8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Aidan
Iwatch Maeve from a distance, her head bent to the phone in her right hand, shoulders up towards her ears at first, but then she lets them fall as if she’s forcing herself to relax.
The frown marring her straight brow makes me wonder what she’s thinking.
Could it be that my last text annoyed her?
Or perhaps unsettled her as much as I was when I sent it?
Fuck, I shouldn’t have texted her, but when Katie told me what she said to her, the words kept nagging at me, and I was practically pushed to give her some kind of reassurance.
But have I done the opposite instead?
I raise my hand and swipe the screen again, my thumb hovering on the text panel.
I feel awkward and out of my depth for the first time in ages, and the unease captures me, taking hold of my throat.
Instead of texting Maeve again, I stare intently until the phone screen turns black.
I’m lost in thought. I can’t work out what the delectable detective meant about her brain being silly, and it irks me not knowing.
But why do I want to know?
I wish Maeve didn’t make me so bloody curious all the time.
I wish that every time I see her, I won’t want time to slow down or stop altogether so we can prolong our conversations.
To draw her out of her shell.
Watch her guarded eyes soften and relax with me.
Such a thrilling and terrifying thought. One that I can’t dwell on for too long.
“Dad?”
I blink and raise my eyes to Katie. “Yes?”
She wrinkles her nose, eyes both stern and suspicious at the same time. “I’m going to be late if you don’t start the car soon.”
I jerk in my seat. “Right. You’re right.”
I turn the ignition and frown. It’s been ages since I’ve been so lost inside my own head that I’ve forgotten who I’m with, and a wave of apprehension settles in my gut.
I put the car in gear and pull away from the kerb next to the village church.
Guilt settles in my heart at forgetting the most wonderful being in my world right next to me, and I put in an effort to pay my daughter the attention she deserves.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” I ask.
“Hmm, not much. English literature is first, then maths…oh, and science this afternoon.”
I give her a cursory glance. “And then riding after school, yeah?”
“Yes, definitely.” Katie claps her hands and sighs. “Can’t wait to see Crystal again.”
I chuckle as she mentions her favourite pony at the club.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your lessons, love.”
She gasps, her hands flapping in the air.
“Settle down,” I warn her.
“Oh, but you’ve got to hear what I found out last time I went, Dad.”
I listen to her animated story, giving the occasional grunt or chuckle in the right places.
Or at least, I think so. It’s sometimes hard to tell with her stories as they tend to lean towards the dramatic.
Even so, I enjoy listening to the vibrancy of life that fills the air as she gives me as many details as possible.
I enjoy the drive to the school in Kinsale with Katie, and I drive her when my calendar allows it.
My eyes land on the long, sandy-coloured braid hanging over her shoulder. I learned how to do it for her by watching videos online. Never had I thought that task would fall on me, but here we are. I probably wouldn’t have learned a lot of different things if Tierney hadn’t died when Katie was born.
“Dad, are you listening to me?”
I turn on the indicator and nod during my turn into the school car park.
“Of course I’m listening.”
“It didn’t look that way to me.”
I sigh and put the car in park before turning off the ignition.
“I always try my best.” I rest my wrist on the steering wheel and grin down at her.
She grins back at me, and my heart squeezes in my chest. Katie looks more and more like her mother each day.
“You remember which bus will take you to the club?”
“Yup.” She pops the p and rolls her eyes at me. “We’ve gone through this a thousand times, Dad. I’m old enough to take the bus, and I know what I’m doing, okay?”
“Fine, fine.” I hold up my hands in defeat. “Text me when you get there.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Have a nice day, Katie.”
She unbuckles her seatbelt and then lunges, tightening her arms around me in a brief hug at the same time the school bell rings.
“See you tonight, Dad.”
Then she opens the door, slides out, and turns to get her backpack and gym bag that holds her riding clothes. Thank fuck she has a room at the club where she keeps her helmet and boots, so she doesn’t have to lug them around with her each week. Mind half on my schedule, I drive back to my village.
But the other half sweeps back to my new auburn-haired friend and our chat yesterday when we ran into each other. When she told me she didn’t find it easy to make new friends and implied it wasn’t the first time she’d had to move, a sharp pang hit my heart.
“I’ve never been good at making friends, so it’s hard.”
I rub my knuckle on my chest when my traitorous heart flip again.
I growl, annoyed at myself. I wish my protective instincts would leave things well enough alone for once.
I don’t have the time or energy to become involved with someone like her.
Someone who isn’t even certain she’ll want to stay here, and why is she even in Cloonmara to begin with?
The fact that I’m a single father only cements that.
I curse. I’ve never been in this situation before.
Since Tierney died, my sole focus has been on raising my daughter, to be there for her in every sense of the word, and to make sure she wants for nothing.
Maeve coming to the village mustn’t derail me.
