Wild Irish Witch

  Wild Irish Witch

  The Mystic Cove Series

  Tricia O’Malley

  Copyright © 2015 by Lovewrite Publishing

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover Design: Alchemy Book Covers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without express permission of the author. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording, or any future means of reproducing text.

  If you would like to do any of the above, please seek permission first by contacting the author at: tricia@thestolendog.com

  To my husband, Josh, who believes in me on the days that I can’t.

  “You know what the problem with this world is? Everyone wants a magical solution to their problems, and everyone refuses to believe in magic.” ―Alice in Wonderland

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Excerpt of One Tequila

  Other Books by Tricia O'Malley

  Author's Note

  Author's Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  “Don’t go,” Fiona whispered as she pressed her hand to John’s cheek. She could all but feel the bristle of his beard under her hand, just as it had felt the last time she’d touched him. Two days out from a shave, his eyes a laughing blue, and his dark hair just long enough to curl.

  They were always young in her dream. Well, it was the only way she’d ever known John. Young, full of life, yet tender-hearted and gentle with her in their most intimate moments.

  He’d been coming to her in her dreams over the years, but they’d increased in frequency as of late. Even though a part of Fiona knew that she was curled beneath worn flannel sheets in her cottage, in her mind she dreamt of her happiest moments. After all these years, the loss of John still stung. Fiona wondered if she would ever get over the grief, but it had been almost half a century since she’d last felt his lips against hers, and the sting of loss had yet to go away. It might have dampened a bit, but it had never truly left her.

  Fiona shifted as the dream slipped away, taking her beloved with it. She let out a soft sigh of loss, and stayed still for just a moment longer. In her mind she was still young, agile, and full of zest for life. As the years crept on, Fiona felt a bit bewildered by the chasm of time that separated her from the last time she had spoken to John.

  It shouldn’t have been this way.

  And yet, it had been the only way it could be.

  Fiona knew without a doubt that John wouldn’t have begrudged her the choice she’d had to make.

  But the pain had never faded for Fiona. Perhaps that was just her cross to bear. Shifting once more, she rolled over and forced her eyes open. Ronan slumbered at her feet, her constant companion. Though he was technically Keelin’s dog, when Keelin had moved over the hill to Flynn’s he’d decided to stay with Fiona.

  She’d never admit how secretly pleased she was by his choice.

  “Come on boy, we’ve got a big day ahead of us,” Fiona said, and Ronan popped his head up to look at her.

  “It’s Thanksgiving! Come on, come on, sure and you know we’ve got to be helping in the kitchen.”

  “I can’t believe I’m cooking a Thanksgiving dinner! This is my first Thanksgiving,” Fiona pointed out as she followed Keelin’s carefully printed recipe card for preparing bread stuffing. Fiona had crossed the hills, blustery with November wind, to help Keelin prepare for her favorite holiday. Ronan had raced beside her, barking into the gusts and chasing away imagined intruders.

  “Maybe it’s dumb of me to try to continue the tradition in Ireland. I’m the only American here, really.” Keelin bit her lip, her pretty brown eyes scrunched in concern.

  “It’s never dumb to get the family together for a nice dinner,” Fiona said with a smile, winking at Flynn as he ducked his head into the kitchen, Baby Grace cradled in one arm.

  “I’ve got a fire started. It should help ward off some of that chill,” Flynn said.

  “How’s Gracie doing?” Keelin asked, her hands deep in a bowl of cranberry sauce.

  “She’s fine. You know how much she loves me,” Flynn said as he left the room, at ease with being a father. Grace shot them both a look over his shoulder. Fiona winked at her, and sure and the baby didn’t wink right back.

  “It’s true. I’ve never seen a baby take such a shine to her father quite so quickly,” Fiona chuckled as she sliced an onion.

  “Yes, well, you’d think she’d love her mother. I’m the one who gave birth to her, aren’t I? Yet she cries like a banshee half the time that I hold her.”

  Fiona bit back a laugh. She’d known since the day Baby Grace was born into this world that she was going to give Keelin trouble. The baby was major magick, after all. “We’ll just have to wait and see what sort of gifts this little one gets. I expect she’s going to give us all a run for our money very shortly here. I’m sure her crying around you has to do with her trying to communicate something that you aren’t understanding yet.”

  Keelin’s head shot up.

  “You think? Really? I’ve been worried that I’m missing out on something. I just don’t know what she’s trying to tell me.”

  “All in good time, dear. It’ll work itself out,” Fiona said gently, warmth racing through her at Keelin’s concern. She was a good mother, surprisingly so for not having been raised with siblings or around other children. Fiona was proud of how she’d navigated her first few months of motherhood.

  “I just keep worrying that I’m doing everything wrong,” Keelin admitted as she checked on the turkey in the oven.

