Resourceful (Portrait of a Woman #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

re·source·ful

ADJECTIVE

Having the ability to find quick and clever ways to overcome difficulties.

“ T he legend of the tattooed clover?” I asked above the slow, crooning Irish singer in the corner, and spilled my martini in the process.

My best friends and I sat at a wooden table by the crackling fire in the back of McGinny’s Pub, celebrating. The Irish bar was a favorite of ours. The conversation this evening had turned interesting, to say the least, just as I had hoped.

Only, I had to have heard Harm wrong….

“You heard me right, Tiffany.” Harmony Jones chuckled as though she’d read my mind and then chugged her beer.

I eyed her skeptically. Harm lived to shock people—hence her red spiky hair, body piercings, and voodoo hobby—so when she talked, we took what she had to say with a grain of salt.

“I’m serious this time. Some woman came into my shop this morning, asking about all my New Age stuff. We started talking, and she filled me in on this juicy rumor.” Harm paused as she met each of our eyes in turn. “I repeat. Any of you babes heard about the legend of the tattooed clover penis, or what?”

I wiped up the martini drops with a cocktail napkin, and a smile crept across my face. The girls had come through for me again. This was exactly what I needed tonight. Something outrageous enough to keep me from freaking out over getting old.

I abhorred change.

Zoe Robinson choked on her chardonnay. “Good Lord in Heaven, no,” she chimed in after regaining her breath, her caramel curls bouncing off her shoulders and her amber eyes an inch wide.

It didn’t take much to shock Zoe. She acted so innocent. You’d never know the darling had just had a secret affair with a younger man. He was only a few years younger, but it still counted. Harm had thrown even me for a loop this time, and I taught sensual massage for a living.

“I heard about that.” Morticia Smith’s dark eyes twinkled as she adjusted the knot of black silky hair at the nape of her neck.

That was about all you’d get from Morti without prodding. Growing up around a funeral home, she had always related better to the dead than the living. As her best friends, we were the exception. We knew the real her. The funny, sensitive, charming her.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” I held up a hand before they could say anything, because trust me, they were about to pounce on that lovely little faux pas. “Scratch that.” I winced. Usually, I had a way with words, but obviously not tonight. I tried again. “What I meant to say is, what exactly is the legend of the tattooed clover penis?”

Harmony shot Morticia a pleading, hopeful look. “Do you want to do the honors, or can I?”

“The floor’s all yours, Harm.” Morti sat back and took a drink of her diet cola and then folded her hands in her lap.

“Yes!” Harm made a fist and punched the air. Twice. “Listen up, babes, cuz this is good.” She leaned in. “Rumor has it, there’s a guy in town who has a tattoo.”

“A tattoo? So do you, doll. Several, in fact.” I arched one eyebrow high. “And that’s legend-worthy how?”

“I might have a couple tattoos, but not on my thingypoo.” Harm snorted and then frowned. “Not that I have a thingypoo.” She waved her hands. “Oh, hell, you get the point.”

“What on earth would possess someone to do that?” Zoe cringed and shook her head. “That has to be painful.”

“Wait, it gets better.” Morti’s mysterious and rare Mona Lisa smile played at the corners of her full lips.

“There’s more?” I laughed. “What could possibly be better than a man with a tattoo on his penis?”

Harm chuckled. “The tattoo is of a four-leaf clover.”

“I gathered as much,” I said, pointing out, “the legend has clover right in the name. How are clovers legendary?”

“Because not every clover has four leaves.” Morti held up a finger. “Tell them the rest of the legend, Harm.”

“Well, the story goes the guy has a tattoo of a clover on his penis, but you can only see the fourth leaf if you get lucky. Meaning, you make him grow hard, he sprouts a fourth leaf.” Harm burst out laughing. “Gotta admit that is legend-worthy.”

“Oh, good God,” Zoe croaked, fanning her face. “I don’t believe that. Who would do such a thing?”

“That’s the kicker.” Harmony glanced at Morticia. “You sure you don’t wanna tell them the rest, babe?”

Morti laughed. “Hell, you’re on a roll, sister, take it away.”

“The man with the clover is the one and only big strapping Irishman and local pub entrepreneur himself, Mr. Matthew McGinnis.” Harm sat back, looking way too pleased with her little ole’ self.

Meanwhile, I started to hyperventilate. I fanned my face and the firelight reflected off my rings, sending colors of the rainbow dancing across our table.

“Are you okay?” Concern puckered Zoe’s forehead.

“I’m fine. Hot flash.” I pulled at my neckline. It wasn’t a lie. A wave of heat had most definitely flashed through my every cell over that thought. I cleared my throat…twice. “M-Matt McGinnis you say?”

“In the flesh.” Harm grinned wide. “At least I wish he was in the flesh. I’d love to take a gander at that laddy boy’s shamrock.”