But her eyes…Fuck, her eyes tell me there’s a story there. When she brushed against me yesterday and peeked up at me through her eyelashes, I had to suck in a breath. I could’ve sworn she felt the same shot of electricity that I did, and that is bad for my peace of mind.
My cock twitches against my jeans. I shift in my seat and take a deep breath, willing it to settle down.
My phone rings, breaking me out of my own head. I push on the steering wheel to answer.
“Lynch.”
“Whitaker.”
My lips stretch in a wide grin. “Well, well, well, look who can finally find the time to phone an old friend.”
Joseph’s chuckle fills my car. “I’m in London now. Thought it was past time I checked in.”
“It’s good to hear from you.”
Joseph has been my friend since we met in college in Cork. When he went on to become a part of the family business–luxury spas and getaways in the US–I worried we’d lose our friendship, but, somehow, we never did. Even our mothers still send each other Christmas cards each year.
We spend the next few minutes catching up and exchanging pleasantries.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks.
“Not much. I work the farm and raise my daughter.” I chuckle. “She’s learning to ride and getting new friends at the pony club.”
“For real?”
“Yup. I swear, she hasn’t an ounce of fear in her body.”
“You’ll have to send me some photos.”
“I will.”
“And how are you?”
“Good, good,” I hedge. “The same as always.”
“I think you’re keeping something from me, Aidan.”
I’m not surprised he sees right through me.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“Fuck, you’re annoying.”
“No, I’m tenacious. There’s a difference. You know it’s part of my charm.”
The silence stretches between us for a few seconds.
“There’s a newcomer in Cloonmara who unsettles me.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry.” I sigh. “She doesn’t unsettle me in a bad way.”
“She?”
“Yes, she. She’s the new detective sergeant.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I clench my teeth at the sound of his chuckle, but I know my friend. He’s like a dog with a bone now and won’t ease up until he’s sniffed out all the facts.
“Her name’s Maeve, and she’s rented a cottage down by the seafront. I don’t really know her that well yet, but we’ve chatted a couple of times. She’s nice.”
“Nice?” He starts laughing in earnest now. “I sense trouble coming your way, my friend. Trouble and fun all rolled together in one very nice package, and a big fat bow on the top, I’m sure.”
“Let it go, Joseph. Now.” My voice brooks no arguments.
His laughter dies as quickly as it began.
“What’s the problem?”
“There’s no problem,” I huff.
“Then how come a policewoman has you tied up in knots? Is she hot?”
“What are we, twenty?” I seethe. I crane my neck to check the traffic before I pull into my farm. “She’s attractive, and she’s nice. That’s it.”
“Right. I see.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Well, good luck with whatever it is about her that has you worked up like this.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, pulling into the parking spot behind the stables. “Look, I’ve got to go. But I’m glad you rang. It’s been too long.”
“I know. I’m in the middle of a big merger here in London, but I’ll try to come visit you and my goddaughter before Christmas.”
The tension ebbs away. “That’d be grand.”
“I have to go. Don’t forget to send me those photos.”
“I won’t. Bye.”
“Later.”
I put my car in park and turn it off. As soon as the engine dies down, I open the door and step down. The scents and sounds of my farm–of my home–fill my senses, and I push the conversation with Joseph to the far back of my mind.
I have work to do.
Both old and new friends must wait until I’m in the right frame of mind to revisit them.
The farm has been in my family for eight generations.
It’s as much a legacy as a part of life working here, day in and day out.
Being outside most days is gruelling, and the most rewarding thing that I can think of.
People who don’t lead this kind of life don’t understand how much we rely on the seasons changing at a specific pace.
They don’t realise that all the hours we spend are for the protection of future generations.
If there’s one thing my dad passed on to me, it’s the knowledge and understanding that being a farmer means learning from past mistakes and constantly evolving.
Both in terms of produce, but also for the sake of growing the business.
In the past few years, we’ve expanded our ecological range to include wild berries and the herb garden, and last year, I decided it was time to go beyond that, and that was when the idea for the alpacas and selling their wool to the yarn mill was born.
I walk through one of the polytunnels where we grow and cultivate the different greens and cabbages, and pride fills me as it always does when I see how far I’ve come with this particular business venture.
The numbers in the bank don’t lie, and while my dad wasn’t altogether sold on my ideas when I took over at his retirement five years ago, I know he’s proud that I proved him wrong.
I stop my wanderings and turn in a half-circle, taking in my employees doing their rounds in much the same way as I am.
This is where I belong. What I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’ll end up doing for the rest of my life.
Sometimes, though, I can’t help but wonder if the dream of sharing it with someone other than Katie and my parents would be such a bad idea. What it would feel like to walk the same steps with someone’s fingers entwined with mine instead of doing it alone.
But deep down I know that the dream died with Tierney, so I’m resigned to walk alone instead.
It’s safer that way.