“Neither.” She shook her head as she picked up the glass and took a dainty sip. “I’ve just moved back and have a place up by the lake.”
“The lake?” he repeated in surprise. “So, you’d be a West then?”
“Olivia.” She offered her hand.
“Jackson Murphy.” He shook her hand, then resumed his task of wiping down the clean glasses. “I was very fond of your Evelyn. She’d come in every Sunday for a pot roast and a Guinness.”
“She was my great aunt,” Olivia muttered, biting back the ruthless pang of dejection.
“I was sorry to hear of her passing,” Jackson told her as he watched her. “We all went to her funeral; I don’t recall seeing you.”
“I wasn’t there.” Olivia answered, trying not to let the resentment seep into her tone. “I didn’t find out about her death until after her funeral.” Not that she’d have wanted me there… she almost added. “Did you know her well?”
“She and our Owen rubbed along famously,” Jackson told her, his tone laced with fondness.
“Owen?”
“Ah, beggin’ your pardon, of course you wouldn’t know who Owen is,” he apologized. “Owen is our cook, a great brute of a man given to fits of temper, but he cooks like a dream, so we make allowances for his poor social graces. He and Evie got on like a barn of fire. They often traded recipes and such.”
Olivia picked up a menu and scanned it in interest. “So the food here is good?”
“It is, even if I do say so myself.” Jackson gave a confident nod. “Do you have an appetite then, Olivia?”
“I do.” Her mouth curved. “I’ve been surviving on cereal and coffee while I unpack. I’m still working my way up to grocery shopping.”
“Well then, if I might,” he offered. “Owen’s beef stew is enough to make a grown man weep with gratitude. It sticks to the ribs and has a fine flavor. Just the thing for a chilly October eve.”
“Sounds great.” She smiled.
“Beef stew it is then.” Jackson slapped his hand down on the bar. “Shelley, darlin’.” He flagged down a pretty honey blonde waitress as she swung by with an empty tray. “A beef stew for Mercy’s newest arrival.”
“No problem.” Shelley cast Olivia a welcoming smile before turning her attention back to Jackson. “Two cokes, a white wine, and a Guinness please, Jackson.”
He nodded in acknowledgement and reached for a glass. Olivia watched in fascination as he grasped one of the large taps and began to build the pint of Guinness layer by layer.
“Are you new in town then?” Shelley asked.
“Old,” Olivia answered. “Just moved back.”
“This is Evie’s great niece,” Jackson nodded toward Olivia.
“Olivia?” Shelley’s eyes widened in recognition and Olivia’s heart sank. “I remember you. We went to school together. I was a couple of years ahead of you and Louisa Gilbert. Have you seen her yet?”
“I ran into her the other day,” Olivia replied ambiguously.
“I’m sure she was really happy to see you.” Shelley picked up the tray and offered her a genuine smile. “Well, welcome home. I’ll get that stew for you.”
“Thanks,” Olivia muttered in relief. It was obvious from the look in her eyes that Shelley knew all about her family’s past but was being polite enough to not mention it. She turned to find Jackson watching her, and she cleared her throat, intending to change the subject before he could ask any questions. “The accent, is it real?”
“Certainly, it is.” He chuckled as he filled another glass with soda and dropped a slice of lemon in. “My mother is American. She was born and bred in Mercy along with my uncle, but she fell in love with my Da, who was passing through on his travels, and when he left, she went with him. They still run a pub of their own back in County Clare.”
“That’s sweet.” She propped her cheek on her fist, lulled by his musical accent. “How’d you end up in Mercy?”
“My uncle died,” he replied.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know him.” Jackson shrugged. “But he didn’t have any family, other than my Ma, so he left the pub to me. I thought I might try my luck serving my American cousins across the pond.”