Matthew McGinnis had moved to small town Mayflower, Massachusetts, to take over his uncle’s Irish pub, and we’d been flirting ever since. He kept stopping by my massage parlor, but we always seemed to miss each other. In fact, it had been a while since I’d even seen him before tonight. The last time being at this very table when I’d celebrated the fifth anniversary of my divorce over a month ago.

A sobering thought settled into my brain. Maybe he’d lost interest. Shoving that thought to the back of my mind, I refused to believe I’d lost my touch. Maybe it was time I renewed my acquaintance with Mr. McShamrock.

“Wow, who would have thought a man like Matt would get a tattoo of any kind, let alone one there?” Zoe studied the blond giant behind the bar. “He seems so conservative, and, well…normal.”

“Hey, I have tattoos. Are you saying I’m not normal?” Harm arched her auburn brows as she leaned back in her chair.

“Of course you’re normal.” I patted her hand. “Tattoos are great, doll, but I’m with Zoe. Matthew McGinnis does not seem like the kind of person who would get one like that and especially there .”

Harmony eyed the hulk of a man as he smiled wide, his dimples sinking deep, and his animated conversation captivating everyone around him. “He looks big enough to sprout a fourth leaf to me.”

“That he does.” Morticia’s gaze followed Harmony’s, and I knew full well they were mentally devouring the massive shoulders, broad chest, and impressive bulge even I couldn’t take my eyes off. “He’s gonna make some woman very happy if she gets lucky enough to see that fourth leaf.”

“I was born lucky,” I heard myself say.

Three pairs of eyes whipped back around to lock on me. I laughed, feigning confidence, when I felt anything but. What was wrong with me? I was never this insecure.

“Do I detect a bet?” Harm asked.

Leave it to Harmony to jump on what I’d said and hold me to it. “Depends on the wager,” I answered, studying my manicure as though I didn’t have a care in the world.

“I got twenty bucks that says you can’t put that rumor to bed.” Harm’s grin stretched so wide she looked like the star in a toothpaste commercial, filling me with an urge to grab a yellow sharpie and color her teeth.

“Surely you jest.” I scoffed. “I simply meant I could get him to ask me out, not that I would sleep with him.”

“I didn’t say you had to sleep with him, but if you do, lucky you. I just want proof of the infamous clover. But, hey, if you can’t handle the bet, then?—”

“I can handle it just fine…literally.” I matched her grin with a tilt of my chin and a raise of my brow. “But for what you’re asking me to do, you’d better make it fifty.”

“Deal. You’ve got twenty-four hours to prove if the tattoo exists or not.” Harm slapped her hand on the table. “Anyone else in?”

“What the hell, I’ll match her fifty.” Morti tapped her fist twice on the table. “Curiosity killed the cat, and all.” She shrugged.

“Well, since you did bet on me several times not very long ago, I’m in too.” Zoe winced. “Sorry, Tiff, what’s fair is fair.”

“It’s really no big deal, ladies. I just have to get Matt to ask me out and then prove the tattoo exists or doesn’t exist. Piece of cake.” Or at least it would have been a piece of cake before I’d lost my confidence.

Damn birthdays .

I stood and smoothed my hands down the front of my favorite periwinkle blue, strapless, silk dress in the same shade as my eyes. Fingering the diamond at my neck, I stared at Matt. Curly hair, chiseled features, and a booming laugh that made me smile every time I heard it. Renewed confidence filled me. Some simple flirting, a little conversation, and I’d have my answer, not to mention a lovely little boost to my ego.

How hard could it be?

So not going there…at least not yet.

“Ladies, I’ll be right back with another round.” I flipped my long blonde waves over my shoulder and focused on Matt, putting an extra swing in my step as I made my way over to the bar, ignoring the giggles behind me. I could do this. I had to, for a much-needed confidence boost.

I sidled up to the bar, untied the silk scarf around my neck, and let it drape over my shoulders. Resting my forearms on the slick, granite countertop, I leaned in just enough for the kill.

Only the kill never came.

Matt tended to every single person at the bar, keeping me waiting—I never waited—then he finally swaggered down to my end, never once lowering his gaze to my cleavage. Granted, I might not have Double Ds like Zoe, but I was a nice, respectable, solid C, dammit.

Something was very wrong with this picture.

“Ms. Eisenhower.” Matt nodded. “What brings ye out this fine evening?” His deep voice sent a ripple through my stomach as though I were a cello he had just strummed, and a warm smile spread across his rugged face, heating my insides.

At least I hoped the heat was from his smile, and I wasn’t experiencing my first actual hot flash. I shuddered, turning my focus back to more appealing thoughts. Matt’s smile was genuine enough, but it didn’t quite reach his bedroom eyes.

I toyed with a cocktail napkin, looking up at him through my lashes. “Well, doll, I’m celebrating again.”

He leaned on an elbow, his bicep bulging, and arched a blond shaggy brow. “Another divorce?”

“Hardly, darling. One marriage was enough to last me a lifetime. I don’t make mistakes twice.”

