Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
MAEVE
T en days. That was how long it had taken me to get my first batches of cider and ale brewing. Ten days of blood, sweat, tears, and little to no sleep, and ten days of not being able to wipe the smile off my face.
I loved taking on new challenges. Usually, they were academic; I enjoyed using my brain to work out problems and form arguments. Brewing had been something way out of my comfort zone. Still, it was also surprising how much of my academic experience I could apply to learning everything I could about it.
Within twelve hours, I knew the basics of brewing cider and ale, including harvesting, crushing, mashing, fermenting, and aging. Within twenty-four hours, I’d found a local supplier, placed my first order for the ingredients, and I’d also made a new friend.
Maple Meadows Ranch and Agricultural Center was a ranch and a farm that had only been open locally for two years.
The first call I made inquiring about supplies was to them—purely because of its close proximity to Hambleton—and praise the Lord in Heaven, I lucked the hell out. Mack Meadows, one of the owners, answered my call directly. Within three hours, Callum and I had already been taken around the farm and pressing room to take a look at the setup. After I was satisfied that the Meadow’s farm had everything we needed to produce decent brews and the quality was good, we moved to Mack’s spacious office in his huge family ranch house to negotiate terms.
Mack cut an imposing figure. He stood well over six feet tall and was broad-shouldered and handsome. If it wasn’t for his worn-in jeans and chambray shirt, Mack would’ve looked more like a hot, aging surfer with his short, black hair and full beard turning grey at his temples. He must have been in his late fifties, though his age was only given away by his weathered skin and the silver streaks threading through his beard. Mack’s smile was as easy as his demeanor. He had an air of quiet, grandfatherly confidence that immediately drew me in, and I found myself liking him immensely.
His ass perched on the edge of his desk as he took a swig of coffee, studying me intently. “So, you reckon you know everything there is about brewing after a few days of reading?”
I leaned forward to address him. “No, I never said that, but I know enough to brew, or else I wouldn’t do it.”
Callum leaned forward, his elbows hitting his knees. “You’ll find out after about three point two seconds of talking to her that my wife is incredibly smart. There isn’t much Maeve can’t do if she puts her mind to it.”
I beamed, my heart unfurling like a flower in springtime.
How sweet!
Callum turned back to the other man. “Mr. Meadows?—”
“The only people who call me Mr. Meadows are bank managers and kids,” he berated gently. “I’m Mack.”
Callum gave him a nod. “Mack,” he corrected. “If Maeve says she’s got this, then best believe she’s got this. If I know her—and I do—she’s been on the forums talking to world experts in brewing and charming them into telling her all their secrets. She’ll have recipes and ideas pinging around that big ol’ brain of hers that you and I can’t comprehend. She’s an amateur at this, but I bet she already possesses more knowledge after just a few days than people who’ve been in the game all their lives.”
Looking down at my fingers, I played nervously with my ring, smiling smugly to myself.
He wasn’t wrong.
I did do all that.
Mack’s hand went to his chin, and he rubbed it contemplatively. “Our fruit is high quality; it’s what we’re known for. We don’t sell to any fool who thinks they can make a quick buck; it’s not the reputation we want.”
Callum’s eyes went all narrow and squinty, and he bit out, “My Maeve’s no fool.”
My nerve endings tingled at the raw protectiveness in his tone, and I couldn’t stop my gaze from drifting to his beautiful face, now darkened with his waning mood.
Mack waved Callum off. “Keep your panties on, son. You were right; I knew your wife was no fool after speaking to her for about three point two seconds. This here is me laying down my business terms. Whether you take them or not is your choice.”
Callum’s eyes slashed toward mine, and his lips curved with the secret words only I understood.
We’ve got this.
From out of nowhere, tears hit the back of my throat.
For the first time in my life, I had somebody at my back. Somebody who believed in me. The stark realization of it filled me to the brim with so much emotion that it almost spilled from my eyes.
At that moment, more than anything, I wanted to make him proud.
So that’s what I did.
