The Mighty Quinns: Riley. Kate Hoffmann
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They reluctantly dug into their pockets and pulled out handfuls of coins and bills. Martin scooped up his tips and shoved them back in his apron, then wagged his finger at the old men. “You’ll not be doin’ that again. I won’t fall for your tricks.”
He strode off to the kitchen in a foul temper, the three men chuckling to themselves. “We’ve got to teach the boy,” Johnnie said. “Every time you take Martin to Dublin, that band of yours robs him blind.”
“Never mind the lad,” Markus said, waving his hands. “Tell us about this lady you picked up, Riley. Dealy here has been suffering under a long, painful dry spell. Is she pretty? Or does she look like Johnnie’s bulldog?”
“Dealy won’t care,” Johnnie said. “Without his eyeglasses, he’d fall in love with a milk cow. But he does like a girl with some meat on her bones.”
“You don’t know what I like,” Dealy said. “And I don’t need you watching out for my romantic interests.”
Riley picked up a rag and wiped the wooden bar in front of them, picking up their half-finished pints of Guinness as he did. “I don’t think she’ll be interested in any of you bounders. She’s young. My age. And far too pretty for the lot of you.”
“Oh, now that makes things interesting, doesn’t it, boys?” Markus crowed. “Riley, here, has a possibility. I don’t believe he’s had a possibility for four or five months. Who was his last possibility? That sweet little blonde from Glengarriff, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, I remember her,” Dealy said. “She was lovely. Beautiful breasts.”
He was in a sad state when the entire town of Ballykirk knew the last time he’d bedded a woman. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had opportunities. Being a musician had its advantages, especially when you worked late nights at pubs filled with drunken girls. But he just hadn’t met anyone lately who interested him.
“You know, there is no law that says I have to serve you,” Riley said. “If you insist on antagonizing the help here, I’ll put you out on the street. Now finish your Guinness and get the hell out of my pub.”
“Last time I looked, this was still your da’s pub,” Markus said.
“And we were just going to have ourselves a game or two of darts,” Dealy said.
Riley sighed. The three pensioners spent most of their midday at the pub, sandwiched between fishing in the morning and endless games of dominoes outside the green grocer in the afternoon. The routine was repeated every day except Sunday, when they all went to church in the morning and spent their afternoons at family dinners with their grown children.
“If she comes in here, I expect you three to behave yourselves. There’s no need for you to be telling tales for your own amusement.”
“Well, what’s she doin’ here if she doesn’t care to socialize?” Markus asked.
“She’s here to see the sights. Her mother stayed in the village years ago and she’s come to visit some of the same places.”
The front door of the pub opened and they all turned to look. Riley straightened as he saw Nan step inside. She glanced around and when she spotted him, she smiled and waved.
“Now there. She’s lovely,” Dealy murmured. “Small breasts, but lovely.”
“Look at her,” Markus said. “She looks like Audrey feckin’ Hepburn.”
“Oh, the wife loves Audrey,” Johnnie commented. “Seen all her movies.” He cocked his head in Nan’s direction. “What’s her name, then?”
“Nan. Nan Galvin. Although her real name is Tiernan.”
“That’s a boy’s name,” Dealy whispered. “Why would anyone give a pretty thing like her a boy’s name? They do that in America, you know. Some eedjits once named their daughter Moon Unit. Who the hell was that, Johnnie? Remember, we read it in the magazine?”
She crossed to the bar and sat down on a stool next to the Unholy Trinity. “Am I too late for lunch?” she asked Riley.
Riley leaned over the bar, bracing his elbows on the scarred wood in front of her. “You surely aren’t,” he said.
It had only been an hour since he’d seen her, but she looked even prettier than he’d remembered. Her hair was damp and curled around her face and her color was high from the walk down the hill. His gaze dropped to her mouth, those lush lips that were so soft and warm beneath his. “What can I get you?” he asked.
“What do you have?” she countered.
Riley stifled a groan. Right now, the possibility of an embarrassing erection. How was it possible that the mere sight of her caused that kind of reaction, he wondered.
The three men watched the two them, nodding as their gazes darted back and forth between Riley and Nan. Conversation would be impossible with three overly interested eavesdroppers. Never mind that the entire village would know the details of the conversation before the end of the day, but they’d no doubt interrupt with questions of their own.
“Aren’t you three late for a game of dominoes?” he asked, giving them a pointed glare.
For a moment, they protested, then realized what Riley was getting at. They quickly jumped up and headed to the door, chatting as they left. Once the door shut behind them, the pub was empty—and quiet. Riley stepped out from behind the bar and walked to the door. After flipping the lock, he dropped the Closed sign in the window.
“Do you always encourage your customers to leave?” Nan asked. “It’s a wonder you’ve been able to stay in business.”
“Unless you want to reveal your darkest secrets to all of County Cork, you should be happy I sent them out,” Riley said, returning to his spot opposite her. He drew Nan a half pint of Guinness and set it in front of her, then circled the bar to sit down next to her. He turned her to face him, trapping her knees between his and smoothing his hands over her thighs. “So, tell me all your deepest and darkest secrets. What do you like to eat for lunch?”
She picked up her Guinness and took a sip, then wrinkled her nose. “I’m a salad girl,” she said.
“Try the Guinness again,” he said. “It’s an acquired taste.”
She took another sip. “What kind of salads do you have?”
“Katie!” A few seconds later, the pub’s cook stepped out of the kitchen. “What kind of salads do we have today?”
“We don’t have salads,” she said. “We’ve got shepherd’s pie, bangers and mash, and corned beef with cabbage and red potatoes. And I’ve a bit of seafood chowder left.”
“The chowder sounds great,” Nan said. She watched Katie return to the kitchen, then glanced around the pub. “You said your parents owned the pub. Are they here?”
“They’re off caravanning.” He caught her quizzical look. “What? Caravanning? They have a big caravan and they drive it places and camp—”
“Oh,” she said. “An R.V.? A recreational vehicle. A little home on wheels?”
“Yes. They’ll be back in September and then I get back to my regular dissolute life. As a musician, I spend my days writing impossibly bad lyrics and trite tunes and my evenings trying to sing them.”
“I thought you’d cut your own CDs. Are you really that bad?”
“Only in my own mind,” he said with a chuckle. “I make a decent living. I’ll never be a millionaire, but I pay my bills. And I love what I do.”
He’d always enjoyed the fact that his profession came with scads of female admirers, a benefit he’d taken advantage of on many occasions. But Riley suspected Nan was not the kind of girl who jumped into bed with a guy just because he played a guitar and