Rainbow's End

RAINBOW'S END 

By 

Christy Gronlund

 

Aiden passed a pint to the old man sitting at the bar. Gnarled fingers latched onto the mug. Aidan barely heard the muttered thank you. His focus was on the six gold coins laying on the bar. It had taken over two hundred years to figure out the key to retrieving his gold. The answer was so simple he should have reasoned it out long ago. He snapped a rag from the rack and wiped down the counter with more force than necessary.

“Careful there, fella.” The man at the counter took another sip from his pint. “Don’t wanna worry a hole in this fine piece of wood, do ye?”

Aidan glared at the shriveled up troll. His grey eyes were too big for his face. His nose crooked down in a severe angle while his thin lips spread into a large toothy grin. An unfortunate combination of features, yet the face was kind. Aidan bit down a nasty retort and swung the towel over his shoulder. “No, ye’re right. I’m a bit preoccupied.”

“Of course I’m right, Aidan.” The old man chortled.

“Do I know ye?” Aidan peered closer, trying to detect a bit of glamour but found no haze around the old man. There was nothing familiar about his patron, but his magic had been stretched beyond the point of usefulness during his matchmaking activities.

“Yer the bartender, aren’t ye? Everyone knows your name. You can call me Odin.”

“Right.” That made sense, but a quiver of anticipation sparked through him. He looked back at the coins carelessly strewn across the counter. Naked. Vulnerable. With a flick his fingers, Aidan cast a charm of protection. Magic fled his body, leaving fatigue in its wake. His magic was almost gone. He didn’t have enough to unite the next couple. That meant he wouldn’t get the seventh coin. Without it, he couldn’t summon the rainbow. He placed his hands against the edge of the counter. He was close. So close. To wait another year would kill him. Now that he knew his way back home, one more year would pass longer than the hundreds he had already endured as a banished leprechaun.

“Don’t look so down, lad.” Odin patted his arm. “Nothing is as bad as you imagine.”

“I don’t know. I can imagine terrible things.” A hard edge tinged his words. It was bad enough he had been sent to this arid desolate place when he lost his pot of gold. To never see his homeland again was unthinkable.

Odin lifted his eyebrows. “You need to find yerself a girl.”

In spite of the dismal future looming before him, a laugh escaped Aidan’s lips. “Thanks for the advice, but a mere girl won’t solve me problems. Can I get you anything else?” He pulled the towel from his shoulder and wiped the counter more vigorously than before. Bent fingers grasped his arm. He regarded the man’s earnest expression and stopped scrubbing.

“Let me give one small piece of wisdom. A girl is always the answer. Love will show you the way.” With that strange sentiment, Odin plopped a single coin onto the bar. “Remember that, my friend.”

Aidan slipped the money into his hand, letting the weight settle in the center of his palm. A tingle of recognition bolted up his arm. “How did you. . .”

But Odin had vanished. Aidan stared at the recently vacated spot puzzling over his good fortune, then back at the coin. He held the last and final piece. Now his gold would call to him. He closed his eyes and waited for the airy pan pipe music to filter back into his awareness. But all he heard was the faint tingle of the bell over the pub door

Aidan opened his eyes. A petite woman stepped into his bar, her dark green skirt blown backward by a breeze that didn’t exist. Long curls of red dropped passed her waist. A slender finger gracefully hooked a loose tress behind her ear. Her eyes were the color of a deep ocean filled with depths he longed to lose himself in. She sauntered up to the counter, her eyes never wavering.

You need to find yerself a girl.

“I believe I found meself one.” His hand flew to his chin, verifying his jaw hadn’t dropped to the floor.

She placed those delicate hands on the counter never uttering a word. She smelled like heather and sunshine. Like home. A wave of vertigo came over him forcing him to steady himself against the bar. As he did, his fingers grazed the gold coins. The sensation sent a jolt of panic through him. He quickly slid the coins from the surface into his pants pocket. Her gaze followed his movements resting on his pocket before she locked eyes with him.

 "Can I get ye something?" His strained voice barely audible.

Her lips curved into a broad smile. "Aye, surprise me."

She sat upon a stool with an amused air. He sized her up a moment. She was a woman who liked a deep rich brew. A stout. He filled a stein with the dark foaming liquid and set it before her. And waited. She was here for a reason. He could sense it like clouds gathering for a spring thunderstorm. She sipped the beer regarding him steadily over the rim of the mug. But, alas, said nothing more.

Annoyed, Aidan turned back to the task of wiping the counter surface. At this rate, he really would wear it down to nothing. He was half way along the counter when he felt a tug at his pants. He grasped his pocket. The gold pulsed beneath his palm. With a slither, one of the coins emerged and floated toward the woman's waiting hand. He pulled it out of the air shoving it back into his pocket with the others.

"Are ye after my gold, then?" He swallowed. A sour burn snaked its trail down into his gullet. He bit back the bitter taste as his heart constricted to the size of a pea. She wanted his gold. Not him. He compressed his lips. Why that should bother him so much, he couldn't fathom.

"Nay, ’tis my gold." She said with too much certainty,

"It was you?" Aidan tossed the towel away and covered the space between them in two short strides. He leaned in so close their noses almost touched. Ignoring the dizzying effect her scent inundated him with, he said. "I want me pot of gold back, wench."

***

"You were stripped of the right to claim that gold the minute you let a human defile its contents." Jenna O'hare scrutinized her adversary. He was thin with just enough muscles to fill out shoulders at a huggable breadth. Wiry brown hair that refused to be tamed crowned his head. Deep emerald eyes glinted with a sharpness that sent a strange thrill through her. Here was a man who knew how to satisfy his needs. Compelling every female he encountered to submit to his desires. La, apparently, she was no exception. Her eyes traveled to the hidden coins. She noticed the slight bulge just to the right of them. If only he wasn’t her enemy.