“Apples, pears, elderflower, sour cherries, currants, and strawberries. Standard fruits, and we’ll take them all in the quantities I gave you in my report. Some will be used in the basic recipe, others for what we’ll market as special edition flavors. We also want apricots and peaches.”
Mack tilted his head to one side. “That’s different.”
I smiled knowingly. “Secret ingredients. Can you get enough of a yield? I know they’re harder to grow in the Wyoming climate.”
“We’ve been testing peach and apricot crops for two years, and they seem to be working out well. As long as we keep their elevation low, they do okay. If we struggle, we’ll grow them somewhere else and bring ‘em in. Nothing’s off-limits.”
“That’s awesome ,” I told him excitedly. “When’s the soonest we can take delivery.”
He studied me. “Day after tomorrow?”
I glanced at Callum and grinned. “That’s perfect.”
“This blend of yours sounds interesting,” Mack said thoughtfully. “You looking for investors?”
My heart leaped at his words.
Mack had been doing this for a long time. For him to inquire about investing was a huge honor, especially with us being a small, local business and novices at brewing. Mack’s operation was international and thriving, even though the industry was risky and saturated in parts. For him to want to take a gamble on us was a coup.
“You think the blend sounds that good?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he replied, eyes taking in every inch of me and Callum sitting side-by-side. “But it’s also you, Maeve; you’ve got something that draws me in. You remind me of my grandma Maimie. God rest her soul.”
I winced. “Are you sure I remind you of your grandma? Aren’t I more like a sister, maybe? Even a mysterious, understatedly beautiful, but eccentric aunt would be kinda cool.”
Mack smiled fondly, his eyes glazing over with memories. “Grandma Maimie was something else, Maeve. You take that compliment because I could never pay you a higher one.”
My heart swelled with pride.
“How nice,” I whispered, humbled by Mack’s kind words.
That day, we politely declined Mack’s offer of investment.
Callum told me if anyone should invest, it would be the Speed Demons. But it wasn’t a factor anyway because he wanted to keep it in the family.
I was touched by his faith in me. I knew money wasn’t available in abundance for him, so to show so much confidence in me, well, it wasn’t something I was used to.
Most of my days—and nights—were spent in our distillery, running around the place in a lab coat, researching and testing out flavor combinations. I settled on a basic recipe of apples and a few pears and berries, adding in a hint of sour cherry and slightly underripe peach to cut through the sweetness of our cider. Our alcohol content would be set at five point five percent, a little lower than some, but the level seemed to enhance our flavor combinations. Plus, it wasn’t about how lit we could get people; Callum and I decided we wanted the flavors to speak for themselves.
The ale recipe had also been perfected. Again, I’d added tiny quantities of ingredients that weren’t quite traditional but still would enhance the more conventional flavors according to all the experts I’d aligned myself with over the week.
Our marketing strategy would center around the bar. The Lucky Shamrock’s aesthetic would be rebranded in the same style as our craft ale and cider, traditionally Irish, but with a slick, modern feel that we hoped would appeal to all ages.
So, all that was left to do was let the fermentation process take place, bottle everything up, and get the bar ready for the opening party of the century, one the likes that Hambleton had never seen.
Callum decided to close the bar down but he’d still been hard at work with Donovan. They tended to work days in the bar doing the refurbishments and then evenings until late into the night at the gym. Donovan was preparing to open in the New Year, and the brothers were committed to making it happen with the same fervor they showed toward the Shamrock.
I liked their drive, their hunger, and sheer determination to succeed. There was something inside the O’Shea brothers, a rawness that both exhilarated and scared me. The family moved as a pack, Maureen and Aislynn included, and as much as it was probably one of the most extraordinary things I’d ever witnessed, it also made a part of me feel like I’d never belong.
But then maybe that was the point.
Perhaps I was never meant to.
However, I lived in hope. Callum and I seemed to grow closer every day. Our bond was becoming stronger, and I’d find myself laughing more at his dry, sarcastic humor and feeling my chest warm whenever he laughed at my silliness—which was frequently, may I add.
