The Bridal Bet. Trish Wylie
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American sayings of yours, would it? I make that about the twentieth one you’ve used this week.’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
‘I’m not. I’m just saying, that’s all. How long do you think it’ll take to make you Irish again after spending six years going all Yank on us?’
Molly unfolded her arms and slowly moved across the room to face him over the breakfast bar. ‘I have always been Irish and I will always be Irish, you great rat, and you know it!’
He leaned towards her. ‘Now, Molly O’Brien, did you just go calling me a rat again?’ His dark eyebrows raised in question as his eyes shone at her. ‘Because you know that would be the third time today you’ve done that, and that would mean you owe me.’
Her eyes widened and then closed as she shook her head. He had been teasing her about her new accent and her Americanised ways ever since her return. He knew how riled she got at the taunts. ‘I don’t believe you. You tricked me into losing a bet and now you’re going to gloat, aren’t you?’
If her eyes had opened a second sooner she’d have seen him smile affectionately at her. As it was, he looked cool and calm when she looked into his eyes. ‘What’s the payment, rat face?’
‘Ah now, I’ll need to think about that for a while.’ He stood up and replaced the stool before walking towards the doorway. ‘There’s no point in rushing these things—takes all the fun clean out of them. I’ll tell you later at the dance.’
‘We’re gonna have to pre-set these, you know.’
He stopped at the door, grinning over his shoulder. ‘Now, where would be the sense in that? I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow.’
Molly lifted an available tea towel and threw it in his direction. ‘Go away and do Park Ranger things before I’m forced to do something I’ll regret, Callaghan.’
His deep laughter forced an answering grin from her. ‘There you go, making promises you can’t keep again. One of these days I think I might just stick around and see what that thing you might regret might be…’.
‘That’ll be the day.’
Ryan lived to be outdoors. In all the time Molly had known him he’d been his happiest under an open sky. Being Head Park Ranger and running the daily operations of a large forest park was the ideal job for him and Molly knew it. She smiled at him across the crowd at the summer barbecue and dance held for the residents of the local village of Boyle, wondering how the villagers managed to take him seriously.
At that precise moment two businessmen and their wives—though it had to be said probably more so the wives—stood enthralled as he spoke. He was a well-respected member of the small community, and yet they never seemed to see the clownish side of him that Molly knew so well. She wondered how they’d react if they knew about the wicked sense of humour he possessed, and the rare talent he had for torturing his friends.
Taking a sip of warm red wine, she smiled up at the wide expanse of darkened blue sky. She breathed deeply. It was good to be home again. Nowhere else filled her soul with the same peace she felt in Ireland. Then she turned her attention to the crowd. It was a hobby of hers, people-watching.
The local community had grown considerably since she had been away, and there were more than a few faces she didn’t know in the crowd. A sign of the times, she guessed, with a new bypass making it easier for people to commute to the larger towns for work. But the surroundings hadn’t changed at all since the summers she had spent running wildly through the park’s many acres and swimming in the often chilly waters of its lough.
As she turned to look across the dark waters a voice sounded close beside her.
‘Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met?’
Molly had long since ceased to believe in the tingling sensation described in romance novels when a woman heard a stranger’s voice for the first time. But all of a sudden she understood it now. The man’s voice was deep and undeniably sexy. Intriguing, even.
Turning, she found herself looking up at the brightest of blue eyes. The handsome tanned face was one she didn’t recognise.
She smiled, unconsciously brushing her auburn hair behind her ear. ‘No, I think I’d probably have remembered meeting you.’
The fair-headed man smiled. ‘That’s exactly the reason I knew I hadn’t met you.’ He extended a large hand towards her. ‘I’m Nick—Nick Scallon. I just moved into the house over by Doon Cottages.’
‘Aha, that’d make you the property tycoon guy we’ve all heard so much gossip about for the last few months. You’re running the holiday cottages now, then, I take it?’ She shook his hand and was embarrassed to find he held onto her smaller hand for a moment longer than he needed to. ‘You’re the main topic of conversation in the supermarket, you know.’
‘I’ll just bet I am.’ He looked down at her hand in his. Seeming to remember he needed to let go of it, he allowed it to slip from his hold. ‘And you would be?’
Impressed was nearly her answer, but she managed to replace it with another. ‘Molly O’Brien. I, uh, live over at Ryan Callaghan’s.’
‘Oh.’
She nearly fell over herself to correct his assumption. ‘We’re friends—I mean, I’ve known Ryan all my life—like a brother kind of a thing—I mean, we’re not actually…’
Nick smiled as she blushed. ‘Well, that’s all right, then. He’ll not kill me if I ask you to dance will he?’
Molly realised what an idiot she’d just made of herself and cringed inwardly. ‘No, no. He’ll not mind at all.’
Ryan was walking towards the refreshment table when they first caught his attention. He very nearly broke his neck with the speed of his own double-take. She hadn’t even mentioned she’d met Nick Scallon, let alone knew him well enough to be drooling all over the man’s shoes.
Selecting a bottle of beer from the table, he moved around the makeshift flooring until he found a tree to lean against.
God, could he hold onto her any tighter? How could she breathe? Ryan had seen Molly with other men before—well, maybe not that many men. It had been before she’d gone to the States, and she’d been younger then, so he supposed they had been—well, younger men. But he couldn’t remember ever having been irritated by it. In a gut-wrenching, testosterone-induced kind of a way, anyway. What was with that?
After all she was Molly—just Molly. Molly, who he tortured on a regular basis, even though he should be mature enough to know better. It wasn’t his business to be irritated by who she did or didn’t dance with. It was just that…
He took a long swig of his beer before deciding that it was just that he’d got used to having her to himself again. At least since she’d come home. Yeah, that was it. If she started going out with Nick ‘Mr Smarmy’ Scallon then he wouldn’t see as much of her, and he guessed he’d miss that. But then, he’d be seeing less of her when her house was finished and she moved out, so that was no big deal, right? Maybe it was just that massive sense of protectiveness he’d always felt towards her. That and the sudden dislike he had for Mr Smarmy. A very sudden dislike, in fact.
Nick said something that had Molly laughing and Ryan was slightly more irritated. He swigged down more amber liquid.
‘Why, Ryan, what are you doing, hiding under here?’
He gulped more beer. Hiding from limpet-like women? This was just great—his night was completed now that Maura Connell was by his side. With curiosity he wondered how someone so well spoken could manage to have the same effect on his nerves as fingernails down a blackboard. Somehow he managed to force a smile.
‘Maura, how lovely to see you—and may I say how…’ His eyes glanced down over the expensive trouser suit he thought completely over-the-top for an outdoor