Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
Tommy
I sat perched on the top rail of the fence, one boot hooked on the lower rung, the other dangling freely as I took a slow sip.
I studied the bottle of Powers Gold Label Irish whiskey.
I’d bought it earlier this evening when I went into town for a meal and thought I’d give it a try.
I’m from bourbon country and although I don’t drink a lot of it, I do like the taste.
I took another swig and let the warmth settle in my chest.
It went down smoother than I’d expected—very different from the bourbon back home.
Bourbon had a weight to it—flavors coated your tongue before the heat kicked in.
This whiskey was sharper, had more spice and a little honey in the background, but it didn’t punch as hard.
Holding up the bottle, I tilted it left and right, watching the liquid catch the dim light from the barn behind me.
Not bad at all and by the end of summer, I’d probably be used to it.
I stared across the dark landscape before me.
A few hundred yards away, I saw the lights of Conlan Manor, but there was a whole lot of dark between me and the house.
I didn’t find it creepy at all…
the light mist that clung to the ground, curling around the fence posts and the worn path leading up to the barn.
The air was damp and smelled of horses, leather and hay.
Just like back home.
Somewhere in the distance, an owl bellowed a low, haunting call and I took another sip of the whiskey.
I’d been here two full days and Ireland had quickly grown on me.
Kentucky nights were warm this time of year, offering honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass on the breeze.
Fireflies would light up the pastures and I wondered if Ireland had the glowing little bugs.
I hadn’t seen any but maybe it was a geographical thing, or maybe it was just a little too chilly in the evenings.
Regardless, Glenhaven was a damn fine farm, I’d give it that.
I looked back to Conlan Manor and I waited for Fiona.
She’d come.
I saw the look on her face when they drove past, the way she watchd me in the dark, and I just knew.
Fiona Conlan had endured a miserable night if her expression was any indication, and that pleased me more than it should have.
I lifted the bottle to her.
Come drink with me, beautiful girl.
Yes, she was very pretty, but it was her sharp wit and spirit that intrigued me.
And admittedly, I’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, and well…
Fiona seemed to be mired in it.
I was definitely more interested in the puzzle of her.
The way she was trapped, locked in a cage I couldn’t see but could damn well sense.
A girl like her wasn’t meant to be tamed, yet here she was, fighting between duty and desire, between the life she wanted and the one being forced upon her.
I heard the crunch of gravel before I saw her and turned my head just as she came into view.
She was wearing a blue dress—presumably what she wore on her date—her fancy curls a little looser now, like she’d been running her hands through them in frustration.
She had donned rainboots to walk across the meadow to the barn and it was completely at odds with the delicate dress and the proper way she’d been made up for the evening.
That shouldn’t have tightened my chest.
But it did.
I tipped the bottle toward her.
“Took you long enough.”
She slowed as she neared, eyeing me warily.
“Didn’t say I was comin’.”
I smirked.
“Didn’t have to.”
She huffed but didn’t deny it.
The wind had picked up, a damp bite in the air, and she shivered.
Without thinking, I jumped down from the fence, shrugged out of my coat and held it out to her.
She hesitated but then took it, slipping it over her shoulders.
It swallowed her up, and something about that settled warm in my gut.
“Come on,” I said.
“Let’s find somewhere warmer.”
I led her toward the barn, and we climbed up onto a stack of hay bales in the corner, nestled away from the drafty door.
With our backs against a cinder block portion of wall, I handed her the bottle, and she took a small sip.
I was impressed that she neither grimaced nor coughed at the liquor.
“You drink a lot?” I asked.
She shook her head, handing the bottle to me.
“No, but I’ve had a wee nip here or there.”
I chuckled.
“It definitely helps chase away the chill.”
She settled back, pulling my jacket tight around her and crossed one booted foot over the other.
“Why were ye setting outside on the fence, drinking good ol’ Irish whiskey?”
I shook my head, gave her a sly smile.
“That’s totally uninteresting. Tell me about your date instead.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said haughtily.
“Of course you do,” I replied, calling her bluff.
“I can tell that your date was probably an insufferable bore. Go ahead and tell me all about it and I’ll gladly bash him up good for you.”