I loved the way he’d started to relax more around me and let his walls down. I loved how he listened intently to my ideas and seemed to appreciate my point of view. But most of all, I loved how he was starting to see deeper than my hair and glasses.
Was it the love affair of the century?
Of course not, and I knew it never would be because my husband had already made his position on that very clear. Since we sealed our vows with a kiss, he hadn’t touched me, and he’d never given me any impression he wanted to.
Did I feel myself being drawn to him when he threw his head back and laughed unreservedly, or when his mouth curved in that secret smile he reserved just for me? Of course, my husband was a beautiful man.
Did I make myself look away whenever I noticed his biceps bulge under his tee or how his big dick filled the crotch of his jeans whenever he made his usual manspread move and took up half the couch? Which, newsflash—he did all the time (as well as being beautiful, my husband was an asshole sometimes). No. I never looked away once. Callum was hot and seemingly hung like a damned mule. If that shit was on show, I was getting my fill. I may have been the only twenty-eight-year-old virgin in existence, but I was a woman, and I had needs.
Still, he didn’t want me in that way, so hubby’s natural ability to make my coochie flutter was really a moot point, except I couldn’t help a tiny, dark, destructive thought begin to plague me.
Callum O’Shea had needs, too, and although he’d told me he wouldn’t see anybody else while we were married, I couldn’t help obsessing if somebody else was seeing to them.
Despite my insecurities, we got along well and fell into an easy friendship, which was supported by the family around us.
Donovan was my rock. We had the same sense of humor, and I loved his wickedness. Most days, he made me belly laugh—usually at the expense of Callum, and honestly, I think he got me through my first week in Hambleton.
Aislynn and I spoke on the phone a lot. She worked long hours for her internship and was too tired to go out much, but she promised she would come home for the bar’s reopening, and I was looking forward to catching up properly with her.
Maureen was lovely. We’d started going to Martha’s every morning for coffee and were becoming closer. I loved her stories about the boys and Aislynn growing up; I never had anything like that, and I found it fascinating.
One morning, a few days after I met Mack Meadows, Maureen and I left the bar and turned toward the coffee shop.
“The boys are working on the refurbishment all day,” my mother-in-law declared. “They’ll need some lemon cake and coffee.”
I was about to reply when I heard a loud “Coooooeeeeeeeee!”
Maureen craned her neck, and a wide smile spread across her face as she brought us to a stop. “When did you get back?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see a tall, thin man rushing toward us. He wore a burgundy full-length wool coat with a black fedora, leather pants, and matching gloves. The black patent leather of his five-inch, thin-heeled stilettos shone so brightly that the morning winter sun reflected off them like they were edged with gold.
He. Looked. Awesome.
“Mother Maureen,” he cried. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, sweet lady. I drove in late last night.” He clapped his hands together excitedly. “Are we going to Martha’s? I need to hear all about the wedding.” As he got closer, his eyes skimmed down my body and widened. “Is this her? Praise be, Mother Maureen. Please tell me this is her. She’s got hair like Merida.”
Maureen smiled like she was the cat that got the cream. “Tristan. I’d like you to meet my new daughter-in-law, Maeve.”
Our eyes met, and my heart soared with a feeling I’d never experienced before.
Love at first sight.
“It’s like I know you,” he breathed.
I drew in a sharp breath and cried out, “Me too!”
His warm, leather-clad hands grabbed mine. “Is that your natural hair color?” he asked, his gaze roaming over me.
I grinned. “Yes! So’s all the frizz.”
“Stunning. Your look is chef’s kiss. If you were five inches taller, you’d be gracing the Paris catwalks. You’ve got that attractive, awkward, gangly thing going on, and I just love it!”
“You’re so sweet!” I exclaimed. “I love your coat and hat. Your style is just awesome.”
“So’s yours,” he whispered. My heart stuttered as I watched his eyes fill with tears as they turned on Maureen. “She’s exactly right.”
