The Last Bride in Ballymuir (43 page)

And Michael was still in jail.

It was early morning. Even
without a glance at the
outside world,
Michael’s internal clock told him that.
He
still lay on the mattress, dry-eyed and sleepless, when he heard
approaching footsteps.

The cell door swung open.
Three men stood in the
doorway.

“
This way,” said the center
man. Since he had no choice, and no reason not to, Michael
followed.

He was taken to the same
interrogation room he’d
seen the night
before. The chair was still too small for
his tall frame, and the lights still too bright. He blinked as
his eyes adjusted.

“
Is my solicitor
here?”

“
No,” said the man
apparently in charge. “But let me ask this one question, and you
decide whether you want to answer.”

Michael shrugged.

“
Have you ever heard of
Timothy Coyne?”

He began to say “no,” but
stopped as a recollec
tion came to him.
“The bartender mentioned a Coyne.
Asked if
he should call him.”

“
That’s it?”

“
That’s all I
know.”

“
Escort him
back.”

Once back in his cell, Michael resumed his
vigil watching the ceiling. One question. Not much to build hope
on, but more than he’d had last night.

The insistent ringing of a
telephone woke Kylie from
a drugged, leaden
sleep. She made no move to answer
it; she
wasn’t ready to face the world.

When the ringing stopped, and she heard
Breege’s “Hullo” from the bedroom, she focused inward and began to
plan. Today, she’d drive to Galway and push matters along. And
she’d talk to the authorities there, too. She had little faith that
the officer she’d seen last night was doing anything at all.
And—

“
Kylie, dear, come pick up
the phone,” Breege called.

“
I don’t want to,” she
answered, not much caring that she sounded less mature than her
students. Former students, she amended, and knew heartache at the
thought.

“
It’s Violet Kilbride, and
I’m thinking you should talk to the girl.”

“
Well, I’m thinking I
shouldn’t,” Kylie muttered,
but
still dutifully rose, pulled on her robe, and
padded to the bedroom. She knew Vi well enough to be sure that a
visit would follow a refused call.

She took the phone from Breege, who buried
her nose in a book and did her best to look as though she wouldn’t
be hanging on every word.

“
Yes, Vi?” Kylie steeled
herself for another blast of
ice from the
formidable Miss Kilbride.

“
Quite a scene you must have
made in the pub last
night.”

“
Yes, well—”

“
I’ve had no less than a
dozen calls today,” Vi said, her voice light with
humor
. “Father Cready said he’ll be looking
for you at confession, though I have the feeling he’ll be going
light on the penance.”

If she weren’t so bloody tired, Kylie would
have smiled. “Vi, I know you haven’t always thought the best of me,
that I’ve not stood strong enough for Michael—”

“
I’d say you made your stand
last night. And since you’re now officially mad enough to be
a
Kilbride, I wanted to let you know we
just had a bril
liant call from Michael’s
solicitor. The Gardai think they’ve found the real murderer,
and—”

The same energy that had
pushed Kylie past drop
ping yesterday
filled her again. She had never doubted
Michael’s innocence, but she had doubted the system holding
him.

She cut into whatever Vi was
saying. “Then they’ll
be letting him go,
and I’ll never make it there on time.”

“
It could be days, yet,” Vi
counseled. “And anyway, I was planning on heading up to Galway
this afternoon, myself.”

“
No.”

“
No? You’re telling me I
can’t go to my own brother?”

“
He’s mine to bring
home.”

Vi was silent a moment before saying with
dawning surprise, “Right you are. Bring him home. And give him our
love.”

First, Kylie intended to give him her
own.

Michael looked about a
bile-green reception room lacking a single familiar face. Not that
he cared so very much, just so long as he was free. The man
named Coyne occupied a cell in the building
Michael
was now permitted to
leave.

From what he’d pieced together from
conversations with his solicitor, Rourke had been acting as an
enforcer in Coyne’s small-time drug business, and had gotten
sloppy. Coyne must have figured it was time Rourke retired. He’d
taken advantage of the fact that the man was down and committed the
act Michael had turned from. Luckily, Coyne had been careless in
the execution. He’d left the hammer he’d used in a trash bin the
next block down.

Yes, the pieces had fallen together quite
nicely. Michael couldn’t say he had a renewed faith in the law, but
he no longer saw it as his enemy.

He gave one more futile glance around the
crowded room. He’d already tried his sister’s house and gotten no
answer, of course. And Kylie could be in no shape to drive, what
with the blow to her head and exhaustion from stewing up the wild
lies he’d been told she’d offered as his alibi.

Resigned to slow torture on Bus Eireann, he
made his way to the jail’s exit. As he pushed through the steel
“Out” door, a familiar figure came barreling through the “In.”

The smile that had been with him since he was
freed grew into a fool’s grin.

“
Kylie,” he called, but
she’d already entered the building.

Michael followed. By the time he’d cleared
the proper “In” door, Kylie was already at the front desk harassing
the clerk. He came up behind her and settled his hand on her
shoulder.

“
Do you mind?” she snapped
without looking back. “I was here first and you can bloody well
wait your turn.”

Never in his life had he felt this absurdly
happy. He could think of only one moment that might soon top
it.

“
Ah, but I’ve waited a
lifetime, love, and I won’t be
waiting any
longer.”

She spun to face him. “Michael. Thank God,
Michael.”

Epilogue

May your troubles be less

Your blessings be more.

And nothing but happiness

Come through your door.

