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“I think she lives under the bed. The cat and I will look after you.”
“You’re ridiculous, Poppy.”
I kissed his cheek. “The name is Beth.”
“Never. Always Poppy to me.”
The cat carefully crept closer sniffing as she went, butting her nose against me and Ronan until she found a spot she liked on Ronan’s pillow, between his shoulder and his head. Instantly, the sound of a small motorboat filled the room, and she pushed her head against Ronan’s chin.
“Is this a joke?” he asked, blowing at the cat, which did nothing.
“She’s taking her guarding duties seriously,” I said, choosing not to be jealous of a cat. “Don’t fight it. Just sleep.”
I really thought he would, but Ronan was mind over matter, and he managed to get himself out of that bed. I couldn’t believe it. Neither could the cat who hissed at him. “I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, and I watched him walk to the bathroom.
It was ridiculous to worry about a man like Ronan. It was like worrying over a mountain or a bullet. He didn’t like it.
But I couldn’t stop myself.
While he showered, with nothing else to do, I redressed in my ruined sweats, took a pain pill, and cleaned up the cottage a little. Using one hand, I stacked magazines about knitting and cooking on the edge of the table. Threw out the lettuce that was going from wilted to mushy. I opened a can of the cat’s wet food, which brought her out of the bedroom to purr around my ankles. Her dark fur brushed my feet. She purred and butted her head against me full of gratitude for the bare minimum.
Just like me. God, what an embarrassing realization. Caroline had given me scraps, and I’d made a meal out of them. She’d given me lies, and I’d called it love, grateful for the chance to be manipulated.
“Poppy?” Ronan called, coming to the door dressed in fresh clothes, his hair slicked back. He rubbed a hand over his face, his beard growing in, changing the hard planes of his face. He’d never look like a teddy bear, but he did look softer. “You’re all right, then?”
I stepped back from the food and the cat swept in to eat. “Tell me something; what happens to Caroline?”
“What do you mean?”
I shook my head. “Does anything ever happen to people like Caroline?”
“You want revenge?”
“I want . . . clarity. I want to know why she did what she did to me.” Marrying me to the senator, killing the senator, sending Ronan into my life.
“I can tell you the answer to that,” he said and came over to where I stood, vibrating with rage. He pulled me in his arms, petting me like I was the cat. “Because it served her. That’s always the answer for people like Caroline. She does what she does only because it serves her. And I know you want answers and revenge, but you’ll never get them from a woman like her. The ivory tower where she lives is too tall for the likes of us.”
“So, I just walk away?”
“You walk away and live the best fucking life you can, Poppy. That’s your revenge.”
“What about you?”
He kissed me. A total distraction move. I got the message; his future wasn’t something he was going to talk about. Just like his past.
This kiss tasted like tears. Like ash. Like the end. It tasted the same as the beginning.
Having emptied the bowl, the cat began curling around Ronan’s ankles, purring and butting her head against him.
“What do you want, you wee beast?” he asked, picking up the cat to look in its eyes.
“Father Patrick said it was part of a feral cat colony that used to live here.”
The cat hissed. Ronan hissed back and then put the cat under his arm, scratching its chin.
“All those cats were killed,” Ronan said, confirming in his roundabout way he had been at this school. That he knew Father Patrick.
“Sinead saved three.”
“Really?” he asked. I nodded.
The purring started again.
Ugh. We’re both so shameless. Doing anything for a scratch on the head.
I looked out the kitchen window. On the hilltop, the priest was back out in his garden, pulling a roll of chicken wire out of the shed. He was going to fix the part of the fence the deer had ruined. And I could stay in this cottage with Ronan and his silence and my dead-end desire, or I could go do something useful.
“I’m going to go help Father Patrick,” I said, because the decision was easy.
“What?”
“He’s repairing his fence and I think he needs help.”
“Poppy. You need to dye your hair.”
I walked to the door and shoved my feet back in the boots. I picked up the sling and put it on. The pain meds were already dulling my shoulder again. “You don’t have to come,” I said, actually wishing he wouldn’t. I needed some distance. I needed to pick myself up, dust myself off, and remember there was no part of Ronan Byrne I would get to hold onto.