Fiona ducked her head and giggled.
Not a girlish tinkle, but almost a nervous laugh of relief that I at least somewhat understood the silliness of her situation.
“It was… insufferable,” she admitted, glancing at me.
That had me grinning.
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” she exclaimed, taking the bottle from my hand and tipping it to her mouth.
I tried hard not to focus on those full lips and the tiny peek of tongue as the liquid passed into her mouth.
“Lemme guess,” I said as she shoved the bottle at me, but I didn’t take another drink.
I wanted to keep my wits about me with this girl.
“He talked about himself the whole time?”
She groaned dramatically.
“Aye. The entire feckin’ time. Until he decided to inform me we were to be married.”
A punch of fury twisted my gut.
“He just came right out and said it?”
She nodded, her expression dark.
“Like it was already a done deal.”
“And what do you think about that?”
She sighed, pulling my coat tighter around her.
“I think I’d rather throw meself into a pile of manure every day for the rest of my life than marry that man.”
I couldn’t help the bark of laughter as I shook my head.
“Don’t hold back, darlin’.”
She turned to me then, her expression raw.
“Ye ever feel trapped, Tommy?”
I studied her, reading between the lines.
“Nope.”
She blinked, caught off guard.
“Never?”
“Nope.” I took another sip because this conversation just might call for it, then passed the bottle back.
“Because no one can force me to do a damn thing I don’t want to do.”
She inhaled sharply, something flickering across her face.
Like the thought had never occurred to her.
Like she hadn’t realized that was even an option.
“That’s easy for ye to say as a man,” she murmured.
“I don’t disagree it can be harder for women, but that doesn’t mean you don’t try.”
She sighed heavily, looking at the bottle as if she wanted to down the entire thing.
“But if I marry Brian, our farms will merge and it’s what’s best for Glenhaven.”
I frowned.
“Why’s that your responsibility?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly searching for an answer.
Finally, she stammered, “Because I’m a Conlan. And Glenhaven is our family’s farm. It’s part of who I am.”
I could almost buy that if her father had allowed her to be a true part of the business, but it seemed he just wanted to keep her in the corner.
“Hell, Fi, your dad won’t even let you ride steeplechase and that’s because he doesn’t trust you. Why are you still breaking your back to please him?”
Her lips pressed together, and something stormy crossed her face.
“Ye don’t understand. Ye don’t know a thing about legacy.”
I twisted slightly and leaned closer to her.
“You’re wrong about that. I know a great deal about legacy. Probably more than you.”
Her brows knit together.
“What do ye mean?”
“Well, for one… our family’s farm is very old. It dates back to the mid-1800s. It survived war and the Great Depression. And every generation of Blackburns, whether they were male or female, worked until their hands bled to keep it going. I know plenty about what it means to protect a legacy that you love, and I’m next in line for it.”
“I love this farm,” she said in a small voice.
“And I love my family.”
I gave her a soft smile.
“I get that. But I also know that a legacy means nothing if you lose yourself in it. And most certainly not for a loyalty that wasn’t deserved.”
Her breath caught.
“Not deserved?”
“Why would you sacrifice your own happiness for a parent who didn’t love you the way a parent should?”
Anger flashed in Fiona’s eyes.
“Who says my da doesn’t love me?”
I took the chance of pissing her off further.
“Oh, he might love you, but not the way you deserve.” Something dark flickered across her face, but I continued.
“If he loved you the way you deserved, he’d never force someone on you who wouldn’t make you happy. He’d never ask you to sacrifice your happiness to make the family richer.”
That landed hard.
I could see it in the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers curled tighter around my coat.
She stared at me for a long moment, then her expression shuttered before closing off into a mask of aloofness.
“What’s yer family like?” she asked, putting the spotlight on me instead.
I was glad I hadn’t totally turned her off with my bold proclamations about her plight, which probably crossed more personal lines than I could count.
“My family is amazing.”
She listened intently as I told her about my parents, about how patient they were with my antics, about how my dad worked me hard but always with fairness.
About how they sent me here not to punish but to teach me.
