Irish Sex Fairy

Chapter Seven

Shane knew he wasn’t going to stay away.

He’d told his mom he might have to work, so might not be there for her dinner party, but that was just an excuse and goddammit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Keara and her big shadowed eyes and her small anxiety attack. Yeah, he was still annoyed at how she’d ignored her aunt all these years, but it was kinda hard to stay mad at someone so lost and fragile, someone clearly struggling with some wicked demons.

Shit. Now he wasn’t just worried about Maeve, he was worried about Keara. What was with him and his damn desire to protect the whole damn world?

He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked in the front door of his parents’ house. They still lived the in spacious three-bedroom ranch-style house on Blarney Stone Drive, shaded by palm trees and enclosed by, yes, a white picket fence, where he’d grown up. The house was nothing fancy but it had been his home all his life. His parents had once mentioned moving to one of the new seniors’ condo developments on the edge of town, but he always shut down that discussion. His da loved his yard, maintaining a meticulous carpet of lawn, and lush flowerbeds. His mom, retired from her nursing job, enjoyed cooking and entertaining. For a long time after Da’s stroke, there’d been no big gatherings at the Dunstan home, but more recently they’d gotten back into having friends over nearly every week.

His parents had always wanted a big family and it had been a disappointment to them to have been able to have only one child, and late in life. Which is maybe why Shane felt such a deep obligation to his parents, to be there for them.

“Hey, Ma, I’m here!” He stepped into the foyer and heard a babble of voices in the kitchen. He followed the scent of roasting meat—was that roast beef?—and the sound of chattering voices into the large kitchen at the back of the house where the party always seemed to end up.

A crowd of people stood two or three deep around the big island, drinks in hand, nibbling at the snacks set out, everyone talking and laughing. His dad was about to take a seat on a stool, but when he saw Shane walk into the room, he rose and limped over to him with his cane.

“Shane, me boy! Good ta see you.” His dad gave him a masculine, one-armed hug and Shane returned it with a grin, but his gaze fell over his father’s shoulder and came to rest on Keara. She stood there smiling, a blousy black top hanging off her slender shoulders, but the smile didn’t warm her tired and defeated eyes. How he could feel a tug of attraction to her when she looked so forlorn was beyond him. He compared Keara to Laila, whom he’d dated a few weeks ago—Laila, the typical California blonde, bursting with health and energy, with endless tanned legs, long straight blonde hair and generously enhanced boobs. And yet, while the sex had been hot, Laila hadn’t appealed to him enough to want to see her again.

“Oh, you came, lad! I’m so glad!” His mom set a platter of appetizers on the island and wiped her hands on her apron, then quickly gave him a hug. He handed her the bottle of wine he’d brought.

“Ah, you didn’t need to do that,” she protested, but took it and slipped it into the refrigerator.

“Jameson’s?” Declan asked his son.

“Sure.” He accepted the glass of whiskey and leaned against the counter. His mom returned to the other side of the counter where she fussed with some vegetables, beneath the sign on the wall that said “Níl aon tintéan mar do thintéan féin”—there’s no place like home.

“How are you, Shane?” Maeve inquired, standing beside Keara. She wore an outrageous red, black and orange scarf draped around her neck. “No date tonight?”

Would she not leave him alone about that? Served him right for buying all those condoms, he supposed. He swallowed his sigh and smiled at her. “Not tonight.”

He greeted some of the other guests, neighbors and friends of his parents, some their age, some closer to his own age. As lively conversation flowed around them, he covertly studied Keara, until their glances collided then bounced away. Huh. She was doing the same thing.

She sipped her wine and he sipped his Jameson’s, letting it warm him inside while his dad shared a racy joke about an Irish priest that coaxed a real smile from Keara. He was glad she had a sense of humor.

He should know she did. It may have been thirteen years ago, but they’d shared a lot of laughs along with the hot sex. He and Keara had had a lot of fun together. Even though clearly she was a different woman than the young girl she’d been, someone didn’t change that drastically.

“Tell us about your day, Shane,” his mother invited, still fussing in the kitchen.

He shrugged. “Three-car pile-up on the freeway just outside of town. Thank the lord nobody was seriously hurt. Jim Mahon pulled over a man for drunk driving this afternoon. The guy tried to bribe him with his sandwich.”

Everyone laughed. “Sandwich?” Keara asked.

Shane grinned. “Yeah. He had a big sub wrapped up on the seat beside him and told Jim he could have it if he let him go home.”

“What kind of sub?” Da asked.

“Declan!” Ma gave his shoulder a tiny smack. “It doesn’t matter what kind of sandwich.”

Da grinned. “If it was one of those toasted ones from the Shamrock…”

“Declan!”

Shane grinned. “Jim turned down the offer. But he did say it made him hungry, and once he booked the guy he headed over to the Shamrock.”

More laughter.

“And what happened over on Ballycastle Road last night?” his dad inquired. “I heard the sirens. Was there a fire?”

Shane shook his head, another grin breaking out. “No. Some juveniles decided to have a pool party at a house that was for sale. Nobody was living there. They brought in a couple of kegs of beer and about fifty of their closest friends. The real estate agent brought someone by to show the house and got quite a surprise.”

“Oh dear lord!” Ma gasped. “What were those kids thinking?”

“They were thinking it was a great place for a pool party,” Shane said. He shouldn’t be amused, but none of the kids were known to them and luckily nothing had been damaged in the house, so it was just a crazy teenage escapade they’d have fun telling their grandchildren about one day. “I would never have done such a thing as a kid.”

His mother rolled her eyes. “No, certainly not. You only did crazy things like rolling the lawn tractor while you were plastered on tequila.”