She shrugged. “Well, I told you so.”
“Does he know yet?” Tristan asked her ambiguously.
I frowned.
Huh?
“I think so, deep down, but he’s resistant,” Maureen answered cryptically. “I may need your help.” Her stare came to me, then back to Tristan, and she gave him an exaggerated wink.
“I don’t want to change a thing,” he said emphatically. “You don’t mess with perfection.”
“I don’t want you to change anything,” Maureen agreed. “But you can enhance what’s already there. We’ve got the big re-opening coming up; it’s the appropriate time. In actual fact, it’s the perfect time. He needs a hard kick in the goolies.”
Tristan’s full lips curved into an almost evil smile. “You know exactly what to say to get me excited, especially when it comes to your son’s goolies because I’m gonna turn her into a fairy princess. I can see the vision, and it’s so bright my eyes hurt.”
My gaze darted between them both. “I really hope you were talking about Donovan’s goolies just then.”
Tristan chuckled. “You, my sweet girl, are a dream. Come and have coffee with your Uncle Trissy because I need to get to know you. I have a feeling we’re going to be the best of friends. Now, before we hit the lemon heavens, tell me. Have you ever had a keratin treatment?”
I lowered my gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, so it’s doubtful.”
Tristan tipped my chin up with his finger. “Don’t look down like that, eyes up, be proud. I only asked because you mentioned you think your hair is frizzy. Personally, I don’t see it that way. I call it a mass of untamed curls, and I think it’s beautiful, but if you don’t like it, I can put a treatment on it that’ll make it easier for you to manage.”
I gazed up at Tristan’s wonderful face. “You think my frizz is beautiful.”
He twirled a lock in his fingers, smiling lovingly at my hair. “I think your mass of untamed curls is stunning.”
“I can’t seem to get it right,” I admitted.
“So, we’ll do the keratin treatment. It’ll calm things down a little and add some gloss. You’ll love it.”
My loving gaze stayed glued to his face. “I’ve never met anybody like you before.”
Tristan smiled a beautiful smile and leaned down toward me. “Well, duh.” He stood to his full height again and clapped his hands before reaching out and pointing toward Martha’s. “What are we standing here for? I need coffee.” One hand sneaked through my arms; the other through Maureen’s. “And look at how lucky I am to have a queen on one arm and a princess on the other. Wait until I tell Meredith.”
We began to walk, and I looked up at him. “Who’s Meredith?”
“Meredith Grey, otherwise known as Doctor Sophie Green. Head of General Surgery at Baines Memorial. She’s Atlas’s wife and bezzies with Farrah Fawcett, who’s married to B-Boy, who’s brother to Cash and Bowie. You may have seen them around town. They wear a lot of leather and have a lot of power between their legs.” He sent me a smirk. “I’m talking strictly motorcycles, of course.”
It was as if he magicked them out of thin air because as soon as Tristan mentioned ‘motorcycles,’ a low hum rumbled through the air.
“I’m a witch,” he murmured, stopping at the door of the coffee shop as the low growl of engines filled my ears. “Here come my girls.”
Stopping, I turned, and my mouth fell open slightly at the sight before me.
Three big, beautiful, shiny motorcycles pulled up outside Martha’s in a line.
A warm shiver skated down my spine at the pure animalistic energy emanating from the powerful machines, only enhanced by the dominant, masculine air of the bikers sitting casually astride them with their women. Engines were cut, kickstands went on, and enthusiastic greetings filled the air.
“Hey, Tris! When did you get home?”
“Thank fuck you’re back. My hair’s a rat’s nest.”
“You okay, Tristan? How’s Anna doing?”
My new friend pointed at each woman in turn. “Last night. I’ll take a look. She says she’s okay, but she’s not. I’m worried about her, and I think we need to formulate a plan.”
The women all seemed to move at once. Throwing their legs over the seats, their high-heeled boots hit the sidewalk as they were helped off the bikes by their men, who held their fingers to keep them steady as they all dismounted.
