“Hey, Jackson.” She glanced across to the pub. “How’s things?”
“Difficult.” He gives her a sad smile. “Losing Adam was hard.” He held out his hand to Theo. “Jackson Murphy.”
Theo nodded, taking Jackson’s hand warily. “Theo Beckett.”
Jackson turned his attention back to Olivia. “So, you haven’t been by... because?”
“It’s been…” She sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“I’ve heard.” Jackson commiserated. “Olivia, darlin’, I hope you’re not staying away because of the town gossips. Believe me, for every moron there are at least two who are of sound mind and body. Not everyone thinks you’re out nefariously murdering the hardworking citizens of Mercy.”
“I really wish that were true.”
“Just because our police department seems to have its head up its own ass—Jake not included, of course—doesn’t mean you should hole up at that big house by yourself.”
“She’s not by herself,” Theo interrupted.
“I see.” Jackson’s mouth curved. “Well, I tell you what, why don’t the pair of you come in for dinner? Owen’s on fine form tonight, and we have an excellent steak and Guinness pie on the menu.”
“I don’t know.” Olivia eyed the door to the pub nervously.
“It’s alright, Olivia.” Theo took her hand. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you really should walk in there with your head held high. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“That’s the way of it.” Jackson clapped Theo on the back.
“Well, it is true that Jackson’s cook is a genius in the kitchen,” Olivia said to Theo.
“Aye, that he is.” Jackson laughed. “But don’t be after telling the man himself as he’s already got an ego the size of Dublin.”
Olivia chuckled. “Fine, we’ll stop by for dinner.”
Theo looked up at the Irish pub. He’d never seen anything so colorful. The wooden exterior was painted a dark green with burgundy panels and golden-colored arched window frames. A sign bearing the name The Salted Bone swung back and forth in the early evening breeze.
Olivia tugged at his hand, and he followed her through the door. The interior was just as warm and welcoming with deep cherry-colored wood and brass fixtures everywhere. A hearty fire roared in the hearth, taking the November chill out of the air and giving off a cozy, intimate feeling.
The door banged behind them, and every eye in the room turned in their direction.
“Come on, Olivia, love, pay them no mind,” Jackson said encouragingly. “The novelty will wear thin soon enough.”
She limped over to the bar, her ankle now hurting like a bitch.
“What the hell is she doing here?” a female voice screeched.
Olivia turned to see the familiar, attractive red-haired barmaid standing by the door from the kitchen.
“Kaitlin,” Jackson warned.
“She has no right to be here!”
“She has every right. She has done nothing wrong,” Jackson replied calmly.
“You don’t know that,” Kaitlin hissed. “You know what they’re saying about her. What that sick bitch did to Adam!”
“That’s enough!” Jackson snapped. “We do not cast stones under my roof!”
“I can’t believe you’re taking her side!” The woman’s eyes filled with hot tears.
“Kaitlin.” Jackson sighed.