Keara’s eyes widened as she looked from Shane to his mother. “I don’t think I heard that one,” she murmured. “Rolled the lawnmower?”

“I’d bought one of those nice John Deeres,” Da said, shaking his head with disgust. “He banjaxed it, totally, the eejit. And who in their right mind drinks tequila?” He glanced around the table in outrage. “Now if he’d been drinking whiskey…”

“Declan!”

Shane smothered a grin. His mother as usual was keeping his father in his place.

“You were a right chancer,” Declan continued. “The cops didn’t pick you up, and since nobody else got hurt we didn’t turn you in. Can you get charged with DUI on a lawnmower?”

Shane laughed. “Good question. Guess if I’d been caught, my career in law enforcement would have been down the toilet. But then again, I was a juvie.”

His mother gave a delicate snort. “Thank the good lord you weren’t killed, that’s what I say.”

Shane noted the way the laughter had brought a sparkle to Keara’s eyes and relaxed the pinched lines of her mouth.

His mother finished setting out a buffet dinner on the island and everyone filled their plates with roast beef and mashed potatoes and salads. Some stayed in the kitchen to eat standing, others wandered into the family room to sit with plates perched on their laps. Da had started some Celtic music in the CD player and the fiddle and tin whistle notes wove through the multiple conversations, deep voices and lilting laughter.

Shane elected to stay in the kitchen where Maeve and Keara sat on stools at the island. Keara didn’t eat much but she did give his mom’s roast beef high praise.

“I don’t know how you do it, Fiona,” Maeve said. “Almost every weekend you have a house full of people.”

Shane’s mom smiled. She loved it, he knew. She flitted from one room to the other, making sure wine and whiskey glasses were full, whisking away dishes that were done.

“Ma,” Shane said when she returned with hands full. “Sit down and eat.”

He gave her his stool and took the dishes from her, then strode over to the dishwasher. When he’d loaded them into the machine, he stood up and his gaze knocked up against Keara’s. A strange expression tilted the corners of her mouth up and had her eyes hazy.

“Keara, it’s been so long since we’ve seen you,” Fiona said. “Tell us all about life in LA.”

Keara gave a faint smile and dropped her gaze to her plate. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Your job keeps you busy,” Fiona said, with a nod. “No husband? No children?”

“No.”

“Maeve told us about your bank being robbed,” Fiona said and Shane saw Keara stiffen. She sure didn’t like to be reminded of that. But she was fine. Yeah, right. He got himself a beer out of the fridge—one whiskey was enough for him—and popped the top, again leaning against the counter.

“Yes.” She didn’t look up. Didn’t say another word.

Guests wandered back into the kitchen and the noise level rose several decibels. Da roared with laughter in the family room and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound. Now finished eating, everyone mingled and chatted. Except Keara, who remained on her stool, arms on the island, glass of wine between her hands. Deep in conversation with another friend, Maeve had stepped away.

Shane slid over onto the stool vacated by Maeve beside Keara.

“It’s women’s work to do the dishes after dinner,” his dad grumbled as Ma handed him a dish towel, earning him another smack.

“He just says that to push her buttons,” Shane said to Keara in a low voice. “He doesn’t really believe it. He helps with the dishes all the time.”

She grinned. “I’m glad you told me that.” She tipped her head to one side. “He must get that from you.”

“Get what?” Shane frowned. “The chauvinism?”

“No! I mean the pushing-buttons thing. You seem to be very skilled at that, too.”

He stared at her. “What does that mean?”

“I mean, you keep pushing my buttons by bugging me about how I’ve been derelict in my duty to my aunt. You know I feel bad about that, but you keep pushing my buttons anyway.”

Shane leaned in closer. “Do you? Feel bad about it?”

“Yes.” Her eyes lowered. “I didn’t realize she was having…problems until I got here. I guess I thought she would just always stay the same. Crazy, energetic Maeve.”

He nodded and straightened slowly. A strand of hair hung in front of her eyes and he reached out, and with his index finger, pushed it back. Their eyes met and the boisterous crowd around them faded to a murmur.

“I guess we all wish our family won’t get old,” he finally said. “But it happens.”

“Your dad seems pretty good. He limps a little. I almost didn’t notice that he only used his right arm to eat.”

Shane nodded. “He’s amazing.”

Surrounded by laughter, talk, harp music and clinking glasses, they continued to gaze at each other, the air thickening. Shane wanted to lean over and kiss her.

Well. This wasn’t exactly a romantic location. In fact he couldn’t think of anywhere less romantic than a messy kitchen surrounded by people, including his parents and her aunt, laughing uproariously at something,

He took a big breath and sat back.

“This evening seems to have done you good,” he commented.

“What does that mean?”

Ah hell, now he was going to insult her again by telling her she looked crappy. The charm just kept oozing out of him around her. “Ever since you got here, to Kilkenny I mean, you’ve looked like someone who just got out of a war zone.”

She gave a choked little laugh as she lifted her wineglass to her lips. “Thank you very much.”

He tipped his head. “You’re gorgeous, Keara, and you know it. But you look so sad and you’re so jumpy. What’s going on?”

She paused, turned and lifted those emerald eyes to meet his gaze. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.”

Amusement sparkled in her eyes.

“Maybe I can help.”

She lowered her chin. “Could we not talk about this?”

“Keara. What happened?”

She gave her head a tiny shake. “I’m okay.”

“Clearly, you’re not okay,” he argued, not sure why he was. “Have you seen a doctor?”

She slid off the stool to her feet and Shane reached out and grabbed her wrist. She flinched. Hell.

“Keara. Do you have post-traumatic stress disorder?”

She glared at him. “None of your business.”

“Keara. PTSD isn’t anything to be ashamed of. Lots of people have it.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

After a brief pause, he said, “I had it.”