Chapter 2
Anyone visiting or even just passing through Mercy could be forgiven for thinking that The Salted Bone had been transplanted straight from Ireland.
Never mind that it had stood, in some shape or form, at the very heart of Mercy for over three hundred years.
Over time it had transformed from a barn to a rowdy taproom to a coach house before morphing into its current incarnation of a traditional Irish pub.
Despite the many changes the years brought, one fact was certain, if asked, any resident of Mercy, young or old, would know that a Murphy had stood at its helm since the town’s founding.
Jackson hummed quietly to himself as he wiped another glass and set it on the shelf above the bar.
He could’ve said it had been the bell above the door that had first alerted him to his newest customer or simply his habit of watching the door, but the truth was, he’d have known without looking when she walked through the door.
There was just something about her, a kind of aura that caused the air to crackle with electricity in her wake.
Oh aye, a firecracker that one was, Jackson thought to himself. He watched her with patient eyes as she scanned the room nervously before landing on him. She almost seemed to hesitate for a moment before crossing the room and sliding onto a seat at the bar.
“Evenin’.” His mouth curved into his trademark smile. “What can I get you this fine autumn eve?”
“A beer, please,” she murmured, her head tilting as she studied him, charmed by his lilting West Country brogue. “Whatever you’ve got on tap will be fine.”
“Ah, a woman after me own heart.”
“With a smile like that, I imagine you have half the women in town after your heart,” she observed.
“Oh, darlin’, if only that were true.” He grinned. “But it’s not usually me heart they’re after.”
She huffed in amusement. “I’ll bet.”
“You new in town then?” he asked conversationally as he slid her pint across the glossy wooden bar. “Visiting or just passing through?”
“Neither.” She shook her head as she picked up the glass and took a dainty sip. “I’ve just moved back and have a place up by the lake.”
“The lake?” he repeated in surprise. “So, you’d be a West then?”
“Olivia.” She offered her hand.
“Jackson Murphy.” He shook her hand, then resumed his task of wiping down the clean glasses. “I was very fond of your Evelyn. She’d come in every Sunday for a pot roast and a Guinness.”
“She was my great aunt,” Olivia muttered, biting back the ruthless pang of dejection.
“I was sorry to hear of her passing,” Jackson told her as he watched her. “We all went to her funeral; I don’t recall seeing you.”
“I wasn’t there.” Olivia answered, trying not to let the resentment seep into her tone. “I didn’t find out about her death until after her funeral.” Not that she’d have wanted me there… she almost added. “Did you know her well?”
“She and our Owen rubbed along famously,” Jackson told her, his tone laced with fondness.
“Owen?”
“Ah, beggin’ your pardon, of course you wouldn’t know who Owen is,” he apologized.
“Owen is our cook, a great brute of a man given to fits of temper, but he cooks like a dream, so we make allowances for his poor social graces. He and Evie got on like a barn of fire. They often traded recipes and such.”
Olivia picked up a menu and scanned it in interest. “So the food here is good?”
“It is, even if I do say so myself.” Jackson gave a confident nod. “Do you have an appetite then, Olivia?”
“I do.” Her mouth curved. “I’ve been surviving on cereal and coffee while I unpack. I’m still working my way up to grocery shopping.”
“Well then, if I might,” he offered. “Owen’s beef stew is enough to make a grown man weep with gratitude. It sticks to the ribs and has a fine flavor. Just the thing for a chilly October eve.”
“Sounds great.” She smiled.
“Beef stew it is then.” Jackson slapped his hand down on the bar. “Shelley, darlin’.” He flagged down a pretty honey blonde waitress as she swung by with an empty tray. “A beef stew for Mercy’s newest arrival.”
“No problem.” Shelley cast Olivia a welcoming smile before turning her attention back to Jackson. “Two cokes, a white wine, and a Guinness please, Jackson.”
He nodded in acknowledgement and reached for a glass. Olivia watched in fascination as he grasped one of the large taps and began to build the pint of Guinness layer by layer.
“Are you new in town then?” Shelley asked.
“Old,” Olivia answered. “Just moved back.”
“This is Evie’s great niece,” Jackson nodded toward Olivia.
“Olivia?” Shelley’s eyes widened in recognition and Olivia’s heart sank. “I remember you. We went to school together. I was a couple of years ahead of you and Louisa Gilbert. Have you seen her yet?”
“I ran into her the other day,” Olivia replied ambiguously.