"I have suffered through years of exile for that error." He pounded his fist against the oak, disturbing glassware in the process. "But ye couldn't ’ave failed to notice that the coins returned to me not you."

"Is that right?" She wrapped her fingers around her mug. Within the depths of his green eyes burned a passion that went far beyond his anger at having his gold filched from beneath his very nose. "Then how do you explain my presence at the exact time you had collected them all."

"I puzzled out how to retrieve them. Ye aren't here to take them back." With a flick of his wrist he busied himself resetting the toppled glasses, but she knew his attention remained on her. That knowledge wasn't unpleasant. As her eyes drifted back to the gold, she wondered what would happen if she reached deep into his pockets for the coins. Her skin tingled at the thought.

"So sure of yerself are ye?" She jumped off her stool and swung underneath the staff entrance.

"Get out of here." Aidan tried to shoo her away but she stood her ground, inching closer to him until his back was against the cash register. She placed her arms on either side of him pressing against his chest. Her pulse quickened as his breath rose and fell in ragged gasps, uncaring that his presence distracted her from her purpose. She would enjoy his proximity a moment longer. She trailed a finger up his arm allowing the warmth to spread through her entire being. She gazed up at him through hooded lids. "This is nice," she whispered. She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

He shook his head slowly, gently pushing her aside, cooling the heat between them. "Quit muddling the issue."

She sighed accepting the inevitable. She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "I'm Jenna the leprechaun. That's what I do."

***

"Sure ye are." Aidan headed into the open area clearing off vacated tables as he went. It wasn't his job but he needed to clear his head. Jenna's nearness made it difficult to solve the problem of getting his property back. After over two hundred years, reuniting with his pot of gold was long overdue. He had all seven coins so he didn't need Jenna. Or did he?

He glanced in her direction. She stood poised shamelessly behind the bar watching him without bothering to hide it. Her grin broadened at his attention. What was it about her he found so captivating? To be sure, she was the first leprechaun he had seen in a long time. But it was more than that. Her inner essence glowed sending out an aura full of red, orange, green, yellow, blue, indigo and violet. All the colors of the rainbow. All the colors of home.

He narrowed his eyes on her. If she had his gold then why was she here? Mayhap she needed him. He dropped the plates he carried on a nearby table and turned in her direction.

"Miss me?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"Tell me lass." He descended upon her with more confidence than when she’d first arrived—strange —he was no longer sure his fortune was more important than her. "How are ye enjoying my pot of gold?"

"Immensely, thank you." She blew an errant strand of hair off her face. He resisted the urge to wrap it around his finger.

"Then I’m supposin’ yer need for these seven is nil."

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh, but I do need them."

A low chuckle burst from his chest. "I'd wager, ye haven't even seen my gold."

She bowed her head, drawing clover leafs with her fingers on polished wood. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He lifted her chin until deep blue eyes gazed into his. "I think ye do."

She didn't move. He reveled in the sudden stillness, closing the distance between his lips to hers. The surge of electricity that followed energized every nerve ending in his body. How he longed to stay in that pose for eternity. But he had to be sure of her. Had to know she felt the same. His pulse quickened as he thought of the risk he was taking but he had to know. He forced himself away from her and pulled the coins from his pocket. They plopped on the counter with a clank.

"Let love light the way." He walked away hoping he was right. The worst that could happen was being exiled right where he was. He shrugged. If that was the absolute worst when he desired so much more, then what did it matter?

***

Jenna watched Aidan walk away. A mixture of relief and disappointment filled her. Her lips still tingled from their kiss. Her breathing still ragged, obstinately refusing to return to normal. She almost shouted after him until the lure of the gold took over. This was the moment she would gain access to the elusive pot of gold. Ownership didn't guarantee the ability to summon the rainbow. She needed all the coins to do that. With one last glance over her shoulder, she grabbed the coins and ran out the door.

Although it was well into evening, the sun blinded her as she stepped onto the rocky terrain the natives called western landscaping. No matter, soon she would be home to the velvet green pastures of Ireland. She ignored the hollow ache in her heart and the niggling voice telling her it wasn't enough. She entered a clearing and raised her fist clasping the gold in the air. She closed her eyes waiting for the gold to call. Her arm went numb and still she waited until it felt like lead weighing her down. She massaged her arm attempting to find the reason she couldn't hear the music of the gold.

"Can't do it, can ye?" Aidan stood in front of her his arm crossed, his smirk mocked her impotence.

"What did you do to them?"

"Nothing. For a leprechaun, ye don't appear to know much about me pot of gold."

"What do you mean?" A fog descended on her mind. He stepped so close she could feel his breath. She leaned in catching the scent of spices and mint. "You're the one who lost it. I doubt you know much more."

His grin was so maddening she wanted to wipe off—or kiss it away. The thought caught her by surprise. "Aye, it took me some time to figure it out. Then I realized seven coins were taken on the heels of love."

"I don't understand."

He cocked his head to one side, those emerald eyes regarding her with amusement and something else. Hope? "Love bound the coins when Finn and his lass, Lady Allison, declared their affection. With every couple that has found love these past few days, I’ve retrieved one coin. I’ve one left, the seventh."

"But, I have them all." She opened her hand. "If they're all here the curse has to be broken."

He shook his head. She steeled herself. How could this man be so daft?

"There's one last couple to unite."

"Who?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he stared at her with a huge grin on his handsome mug.

