Connor snarled, “Feckin’ hell.”
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest as if I was holding my pain together. I’d lose the farm. I didn’t have enough to pay the taxes on it, and they wanted to buy it, pave it, put a feckin’ parking lot on it.
Ronan slammed the letter onto the bar, his face red with frustration. “Do they not care? About the land? The cliffs? The bloody history of this place?”
“They care about money, Ronan. And there’s a lot of it tied up in this resort.” I felt my legs wobble, so I sat on a stool next to Connor.
Connor frowned. “What will we do now?”
I blinked at him, shaking my head. “I don’t know. What else is there to do?”
“We can’t give up.” Ronan put his hand on my shoulder.
We would, though. Eventually.
The developers would now come to the farmers and those who owned land around here with big pots of money. Everyone had bills to pay, lives to lead, kids to send to university, and debts to pay. They’d take the money, and slowly but steadily, Ballybeg would disappear. I wouldn’t be able to hang on to the pub, not without customers, and why would fancy golf resort people come to a rundown Irish pub where we served the country stew with the champ?
Every late night I’d spent organizing, every argument I’d had with villagers reluctant to sign the petition—it all felt meaningless now.
Connor looked at me, his voice unusually gentle. “You’re not beat yet, Dee. Ballybeg’s not the kind of place to go down without a fight.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. But right now, all I could see was the black and white of that letter, spelling out the beginning of the end for everything we’d been trying to protect.
The pub door creaked open behind me, and we all turned to see Jax come in. He was drenched in sweat, coming straight from the gym. He saw the look on our faces, and his usual grin faltered.
“What happened?” he asked, coming straight tome, his hands cupping my cheeks, gently wiping away the tears I hadn’t even realized were falling.
I picked up the letter on the bar counter and handed it to him. His eyes scanned the page, and he looked back at me, his expression dark.
“Damn, greedy, short-sighted dickwads,” he raged.
I chuckled and then sniffled. He did some creative cursing, I had to give him that, almost like an Irishman.
“Dee, baby, it’s going to be alright, okay?” He leaned down, his blue eyes sympathetic and kind.
“Nothing’s ever gonna be alright,” I choked out from a throat that felt too tight.
He pulled me up and held me close.
I leaned into him and heard the kitchen door close and then the front door.
Connor and Ronan had left me alone with Jax.
Did they feel it, too? How he comforted me as no one else could? That I let him?
He pulled away from me and kissed my forehead. “I want you to take the day off.”
I scowled. “And who’s gonna run the bar?”
“Me,” he said simply.
He grabbed my hand and, before I could protest, led me upstairs. He took me to his room.
Fine, I thought.
Yeah, sex would be an excellent distraction.
Sure, we could have sex.
