Читать книгу Wedding at King's Convenience / Bedding the Secret Heiress: Wedding at King's Convenience - Emilie Rose, Maureen Child - Страница 8

In the village of Craic, Jefferson King was big news and Maura had half the town nagging her to sign his silly papers so they could all “get famous.” Not a moment went by when she didn’t hear someone’s opinion on the subject.

But she wasn’t going to be hurried into a decision. Not by her friends, not by her sister and not by Jefferson. She’d give him her answer when she was ready and not before.

She should have thought twice about suggesting to him they go to the village pub for supper. Should have known that her friends and neighbors would pounce on the opportunity to engage Jefferson in conversation while managing to give Maura a nudge or two at the same time. But, the truth was, she had been feeling far too…itchy to trust herself alone in her house with him. He was a fine-looking man after all, and her hormones had been doing a fast step-dance since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him.

Now, Maura had to wonder if coming into the Lion’s Den pub for a meal hadn’t been a bad idea after all.

Of course, she was surrounded by villagers, so there was no chance at all her hormones would be able to take over her good sense. But the downside was, she was surrounded by villagers, all of whom were vying for Jefferson’s attentions.

In early December, the interior of the pub was dim, with lamplight gleaming dully on paneled walls stained with centuries of smoke from the peat fires kept burning in a brazier. The floor was wood as well, scuffed from the steps of thousands of patrons. There were several small round tables with chairs gathered close and a handful of booths lining two of the walls. The bar itself was highly polished walnut that Michael O’Shay, the pub owner, kept as shiny as a church pew. And beside the wide mirror reflecting the crowd back on itself, there was a television perched high on a shelf, displaying a soccer game with the sound muted.

Michael sauntered up to their table with a perfectly stacked pint of Guinness beer for Jefferson and a glass of Harp beer for Maura. As he set them down, he gave a swift, unnecessary swipe of the gleaming table with a pristine bar rag. Then he beamed at them both like Father Christmas. “I’ll have your soup and bread up for you in a moment. It’s potato-leek today. My Margaret made it and you’ll enjoy it I’m sure. When your movie folk arrive,” he added with a grin for Jefferson, “I’ll see that Margaret makes it by the boatload for you.”

Maura sighed. Hadn’t taken him long to get Hollywood into the conversation.

“Sounds good,” Jefferson said, taking a sip of his thick black beer.

“Has your Rose had her baby yet, Michael?” Maura asked, then said in an aside to Jefferson, “Michael and Margaret are about to become grandparents.”

“We are indeed,” the pub owner said and gave Maura a knowing look, “so the extra money made when your film crew arrives will be most welcome.”

Maura closed her eyes. Clearly, all anyone wanted to talk about was the notion of having a film made in their little village. Michael had hardly left to bustle back to his bar when three or four other locals found a reason to stop by the table and talk to Jefferson.

She watched him handle the people she’d known all her life with courtesy and she liked him for it. Surely a man like him didn’t enjoy being the center of attention in a village less than a third the size of the town he called home. But rather than being abrupt, he seemed to almost encourage their chatter.

Maura listened with half an ear as Frances Boyle raved about her small traveler’s inn and the good service she could promise King Studios. Then Bill Howard, owner of the local market, swore he’d be happy to order in any and all supplies Jefferson might require. Nora Bailey gave him her card and told him again that she ran a full-service bakery and would be happy to work with his caterers and finally Colleen Ryan offered her skills as a seamstress, knowing that being so far from Hollywood, his costume people might be needing an extra hand, fine with a needle.

By the time they wandered off, each of them giving Maura a nudging glare, Jefferson was grinning and Maura’s head pounded like a badly played bodhran drum.

“Seems as though you’re the only one who doesn’t want my business,” he said, then took another sip of his beer.

“Aye, it does at that, doesn’t it?”

“So why are you holding out?”

“Holding out?” Maura pretended surprise. “I’ve not promised you a thing, have I?”

“No,” he said, smiling. “You haven’t. You’ve just sat by and let me talk and wheedle and eventually raise my offer a bit each day.”

True enough and she had hopes he’d go a bit higher yet before the deed was done and the bargain struck. If her friends and neighbors could curb their enthusiasm a little.

“The whole town wants this to happen,” he said.

“Aye, but the whole town won’t have the disruption of a film crew camped out on their land during the height of lambing season, will they?” She considered that a point well made and rewarded herself with a sip of her beer.

