Sherryl Woods - Lilac Lane

Though she was touched by the sentiment in his voice and on his face, she frowned at his words. “I’m only staying temporarily,” she reminded him. “Even if that work visa finally comes through, it won’t last forever. Don’t be thinking of this move as permanent.”

“I’m hoping you’ll change your mind about that. We all are.” He beckoned a young man over. “Connor, please tell Kiera that everything will work out in the end.”

“I’m doing everything I can to speed things along,” Connor assured her.

“And I’ve made a few calls myself,” Mick O’Brien said, joining them.

Connor scowled at his father. “Dad, haven’t I warned you that your meddling with immigration could actually make things more difficult?”

Mick looked undaunted by the criticism. “Haven’t you learned by now that contacts are to be used cleverly when you have them?”

“And now I’m the cause of a family squabble,” Kiera said with regret.

All three men laughed. “Not to worry, Kiera,” Mick assured her. “Connor and I could squabble over the color of the sky. It doesn’t mean anything. One of these days he’ll come to respect my judgment, rather than taking issue with my attempts to help. I think standing his ground with me has made him far more effective in the courtroom, though I doubt he’ll admit that, either.”

“I can’t deny that I’ve had more experience at winning lively debates than most of the lawyers I encounter,” Connor said. He grinned at Mick. “I will thank you for that, at least.” He gave Kiera a reassuring look. “Stop worrying. Leave that to me.”

Mick nodded. “You are in good hands, Kiera.”

His words seemed as much of a shock to Connor as they were a reassurance to her.

“Now, why don’t we grab some of Ma’s apple pie before it’s all gone?” Mick said. “I know where there’s an extra quart of vanilla ice cream to go with it.” He feigned a dark scowl for Dillon’s benefit. “Don’t tell Ma I know about her secret stash in the spare refrigerator on the back porch.”

“Not a chance,” Dillon said. “I’m happy to learn of it myself. Now when she tells me we’re all out of my favorite ice cream, I can see for myself if she’s fibbing to keep me from overindulging.”

Kiera was swept off on the sound of the men conspiring and on the reassurance of Mick O’Brien’s confidence. She wanted desperately to believe that Connor had her situation under control, and Mick’s faith in his son made her more hopeful than she’d been just minutes ago.

* * *

For a few blissful days Kiera allowed herself to recuperate from the unfamiliar effects of jet lag. She indulged in playing with little Kate, who, as predicted, was a constant source of joy, even when her temper kicked in to remind Kiera of how impossible Moira had been at the same age and, truth be told, well beyond it.

But by the end of her first week in Chesapeake Shores, she was anxious to get to the pub and see for herself just how well Luke had re-created a bit of Ireland here on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland.

To ensure that he couldn’t put her off yet again, she was dressed and ready by nine in the morning, the time he usually kissed Kate goodbye and headed to O’Brien’s to handle paperwork and such before the pub opened for lunch. She had Kate in her carrier, ready to go along, as well. Moira had gone off to a meeting with Megan to look through some of her latest pictures, which fit in quite nicely with Kiera’s plan.

“What’s this?” Luke asked, regarding the two of them suspiciously as they sat on the front porch when he emerged from the house.

“We thought we’d accompany you to work this morning,” Kiera said brightly. “We won’t stay too long. Moira’s just down the street meeting with Megan, so we can catch a ride home with her or walk back on our own, since it’s such a lovely spring day with not a cloud in the sky.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Clearly you’ve thought of everything.”

Kiera nodded. “I tried to be thorough.”

“So you’ve tired of just hanging around the house babysitting?”

“I will never tire of being with my precious granddaughter, but I want to see the inside of this pub of yours so I can start making a contribution. You can tell me what your needs and expectations are, as well.”

Luke nodded, an unexpected grin spreading across his face.

“What is it about this that has you smiling?” Kiera asked.

“Your daughter owes me a fancy dinner at Brady’s,” he said. “I told her your patience was unlikely to last another day. She was sure you’d make it through another week.”

“The two of you have been making bets about this?”

Luke immediately looked guilty. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have told you that. It’s just something that we do when we see things differently, a way to take advantage of whichever one of us is proven right in the end.”

“My Moira isn’t enough of a challenge as it is?” Kiera asked.

Luke laughed. “Oh, she will never stop being a challenge, that’s for sure, but she’s mellowed since she’s been here. I think she’s mostly content with her life.”

“I’m glad for that,” Kiera told him. “She didn’t have an easy time of it growing up, between never really knowing her dad and me working nonstop just to keep our heads above water. I know she saw how bitter and resentful I was, but I doubt she realized how much of it rubbed off on her and changed her own view of the world. I’ve seen that mellowing you’re talking about since I’ve been here. I’ve heard it in her voice when we’ve talked on the phone. You, your family, this place, it’s all been good for her.”

“I think maybe it’s Megan who’s done the most for her. Learning that she has a genuine, sought-after talent has given Moira a self-confidence she was lacking when we met. She was spirited enough, but it was based on sheer grit and stubbornness. Now it’s grounded in a sense of self-worth.”

Kiera gave him an appraising look. “You know her well.”

“I love her,” he said simply. “I think I did from the day we met. Knowing her well took a little more time and a lot more understanding.”

Kiera was surprised by his openness about his feelings and his maturity. “I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you better, Luke O’Brien. You’re a fine man.”

“We’ll see how you feel after you’ve worked with me for a time,” he said.

Kiera laughed. “I’ve worked for a tyrant or two in my day,” she said. “You’ll hold no surprises if you turn out to be another one.”

“Hopefully not a tyrant,” he said.

“We’ll see what your staff says about that,” she said. “Now tell me about them.”

On the quick drive to the pub, he ran through the short list of waitstaff, many of whom were college students working part-time. “You’ll be working most closely with the chef, Bryan Laramie,” he concluded. “Bryan’s pretty easygoing, but he considers the kitchen his domain.”

“The name doesn’t sound Irish.”

Luke chuckled at that. “No, Bryan’s a New Yorker by birth, a graduate of the Culinary Institute, who landed somehow in Baltimore working at a deli. I’ve never heard the whole story about that. He doesn’t talk much about himself or his past.”

“Isn’t a deli one of those places known for matzo ball soup and pastrami on rye sandwiches?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Why would you hire someone like that to run the kitchen in an Irish pub?” Kiera asked.

“Of all the applicants, Moira and I liked him the best. And Nell put him to a test with some of her best recipes and he won the position hands down over two others we considered. You’ll see. He knows his way around the kitchen and we’re building something of a reputation for the quality of our food, as well as for our selection of ale and the fine Irish music we bring in on the weekends.”