Everybody’s hands went to their helmets. As they removed them, a wave of gorgeousness slammed into my chest, almost taking me to my backside.
I’d never see anything like it. Great hair, sexy full lips, and flashing smiles, and that was just the damned men. The women were equally, if not more stunning, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to get a sentence out around them without making an utter ass of myself.
Sweat coated my palms, and I rubbed them nervously over my coat while instinctively moving closer to Maureen. Beautiful people didn’t really get me and usually had no problem making it seem like my issue instead of theirs. It made me self-conscious, like every word I said was under scrutiny.
“Yo. Toots,” a deep voice called out.
My head swiveled to see Atlas sitting astride the third bike. I gave him a low wave, my throat going dry as every eye turned to me.
Oh God.
Hey, Atlas,” I greeted, suddenly conscious of my cheeks flaming.
“You’re Maeve?” the tiny and extremely pretty woman with fabulous, glossy dark hair demanded sweetly.
I gulped and nodded.
The woman’s eyes widened as she took me in. “You are not what I expected. Thank God.”
“Told ya,” Atlas muttered.
She stomped over to me and stuck her hand out. “Hi. I’m Sophie. We’ve been trying to think up a way to come and meet you without making it too obvious we were being nosy bitches. Atlas put his foot down this time. Usually, I’d ignore the big man, but I had a think and decided I’d do as he said for once. There’s nothing worse than having a gaggle of women you don’t know firing questions at you, right?”
Gingerly, I took her hand. “Oh. Well?—”
Sophie pulled me in for a hug. “It’s cool to meet you at last,” she murmured in my ear before pulling away and resting her hands on my shoulders. “The boys said you were lovely, but they don’t know shit. You could put anything with a pair of tits in front of them, and they’d go gaga for her.” She craned her neck to address her husband, telling him dryly, “You were right for once.”
Atlas folded his arms across his chest and heaved a big sigh. “We need to get to the Shamrock if we wanna get that stage built today. You think you can stay outta trouble for a few hours while us men go do man stuff?”
Sophie tucked her hand through my arm. “We’ll get to know Maeve a bit better and catch up with Maureen. Pick us up from the salon when you’re done?”
“I’ll get coffee sent over, boys,” Maureen called over. “It’s the least I can do if you’re helping us out.”
Atlas gave her a loose salute. “Obliged, Maureen.”
Within seconds, I’d been pulled into the coffee shop and seated at the back of the place at a big table. Sophie and a blonde woman she called Ned pulled some chairs up while Maureen and Tristan went to the counter.
A woman with reddish-brown hair and huge grey eyes took the seat opposite me. “You okay there? You look like a deer caught in the headlights. I know we can be a lot, but we don’t bite. Well, maybe Kennedy does, but not hard.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Layla, Bowie’s wife. He told me you two met last week.”
Taking her hand, I shook it hesitantly. “Yeah, he showed me some pictures of your babies. They’re just beautiful.”
She beamed. “Thank you, I agree, but then I’m their mom, which makes me biased. They’re also driving me bananas. The kids finished the school semester last week, but luckily, their grandpa John and Gramma Elise are home for winter. They’ve taken them all to the movies over in Mapletree to watch that new kid’s Christmas movie. Then we heard Tristan was home, so we came straight into town.” She leaned forward. “Meeting you was a bonus. The boys raved about you, so we’ve been excited about meeting the woman who’s finally tamed Callum O’Shea.”
Layla’s demeanor was so friendly, and she made me feel so much at ease that I couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, I doubt I’ve tamed him that much.”
She nodded, her lips curving. “You’re right, but then, do you really want to? Life would be considerably more boring.”
“Amen to that,” the blonde woman declared, taking the seat next to Layla. “I personally like a bit of monster in my man.”
Layla rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “We know, Ned.”
“Ned?” I questioned.
“Kennedy,” she corrected. “Ned for short. Though if Atlas had his way, You’d all be calling me Blondie or The Bulldog.”