“You said yourself that most of the sheep give birth out in the fields. We’ll be filming mostly at the front of the house. Outdoor shots of the manor—”

She snorted. “It’s a farmhouse.”

“Looks like a manor to me,” he countered, then continued quickly, “There may be a few scenes around the barn and the holding pens, but we won’t get in the way.”

“And you can promise that?” She eased back in the booth and looked at him across the table.

“I’ll promise it, if that’s what it takes to get you to sign.”

“Desperate now?” She smiled and took another soothing drink. “Might make a woman think you’d be willing to sweeten your offer a bit.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Jefferson told her with a nod of approval. “But I might be willing to go a little higher yet, if you’d make up your mind and give me your decision.”

She smiled to herself, but kept it small so he wouldn’t see the victorious gleam that had to be shining in her eyes. “As well I might, depending on how much higher you’re talking about.”

He gave her an admiring tip of his head. “Too bad your sister’s not the one making this deal. I have the distinct feeling she’d be easier to convince.”

“Ah, but Cara has her own priorities, doesn’t she?” Smiling at the thought of her younger sister, Maura could admit to herself that she would have eventually accepted Jefferson’s offer even if he hadn’t paid her for the use of her land. Because he’d agreed to give Cara a small part in the movie. And since her sister dreamed of being a famous actress, Cara had been walking in the clouds for days now.

“True,” he said. “If she were doing the bargaining, she might have wangled herself a bigger part.”

“She’ll do fine with what she’s got. She’s very good, you know.” Maura leaned forward. “For a few weeks last year, Cara was on one of those British soap operas. She was brilliant, really, until they killed her off. She had a lovely death scene and all. Made me cry when she died.”

His mouth quirked, just high enough to display a dimple in his left cheek. “I know. I sat through the tapes.”

“She is good, isn’t she? I mean, it’s not only that I’m her sister and love her that makes me think so, is it?”

“No, it’s not. She’s very good,” Jefferson told her.

“She has dreams, Cara has,” Maura murmured.

“What about you? Do you have dreams, too?” he asked.

Her gaze met his as she shook her head. “’Course I do, though my dreams are less lofty. The barn needs a new roof and before long, my old lorry’s going to keel over dead with all four tires in the air. And there’s a fine breed of sheep I’d like to try on my fields, as well.”

“You’re too beautiful to have such small dreams, Maura.”

She blinked at him, surprised by the flattery and, at the same time, almost insulted to be told that her dreams were somehow lacking in imagination. She’d once had bigger dreams, as all young girls do. But she’d grown up, hadn’t she? And now her dreams were more practical. That didn’t make them less important. “They’re mine, aren’t they, and I don’t think they’re small dreams at all.”

“I just meant—”

She knew what he meant. No doubt he was more accustomed to women who dreamed of diamonds or, God help her, furs and shiny cars. He probably saw her as a country bumpkin with her worn jeans and fields full of shaggy sheep. That thought was as good as a cold shower, dousing the fire in her hormones until she felt almost chilled at the lack of heat.

Before he could speak again, she glanced to one side and announced, “Oh look! The Flanagan boys are going to play.”

“What?”

Maura pointed to the far corner of the pub where three young men with dark red hair sat down, cradling an assortment of instruments between them. While Michael finally made good on his promise and delivered their bowls of steaming potato-leek soup and soda bread hot from the oven, the Flanagan brothers began to play.

In moments, the small pub was filled with the kind of music most people would pay a fortune to hear in a concert hall. Fiddle, drum and flute all came together in a wild yet fluid mesh of music that soared up to the rafters and rattled the window panes. Toes started tapping, hands were clapping and a few hearty souls sang out the lyrics to traditional Irish music.

One tune slid into another, rushing from fast and furious to the slow and heartbreaking, with the three brothers never missing a beat. Jefferson watched the energized crowd with a filmmaker’s eye and knew that he’d have to include at least one pub scene in the movie they would be filming here in a few months. And he was going to put in a word with his director about the Flanagan brothers. Their talent was amazing and he thought the least he could do was display it on film. Who knew, maybe he could help more dreams to come true.

Once he finally got Maura to sign his damned contract.

Jefferson’s gaze slid to her and his breath caught in his chest. He’d been aware of her beauty before now, but in the dim light of the pub with a single candle burning in a glass jar on the table, she looked almost ethereal. Insubstantial. Which was a ridiculous thought because he’d seen her wrestle a full-grown sheep down to the ground, so a fragile woman she most definitely was not. Yet he was seeing her now in a new way. A way that made his body tighten to the point of discomfort.