—
Irish Toast

Kylie woke early the morning
of her wedding. She quickly showered and dressed, but not in the
lovely gown she’d be wearing later. Still, she couldn’t help but
pause and admire it. She gently ran her fingers
across the lace veil Breege had given her. Sewn inside
the
headpiece was Kylie’s
favorite part of all—the tiny bit of lace Breege had made before
concluding that lace making was “bloody torture.”

Kylie hummed to herself as she tugged on her
old sweater and work pants. Checking her watch, she hurried out the
front door and through the field to the meandering stone wall she’d
been building since spring.

It was a fine August Saturday. The sky above
was free of clouds, and once the sun chased off dawn’s chill, the
weather would be perfect. So much in her life was perfect.

She’d regained her teaching position and
looked forward to a new crop of students come fall. Gerry Flynn had
packed up and moved on, which was the best for all concerned.
Breege was recovering quite nicely from her accident. Just last
month, she’d moved into Ballymuir proper, and Michael had bought
the farmhouse and land from her. Kylie was honored to be making her
new home in a place that had seen so much love.

Even Da had found his idea
of heaven and taken a job at the dog track in Tralee. She doubted
they’d be
letting him near the till. As for
Kylie’s bit of paradise,
he was walking
over the rise just now.

Michael’s stride was long and easy, that of a
man who knows what he’s about. He slowed when he spotted her,
looked down at his clothing, then laughed.

“
So you’re wearing the same
clothes you wore that first day, too?” he said.

She smiled because his heart so perfectly
matched hers. “I am.”

As he came to her, she held
out her hands. He took
them in
his.

“
Thank you for coming here
so early,” she said.

“
Thank you for the
invitation. You know I’d do anything for my almost-wife,” he
teased.

Kylie gripped tighter to his hands. “I want
us to continue as we began... here, in this field. And I have some
promises to make.”

He opened his mouth to
speak, but she said, “Wait—I need to get this out before I do
something
silly like cry.” She drew in a
breath. “I, Kylie O’Shea,
promise that I’ll
do my best to make every day of our lives together as magical as
the day we found each other.” She blinked back the start of tears.
“I promise I’ll stand strong no matter what comes our way, and that
I’ll love you beyond the end of time.”

He swallowed hard, and his green eyes shone.
“That was beautiful, love. Now let me give some promises of my own.
I, Michael Kilbride...” He faltered, then cleared his throat.
After a moment he said, “Well, I’m glad we’re getting the
choking-up out of the way while it’s just the two of us.”

He began again. “I, Michael
Kilbride, promise that I’ll
wake each
morning and thank God for the gift I’ve been given in you. I’ll
rejoice in our family as it grows, and keep us safe and warm. But
most of all, I promise that to my last breath and beyond, I’ll love
and treasure you.”

He wiped the tears from her face. Then,
gently and thoroughly, he kissed her.

That evening, as Michael and Kylie sat at a
raised table in the Village Hall, Michael again took Kylie’s hand
in his. She was well and truly his wife now, a miracle if ever one
had occurred. The vows they’d made at St. Brendan’s in front of
friends and family had been joyous, but the morning’s private
promises were those of his heart.

Still, he was glad to share
the day with those he loved. Kylie’s choice of location for their
reception
had
surprised him, but she’d said that the ill spirits lingering
in the hall needed to be danced away.

Given the crowd filling the
place, Michael was sure that would happen. The twins looked proud
and handsome in their Sunday best. Even Mam had managed to put on a
good face and not peck at Da too horribly. Not that Breege was
giving her
the
chance to misbehave. She watched both Johnny and Mam with a
sharp eye.

Michael had made his peace with Johnny weeks
ago. Kylie had finally told him the full picture of what happened
that terror of a night, years before. It was an awful burden Johnny
lived with, knowing what his schemes had cost his only child. But
with Kylie’s example of love and forgiveness, Michael could do no
less than welcome Johnny as a father-in-law.

And then there was Vi...
She’d sung “Ave Maria”
at church, and
there’d not been a dry eye in the place. Now she raised her glass,
and the hall fell quiet.

“
Before we begin the
fabulous meal that our own Jenna Fahey has made, I want to say a
few words. First, to Michael.” She looked at him, pride shining in
her green eyes. “I love you, brother. No man deserves happiness
more than you. When you came to Ballymuir, I had one wish for
you... that you’d find someone to open your heart. You did, and all
of us in this room are the richer for it.”

She turned her attention to
Kylie. “Kylie, words
for you were a bit
more difficult to come by. After all,
who
could out-do your speech in O’Connor’s Pub a few months back?” The
crowd laughed and Kylie raised her own glass in salute.

“
So,” Vi said, “I sat myself
down with
Breege Flaherty, and we had a
chat. Now, Breege says
that a great number
of people in town had been concerned about you. It seems you were
destined to be the last bride in Ballymuir.

“
I’m a bit worried that all
this fine Irish air has gone to their heads, for there are those
among us, myself included, who have now managed to stay unwed
longer than you. It’s clear to me, the last sane woman in this
town, what your true destiny is.

“
A toast to my brother
Michael and to his wife, Kylie—the most beautiful bride in
Ballymuir.”

****

If you enjoyed your visit to Ballymuir,
please leave a review!

Also, look for the next two Ballymuir
novels:

THE BOLDEST MAN IN BALLYMUIR (Book 2)

THE BRIGHTEST FLAME IN BALLYMUIR (Book 3)

About the Author:

Dorien Kelly is a
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling
author of over fifteen novels. She lives a very exotic life (not!)
in Michigan and Nebraska. Dorien loves hearing from
readers.