“She’s also the town’s lawyer,” Sophie explained, parking her ass next to her friend. “All our husbands are Speed Demon officers and brothers, blood and otherwise. It can get confusing.”
“Only because of all the testosterone vibes they give off,” Tristan agreed, placing a tray full of coffee cups on the table and taking the seat next to me. “It’s enough to get anyone’s head muddled. This town makes ‘em big, strong, and beautiful, something these girls can attest to.
“He’s right,” Maureen agreed, slipping into the other empty spot beside me. “Though I blame John Stone for that. Those boys are just like their father, in looks and personality.”
I grinned at my mother-in-law. “Maureen O’Shea. You’re a cheeky one.”
She gave me a playful nudge. “Don’t get me wrong. It was always my Lorcan for me, and it always will be, but any woman would look at John Stone and appreciate the male form.”
Tristan leaned forward and took her hands in his. “How are you coping now, Mother Maureen. Are things settling down?”
Tears filled her eyes, but she smiled through them. “I miss my husband. By the end, he was so sick that I prayed to God to give him some peace, but not having him here leaves a hole I’ll never fill. I’m so happy he’s free from pain, but I’d give anything for another minute with him. It’s like I’m not the same woman without him; something inside me’s missing.”
My heart clenched painfully.
Maureen had been so strong after losing Lorcan, but it was healthy that she also had her moments of sadness. I tried to be there for her as much as I could, but she insisted that Callum and I should spend time together and not worry about her, which was crazy because all I did was worry, and I knew Callum did, too.
Lorcan had left a huge void in everybody’s lives, and the entire family was still deep in the throes of grieving him—I found talking about him helped Callum and Maureen, whereas Donovan seemed to space out whenever his dad was mentioned. Losing somebody was such a personal thing. There wasn’t a one-size-fits-all solution. Everybody had to work through it at their own pace and in their own way. The best thing I could do was to make sure I was on hand to listen and support.
Resting my head on Maureen’s shoulder, I rubbed her arm comfortingly. “I know you want to give me and Callum some space, but I wish you’d spend more time at the bar with us. He’s so busy, and I’m in the distillery most of the time. We really could do with the help.”
“You’re a good girl, Maeve,” she murmured.
I lifted my head and turned to her. “And you’re the best mother-in-law.” My eyes lifted to see Tristan, Layla, Sophie, and Kennedy staring at me intently. I felt my cheeks heat. “E-everything okay?”
Tristan’s gaze caught mine, and he beamed. “I love this. The big-city girl moves to a small town just before the holidays and captures the hearts of all the townsfolk, including the grumpy Irish bar owner who’s closed off from love. It’s like living in a fucking Hallmark movie. Just by chance, is your best friend a handsome, gay, single-father firefighter who rescues puppies and chops wood bare-chested in the forest?”
I giggled. “Sorry. My best friend’s called Emily, and she’s a historian.”
“Eff my life.” Tristan heaved an audible sigh before leaning forward until his elbows hit the table, and he rested his chin in his hands. “Now, let’s talk about that keratin treatment.”
Layla perked up. “Keratin treatment?”
He jerked his chin toward me. “Merida here thinks her hair is frizzy.”
“But I love your hair,” Layla exclaimed, her huge eyes widening even more. “It’s all wild, untamed curls.”
Tristan threw his head back and laughed, closely followed by Maureen.
Looking around me, I took in the women, all beautiful, all accomplished, and all so kind and so uplifting that I suddenly felt light as a feather. I’d been dreading meeting them purely because of my own past experiences, so it was weird how, over the space of five minutes, they’d put me at ease and even provided comfort, especially to Maureen.
I was beginning to believe that relocating to Hambleton had been the best decision I’d ever made. It had been so easy, and I felt right at home already. I enjoyed Callum’s friends, and if I was honest, I loved the laid-back lifestyle, especially after the pressures of the New York social scene and my career.
I just wished my marriage could prove as easy.