“Good motto. I try not to make mistakes, period.” He winked, but something still felt wrong. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “So, what are ye celebrating?” he asked.

“My birthday.”

“Really, now.” He nodded once. “Well, happy birthday to ya, lass.” He dried a wine glass, his hands looking huge against the delicate crystal, then he hung the glass from the wooden slats above the bar.

“You’re not going to ask how old I am?”

He laughed a hearty boom, his green McGinny’s t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, revealing the flex of his impressive pecs. “I come from a big family. I know better than that.” He wiped off the counter with a rag and then slung the cloth over his shoulder. “So what can I get for ye?”

“A glass of chardonnay, whatever you have on tap, a diet cola, and a martini—shaken, not stirred.” I licked my lips. “And make it dirty, would you, doll?”

“Coming right up.” He moved behind the bar with such ease, looking as though he’d spent the better part of his life there. Rumor had it, he grew up in Dublin.

My gaze dropped, and I couldn’t help staring at his firm gluts encased oh-so-nicely in a pair of tight-fitting jeans. I sighed, having forgotten just how hot Matt was, and the image of expanding clover tattoos and sprouting leaves danced behind my eyes.

Gracious. I tore my gaze away and sat before I fell. I had to get ahold of myself, or I’d come undone right here and now on this barstool, but I couldn’t help it. The man was a living, breathing legend. I glanced at my best friends and shot them a sultry smile.

“That’ll be forty dollars, please.”

My smile slipped, and all I could do was turn around and gape at the man. He was charging me? Last time I was here, he’d bought the girls and me a round of drinks on the house, but now he was charging me on my birthday?

I snapped my jaw closed and forced a smile. “Um, I forgot my purse at my table.”

“That’s okay, I can wait.” His smile never wavered. In fact, I was quite certain his dimples had deepened.

Unbelievable .

This had never happened to me, and quite frankly, I had no idea how to handle it. “Peachy.” I straightened and retied my scarf, so it covered my cleavage. Why waste that on a man who obviously didn’t have any taste at all. “I’ll, um, be back in a sec.”

I headed to our table with dread, and the Irish singer’s gaze met mine as though he’d seen it all go down, his sad wailing voice vibrating beneath my Jimmy Choos. I straightened my shoulders and ignored the man who had to be related to Matt. He looked just like him. I didn’t want sympathy…

I wanted justice.

“Where are the drinks? Do you need help carrying them?” Zoe glanced beyond me toward the bar.

“Oh, I’ve got it covered. I just forgot my purse, so I?—”

“You have to pay for them?” Morti’s dark brows shot up clear to her hairline. “That’s gotta be a first.”

“Hardly.” I shrugged off her comment. But I had to admit, I’d at least expected a complimentary birthday drink for me.

“Get out.” Harm gawked at me. “See what happens when you turn forty? Looks like I win. Time to pay up, babes.”

“Not so fast. You haven’t won anything yet, thank you very much.” I snatched up my purse and marched back to the bar, ignoring the curious glances the regulars sent my way, petrified that Harmony was right. But I refused to believe that would happen.

I wouldn’t allow it to happen.

I slid a fifty-dollar bill onto the bar. “Keep the tip, doll.” I winked.

“Thanks. Enjoy yer birthday.” Matt headed to the other end of the counter without so much as a single backward glance.

“Oh, I will, you can count on that.” I picked up the tray of drinks and strolled back to our table with as much dignity as I could muster.

So, this was how crashing and burning felt. For as long as I could remember, even back in high school, I had never been shot down. With my divorce, I’d been the one to ask for it, and I got it.

This could not be happening to me.

“The day that Tiffany Eisenhower can’t score is a sad day indeed. Now all hope is lost.” Harm chugged her beer. “We’d better enjoy tonight cuz it’s downhill from here.”

“How would you know? You’re not even forty yet.” I drained my martini. “And I’ll have you know the last time I looked in the mirror, everything was still firmly uphill.”

“Good genes will do that for you.” Morti drank her diet cola. “Eventually everything heads south…or so I’m told.”

“Girls, just because Tiff’s forty doesn’t mean her life is over.” Zoe smiled dreamily. “Look what happened to me when I turned forty.”

Zoe’s husband of twenty years had run off, leaving her with four children to raise. But she was resilient. She’d picked herself up, made a big success of her party-planning business when she won the bid for Mayor Edward’s Annual Labor Day Bash, and she’d gotten engaged to the town’s hot new Hunky Dr. Chaz Anderson.

“Yeah, well, you got lucky.” Harm snorted. “But it looks like Tiff won’t.”

“Girls, I paid for my own drinks, that’s all. It’s not like that’s never happened before.” I bit the end of the olive off, my gaze wandering back to the enigma behind the bar as though a magnet had reeled me in. “The bet’s still on, and the night is still young.”

Twenty-four hours…I swallowed hard.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?