  Fiona pulled a bowl of cream from the refrigerator and began to whip it, focusing on the repetitive task as she thought about her words.

  “I don’t think that ever goes away,” Fiona admitted. “As a mother, you’re going to constantly question whether you’re doing things right. Sure and you’ll never stop worrying, either. But I always feel that, so long as you come at your decisions through love, it will all work out. The best you can do is give your child love and direction. As they grow and change, you’ll need to step back and let them make their own decisions. Even if it means failing. You think the crying is hard? Wait until she walks out the door and starts to make decisions o
n her own. It only gets more difficult from there.”

  “Like my mom. When she left you alone,” Keelin said softly.

  Fiona shrugged.

  “Yes, but what do you do? You can’t force a grown adult to listen to you,” Fiona said as she tapped the whisk on the side of the bowl. “Now enough about that. Pull out the whiskey I brought, will you? The coffee’s just perked and I’d like a fine Irish coffee.”

  Fiona shook her head as Keelin left the expansive kitchen that lay at the back of Flynn’s large house. It was a far cry from cooking in her own small kitchen at her cottage, and Fiona loved visiting here and whipping up batches of scones while Keelin nursed. She’d missed out on the opportunity to help when Keelin was just a baby, so she was determined not to miss out on anything now.

  Fiona sighed as she looked down at her hands. Her skin there was thin, but just showing the wrinkles of age. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t add a little charm to her anti-wrinkle creams to help keep the signs of age away. But some days she felt it. Like today, when she looked at Keelin and her baby, so young and fresh. She remembered those days with Margaret. She’d been so young and innocent, at least for a brief moment in time. In that time of simplicity and love, Fiona had been so carefree, so in love with her husband and her life.

  Sometimes she wished with all her heart she could have those days back.

  And her John back in her arms.

  Fiona shook her head at herself. She’d learned long ago that there was no use living in the past. No good could come of it.

  She smiled brightly at Keelin as she came back in brandishing a bottle of whiskey.

  “I think I’ll join you for a cup. It sounds perfect on a day like today,” Keelin said, as she placed the bottle on the counter and reached into a cupboard for her coffee glasses.

  “There’s nothing like an Irish coffee in front of the fire. Food’s all set. Why don’t we go in the other room and wait for Margaret?” Fiona asked as she measured sugar into the bottom of the glass and poured a liberal shot of whiskey into each.

  “Sounds perfect,” Keelin said, giving Fiona’s arm a squeeze. “And, hey, thanks for the advice. I know it hasn’t always been easy for you.”

  “Life isn’t always easy.”

  Chapter Two

  Fiona had always liked Flynn’s house, and this room was probably her favorite, she thought as she settled into the loveseat in front of a fire that sparked and crackled in a low stone fireplace. On either side of the fire were two long sets of windows, showcasing the reason Fiona had never moved from this area.

  She sipped her coffee as she studied the ocean, grey and blustery today. Oh, but she loved the sea in all its moods. It was such an ephemeral and powerful entity. She always knew exactly what mood the sea was in. No subterfuge, no hiding. The sea proclaimed itself boldly.

  Even more so in Grace’s Cove.

  But then, those waters were enchanted.

  Fiona tore her eyes away from the point where the rolling hills dropped off into the sea, grey clouds hanging low on the horizon.

  “When will Margaret be here?”

  “They should be here soon. They had to haul themselves across the country to come to this. I feel kind of bad for making them come all the way here,” Keelin said, sipping her coffee as she stared at the fire.

  “Don’t. You know Margaret is dying for a chance to see Grace. A more besotted grandmother I’ve never seen. Except for maybe myself,” Fiona chuckled.

  “She is, isn’t she? I’m kind of surprised by that. She’s really changed since she’s moved here… and, well, with Sean. It’s like there’s this ease to her that was never there before. Love looks good on her,” Keelin decided.

  “It does on most people,” Fiona murmured, turning at the sound of voices at the back door.

  “Where is that baby?”

  “And here she is,” Keelin laughed, going down the hallway to greet her mother. Fiona stayed where she was, knowing that visitors always ended up in this room anyway. She couldn’t blame them. After Keelin and Flynn had married, Keelin had put her touch on his house, and the large open farmhouse had turned from a man cave to a warm and welcoming home. Green plaid couches were set off by leather armchairs, and dark wood shelves ranged the room. A carpet in woven earth tones ranged in front of the fire, just the spot to curl up with a good book in the colder months. Or play with baby Grace on the floor, Fiona thought as Margaret came into the room carrying Grace on her hip.

  “There’s that little doll baby. Flynn was keeping her out of the kitchen while we got the food ready,” Fiona said, tilting her head at the baby.