"Am I missing something?"

He took hold of both her arms squaring her before him. "I was given the seventh coin when Finn and Lady Allison found them. The seventh coin belonged to me."

She froze processing this bit of information. If she followed his logic accurately, that would mean...a heady giggle bubbled up inside her. "You mean?"

"I love ye Jenna. What I need to know is if ye love me, as well."

She flung herself into his arms. "Yes. I do." A surge of joy rushed through her veins followed by a grand sense of relief

He kissed her raising his hand to the sky. The rainbow of colors engulfed them in a splash that melded at the ground shooting buttery golden light back up in response. Amidst the center their pot of gold gleamed. Together Aidan and Jenna stepped into the fold.

"Let's go home."

A small wrinkle furrowed her forehead. "What about your bar?"

"Don't worry, ’tis left it in Ciara's capable hands."
 

~ The End ~

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

From
 

The Wildokie Writers

Thank you, everyone for stopping by to read our St. Patrick's Day stories. We hope you enjoyed.

Stay tuned for our Inspirational series coming soon.

A Matter of Luck

A Matter of Luck

By

Heidi Vanlandingham

         Work was the last place Gavin Reid wanted to be at that moment. Where had the fun in life gone? Maybe his mom was right. He needed to take some time off—let her run the store and get out of Sedona, maybe even leave Arizona altogether. Frowning, he realized his last vacation had been just after college when he took his parents to Ireland. It had been the first and last vacation with his parents. Two months later, his father had died from a heart attack. 

         The small, antique, mantle clock on his desk chimed noon. As if on cue, his stomach growled, reminding him he’d skipped breakfast. Pushing away from the desk, he decided a beer and the daily special from the pub across the street was exactly what he needed.

         Slipping out of his office, he waited for his mother to finish with a customer. “Mom, I’m running across the street to Finnagan’s for lunch. Would you like me to bring you back something?”

         She offered a small smile but shook her head. “I’m not really hungry right now.”

         Gavin frowned. “We’ve talked about this--you’ve lost too much weight, Mom. One good, stiff breeze and you’ll be blowin’ in the wind.” His face scrunched up in a pained grimace at his mother’s snicker.

         She reached up and patted his cheek then shooed him from behind the display counter. “I love your terrible puns—now go get something to eat.”

         He loved the old Irish bar. Hearing the trilling flute and lively dance tunes always made him feel a bit lighter when he walked. As if his luck was about to take a turn for the better.

         He made his way across the wavy floor, the old wood scarred and worn from thousands of dancing feet over the years. Pulling himself up onto the tall bar stool, he waited for Aidan, the crotchety bartender, to make his way down the bar as he filled orders. In moments, Gavin’s Black and Tan ale appeared. Aidan knew him well. He sipped the brew, appreciating the rich foam as he swallowed. As he finished off the glass, a second one appeared, accompanied by his lunch.

         Standing in the dim interior of the noisy pub, Ryanne McDonnell pulled in as deep a breath as she could, drawing every scent she could into her lungs. The smell of good Irish cooking and Guinness reminded her of home. She climbed onto the tall wooden bar stool and gave the bartender her order. Glancing around the room, she noticed the authenticity of the pub and tapped her feet in rhythm with the lively music playing through hidden speakers.

         Gently dropping her heavy bag to the floor, she raised her head just in time to grab her plate as it flew toward her on the bar’s smooth wooden surface. Before she could react, the snarling man grabbed her arm. His long fingers wrapped around her wrist like a vice as he pulled her forward. The gold coin in her bracelet glittered in its silver filigreed setting. She forced her gaze to his, swallowing the frisson of fear when an evil smile curled his lips.

         “Let me go!” she hissed, wondering if he even heard her in the noisy pub, and jerked her arm back. Neither the man nor her arm budged. Heart pounding, she struggled to reclaim her arm. She only succeeded in bumping her neighbor’s broad back.

         “Wha—Aidan!” The stranger yelled. “What the hell are you doing? Let the lady go!” The man’s voice sounded familiar, but before she could look up, another tug from Aidan pulled her against the bar’s edge and knocked the breath from her lungs. The stranger leaned across the bar and pried her arm from the bartender’s grip.

         “Aidan, what’s gotten in to you?”

         The bartender muttered a response, but his accent was too heavy for her to understand a word. Rubbing her wrist, more for comfort than from pain, she jumped when she felt the stranger’s gentle touch as his hand cupped her elbow.

         “Are you all right? Did Aidan hurt you?”

         The man’s familiar baritone voice washed over her. “Gavin?” She raised her head, her eyes wide and bright. The worried face staring back at her had aged but he was still magnificent. He wore his rich chocolate brown hair longer than she remembered, the ends curling at the base of his neck and over his ears. His eyes were as clear and blue as the Arizona sky. He was so much more than she could ever have dreamed. “It is you.” Her hesitant smile quickly spread as his expression shifted from worry to recognition.   

         Gavin couldn’t believe Ryanne McDonnell was actually sitting next to him. Long-buried emotions slammed him like a tidal wave. His mouth opened and closed like a codfish. Mentally giving himself a shake, he shut his mouth and forced his hand drop away from her elbow to rest against his thigh.

         “Ryanne?” He’d always known she would be the beauty of the family but the woman sitting next to him looked gorgeous. Streaked with golden blonde highlights, her red hair draped around her heart-shaped face to perfection, the ends kissing the top of her shoulders. Long lashes framed brilliant kelly green eyes. From what he could see of her figure, it was full in all the right places, making certain parts of his body jump to attention.

