Chapter 4
4
Taylor
M y father, a big, burly, brown-haired man, came out of the house. He puffed his chest out as he strode towards us. Orla, his wife, was in his wake, struggling to keep up with him, her face red and patchy. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Ciaron, and her brow furrowed. Their eyes flicked between me and Ciaron, and then our hands. My father was much better at hiding his distaste than Laoise was. But his tight lips gave him away.
“Dad, Orla, this is Ciaron Murphy. Ciaron, this is my dad, John and his wife, Orla.”
Ciaron stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
Dad shook it gruffly and then addressed me. “Your sister said he’s your boyfriend.”
I nodded and smiled at Ciaron. He squeezed my hand and gave me a wink. It lit me up from the inside. This man gave me the first bit of comfort and joy I’d felt since I’d arrived in Ireland.
“She wants to take it slow, but she will be my betrothed by the end of the week.”
Orla’s mouth dropped open. She recovered quickly and snapped it shut. Dad grunted and turned on his heel. So typical. I wanted to roll my eyes, but saw that Orla was studying us closely. Her gaze lingered on Ciaron’s jacket and boots and then strayed to his old car. She smirked. I gritted my teeth. Judgemental bitch.
“Come in, Ciaron. Any friend of Taylor’s is a friend of ours.”
She led the way into the house, her chin high. A shit storm was coming alright.
“Come, sit at the table. I was just about to serve up dinner. Taylor, set a place for Ciaron.” Her eyes strayed to Ciaron again. I knew they would. He was just that type of guy; he caught your attention. But the way she cocked her head while studying him was weird.
Dinner started benign enough. The normal get to know you questions.
“Where do you live, Ciaron?” Orla asked.
“Dublin. Sheriff Street.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know it?” Ciaron asked.
“Everyone knows Sheriff Street.” Her voice was disparaging. She held her hand to her chest. It must have been a rough part of Dublin. I suspected she already knew that by the way she had catalogued everything about him earlier.
I snuck a glance at Ciaron, who was relaxed, leaning back in his chair. He smiled at me, as if completely unfazed. When he held my gaze, my pulse quickened. It was like he knew a shit storm was coming, and it didn’t matter. We were here to face it together .
“Where do you work?” Orla asked, turning our attention back to her.
She studied his tattoo. I could see it clearly now that his jacket was off, and his sleeves were pushed up his forearm. Reaching from above his wrist was a mixture of Celtic knots, vines and clovers that stretched up and around a Celtic cross that was showcased on his mid-forearm. The cross was like delicate ironwork with a green shamrock at its heart, where an emerald would sit.
“At one of the local pubs, The Shamrock, and I do some construction work.”
Orla nodded, her eyes calculating. “Mmm.”
What was she up to? It wasn’t unusual for people to have tattoos or work in pubs. Dad downed a beer and got another one. He didn’t offer one to Ciaron.
Laoise piped up. “Do you have horses?”
Ciaron shook his head.
She screwed her nose up. “Why would she want to marry you?”
Orla snorted, and I clenched my jaw. At least Ciaron was kind and funny, unlike the little brat who was my sister. My insides lifted as I remembered the concern in his voice when he’d seen the horses lying down earlier. He noticed things that many other people would brush off and wasn’t afraid to ask questions. My heart leapt. He’d won the curiosity challenge.
I took Ciaron’s hand. “Because he’s nice.”
Ciaron didn’t seem bothered by their questions or their attitude. But I was.
“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Orla said with a mocking lilt. “And strong. You have to be, coming from Sheriff Street.”
“Dad always said if horses could marry, she’d marry one,” Laoise said. “Same as her mam.”
Orla smirked. I shifted in my seat.
Ciaron gave a nonchalant, one shoulder shrug. “Lucky for me, you can’t marry horses. Looks like she’s stuck with me.”
Orla opened her mouth to retort, but Dad cut in. “Sounds like you have the Longmire curse.” He downed half his pint in one gulp.
“The what?” Ciaron asked.
“Your dick is under a spell.” Dad sneered. “Like mine was with her mother. But it will dry up pretty soon and the fantasy will be over.”
My potato lodged in my throat. I coughed to loosen it. My face was burning from embarrassment.
Ciaron placed his knife and fork down. A dull thud sounded as they connected with the table. His gazed locked on my father with a calm intensity that made my heart rate quicken. I held my breath. “That’s not a polite way to speak about Taylor or her mother.”
My father shrugged. “Just stating the truth.”
“John, not in front of the children,” Orla said.
He took another swig of his beer. “We’re all fucking friends here, aren’t we?” He guffawed raucously. “Ha ha. Get it. Fucking?” He stared at me, his smile turning into something darker. “Didn’t take you long. Just like your mother.”
I flinched. Bile rose in my throat. My eyes were trained on my father, not wanting to see how everyone else was reacting to his words.
Ciaron stood up and shoved his chair away. “I’d like to say it was nice to meet you but that would be a lie.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “Taylor, go pack your things.”
I nodded and made my way to the room near the stairs, listening to the conversation behind me. I flexed my hands to stop them from trembling.
“You can have her, but mark my words, you’ll be back in Ireland soon enough.”
I poked my head out the door between throwing things into my suitcase.
Ciaron was glaring at my father. “You know what your problem is? You’re a loser. You couldn’t stand being with a well-respected, successful woman.” He glanced around the table. “So, you had to settle for second best. You can keep your wife and your little brats.”
Orla gasped.
Holy shit! My heart raced as I grabbed the rest of my things, still watching as much as I could. I needed to see this family put in their place.
Ciaron turned on Orla. “Don’t try to pretend you’re better than me.” He lifted his lips in a knowing smile. “How many times have you been to the Shamrock Pub?”
She opened her mouth and closed it without uttering a word. He nodded. He’d known. I don’t know how, but he did.
I checked the room one last time before I made my way back to the dining room. I must have set a record for packing, which was probably a good thing, as it was getting tenser by the minute.
Ciaron turned as I approached. He made eye contact with me and the tightness in my chest released. Then he gave them all one last look. “Don’t expect an invitation to the wedding.”
We walked out hand in hand, shoved my suitcase in the back of the car, and hopped in. My breathing was unsteady. That had just happened. Ciaron had stood up to my father, to all of them, actually. And they were left dumbfounded.
I leant over and kissed him. “Thank you.”
“I hope this car will start.”
“She hasn’t failed you yet.” I laughed until I cried, probably from relief.
We drove into the village.
“How about some dinner and a room for the night?” Ciaron asked.
“So you can show me a good time?” I joked.
“Anything would have to be better than dinner with your father.”