Sullivan (Irishmen Duet Spin-Off)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

SULLY

Isat back, running a hand over my weary face. I scratched my signature on the final document, calling for my assistant. Lloyd came in and held out his hand for the pile of papers, which I gratefully handed over.

“Done,” I said with a slight grimace, my head aching. “I need this filed first thing.”

“What you need is a break.”

I laughed dryly. “I have ten more pressing matters to look after.”

He shook his head. “All of which can wait until next week. I’m serious, Sully. You look like the walking dead. You need a few days off.” He paused. “I might have cleared your calendar for Friday. You’re free until Monday.”

I stared at him. “What?”

He crossed his arms, glaring. “I like this job, thank you very much. I don’t want my boss keeling over from exhaustion and stress. I did some creative time management and got you free. You’re welcome.” He met my eyes, not at all worried. “You need the break.”

He turned to leave. “And I booked you a seat on the last train to Lachlan. I suggest you be on it.”

He left, shutting the door behind him before I could protest.

I had half a mind to shout after him and tell him he was fired.

But the remaining, functioning part of my brain told me to shut up.

Lloyd was an amazing assistant. He handled me and my schedule flawlessly.

If he rearranged things, I knew it had been done correctly and no one would suffer because of it.

And the honest truth was, he was correct.

I needed a few days’ break. Time to clear my head.

The firm I worked for was extremely successful—and incredibly busy.

I was part of the corporate group, and I was constantly in demand.

This last case had been a twisted mess of personal and business mixed together, many clients and solicitors involved, heated arguments and incorrect assumptions and documents to be sorted.

It had taken us weeks to unravel the threads that wove them together and present a solution that was fair to all involved.

Lesson learned to many—don’t try to handle your own legal documents and businesses. Leave it to the professionals.

I sat back, scrubbing my face. I glanced out the window at the gray light settling over Edinburgh.

The small village of Lachlan was quaint, charming—and secluded.

I had been given a small cottage on the outskirts of the village by my aunt Roisin.

Her son, Niall, knew about it and was happy for me to have it since he resided in Canada.

He had used it a couple of times when he and his wife had come to see Roisin and wanted a few days’ privacy.

My other cousin, Finn, had been once, but he preferred visiting Dublin and staying in one of the hotels he owned in the city.

I always enjoyed it there as well, but the tranquility and privacy of the small stone cottage was a draw when I was run-down and depleted.

I had done some renovations after acquiring the cottage.

Added a larger conservatory to the side and extended the back of the building, making a bigger bedroom and bath.

The original cottage’s bedroom was so small, it had only held a double bed.

And at six three, I found it impossible to get comfortable in a bed that minute.

I had made a few other upgrades but left the exterior the same, other than adding a slightly wider porch.

I enjoyed sitting outside, staring at the endless water in front of the cottage.

I loved Scotland. I’d grown up in Ireland, but something about this country called to me, and I felt at home here.

I loved the people, the scenery, and the bustle of the cities.

The green and the mountains. The unpredictable weather.

Spring in the morning, winter by midafternoon some days.

Ireland was close enough I could get there quickly, but I did enjoy living in Edinburgh.

We handled a lot of cases in Dublin as well, and I was there often but enjoyed returning to my place here.

And the cottage was the bonus I’d never expected.

I used it when I could get away. I had a second cousin—Bonnie, who lived here as well after she’d moved back from Canada—whom I let use it when she asked.

And on occasion, we rented it to people we knew.

Bonnie handled that part, always making sure I wasn’t planning on being there.

By only letting trusted people stay there, it was well maintained and used.

I had a local woman go in every week to air it out and make sure everything was fine.

I sighed as I rubbed my eyes. Lloyd was right.

I needed a break, and a few days at the cottage sounded perfect.

I kept clothing and toiletries there. I could call ahead and place a grocery order at the small store in the village.

Mrs. Harris would pack it up and leave it in the pickup cabinet for me to get since the store would be closed when I arrived.

I would only need a few things. I would probably stroll back into the village to the pub for a meal and a pint the next day and could pick up anything else I required.

I frowned as I recalled I had left my personal phone at home that morning.

In fact, I had been so busy, I hadn’t checked it this week, knowing if it was an emergency, my family would contact my business cell first anyway since I was never without it.

But I could take my work phone with me and check messages on the train.

If I wanted to make it, I would have to leave soon.

Decision made, I stood, snapping off my light and grabbing my coat, shrugging it on as I left.