         He ignored the sharp twinge in his chest. He clenched his hands into tight fists, swallowing a couple of times as his just-devoured sandwich threatened to make a very nasty reappearance. Too many memories hurdled over one another, trying to escape the barrier he’d imprisoned them in. Screeching tires. Metal thudding flesh. Flashing lights. Sirens. Silence. His high school girlfriend in her casket. Regan. Ryanne’s older sister.

         He stumbled to his feet and turned to leave. Ryanne’s small hand grabbed his arm. He pressed his toes against the hard soles of his shoes like tree roots holding him in place as he waited for her anger and grief—waited for the tongue-lashing he’d run away from all these years ago.

         “Gavin.” Her voice, so much like Regan’s, cut him in two. “Please stay. I know you don’t want to hear what I need to tell you, but I’m begging you—stay. If not for me, then for Regan. She wouldn’t have wanted things to end the way they did. None of us wanted that.”

         He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted physically and emotionally. He’d known for a long time now that he had to let go of his past, but how was he supposed do so? He was the reason Regan died. But he couldn’t walk away from Ryanne. He closed his eyes, dropping his head in acquiescence. He walked to an empty table, pulled a chair out for her, and helped her scoot up to the table. Just as he’d done her entire life. Sitting across from her, he met her green eyes. They sat in silence while the barmaid placed their unfinished lunches in front of them though neither felt like eating anymore.

         “Why did you leave after the funeral? You never even said goodbye.” Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the loud din going on around them. But he heard her clearly, as if they were alone in the room.

         He let out a long breath and fiddled with his fork. “I don’t know, Ryanne. There were so many reasons back then. Now. How could I face your mom and dad? You? You had just buried your sister and it was my fault—”

         “Gavin Reid! Stop it. Stop blaming yourself for what happened. The crash was ruled an accident. My sister wouldn’t have blamed you and neither did we. You were part of our family and your leaving hurt almost as much as losing Regan,” she paused, counted to two, and added, “You had no idea a cow was trying to commit suicide on that road.

         Gavin stared at her, trying to keep a straight face. He’d forgotten Ryanne’s weird sense of humor and welcomed it now like a gift. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he shook his head at her. “Really? A suicidal cow? That’s all you could come up with?”

         Ryanne snorted. “Well, it made you smile didn’t it?” She pushed her plate of food toward the center of the table and motioned to one of the barmaids to place an order. A few minutes later, an Irish coffee steamed in front of her and Gavin cupped his Black and Tan between his hands. Blowing on the hot liquid, she took a small sip, enjoying the creamy warmth that helped calm the fast-paced thudding in her chest. She placed the glass mug on the table. She had questions to ask and she’d waited long enough. “How have you been? And your parents? When their letters stopped, Mom and Dad assumed they moved again. Why did you never bother to even write?”

         He downed the last of his beer and wiped his mouth, tucking the napkin underneath the edge of his empty plate. “I’ve been fine. Morenci wasn’t the same after--. Besides, I never wanted to work at the mine. As you know, Phelp’s Dodge was pushing for our land. Dad was more than ready to retire. Two years ago, Dad died. Mom—well, she can’t let him go. What about you?”

         She sighed. “Pretty much the same thing. I hated living there. The mine reminded me of what’s been lost. About a month or so after your parents moved, the mine told the rest of us to leave. Mom and Dad live Payson.”

         Gavin glanced at the clock behind the bar and groaned. Leaning forward, he grabbed Ryanne’s hand and asked, “I have to get back to work, but would you like to meet me for supper?”

         She nodded and gave him a huge smile. “I would love to.” She scribbled her cell number down on a napkin and handed it to him. “Call me at this number and I’ll meet you. I have a few places to go this afternoon and don’t know how long it will take me.” She handed him the napkin and watched as he walked to the register at the end of the bar. After paying, he carefully folded the napkin in half and tucked it in his wallet then left the pub. Disappointed he hadn’t looked back, she made her own way toward the register. Digging through her purse for money, she didn’t notice Aidan standing behind the counter.

         “Gavin paid for ya, cailín.”

         Startled, she glared, not caring how much he scared her. “Why did you grab my wrist earlier?”

         He shrugged his thin shoulders. “Ya have somethin’ o’ mine and I’d be wantin’ it back.”

         Ryanne frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She raised her arms and looked down at her body. “I bought everything I’m wearing and carrying. The only thing I didn’t buy was my bracelet. I made it from my sister’s lucky coin.” Her gaze speared his. “I have nothing of yours.”

         He smiled. It was not a nice smile and made her step backward. “’Twill see ’bout that, cailín. The future will be tellin’ us who has the right of it.”

~  ~  ~

         Ryanne sat on the small balcony of her hotel room. The rusty, red sandstone of the tall conical formations on the horizon reminded her of stalagmites she’d seen at Carlsbad Caverns years ago. The rounded, jagged formations rose toward the sky like dark pillars or chimneys and gave the area an eerie charm. She still loved Gavin—not as a brother like everyone thought, but as the other part of her soul. She had loved him before her sister even knew he existed.

         Glancing down, she rubbed her finger over the surface of her sister’s lucky gold coin. She had never believed in luck or magic but that’s exactly what she would need with Gavin. When he didn't call, she knew he still struggled with the past. She kissed the coin, sending a silent plea for help, then went back inside her room, closing the sliding glass door on her worries.

~  ~  ~

         Ryanne stood in the jewelry store. An empty rocking chair sat tucked into the back corner behind the counter. The sound of a soothing waterfall coupled with quiet classical music created a peaceful ambiance and gave the store a different feel from all the others. She loved the warmth of the pale yellow walls and the small selection of beautiful pottery resting on small, almost invisible ledges across the back wall.

