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Midnight Mooring

Page 94

by Samantha Young

“Trouble in paradise?”

I looked around Forde as he turned his head left.

Caoimhe stood next to him at the bar and had been there for Christ knows how long. “Mind your business, brat.”

Her expression dripped with disdain. “At least I’m not a naive old lady.”

Old? OLD?!

While I glanced at the rings on my fingers to consider how much damage they might inflict, Forde casually gave her his back and ignored her.

That action was better than any smackdown.

Caoimhe scoffed, glaring at the back of his head. “He’s a fucking whore and everyone’s betting he cheats on you by the end of the year.”

Forde tensed but gave me a subtle shake of his head because he knew I was about to pour the rest of my drink over the salty wee turd.

“Enough.” Rescue came from a surprising source. Sue the bartender. She usually stayed out of the inevitable disagreements of small-town life. Now, however, she glowered at Caoimhe. “If you’re going to harass our customers, you need to leave.”

“She called me a brat.”

Sue shook her head. “Word of advice. Stop embarrassing yourself. No one’s buying your lies and everyone is sick of your nonsense.”

On a cartoonishly loud huff of indignation, Caoimhe turned and gestured to her date who scrambled from their table to follow the stomping mechanic out of the bar. I caught Kenan watching Caoimhe go and wondered why some people had such bad taste in romantic partners.

Like I could talk. I flinched inwardly at the thought of Greig.

Reminders of him made me sick. And sassy. “Someone needs to tell her being a bad female stereotype is really bloody uncool.”

Forde’s lips twitched as he gestured to the table. “But at least now we have somewhere to sit.”

I chuckled, throwing Sue a look of thanks, which she returned with a nod. I followed Forde to the table. At least Caoimhe’s childish interruption reset my conversation with Forde, though I still felt a tense distance between us that made me uneasy as hell.

39. Cameron

Rhona Macdonald was starving for human conversation. Anytime I tried to suggest taking the cart of throws and pottery back to the dock to wait for Donal, she jumped on the next thread of discussion. Eventually, feeling terrible about leaving her when she clearly just wanted to have a natter with someone, I sat at her small dining table in her damp wee cottage and had a cup of tea with her. Rhona’s art studio was a small, newer building beside the old cottage and it probably was better equipped for the weather than her private residence.

I’d traveled over to Kiln only a few hours ago, but I’d promised Donal I’d meet him back at the tiny ferry dock … well … now.

At the sight of Rhona’s leaking windows, I made a mental note to talk to Quinn and see if he could come over to do some pro bono work for her. We couldn’t have her living in a house that wasn’t weathertight on an island that suffered storms throughout the year.

Speaking of, I noted the darkening of the room as I finished my third cup of tea, feeling jittery with caffeine and wondering how I could graciously excuse myself.

It turned out I didn’t need to.

We both jumped at a thumping on Rhona’s door and when she opened it, Donal stepped inside, scowling. “I’m not one for waiting around, lass. We need to leave now before this weather takes a turn and I’m stuck on your island for the night.”

“Och, leave the lass alone, Donal. I kept her here chewing her ear off.”

“Aye, I bet you did.” He frowned. “You got enough wood for that fire? You’re gonna need it tonight.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just get the lass home.”

I hugged Rhona goodbye and Donal took the cart without a word, marching ahead of me to his truck. I’d walked the thirty minutes to Rhona’s home and had been planning to walk back so I was gratified I didn’t have to. Despite his impatience, the older man was careful with my new purchases as he loaded them into the truck bed while I jumped into the passenger seat.

The clouds were a wee bit darker than they had been when we’d arrived, and I felt a twinge of unease as Donal got into the driver’s seat. “Are you sure we have time to make it there and back?”

“No rain is forecast and the wind isn’t enough for me to be too concerned,” he assured me.