“I’m sure she was really happy to see you.” Shelley picked up the tray and offered her a genuine smile. “Well, welcome home. I’ll get that stew for you.”
“Thanks,” Olivia muttered in relief. It was obvious from the look in her eyes that Shelley knew all about her family’s past but was being polite enough to not mention it.
She turned to find Jackson watching her, and she cleared her throat, intending to change the subject before he could ask any questions. “The accent, is it real?”
“Certainly, it is.” He chuckled as he filled another glass with soda and dropped a slice of lemon in.
“My mother is American. She was born and bred in Mercy along with my uncle, but she fell in love with my Da, who was passing through on his travels, and when he left, she went with him. They still run a pub of their own back in County Clare.”
“That’s sweet.” She propped her cheek on her fist, lulled by his musical accent. “How’d you end up in Mercy?”
“My uncle died,” he replied.
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know him.” Jackson shrugged. “But he didn’t have any family, other than my Ma, so he left the pub to me. I thought I might try my luck serving my American cousins across the pond.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Let’s see now.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “Must be over ten years.”
“You must like it here then?”
“Oh aye,” he mumbled as he watched Shelley swing back through the door from the kitchen, balancing a steaming bowl of stew on her tray. “There’s a lot to like.”
One of Olivia’s brows rose as she watched him.
“It’s a good job the women of Mercy aren’t after your heart,” she said as his sharp blue gaze landed on her. “I get the feeling it isn’t free.”
“Well, aren’t you the perceptive one?” He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Have you a bit of witch in you then?” He teased.
“Doesn’t everyone in Mercy?” she replied in amusement.
“True.” He grinned as Shelley approached.
“Would you like me to find you a table?” Shelley offered.
“Here’s fine.” Olivia shook her head as Shelley slid the piping hot bowl in front of her, along with a plate of warm, fragrant freshly baked rolls. Beside them she set a roll of silverware wrapped in a crisp white napkin.
“God, that smells good.” Olivia breathed in as the spicy scent rose from the dish.
“It’s one of Owen’s signature dishes. Enjoy!” Shelley replied and turned back to Jackson and began loading the drinks order onto her tray.
“Where’s Adam?” Jackson asked.
“I think he’s out back on a cigarette break,” she answered.
“Can you tell him to hurry up?” Jackson muttered as he glanced at the time. “The movie theater will be emptying out soon and it’ll start to pick up.”
Shelley hesitated.
“What is it?” he asked sensing her reluctance.
“Um, it’s just that.” She paused, toying with the tie on her servers apron. “Stu called. I can’t work this Thursday. He needs me, some work thing with his boss.”
“This Thursday?” Jackson replied in an even tone, his eyes giving nothing away.
“Yes.” She gave a reluctant nod.
“Shelley, you’ve spent months trying to book the band coming in on Thursday, they’re your favorite.”
“I know,” she sighed. “But sometimes I need to put his needs first. His career is important to him.”
“It seems to me that you do plenty for him,” Jackson replied, his jaw clenching. “Perhaps, he should think of you occasionally.”
“He does,” she snapped defensively. “He’s not as bad as you think.”
“You really don’t want to know what I think,” Jackson mumbled under his breath.
“Can I have the night off or not?” Shelley frowned.
“The truth is, I don’t know as I can spare you,” he huffed in frustration.
“Josie says she’ll cover for me, and I’ll work my night off instead,” she replied.
“Fine.” His tone was curt, and his expression neutral. Olivia got the distinct impression he wasn’t so much mad at Shelley but for her.
“I really am sorry, Jackson.” Shelley frowned. “But I can’t please everyone.”
“No, I imagine not, but then again, I’m the one who pays your wages.”
“Yes, you are,” she murmured. “But he’s the one I have to live with.”
Jackson watched silently as she picked up the tray and disappeared into the rapidly expanding crowd, his jaw tight and eyes guarded.
A sudden loud crash had both Olivia and Jackson turning their heads in the direction of the kitchen as a tall sandy-haired guy darted through the swinging doors.
“What the hell’s going on, Adam?” Jackson frowned.
“You’d better go deal with Owen.” Adam lifted the walk-through and slid behind the warm cherry wood bar. “He’s on a tear again.”
“Oh for the... What this time?” Jackson rolled his eyes and gave a deep sigh of exasperation.
Olivia watched in interest as he ducked under the bar and took off toward the kitchen as Adam took his place.
“Can I get you another?” Adam nodded toward her empty glass.
She shook her head. “I’m driving, but I’ll take a coke.”