You’d think he’d be used to it, he thought. He’d been achy for nearly a week now, his body in a constant state of unrequited readiness that was making him crazy. Maybe what he needed to do was stop being so damn polite and just swoop in and seduce Maura before she knew what hit her.

Then a whirlwind swept into the pub and dropped down at their booth, nudging her sister over on the bench seat.

“Oh, soup!” Cara Donohue cooed the words and reached for her sister’s bowl with both hands. “Lovely. I’m famished.”

“Get your own, you beggar,” Maura told her with a laugh, but pushed her soup toward her sister.

“Don’t need to, do I?” Cara grinned, then shot a quick look at Jefferson. “Have you convinced her to sign up yet?”

“Not yet,” he said, putting thoughts of seduction to one side for the moment. Cara Donohue was taller and thinner than Maura, with a short cap of dark curls and blue eyes that shone with eagerness to be doing. Seeing. Experiencing. She was four years younger than her sister and twice as outgoing, and yet Jefferson felt no deep stirring for her.

She was a nice kid with a bright future ahead of her, but Maura was a woman to make a man stop for a second and even a third look.

“You will,” Cara said with a bright, musical laugh. “You Americans are all stubborn, aren’t you? And besides, Maura thinks you’re gorgeous.”

“Cara!”

“Well, it’s true and all,” her sister said with another laugh as she finished Maura’s soup, then reached for her sister’s beer. She had a sip, then winked at Jefferson. “It does no harm to let you know she enjoys looking at you, for what breathing woman wouldn’t? And I’ve seen you giving her a look or two yourself.”

“Cara, if you don’t shut your mouth this minute…”

Maura’s threat died unuttered, but Jefferson couldn’t help smiling at the sisters. He and his brothers were just the same, teasing each other no matter who happened to be around to listen. Besides, he liked hearing that Maura had been talking about him.

“There’s no harm in it, is there?” Cara was saying, with a glance at first her sister, then Jefferson. “Why shouldn’t you take a good look at each other?”

“Pay no attention to my sister,” Maura told him with a shake of her head.

“Why?” he asked. “She’s not wrong.”

“Maybe not, but she doesn’t have to be so loud about it, does she?”

“Ah Maura, you worry too much,” her sister told her and patted her arm.

The music suddenly shifted, jumping into a wild, frenetic song with a beat that seemed to thrum against the walls and batter its way into a man’s soul. Jefferson found himself tapping his fingers on the tabletop in time with the quickening rhythm.

“Oh, they’re playing ‘Whiskey in the Jar!’ Come on, Maura, dance with me.”

She shook her head and resisted when Cara tried to pull her to her feet. “I’ve worked all day and I’m in no mood for step dancing. Most especially not with my big-mouthed sister.”

“But you love me and you know it. Besides, it’ll do you good and you know you adore this song.” Cara grinned again and gave her sister’s arm a good yank.

On her feet, Maura looked at him, almost embarrassed, Jefferson thought, then with a shrug she followed her sister into the cleared-away area in front of the tables. A few people applauded as Cara and Maura took their places beside each other, then, laughing together, the Donohue sisters leaped into action. Their backs were arrow straight, their arms pinned to their sides and their feet were flying.

Jefferson, like most everyone else in the world, had seen the Broadway show with the Irish dancers and he’d come away impressed. But here, in this tiny pub in a small village on the coast of Ireland, he was swept into a kind of magic.

Music thundered, people applauded and the two sisters danced as if they had wings on their feet. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Maura. She’d worked hard all day at a job that would have exhausted most of the men he knew. Yet there she was, dancing and laughing, as graceful as a leaf on the wind. She was tireless. And spirited. And so damned beautiful, he could hardly draw a breath for wanting her.

Without warning, Jefferson’s mind turned instantly to the stories he’d heard about his great-grandfather and how he’d fallen in love at first sight with an Irish girl in a pub just like this, on one magical night.

For the first time in his life, he completely understood how it had happened.

Cara left the pub soon after, claiming she was going to drive into Westport, a bustling harbor city not five miles from the village of Craic.

“I’ll be at Mary Dooley’s place if you need me,” she said as she left, giving Jefferson a wink and her sister a kiss and a smile. “Otherwise, I’ll see you sometime tomorrow.”

When her sister was gone in a blur of motion, Maura looked at Jefferson and laughed shortly. “She’s a force of nature,” she said. “Always has been. The only thing that came close to slowing her down was our mother’s death four years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I know what it’s like to lose your parents. It’s never easy no matter how old you are.”