         “Mom, can you—?”

         She jumped at the sudden sound of Gavin’s loud voice and turned in time to see him abruptly stop, staring at her openmouthed.

         His surprise quickly turned into a frown. “What are you doing here?”

         “Good to see you too.” She waved her arm around in amazement. “This is yours?”

         He stared at her then pushed a long breath between pinched lips. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I was just surprised to see you. Here, that is. And yes, the store is mine.”

         She stared back, not sure if she should be mad, especially since he’d stood her up the night before or feel relieved because she had found him. Again.  “I gathered that. Especially since you never called me last night.”

         He sighed, offering her a crooked smile. “I know. I’m a giant chicken.”

         She shook her head and laughed. “What are you, ten? That was your favorite comeback when you knew you’d done something wrong.” He took her hand, holding it tight to his chest. “Can I interest you in a make-up cheeseburger? I know a really great pub not to far from here.”

         She stared at their clasped hands resting over his heart. “Yes, I would definitely be interested in food, especially if you add an Irish coffee to the deal.”

~  ~  ~

         Ryanne took a sip of coffee, savoring the hot sweetness, then tilted her head. “So why a jewelry store?”

         “I’ve always been more interested in creating things. You know, woodcraft, painting. I played sports for Dad. Making quarterback was his dream and I couldn’t let him down.”

         A thoughtful expression stole over her face as she took another sip. “I’ve always known that. The pictures you painted for Mom always ended up on my bedroom walls.”

         He groaned. “Please tell me your taste in art has improved.”

         She pursed her lips and lightly slapped his arm. “Seriously? I was eight years old!”

         “Why were you in the store? Jewelry shopping—or were you interested in the Hopi vases?”

         “Neither actually. I came to Sedona to try and sell my jewelry. I think I’ve talked to every shop owner in town. No one will even look at my stuff.”

         He pulled something from his shirt pocket and held it out to her. She gasped. In the palm of his hand lay a small silver ring, thin ropes of metal twisting around and creating a simple but unique piece.

         She lovingly brushed a finger over the ring. “This was the first thing I made. I worked and worked to get the metal to twist just right.” She met his gaze. “You wore it on your pinky--”

         “Until I almost couldn’t get it off. I’ve carried it in my pocket since.” He watched her eyes fill with tears and realized what he’d been missing all those years. Her. Sitting beside Ryanne now, the weight he’d been carrying around since Regan’s death lifted. The air in the pub practically sparkled.

         He leaned forward and took her small hand in his.  “I’m sorry for everything, Ryanne. But most of all, I’m sorry for all the time I’ve wasted. Please stay. There’s space next to my office. You can use it to make your jewelry then sell it in the store.” He gently brushed her hair back from her face. “Whatever this is—give it a chance? Give me a chance?”

         She leaned forward and feathered her lips over his. “All you had to do was ask.” She cupped his cheeks with her hands and pulled him to her, laughter filling her eyes. “I’ve loved you since I was five years old. Do you remember the day we met? I fell out of the tree—“

         “And I caught you. Your red hair looked like fire in the afternoon sun, even in pigtails.”

         “When Mom tucked me in bed that night, I told her someday I was going to marry you.”

         “Sweetheart, your someday is here.”

         As they sealed their love with another kiss, neither noticed the sparkling gold light circling the lucky coin. They never heard the small pop when the coin disappeared from its silver bed. Across the room, Aidan smiled, a mischievous  gleam lighting up his eyes as he rolled the gold coin over his knuckles and whispered, “Aye, cailín, as I was a sayin’, I’ll be havin’ what’s mine. But, ya have a good heart and I wish ya nothin’ but a wee bit o’ Irish luck. And to ye both, may ye live happily ever after.” 

When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'—

When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'—

Watch Your Step or Revel in Your Good Fortune

By

Kathy L Wheeler

          Niall Adams eyed the bartender with suspicion. There was something odd about the dude. Familiar. And for a minute there, he’d swear he’d seen pointed ears, but on second look they appeared normal enough. Niall blinked and scrubbed a palm over his scruffy beard. Strange dreams that had been plaguing him for the last three years were taking their toll, and his mind. Even more frustrating, he couldn’t seem to recall anything much before those last three years.

          “What’ll it be, Yank?”

          The bartender’s heavy brogue nagged at Niall. He studied him a moment, realizing in a searing flash Niall’s blood was just as Irish as the bartender's. “I’ve a throat on me, Sprog, give me a pint of plain.” The phrase slipped as naturally from him as sand in the desert.

          A dangerous twinkle glittered in the man’s eyes. “Sprog, is it?”

          “I could say the same about ‘Yank.’ ”

          A tense moment passed before he spun on one heel and flipped a pint glass in the air. He caught it right side up and held it under the Guinness spigot. A second later it was slammed on the wood surface before Niall, without so much as a spilled drop. Niall let the foam settle, swallowed a long drink, then let out a contented sigh. “Ah, now that’s grand. What’s your name, sir?”

          He stared at Niall as if surprised by the question. After a short pause he finally answered. “Aidan.”

          “Aid—” He stopped. The name went along with the odd dreams, at the heart of which was the reoccurrence of a strange green door amid a small Irish tavern. The visions were all a bit murky. His head ached trying to decipher and assemble the fragments.

          Somehow the year 1802 played a significant role, and the perpetual appearance of an English beauty. Creamy pale skin against the softest violet muslin, exposing so much décolleté Niall found himself having to shift his position on the barstool. The dreams were too realistic by far. Most disturbing was the notion that he must have made her acquaintance at some time. Victoria, the name whispered through his mind. He grunted. Most likely he was just bolloxed on too many bevvies. Yet, it didn’t explain how he knew her slender fingers fit so perfectly within his great paws.

