Page 63

The day has been shit, which is why I’m heading to The Kerrigan instead of up the mountain. I need my father’s hug, a comforting meal, maybe a friendly face.

Rick messaged earlier there’d been some new developments in the case and it would probably be a long night for him, so I’m not counting on him to come by. I suspect work is a welcome distraction after spilling his soul last night. Hell, it took me till the wee hours of the morning to fall asleep, plagued by an active imagination picturing the horrific events he described. I can’t even imagine the impact it would have on him, having to relive that experience. I would understand the need for a little space after that.

So, the pub it is.

I’m in luck, my usual spot in the alley behind the bar is empty, and I can pull right up to the back door.

Pops turns around when I walk into the kitchen.

“Hey, Baby Girl. What brings you here?”

He wipes his hands and I walk straight into those strong arms, feeling them close around me.

“Bad day?” he guesses.

I give him a squeeze before stepping out of his hold.

“I’ve had better.”

“It’s that fella, isn’t it?” he says in an I-told-you-so manner.

“No, Pops. Nothing to do with Rick,” I set him straight. “At least not directly. I just had a tough day at work, only my second day back and already it’s getting to me. Normal things you should expect working in healthcare, stuff I’d have been able to brush off a few months ago now seems to hit a nerve.”

“And you came here?”

I can hear the accusation he’s trying to hide behind what is supposed to be an innocent question.

“Yes, but, Pops, not because Rick wouldn’t be there for me—because he would—but he’s up to his eyeballs in an investigation, and the man has had a tough couple of days himself, he doesn’t need me whining on his shoulder. Besides,” I add. “He doesn’t know Mom’s recipe for a hearty beef stew.”

My nose was able to identify the familiar smells coming from the giant pot on the stove.

“So, it’s my cooking you’re after,” Pops pokes fun, as he turns to grab a bowl off the shelf and starts ladling in a hearty portion.

“That, and one of your hugs.”

I grin at him when he turns and hands me the bowl, ripping a chunk off one of the loaves stacked up on the counter and dropping it on top of the stew.

“So your beau had a couple of tough days, you say?” he probes, a bit mockingly.

My father would never admit it, but he’s always been the nosy one in the family. That’s why Mom stuck to the kitchen and he preferred being up front in the bar, so he could keep his finger on the pulse.

“Yes. You need to cut him some slack, Pops. He hasn’t had it easy.”

Rick’s story isn’t mine to share, but when my father scoffs at my words, it ticks me off.

“I know you can’t imagine anything worse than losing Mom, but I would think losing a child is at the very least right up there.”

His whole demeanor changes, and he reaches back to brace himself on the counter.

“He lost a child?”

I sigh. “Yeah, Pops, he had a little girl, but it isn’t my story to tell and it’s not easy for him to talk about, so keep it to yourself. Let him tell you himself when he’s ready.”

He nods sharply. “Sure thing, Baby Girl. Why don’t you go in and keep old Buck company? He’s having stew too.”

I take my bowl into the bar, where I say hi to Len, and slide onto the stool next to Buck.

“Haven’t seen you for a bit,” he mumbles with a brief glance my way before he returns his attention to the bowl in front of him.