“No, it’s not,” Maura admitted, feeling the sting of remembrance and how hard it had been for her and her sister in those long silent weeks after their mother had passed away. Smiles had been hard to come by and they’d clung to each other to ease their pain.

Eventually though, life had crowded in, insisting it be lived.

“But my mother had been lonely for my father for years. Now that she’s joined him, she’s happy again, I know.”

“You believe that.”

A statement, not a question, she thought. “Aye, I do.”

“Are you born with that kind of faith, I wonder, or do you have to work to earn it?”

“It just…is,” Maura said simply. “Haven’t you ever sensed the presence of one you lost and felt better for knowing it?”

“I have,” he admitted quietly. “Though it’s not something I’ve ever talked about before.”

“Why should you?” She smiled at him again. “It’s a private thing, after all.”

Jefferson looked at her for a long moment and she tried to read what thoughts might be rushing through his mind. But his eyes were cool, shadowed with old pain, so she was forced to wait until he spoke.

“Ten years ago, my parents died together in a car accident that nearly killed one of my brothers, too.” He finished the last of his beer in one swallow, set the glass down and said, “Later, once my three brothers and I had lived through the grief, we all realized that if they’d had a choice, our folks would have elected to go together. Neither of them would have been complete without the other.”

“I know just what you mean.” Maura sighed through a sad smile. Music played on in the background and dozens of voices rose and fell in waves of conversation. Yet here in the shadow-filled booth, she felt as if she and Jefferson were alone in the room. “My father died when Cara was small and my mother was never the same without him. She tried, for our sakes of course, but for her, there was always something missing. A love like that, I think, is both blessing and curse.”

He lifted his beer glass in a toast. “You might be right about that.”

He smiled, too, and she thought how odd it was that they would find this mutual understanding in memories of pain. But somehow, sitting in the near dark with Jefferson, sharing stories of loss made her feel closer to him than she had to anyone in a long time.

“Still,” she said, her voice soft and low, “even knowing your parents were together, it must have been hard on you and your brothers.”

“It was.” A slight frown creased his features briefly. “I’d finally recovered from…” He stopped, caught himself and said instead, “Doesn’t matter. The point is, when we needed it the most, my brothers and I had each other. And we had to help Justice recover.”

She wondered what he’d been about to say. What he’d thought better of sharing with her. And wondered why, if it was so many years ago, that thought could have left a shadow of pain flashing in his eyes. His secret, whatever it was, had hit him deeply, cutting him in his heart and soul. So much so that even now, he didn’t talk about it.

Maura buried her curiosity for the moment and said only, “Justice? An interesting name.”

“Interesting man,” Jefferson told her with a quick smile that was filled, she thought, with a bit of gratitude for her ignoring his earlier slip of the tongue. “He runs the family ranch.”

Delighted by the image, she smiled. “So he’s a cowboy, then?”

“Yeah, he is.” He grinned suddenly, though sorrow still glittered in his eyes. “And he’s married now, with a son and another baby on the way.”

“Lovely,” she said, envying him his large family. “And your other brothers?”

“The youngest, Jesse, is married, too. His wife just had a baby boy a few months back.” He stopped and grinned. “Jesse passed out during the delivery. We love to remind him of that.”

“What a wonderful story,” Maura said. “His love and worry for his wife making him faint. He must be a lovely man.”

“Lovely?” Jefferson thought about it and shrugged. “I’m sure his wife Bella thinks so.”

The sorrow in his eyes was fading, the longer he talked about his brothers, and Maura realized she thought even more of him now that she knew how close he was to his family. “And your other brother?”

“Jericho is in the Marines. He’s serving in the Middle East right now.”

“That’s a worry for you.” She saw the truth of that in the way his jaw clenched briefly.

“Yeah, it is. But he’s doing what he loves, so…”

“I understand.” Maura drew a fingertip through the ring of damp her beer glass had left behind on the table. “When Cara first left home to go to London and be an actor, I wanted to lock her in the closet.” She laughed, remembering how panicked she’d been at the thought of Cara alone in the big city. “Oh, it’s not the same kind of worry you must feel, I know, but at the time I thought for sure she’d be eaten alive by all manner of terrible monsters in that city.”

“Worry’s worry, Maura,” he told her, “and it probably drove you nuts to be so far away from her.”

Maura nodded and laughed to herself. “I shouldn’t have bothered making myself crazy, of course. Cara sailed ahead, claiming the city as her own and making a good start to the career she wants.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked.

