Or post flyers on every
corner? What good will it do?
They won’t
believe me, not a one of them!”

“
Not even Kylie
O’Shea?”

Would she? And could he bear to see her face
when she learned what kind of man he was?

“
Kylie’s not a part of this,
and none of your concern.”

Vi pushed back from her stool and came around
the table to face him. “Whether you want to hear from me or not,
anything that has to do with you is my concern! I love you and want
to stand by you. You’re not making it easy, though. What are you
going to do now, pack up your things and move on?”

“
No.” He drew a deep breath,
then repeated a weary, “No. It really doesn’t matter where I move.
I’m smart enough to know that I can’t outrun this. Even here, all
this distance from the North ...” He gave an ineloquent shrug,
nowhere near enough to express his anger and
frustration.

She brushed a tender touch against his arm.
Her love and empathy humbled him. “Give it time.”

Time was one thing he knew about. Wasted
time.

“
And until things settle,
I’m hoping you’re smart enough to defend yourself, too. Or at least
not to plant yourself in the thick of it.”

“
I know my place. I’ll stay
on the outside, where I belong.” And where he wanted to be, too.
Screw the lot of them, he thought.

“
Outside,” Vi murmured,
tapping one blunt-cut fingernail to the side of her jaw.
“Hmmm...”
Michael didn’t like the
speculative gleam in her eyes,
not one bit.
She gestured to a newspaper article taped to the wall not far from
the antique cash register. “Have you seen this?”

He gave an amused grunt that she’d ask
whether he’d noticed one yellowed clipping in this broad stroke of
color. “Missed it.”

“
Take a careful look. You’ll
be going there this afternoon. Remember Jenna Fahey from out front
of the church?”

He did, but knew better than to step
enthusiastically into one of his sister’s schemes. “Maybe.”

“
She’s a chef—runs Muir
House, a fine new restaurant.”

Now that gained his
interest. Michael walked over
to the
article, skimming it while half-listening to his
sister. An undiscovered gem run by a dynamic
young
American, the article
said.

“
She’s needing a bit of
help.”

“
I can’t do much more than
boil water.”

He glanced up to see his
sister pacing the room.
“She’d not let you
into her kitchen, anyway,” Vi said.
“But
she needs a carpenter. The bloody house is falling down around her
ears.”

Food aplenty and carpentry to be done. Also
enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other, Michael
thought. Enough for now, at least.

“
Stop out to Muir House this
afternoon,” Vi said. “I’ll tell Jenna you’re coming. Oh, and
straightaway you need to see Padraig, the silversmith two doors
down. He has a car he’s looking to sell. But go easy on him for
price. He’s got no head for business.”

Turning heel, Michael
escaped before more orders
could be thrown
his way. He’d swallowed quite enough for one day.

Gazing longingly at the imported
tomatoes—too dear when out of season—Kylie didn’t even see Evie
Nolan approaching her in the narrow aisle of Spillane’s. And if she
had, Kylie thought as Evie sidled closer, she’d have run screaming
from the store.

Evie flashed sharp teeth in what Kylie
supposed was to be taken as a friendly smile. She took it more as
being sized up for the kill. From that long-ago day Kylie had
arrived in town, a lonely thirteen-year-old who’d just lost her
mother, Evie had tormented her. And taken pleasure from it,
too.

“
Near miss we both had last
night, wasn’t it?” Evie said in a chipper voice, tugging the vee of
her dress back into the range of merely slatternly.

Patience, Kylie schooled herself. Patience
and kindness, even if it bloody well killed her. “What are you
talking about?’’

“
You know—that Michael
Kilbride. It surprised me at first hearing about him, but then I
got to thinking about that sister of his. She’s always been an odd
one, too, with those clothes she wears and that trash she makes.
Sometimes a whole family just runs bad, if you know what I mean.”
Her eyes widened with feigned embarrassment. “Not that I’m saying
anything about yours, of course.”

“
Of course,” Kylie echoed
with precisely the same amount of sincerity. “Now what is it you’re
trying to tell me about Michael Kilbride, or am I to
guess?”

“
You don’t know? Left early
last night, did you? It
was all over
O’Connor’s.” She leaned closer as if about to tell a secret, but
raised her voice. “That Kilbride’s an escaped prisoner. From the
North,” she added in dire tones.

Kylie just barely stopped
from rolling her eyes.
“Evie, did you see
Gerry Flynn in the pub last night?”

“
Yeah.”

“
He’s with the Gardai, isn’t
he?”

“
Of course he is,” Evie
snapped. “But what has that to do with Kilbride?”

“
If Michael were truly
escaped from the North, don’t you think Flynn might have detained
him?”

“
Oh.” Kylie bit back a smile
as she watched the air go out of the overpainted Miss Nolan. But
malice had always sprung eternal in Evie’s heart. “Perhaps Gerry’s
just waiting for some help. They say Kilbride’s a dangerous
man—blew up an army barracks outside of Derry, with plenty
killed.”

Mr. Spillane came around the laundry soap to
stand by them. “I heard it was a pub in Belfast.”

“
Could it be both, do you
think?” Evie asked, sounding far closer to aroused than
repelled.

Kylie kept her voice level. It wasn’t easy,
not with her heart grinding to a stop and her stomach churning.
Talk came loose and free, but not without some seed of truth.
“Knowing how word grows in this town, I’d say he once crossed a
street against the light.”

“
But Flynn was telling
everyone—” Mr. Spillane began.

Kylie could take no more. “The same Flynn who
didn’t arrest him?”

Mr. Spillane gave her a paternal pat on the
shoulder. Ironic, since that wasn’t quite the same kindly attitude
he’d shown when he’d demanded that she pay back the thousands he’d
invested in her father’s scheme.

“
Now Kylie, with your da in
prison and all, I’m thinking that you need some guidance, so I’ll
say what Johnny would if he’d seen you this morning. Michael
Kilbride is a bad man, not at all the one for you. But that young
Gerry Flynn has been sweet on you for as long as I can remember.
And just the other day, Breege Flaherty was saying how she’s
worried you’ll be the last bride in Ballymuir. Gerry’s the sort you
need, and you should be starting a family soon, the way you love
the young ones.”

It hurt to smile when all
she really wanted to do
was stamp her foot
down on his scuffed black shoe as
hard as
she could.