          He watched Aidan, whose eyes were riveted on the cuff of Niall’s shirt. It had ridden up to display his fine gold wristlet. Niall lowered his own gaze and studied the intertwining Celtic knot he’d worn for the past three years. Like some kind of lifeline representing continuity, no beginning and no end; a sacred and divine pathway back to . . .  “Something wrong, Sprog?”

          Aidan’s gaze turned dark. Apparently, he despised being referred to as a ‘kid.’ Niall struggled to hide his mirth.

          “Ye e’er been in love, Yank?”

          “Aye, once. Years ago. Don’t fancy repeating my mistakes.” Now where had that come from? He searched his memory. Had he been in love? Yet nothing concrete surfaced. Only shadows hovering just beyond his reach.

          “Mistakes, eh?”

          Heat stirred against Niall’s skin where the wristlet lay. He rubbed at it absently. “Aye,” he said slowly. A picture of midnight hair like spun silk, eyes, blue as an Irish sky in summer filled his head. “Kin to the crown, she was. No matter how distant. She chose them over me.” God, the words poured from his mouth like water.

          “Aye, lessons in love. They stink, don’t they.”

          The statement startled Niall and an angry warmth started up his neck. A pain in his chest burned. “Aye,” he growled. The room around him faded into newly forming visions . . .He stumbled into the tavern—the Rose and Shamrock, it was—his cousin, Finn would listen to his woes o’er Victoria’s desertion. Perhaps they’d drink themselves into oblivion. Damned Tans.

          With a mental shake, Niall took in his current surroundings. The distressed wood surfaces, uneven floors, all designed to imitate an authentic Irish public house, failing miserably in the attempt. Most notably were the well dressed patrons. An afterwork, happy hour crowd.

          Other memories edged their way in. Tears gathered in Lady Allison’s eyes as she looked at Finn from lowered lashes. Niall smirked. She caught his glance and spun, running out the door as if she were the hunting dog’s white-tailed fox. To his disgust his cousin followed as the proverbial hound. He shook his pounding head. The image blurred yet not the memory. Less than thirty minutes passed when she’d rushed back in proclaiming she’d found a pot of gold in the nearby woods. He’d watched in astonishment as she’d unfolded her fist. Seven pieces of gold!

          Confusion ensued. Gasps of surprise, excitement, wonder. Aidan’s anger, his sudden disappearance—

          Niall’s head jerked to the bartender. Familiar bartender.

          Aidan’s fury centered first on Lady Allison, then slowly moved from patron to patron. Lads tripped o’er their feet anxious to escape the unexpected censure. No one had ever seen Aidan thus. A rush of cold wind swept through the tavern, overturning glasses, scattering newspapers. One of Lady Allison’s coins flew from her hand, landing on the bar before Nèall.

          It was a sign. He palmed the piece and glanced up. A green door he’d ne’er seen before, stood slightly ajar; coaxing him, enticing him. The ancient coin felt hot in the coolness of his hand. Gold! He needed to get it through the door . . .the door was the key. . .

          Spectral whispers tugged at his senses, he couldn’t look away. He must walk through. Victoria, they chanted. Victoria. Victoria.

          Aidan banged a couple of pints on the bar at the opposite end, startling Niall from the past. Victoria. Eyes, as blue as an Irish sky in summer. Sweet lips. Pain. He’d run from the pain.

          It was a dream, he insisted.

          Niall looked around again. He’d been in this land nigh on three years. Had he transcended to America by some strange magic? It certainly wasn’t the America the British had killed to reclaim. But something akin to the future! And how had he not remembered the gold? It was gold.

          His customary cynicism returned. What bizarre dreams had an English beauty frequenting an Irish tavern? It was total rubbish. The secret Celtic Society. Another whisper. But—

          Victoria. He gasped, and shoved the name away, finally realizing that it wasn’t dreams he’d been suffering through but his own past trying to surface. What else had he forgotten? Lady Allison claimed to have found a loaded pot of ancient coins. Real or imagined? Well, he had nothing but time now, hadn’t he? Gold was a worthy enough cause. Niall frowned. But that was in 1802. Where was he to start more than two-hundred years after?

          Niall looked at Aidan, and smiled. He downed the pint, then slammed the glass on the bar. “Right then, another one, boss.”

          “Comin’ right up,” Aidan murmured, turning away.

          Damn good bartender, that Aidan, he decided, when the second pint landed in front of him half a minute later. It was comforting to know that some things never changed. You couldn’t beat a great bartender, no matter what the year. The kind that read body language. Or desperation.

          Once visions of Victoria took shape, scouring his mind of her was nigh impossible—leastways ’til he was sloshed beyond reason. Niall lifted the newly poured pint, set to partake, reveling in the pleasant humming chatter he so loved about Irish pubs despite their lack of authenticity. Determined to wipe that pert nose and heart-shaped face from his thoughts, he swallowed a large gulp.

          The chatter throughout rose then dropped in decibel before it ground to a screeching halt. The hair on his arms stood as the hush mounted. ’Twas if a ghost walked o’er his grave—no. More like hovered there. Dangling in a sharp, chilled breeze that blew across the moor and right up his spine. Yet there was no wind, no inkling of a stirring current.

          The subtle shifting of the crowd drew Niall’s gaze toward the patio entrance where in swept the girl from his dreams, dark wavy locks hanging down her back. Her glance moved about, taking in the rustic décor, her plum-plumped lips tilted up, obviously charmed. Dark brows, perhaps slightly heavier than he recalled. He closed his eyes, certain he was in a waking dream. No. ’twas impossible. It could not be her.