And perhaps settle me down so that I could become serious about taking my rightful place as the heir to Blackburn Farms.
It’s funny, but I wasn’t really taking that very seriously until I saw Fiona struggling with her place in a family where tradition, loyalty and legacy drove all decisions.
Fiona’s expression was unreadable.
“Ye love them. But more than that, ye respect them.”
I shrugged.
“The love is the easy part. The respect they earned.”
Her smile was barely there and in appreciation for all that I had.
“That must be nice.”
Her sadness spoke of all the things she didn’t have that mattered the most.
It made my chest ache and I was filled with this insane need to save her from her situation.
I couldn’t pull her away, but I could push her.
I nudged her lightly with my shoulder.
“Don’t let your father decide your future, Fi.”
She shifted uncomfortably.
“Ye wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly. We’re both guided by a need to fulfill family obligations, so I get exactly how deep bloodline loyalty goes. But there has to be a limit to it.”
She shot me a sideways glance, didn’t acknowledge my challenge to stand up for herself.
“Ye said yer parents sent ye here ’cause ye were wild. What exactly were ye doin’?”
I leveled her a sly look.
“Oh, just the usual. Partying. Chasing girls.”
Fiona scoffed with a wave of her hand.
“That all?”
My grin was broad and unrepentant.
“I was pretty good at it.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of amusement there.
“Ye want me to take advice from a boy who spends his days partyin’ and chasin’ girls, do ye?”
“You make it sound like a bad thing,” I teased.
“It’s a waste of time, is what it is.”
I sighed dramatically, rubbed at my chin.
“I think you might be right.”
She blinked at me in surprise.
“It’s far more fun to sit here and sip whiskey on a hay bale with you than to party with my friends.”
Another slow blink as her head tipped slightly.
I leaned in.
“And none of the girls I chased were as pretty as you.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away, her hand tight around the neck of the whiskey bottle.
The moment seemed to call for me to throw caution to the wind, so I spoke my mind.
“I want to kiss you.”
Fiona’s head whipped back my way, eyebrows raised high.
Her lips parted slightly and she swallowed hard.
She was shocked, and hopefully a little interested in that offer.
Definitely conflicted, but nothing had ever felt more right to me.
Then she straightened, lifting her chin and thrusting the bottle back at me.
I don’t know if I offended her as I took the whiskey.
I was pretty much taking my life into my own hands at that point because I’m sure Rory would kill me if he knew I was trying to make out with his niece.
Fiona stared at me for a beat.
I held my breath, braced for a slap across my face.
But before I could doubt my feelings or how she’d react for one more second, she leaned in and kissed me.
It started soft, hesitant.
A brush of her lips against mine, so unsure…
delicate, even.
I held my breath, didn’t move a muscle other than my hand reflexively tightening on the glass bottle.
But then Fiona pressed in harder, her hands lightly fisting the front of my shirt.
There was no way I couldn’t not react to that.
I groaned, deepened the kiss and my fingers grazed the curve of her waist that I could barely feel through my jacket.
This beautiful girl was warm and soft, and fuck, I wanted more.
Way more than an innocent girl like her would be wanting to give.
She made a small noise and I recognized it as indecision and perhaps a bit of anxiety.
Suddenly, she pulled back, green eyes wide and her chest slightly heaving.
“I have to go home,” she exclaimed breathlessly, shrugging out of my jacket and tossing it in my lap.
I watched as she moved to scramble off the hay bale, her dress rising slightly up the side of her thigh and yeah…
I looked.
I also reacted quickly and before she could get too far away, I caught her wrist.
She went still, staring at me like a doe in headlights.
Slowly, I lifted her hand upward and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of it.
Her lips parted, her expression softening in the ambient light.
A tiny sigh slipped through her parted lips that I really wanted on mine again.
I smiled, slow and lazy.
“See you tomorrow, darlin’. I’ll be dreaming of that kiss tonight.”
Fiona yanked her hand back, cheeks blazing, then turned and jumped off the bale, bolting into the night.
I took another swig of whiskey, watching the parted barn doors through which she had disappeared, long after she was gone.
Yeah.
I was in trouble.