“Your career,” he said, his eyes locked on her. “Did you always want to be a sheep farmer?”

Maura gave him a half grin. “Well now, what little girl wouldn’t dream of sheep dip and shearing time and lambing emergencies. It’s the glamour, you see, that drew me.”

Now he laughed and she thought it a wonderful sound. She was glad to see that the sadness in his eyes had all but disappeared, as well.

“So then, what made you choose to be what you are?”

“I like my life being my own. I’ve always worked the farm. I answer to no one. No clock to watch, no boss to kowtow to. No harried rushing about to drive into the city.”

He nodded as if he understood exactly what she was saying. But that couldn’t be, because the man made his living in one of the busiest cities in the world. He’d no doubt schedules to keep, people to answer to and hordes of employees clustering about him.

“I can see the appeal of that,” he admitted.

“Oh, sure you can,” Maura teased. “Look at yourself. Flying all around the world, looking for places to put your cameras. I’d wager you’ve never spent a full day away from a telephone or an Internet modem in years.”

“You’d be right about that,” he said with a grudging smile. “But to the travel, I do it because I enjoy it. Take Ireland for example…”

“Why don’t we?”

Still smiling, he said, “The studio has location scouts, but I wanted to come here for myself. I’ve always enjoyed travel, seeing new places. It’s the best part of the job. So I had my scout find two or three suitable properties online, then I flew over to check them out.”

“Two or three?” she asked, curious now. “And which was the Donohue farm? Where did I figure on your list?”

“You were the second place I looked at—and I knew the minute I saw your farm that it was the one I wanted.”

“Which brings us back to your offer.”

“Isn’t that handy?”

She had to give it to him. He was as stubborn as her, with a mind that continually returned to the goal no matter how many distractions got in the way. She could admire that.

Just as she could admit silently that it was time to act. To accept his offer, sign his contract and let him be off, back to his real life before she became so attached her heart would break at his leaving. Besides, she’d gotten her sister’s warning glare earlier and knew that Cara would never forgive her if Maura didn’t sign on the dotted line, allowing her sister to earn a small part in a big-budget American movie.

“So what’s it going to be, Maura?” he asked a moment later. “Are we going to strike a deal or am I going to have to revisit those other properties?”

In the sudden silence, Maura gave a quick look around the Lion’s Den. But for Michael behind the bar and a few straggling patrons nursing a final beer, she and Jefferson were alone. The crowd had gone off and the Flanagans had packed up their instruments and left for home and she hadn’t even noticed. She’d been so wrapped up in talking with Jefferson, watching his smile, listening to the rumble of his voice, the whole world could have come to an end and she’d have sat through it all without a care.

Which told her she was in very deep danger of losing her heart to a man who wouldn’t be interested in keeping it. Yes, best all around to have their business be done so he could leave and her life could settle back into its familiar pattern.

She held her right hand out to him then and there. “We’ve a deal, Jefferson King. You’ll make your movie on my farm and we’ll both get what we want.”

He took her hand in his, but instead of shaking it as she’d expected, he simply held on to it, stroking his thumb across her slender fingers. Her stomach jittered and her mouth went dry. Suddenly, she wished she’d ordered another beer because something cool and frothy would no doubt ease her parched throat.

“I have the papers at the inn,” he said. “Why don’t you come to my room now and we can get them signed.”

She slipped her hand from his and chuckled. “Oh, no thank you. If I’m seen going into your hotel room at this hour, the village wags will be talking about us for weeks.”

“How would anyone know?”

“In a village, there are no secrets,” she told him. “Frances Boyle runs a tight ship at her inn. Believe me when I tell you she knows every person that steps across her threshold.”

“Okay,” he said, “then why don’t we order another round, I’ll go to the hotel, gather the papers and bring them back here for you to sign?”

Maura considered it, chewing at her bottom lip. She did want the deed done, but it was already late and she’d have to be up with the sun and—

“I thought you said you didn’t have to run your life by the clock,” he reminded her.

“Touché,” she said with a nod, amused that he’d rightly guessed what she’d been thinking about. “All right then, I’ll order the beer while you get your paperwork.”

When he left, Maura’s gaze dropped to his behind and she gave herself a stern talking-to. You’ll have a drink, sign his papers and say thanks very much and goodbye. There’ll be no loitering in the moonlight, Maura Donohue. He’s a man you can’t have, so there’s no point in wishing things were different. Don’t be a fool about this, Maura, or you’ll surely regret it.

All very rational, she thought. Too bad she wasn’t listening.