          He opened his eyes. Surely, she just looked similar. Yet, the girl was most enticing, sent his pulse racing.

          “Aidan,” he barked, not relinquishing his gaze on her. “Confirm to me I’m in the year 2013, if ye please.”

          He chuckled, but Niall didn’t look at him. “It be 2013, my friend. ’Tis the luck of the Irish, it is.”

          Niall’s own chuckle escaped, if somewhat maniacal. 2013, indeed. He should have his head examined.

          She wore some pinkish-reddish lace concoction, that covered her modestly enough to mid-calf, but form-fit every contour of her slim, lithe body. No corset, stays, or petticoats for modern day nobility, not nobility, he told himself. He couldn’t keep his eyes from her. He was tempted to tell Aidan to pinch him, reassure him this vision was not a mirage of this godforsaken desert he’d found himself in.

          “Thick as a ditch you are, Yank,” the feisty bartender muttered.

          “Aye, that I am,” Niall returned softly.

****

           Aidan shook his head in disgust, glaring at the fool. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his gaze to the gold band with the interweaving knots at Nèall’s wrist. A small grin stirred deep within, coursing through his body like a rising flood. It was one of his pieces, he would swear the livelihood of all the woodland’s nymphs in his home forest on it. The very forest he was most homesick and determined to return.

          He glanced towards the newcomer who’d just flown in. Just the one. Aye, he remembered her. Fit as bird, she was. Every rich, blue-eyed inch of her. She looked too mollycoddled by far.

          Three years, or three hundred years, it made no difference, it shouldn’t have been that difficult—just a step through the green door. And poof! He shook his head, aggravated. Recovering his legacy was progressing at an excruciatingly snail’s pace.

          Bah! His duties were clear; and after this he’d only three more pieces to acquire.

          Her friend tugging her in the opposite direction jarred him back to the present situation. He glanced over at Nèall, determined to right the man’s past. It was the only way to gain possession of his gold.

          Aidan snapped his fingers and the tall stool next to his old friend clattered to the floor, snapping the attention of every cailín and gent in the place, and perhaps a few dead ones buried in the desert as well.

****

          “Well, I must admit you were right, this pub is most definitely quaint, if not so. . . er . . . genuine.” Tori North shook her head. “And, in the middle of the desert. It’s quite spectacular, isn’t it?” Several customers turned in their direction.

          Tori spoke softly, keeping her voice low so her British accent would not stand out quite so prominently, but it seemed to reverberate off the wood surfaces, from the uneven floors, to the rickety stools, and aged wainscoting that met ceiling-high windows. She and her American friend, Paige Harris, scanned the bar for empty seats—of which were few—when she spotted him. Her stomach dropped. There he sat, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in her life. Her every dream within a stone’s throw, and he was staring right at her.

          England didn’t sport men of his kind. The sort with shadowed, square jaws and sun kissed skin. But the men in Ireland . . . or rather one man. To think she had to travel through time and America to find him. She grinned suddenly thrilled with life.

          The clap of wood against wood. Tori couldn’t ascertain if it was the barstool that hit the wood floor, or a door slamming to the loo, from where a drunken sot just emerged. Regardless, the jolt startled a pretty server, despite the horrid color of her unnatural red hair, carrying a full tray of drinks. Glasses hit the floor, shattering. Several gasps amid strongly uttered curses filled the air.

          “Come on.” Paige snatched her hand and dragged her—straight in his direction.

          Brilliant jade green eyes tracked their progress. The nearer she and Paige drew, the hotter the temperature rose in Tori’s face. She couldn’t pull her gaze from that mesmerizing stare. It was as intense as she remembered.

          He righted the toppled barstool and held it out for her. In a clumsy attempt to sit, she almost tumbled to the floor on her bum instead. Mortified and speechless, she accepted his assistance, his touch burning through to her lower back.

          He settled next to her, Paige, possibly on her other side. Tori couldn’t be sure, couldn’t pull her eyes from him long enough to see. From across the pub, she’d thought his hair had grown darker, but sitting this close, she could still discern the rich auburn tresses that begged for her touch. The fresh scent of sea air filled her nostrils, made her homesick for . . . him.

          “I can’t stifle the feeling we’ve met before,” he murmured. His tone, somewhat sardonic, made her blush. And just as captivating, with only a hint of his Irish brogue stealing through. She’d never reacted to anyone as strongly, before or since . . . him.

****

          “Have we met before?” Niall demanded softly.

          “I don’t see how.” She smiled, and he thought his heart stopped.

          Victoria, Victoria, Victoria. The relentless whispers ravaged his control. His hands curled into fists. It’s her, it’s her, it’s her.

          She paused, then said softly, “Unless, you’ve chased me through time.” Her clipped accent teased him.

          Niall drew in a deep, measured breath. “Chased you through—”

          “What’ll it be, m’dear?”

          She turned that brilliant smile on Aidan, sending a shock of jealousy slamming through Niall.

          “Same as him,” she said.

          “A pint of plain, it ’tis.”

          Niall watched the byplay, dumbstruck. Had she found the hidden door? Perhaps she was after the gold, as well. He scrutinized her from the corner of his eye. Victoria. Was it possible? Of course it was possible, he’d managed it, hadn’t he? His fingers itched to touch her hair, cup her cheek. Kiss her lips.

          But he’d do well to remember Victoria had chosen them over him, refusing to elaborate except to say her younger sister needed her. Her pretty tears had torn him to pieces, and all he could do was watch her slip away.

