Bride Of The Emerald Isle. Trish Wylie

merely lifted an eyebrow in question as she looked his way. And she smiled a very small smile in response. So he nodded. ‘Milk, no sugar, I suppose?’

      City girl’s second preference to some foreign froth of a coffee in his experience…

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Sit down, sit down.’ Dermot pulled out a chair for her at the long, well-worn kitchen table. ‘Keelin, is it? What a lovely name. Are you here for a bit of a holiday? Do you know the island at all? It’s a lovely place, isn’t it?’

      ‘She might be able to answer if you paused for breath.’ Garrett threw the words over his shoulder as he reached for a mug and poured steaming tea into it. ‘Let her get a word in.’

      Not that he doubted her ability to do that if she chose. But something had changed when she’d walked through the door. And Garrett was keen to have his father let her get to it.

      The curiosity was killing him.

      ‘I’m not here on holiday.’

      As Garrett turned to place the mug in front of her she was lifting the long strap of her bag from across her shoulders, shrugging her head below it before she searched through its contents. ‘I came here to bring you something I think belongs to you.’

      ‘To me?’ Dermot’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Are you sure about that?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her eyes flickered briefly to his face, then up to Garrett’s as he set down the mug. ‘Thank you.’

      Garrett smiled encouragingly. ‘You already said thank you. It’s only a cup of tea, Keelin O’Donnell, it’s not that big a deal.’

      There was a sudden silence. Broken by. ‘O’Donnell?’

      Garrett’s gaze narrowed as his father repeated her surname in the same surprised tone Keelin had when he’d said his name was Kincaid at the gate. What the hell was going on?

      Keelin faltered, her hand rising from the bag with a bundle of faded blue letters that she laid on the table in front of her, both hands then smoothing over them as she studied his father’s face.

      ‘Yes.’

      The answer was low, almost flat, yet determined. And the reaction on Dermot’s face was dramatic. He stared at her long and hard, as if he was searching for something, lost for words for the first time that Garrett could ever remember. Which was saying something.

      And when Garrett looked back at Keelin, she was studying Dermot in exactly the same way.

      Then her eyes flickered back up to meet his and Garrett felt a wave cramp the region of his chest. She looked lost. And he suddenly remembered what he had said to her about his father listening to whatever she had to say. How he had reassured her it would be all right.

      Garrett was no liar. And he wouldn’t let his old man make one of him either.

      So he pinned a bright smile on his face and pulled out the chair beside her. ‘So I take it you two know each other, then?’

      He looked back and forth from one to the other.

      Finally Dermot’s eyes strayed to the letters that Keelin was stroking, colour fading from his face as he looked back up at her. ‘Recently?’

      The word was almost choked.

      Keelin swallowed hard, her eyes shimmering as she nodded. ‘Six weeks ago.’

      ‘I’m sorry, child.’

      She nodded again, her gaze dropping to her hands as she took a moment to control herself before she pushed the letters towards him. ‘I thought you might want these.’

      This time Dermot nodded. And even though Garrett now had a million and one questions, he didn’t ask. It felt as if he would be intruding somehow—maybe already was simply by being there.

      He watched as his father’s fingers closed around the letters, drawing them closer to him on the table top before he smoothed his hands over them in the same way Keelin had. As if they were something very precious; something beyond any monetary value.

      ‘Thank you, for bringing them.’ His eyes rose to look at her face again, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth as he spoke in a husky tone. ‘You look like her.’

      ‘I know.’ Keelin smiled tremulously in return. ‘I get told that all the time.’

      ‘Aye, well you do. She was your age—’ He stopped and cleared his throat. ‘Garrett, get Keelin something to eat, would you? I’m sure she’s hungry after that long walk.’

      ‘I’m fine, really.’ She flashed a small smile his way. ‘I ate very early at the hotel.’

      Garrett nodded. He couldn’t seem to think of anything to say in the sight of her sparkling eyes and small smile. Damn but she was beautiful, really, an absolute stunner. What looking at her did to him took him back in time, reminded him of who he’d been a lifetime ago. And whoever it was she looked like must have had equally big an impression on his father.

      Because the next thing he knew Dermot was pushing his chair back from the table, his fingers closing around the letters. ‘You’ll have to excuse me for a minute.’

      Garrett watched in stark amazement as he left the room. What—?

      There was the sound of chair legs scraping over the floor again as Keelin stood up and Garrett’s gaze immediately returned to her face as she gathered her bag to her and spoke in a low voice. ‘This was a mistake.’

      ‘Wait.’ His hand caught her smaller one on top of the bag, fingers curling round hers as he stood up. ‘I’m sure he’ll come back. This isn’t like him.’

      But then he wouldn’t be the first Kincaid male to act strangely around this woman, would he?

      Keelin untwisted her fingers from his and stepped back, her eyes avoiding his. ‘No, really. I shouldn’t have come here. I think I maybe knew that before I came.’

      He could hear the tremor in her voice, could see the shimmer in her eyes as she glanced towards the door. And without thinking he knew he didn’t want her to leave, not when she was so obviously upset.

      Her being so upset was partly his fault, after all. He was the one who had told her his father wouldn’t blame the messenger for whatever news she brought. Even though he still didn’t really know what that news was.

      ‘Who was he talking about?’

      She swallowed again, frowning hard as she looked down at her flowered wellingtons. ‘My mother.’

      Six weeks ago.

      Garrett put some of it together. ‘She passed away?’

      A single nod. ‘Breast cancer.’

      He flinched inwardly, floundering as he searched for something to say to her, annoyed with himself that he couldn’t. He of all people should have been able to find some words. After all, she wouldn’t be the first one he’d had to find the right words for when a mother had gone.

      But while he frowned at the sudden flash of regret from his own past she turned, and was out of the door before he even had time to react.

      When he did, without thought, he was immediately on her heels. ‘Wait!’

      Her hand was on the gate when he caught up with her, his hand on her shoulder, forcing her round to look at him. And when she did she wasn’t able to hide the tears that streamed down her face.

      Garrett swore.

      She turned away again, fighting with the latch on the gate. ‘I have to get out of here.’ She shook the gate again as her voice cracked. ‘What sort of a damn stupid gate is this, for crying out loud?’

      He watched her struggling, a battle waging inside him between what propriety dictated he should do and what she might need most in that moment.