I had my laptop in my briefcase and a few things I might look over if I was so inclined.

I hurried for the station, pulling my coat around me as I felt the surprising coldness of the air.

I should have checked the forecast before I left, but I’d forgotten in my rush.

I would do it on the train after I called the store.

The train was full, but I got a window seat, the older woman beside me immediately pulling out her knitting.

I called the shop, speaking to Mr. Harris.

He seemed confused, thinking his wife had already done an order for me.

He was a bit scatterbrained at times, and I assured him I hadn’t called one in.

I kept my order brief, requesting eggs, milk, a loaf of bread, some ham slices, and bacon, as well as coffee.

I would have a good breakfast in the morning after sleeping in and then decide what else I wanted to purchase.

I always kept my favorite whiskey under lock and key at the cottage.

It was only for me. I stored a few bottles of wine there as well.

The village was only a ten-minute walk from the cottage, and I would shop more tomorrow.

Mr. Harris assured me he would leave it in the pickup container by the door.

“It’s cold here, Mr. Black. Snow is coming,” he informed me. “You sure this is enough? You might be stuck.”

I added a few other items and assured him I would be fine. Looking out the window into the darkness, I could feel the wind as it buffeted the train, but there was no snow to be seen.

I rested my head against the back of the train seat, shutting my eyes.

As usual, simply the thought of escaping to the cottage relaxed me.

The contemplation of the waves crashing on the shore, the endless span of water and sky from the windows.

Just me, a good book, a roaring fire, and some peace brought a smile to my face.

I dozed, waking suddenly as the train shuddered.

I opened my eyes, seeing all the passengers staring out the windows.

Wet snow hit the glass, the wind ferocious-sounding as it slammed against the panes.

I glanced at my watch, noting we would be arriving soon.

Apparently, the snow had decided to join me.

I was sure it would blow hard and then settle back into the normal weather here for late fall. I wasn’t overly concerned.

A short while later, I disembarked from the train, the cold temperature surprising me a little.

I held the collar of my coat up to my face and headed into the village, stopping at the small store, opening the pickup cupboard, still amazed that in this day and age they offered this service.

In town, the groceries would be gone five minutes after they were placed inside.

But here, I had never had anything taken.

If the cupboard was full, people found their order and left the rest alone.

It was refreshing. I pulled out my groceries, grateful they had put them into easily carried bags.

Mine was the last pickup, most of the town shut down for the night, aside from the pub.

I was tempted to stop and get a pint and maybe a pie and some mash, but I decided to wait until tomorrow.

I had grabbed a couple of sandwiches in the station and eaten them on the train, so I wasn’t overly hungry.

I was, however, tired and looking forward to crawling into bed.

I trudged through the village, surprised at the amount of snow around.

It must have been falling for several hours here.

My feet were cold, the heavy flurries melting into the leather of my shoes.

I was sure this pair would end up in the bin.

I picked my way carefully down the path, sliding often, falling twice before I came to the fork that led to the cottage.

I was cold, cursing myself for not having gloves or proper footwear or even a scarf.

I had been in such a hurry to come, I hadn’t checked the weather or thought ahead for what I might need in order to get to the cottage before I froze.

I had enough clothing there once I reached it, including a thicker coat, but I had to make it to shelter first.

I rounded the bend, the wind hitting me full force as it tore over the water.

The sound of the waves was loud, the snow even heavier, and the wind howled.

I slogged up the path, grateful and frozen, stopping as I noticed light peeking out from behind the curtains.

And smoke swirling in the air from the chimney.

Had Mrs. Harris come out and gotten the cottage ready for me, knowing I would arrive so late? She had done it before, but usually only if I asked. I shook my head, not caring. It would be warm and welcoming inside. A safe place from the storm. Peaceful.

I stepped onto the porch, transferring the bags to one hand as I fished the key to the door from my coat pocket. It slid in easily, and I opened the door, stepping in fast and shutting it behind me quickly.

The heat slapped me in the face, and I dropped my bags, leaning my head back on the wooden door, glad I was inside and out of the storm. Two things hit me at once.

The scent of the fire that roared in the hearth.

The odd thumping sound and a frightened gasp.

I opened my eyes and met the terrified gaze of a stranger.

A woman.

One of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Average height and curvy, she had long, golden-brown hair that hung down past her shoulders. Huge, dark eyes were wide with fear, and a set of full lips was open in shock.

Our gazes locked, and she stood, backing away, shaking her head.

And then she fainted.