          She was the daughter of Lord North, the 5^th Earl of Guilford, her grandfather, the 2^nd earl, served as the British Prime Minister at one time, and to his credit—fought desperately against the old imperial system in favor of Ireland’s independence. Her father, however, did not favor an Irish son-in-law. Those wounds had still proved too recent.

          Seeing her—this woman—dressed as a modern woman in the 21^st century—well, who could blame him for being unable to reconcile the sight before him. Compared to the proper young lady whose gloved fingers he’d touched his lips to, turned the dance floor with . . . it just wasn’t possible.

          After her father banished Niall from her presence, Lord North retreated to England with his family in tow­—taking the only love Niall had ever known. He flexed his fingers. He willed himself calm and pondered her presence with a less than obvious stare—he hoped.

          He’d always loved a good gag, and now he had one. The question it seemed was who would be the butt of this shenanigan? The wristlet burned against his skin. He could think of one sure way to confirm this was Victoria or some conniving impostor.

          A kiss would leave no doubt.

****

          Tori’s heart fluttered in her chest as if a hive of bees had been liberated. Something in her companion’s demeanor had shifted. Anger? Anticipation? Aloofness? It frightened, excited, terrified her. This was him. Her Néall. Oh, how she’d missed him. He was as heart wrenching as ever. Shoulders broad, shadowed jaw, firm lips. Had time diminished his love? Her gaze lingered on those lips. A single kiss would satisfy that notion—wrong! A single kiss would never satisfy her.

          “What is it you do, Miss . . .” The question trailed.

          She struggled to pull her thoughts together. “Tori,” she said. “Just Tori.”

          “Tori, then. Do you have an occupat—”

          “I’m a student.”

          One brow lifted, flustering her.

          “In Phoenix. I’ve almost completed my program,” she said, furious with herself at sounding defensive. “It’s two hours south.”

          His lips turned down in a frown, as if he had trouble picturing that. “I know where Phoenix is.”

          “Oh.”

          “What program?”

          She lifted her pint. “Criminal Justice,” she said softly, then sipped. After all, if she ever returned home she would see things to right. Just see if she didn’t!

          He swiveled on the barstool to fully face her. “Criminal Justice,” he repeated. “I . . . see.”

          Of course you don’t see, she wanted to shout to the rooftops. But being a lady of decorum she hid her disdain behind a winning façade of a smile.

          “But—”

          “But, nothing,” she snapped, suddenly impatient. How could he possibly understand the despair, the injustice of how Catherine’s death had devastated—changed her. Her sweet, delicate six-year-old sister, drowned.

          His eyes fell to her lips. “I . . . I have to kiss you,” he said.

          The pint she held slipped from her fingers, covering the bar with a large pool of beer and foam. “W-what?”

****

          Niall had to know! Without a second’s hesitation, he snatched her hand and lifted her from her stool. He pulled her through the patio doors, ignoring her friend’s gaping mouth and Aidan’s knowing grin.

          Though the early evening was still balmy, a blaze filled a large pit. Flickering light from the flames reflected on her face. Wide eyes watched him, unafraid. As desperately as he wanted to feel her lips against his, just as fiercely he craved looking at her.

          Cradling her head in his hands, he lowered his mouth to hers, and savored the melting sweetness of a response he well-remembered. Dreams or no. Every shred of doubt evaporated in that instant. Her arms stole behind his neck, tugging him closer. Now that he’d found her, he knew he could never let her go.

          He started to lift his head, but she moaned, holding him in place, lips not quite touching. “Victoria,” he whispered.

          “Yes. Yes, it’s me, Néall.”

          His name whispered against his lips, her accent pronouncing as it was intended, sent a shudder of desire hurdling through him. “Why?” he demanded. “How could you have chosen them over . . . over us?”

          She closed her eyes, but tears escaped. “Catherine—” Her voice was as desolate as her face.

          Oh, lord, her younger sister. A fragile child, who looked as if she’d break if one ventured too close. He had no wish to hear. Such anguish was not for her. But he would bear her grief along with her.

          “She’s gone? My love, she was sickly. ’Twas bound to happen,” he said gently. He would give his life for her not to feel the pain he read in her eyes.

          Pain shifted quickly to fury. “She drowned. There was no enquiry. No questions. It was all assumed an accident though the circumstances were suspicious.” She spun, paced the patio.

          He caught her hand on the next pass. “The Criminal Justice degree then . . .”

          “Yes.”

          He tipped his head to one side. “How did you get here?”

          “How did you?”

          Both turned in that moment, her slender hand molded to his, and looked through the glass doors to Aidan. Watched him slide a pint to Victoria’s friend. Again, Niall could swear he detected points at the tips of Aidan’s ears. And, again, the vision faded. There always was something strange about the man.

          Aidan glanced up just then. Tossed a coin he held in the air and caught it. With a sly grin he saluted and turned away.

          “Well,” Victoria said as if that answered everything.

          Niall had to agree. He twirled her to face him. “I love you, darling. Henceforth, you shall not travel anywhere without me. Past, present or future.”

          “I love you as well. And the same applies to you.”

          He lowered his head to hers, basking in his good fortune. An odd coolness touched his wrist, and he glanced down. The Celtic band was gone, but he cared not one whit. Home was in her arms. Victoria’s.

****

          Aidan watched the lovebirds through the patio doors and chuckled. He curled his fingers over his latest acquisition piece. “Aye, an ’the luck of the Irish to ye both,” he said tenderly under his breath. “And may ye live happily ever after.”

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Don't forget to visit tomorrow for Heidi Vanlandingham's A Matter of Luck!

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