  And a doll baby she was. She had the same sherry brown eyes as all the women in Fiona’s family, but her deep auburn curls were her own. With a perky nose and rosebud lips, Baby Grace was a true beauty.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner,” Margaret said, sitting down on a plaid couch with Grace, fussing with her hair. Fiona felt a wave of guilt press against her from her daughter.

  “Nonsense. You’re running a thriving business. Don’t worry about it,” Fiona said, with a wave of her hand and a smile.

  “Really? Because I feel like I should have been here to cook. We brought dessert,” Margaret said, a guilty expression on her face.

  “I sincerely hope you didn’t cook it, and instead got it from that nice woman who runs the market down the street from you,” Fiona said, raising an eyebrow at Margaret.

  Margaret laughed and cuddled Grace closer to her.

  “You got me. I didn’t bake anything. Only because I love you all so much and don’t want to poison you.”

  “Sure and that’s kind of you, it is,” Fiona said on a laugh, pushing herself from the chair with her empty cup in hand. “You keep Princess Grace entertained. I’m going to check on the food.”

  “Are you sure I can’t help?” Margaret asked, a worried expression crossing her face.

  Fiona dropped a kiss on her daughter’s cheek as she walked by.

  “Like you’d know what a done turkey looks like.”

  She bit back a laugh as Margaret muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “you’re a done turkey,” and moved into the kitchen to check on the food.

  It really was the perfect night for a Thanksgiving dinner.

  Chapter Three

  Hours later, Fiona smiled from her seat at the head of the table. Flynn and Sean were at the kitchen sink, joking around as they cleaned the dishes. Keelin had disappeared upstairs to bathe Grace and put her to bed.

  “This was perfect. Probably one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve been to,” Margaret admitted, leaning back and patting her stomach under her red silk blouse.

  “It’s the only Thanksgiving dinner I’ve been to,” Fiona said with a smile.

  “And that’s my fault,” Margaret said. But where the sting would normally have been with her words, instead there was just a sense of remorse.

  “It’s nobody’s fault. It just is,” Fiona said. What was with all the melancholy tonight? People kept wanting to bring up the past.

  “You’re a very kind and forgiving mother,” Margaret said with a smile.

  Well, what was she supposed to say to that?

  “Of course I am. I’m the best,” Fiona joked, then excused herself from the table to use the restroom before she got teary-eyed. Saints, even she was getting a little maudlin tonight. It went with old age, she supposed. Family gatherings made her reminisce about times past.

  Too bad not all of those times were good ones.

  Fiona looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Despite all her spells and potions, she hadn’t been able to stop time. The effects of it were clear on her face, where lines creased her once-smooth forehead and eyebrows once full were now thin. Out of vanity she’d left her hair long, refusing to crop it short like most women her age did. Fiona was convinced that it benefited her appearance, and she smiled at herself in the mirror. She wouldn’t be sorry for those lines; she’d worked hard for
those. Even if vanity had led her to try to prevent them from coming, a lined face showed a life well-lived.

  “We’re in the living room,” Keelin called as Fiona left the bathroom. She stopped in the kitchen to pour herself a whiskey, then walked down the hallway to meet the others.

  Flynn and Sean stood by the door, cigars and beers in their hands.

  “We’re going to step out. You ladies enjoy yourself,” Sean said, and Fiona smiled.

  “Is this what the men do back in the States? Ditch the women after dinner?” Fiona asked.

  “No, they go into the living room and watch football,” Keelin said, fuzzy cottage socks on her feet as she curled into a corner of the couch. She’d changed into comfy pants when she’d been upstairs with Grace. The light of the fire danced across the wall behind the couch, adding warmth to the room.

  Flynn snorted. “American football. Like that’s a sport.”

  The men left before Keelin could debate with them.

  “I like football,” she complained.

  “You’ll not find a man likely to talk about any sport other than hurling or rugby here, you know,” Fiona pointed out as she curled herself into an arm chair, pulling a blanket from the back of the chair― a blanket that her own mother had woven years ago.

  “Did Dad play rugby?”

  Fiona stiffened at the question from Margaret. They didn’t often talk about John. If ever, really. Sometimes it just hurt too damn much to remember.

  “Yeah, I want to hear about him. You never talk about him,” Keelin complained.

  Fiona felt her heart clench for a moment as she thought about the love of her life.

  “You did promise that one day you would tell me the whole story. The choice you had to make? Now is as good as time as any,” Margaret pointed out.

  “If you want to,” Keelin said immediately, her gaze bouncing between mother and daughter. “I don’t want to upset you either, Fiona.”

  Fiona took a deep breath. She’d known that someday she’d have to tell Margaret and Keelin the story. They deserved to know this piece of their history. It just wasn’t something she was fond of revisiting.