I raised both eyebrows. That sounded like child abuse.
“Ah, Jesus, would you stop scarin’ the Yank?” Deemuttered, glancing at her watch. “Right then, what does your man here need, Paddy? I open in a half hour.”
“My car broke down, and Paddy was kind enough to help me.” I pulled out my phone from my pocket. “And this thing stopped working. I have no clue why, so I couldn’t call for help.”
“Is it charged?” Dee asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, it’s charged.”
Dee sighed and took the phone away from me and, before I could protest, stuck a charger into it. A moment later, the white Apple logo showed up on the screen.
“It wasn’t charged,” she noted dryly.
“I was charging it in the car,” I explained.
“The same one that broke down?” Dee said drolly.
“Yeah,” I grumbled. She had a point.
Paddy finished his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m gonna take his vehicle to the garage, Dee, and see what’s what. He needs a room for the night, and he’ll be outta your hair before ye can say, ‘feck off back to America.’”
“I’d never say that!” Dee protested before her eyes lingered on me for a moment as if trying to figure out what to do with me. Then, with a dismissive shrug, added, “Room’s upstairs. Don’t expect much. The sheets are clean, but the walls are thin. And if you are looking for tea service, room service, or service of any kind, you’re about fifty miles too far westfor that kind ofcraic. The room’s gonna cost you seventy-five euros a night, and you can pay when you leave.”
“Got it.” This woman was a riot, even if I did feel like I’d walked into the Irish version ofTwin Peaks.
“Oh.” She was already halfway down the bar. “And if you touch my whiskey stash, I’ll know.”
Oh, Wildcat, there are other things I’d like to touch….
“Is it any good?”—I paused for effect—“The whiskey, I mean?”
“Oh, it’s the best you’ll never taste,” she shot back, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll be wastin’ it on the likes of you, Yank.”
We’ll see about that, Wildcat.
Paddy slapped my shoulder. “Welcome to Ballybeg.”
CHAPTER 2
Dee
It was bad enough that I had to deal with that useless whiskey supplier earlier.
Now, on top of that, I was saddled with the human equivalent of a golden retriever in a golf cap.
Sunshine charm radiating off him like heat from a fire.
A smile so wide and white it probably blinded small children back in America.
Women probably threw themselves at the Yank.
Oh, I could see that.
He was a charmer. All that gorgeous hair once he removed that PGL cap. Blue-blue-blue eyes and a body that said, “I’m not your pot-bellied Uncle Don who plays golf—I’m sexy-as-sin Jax.”
And what kind of name was that?
A Yankee name, that’s what that was.
