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Their past had been difficult, that was inescapabl
e, but love for Cassidy brought them together and kept them together. The past was the past; Cassidy was the future. “It’s nothing serious,” he said. “Just a fling.”
Bryna scoffed. “Well, that’s too bad. It’s past time you moved on. Sybil’s been gone nine years. That’s long enough for you to be alone. More than long enough. A woman would be good for you, I imagine.”
Anxious to change the subject, Rye said, “What about you? Your husband has been gone many more than nine years.”
She almost smiled. The corners of her mouth twitched. “James McManus calls on me now and again, usually while Cassidy is at school.” A snort followed that statement. “Which means I have not seen him lately. The Raintree lass has put a damper on my love life.”
Love life? “He calls on you?”
Bryna lifted her chin. “That’s all you need to know.”
And more than he needed or wanted to know.
The conversation ended when Cassidy appeared, wearing sweater and boots and shouting, “Let’s go, Da, let’s go!”
Rye’s heart swelled when he looked at his daughter. He had never known a love like it and never would again. She was his world, his reason for existing. She was also the reason Echo Raintree could not stay in Cloughban.
* * *
The thought of a coffee and pastry from the shop on the square drew Echo out of her rented room. She looked at the pub as she walked past and wondered what Ryder was doing at this moment. He should be taking a nap. She should be sleeping herself!
She’d tried to go back to sleep after she’d awakened from her disturbing dream, she really had, but her mind had been spinning and sleep would not come.
She was tempted to check the door to the pub to see if it was locked, maybe climb the stairs and slip into Ryder’s bed...
No. It was not the time to be impulsive. She’d been impulsive all her life! This thing with Ryder was happening too fast, and she needed to think. Right now she was wrapped up in emotion, almost giddy with what she’d found. Emotion would only hold her for so long. Before this went any further, she needed to examine the pros and cons.
She did her very best to dismiss the dream she’d had. It had not been a premonition; it had not been a glimpse into the future. It had just been a normal, ordinary, particularly vivid dream. So, pros and cons in the real world...
She liked Ryder.
He lived in Ireland, which was a very long way from North Carolina.
They were definitely physically compatible.
He was a stray, and while she did not know the extent of his magic, she did understand that the normal life she craved couldn’t possibly happen with him.
He kissed like an angel.
He was bossy and had no tolerance for employees who were, on occasion, late.
The sex was fantastic.
What if he wanted children?
Okay, now she was definitely getting ahead of herself. She blamed the dream. A dream of children in one future and her own headstone—beside Ryder’s—in another. She still wasn’t sure which aspect was more terrifying.
It was a nice day, sunny and warmer than she’d expected when she’d set out. What was she doing thinking about a future with Ryder Duncan? They’d had one very nice night. She’d needed that—the pleasure, the connection, the escape. Maybe that’s all it was, all it would ever be. Physical. Fun. Sex for the sake of sex and nothing else. She really needed to get the thought that they might have a future out of her head before he peeked into it and saw too much. She didn’t want to send him running. Not yet.
She ordered her coffee and a pastry that was about the size of a baby’s head, collected her purchases with a smile and stepped out of the small shop to sit at an outdoor table. There were quite a few people out and about today, walking, shopping, visiting.
A number of the residents of Cloughban knew her. Most of them—maybe all—had been in the pub last night. Some had been in the pub a time or two to hear her sing. On this beautiful day, a few passersby nodded and said hello. Some just glared at her suspiciously as they passed.
She now knew that most of the residents of Cloughban were like her and her family. Special. Gifted. Cursed. She had seen little evidence of their gifts, but then they’d been hiding their true natures from her. They’d been protecting themselves, and this place.
One couple she’d never met before offered a hesitant “Good afternoon.” They both had pronounced German accents. While most of the residents were obviously Irish, it occurred to her that the small town in the back of beyond, a place that should not be a mecca for international tourists given how difficult it had been to find, had a number of foreign residents. Bertrand was obviously French, and Michael’s accent was more British than Irish. There were others, customers at the pub, who were definitely not originally from here.
