Page 53 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

“It’s got potential. Let me look at the prospectus, and then…Brad and I’ll see what’s what.” I was grinding my teeth together, fighting to keep my cool.

“Hey, you should check the village out if it’s close to where you are. Maybe you can get that woman…whatever her name is to sell. I’ll talk to my guy in?—”

The minute he talked to Cillian about me, the jig would be up.

“Sorry, man, off to London to meet the Nike people. I told you I was here for the sponsors.”

“Ah, well, too bad.”

We talked some more before I hung up, wanting to fling my phone across the room. I knew Gil Hampton. I knew he didn’t leave things to chance. He had this as tight as a virgin in a nunnery.

“All okay?” Dee asked tentatively. She put a hand on mine, and I realized that she could probably see how I felt.

I slowed my breathing and cleared my face. Telling her what I found out wasn’t going to help her. It would only hurt.

I’d known this resort project was bad news since I found out that Big Gil was involved, but hearing him talk about this gorgeous village and its people like they were just a line item on a spreadsheet made me want to punch a hole in the wall.

But then he didn’t feel how I did, and he never would. Big Gil’s God, like my father’s, was money.

Many locals considered The Banshee’s Rest their second home. It buzzed with life and energy, and the community came to gather there. It wasn’t just a pile of bricks that needed to be razed to make room for potential profits.

“It’s all good, darlin’ Dee. I’m just…juggling a few things.”

“If I can help, let me know.”

“You can. Come here and kiss me.”

Saoirse cleared her throat, smothering a laugh, and Dee hissed. “Jax,” she muttered.

I put my hands on the counter, palms flat against the cool surface, and pushed myself up with ease, like gravity didn’t apply to me. So, I was showing off for my girl a little.

My feet left the ground, and in one smooth motion, I was level with her. Her breath hitched as I closed the distance, my knees bracing lightly against the counter’s edge. Then, with her face inches from mine, I leaned in and kissed her, slow and deliberate, like I had all the time in the world.

When I pulled back and got back on my feet, Dee looked poleaxed.

“Now, I’m all hot and bothered,” Saoirse claimed, fanning herself with her hand.

“Imagine how I feel,” Dee murmured.

I packed my stuff and took it to my room. Then, standing by the window, I called Brad. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do, but one thing was certain, I wasn’t going to let Gil Hampton—or anyone else—destroy Ballybeg.

“Jax, what’s up, man?”

“I need your help,” I said.

CHAPTER20

Dee

Rain or shine, grief or joy, when St. Paddy’s Day rolled around, Ballybeg celebrated with bells on. So even though my heart was heavy, and I had no answers for the village’s troubles—or for the fact that I couldn’t pay the farm’s upcoming taxes, knowing that in a few months, everything could change—I refused to let any of it darken my mood as the whole village celebrated.

Green streamers hung from the ceiling of The Banshee’s Rest, and shamrocks cut from faded construction paper were pinned to the walls.

Ronan had made an enormous sign and hung it behind the bar, which read: "Sláinte! Don’t blame the Guinness!"

He’d been cooking up a storm as well. The smell of Irish stew, soda bread, and a variety of pies wafted in from the kitchen, and we liberally served beer and whiskey. Outside, the sky was a pale gray—because, of course, it was—and probably would be, no matter if there was a resort here, I thought smugly.

Mickey had dusted off his bagpipes and stationed himself near the door, puffing away on a tune that sounded suspiciously likeDanny Boy, but who could say? Last year, Mickey’s friend, Tiernan, had played the bagpipes (he knew how to) for the last time. He’d passed away a few weeks after, peacefully in his sleep, after playing the tunes at The Banshee’s Rest every St. Patrick’s Day for nearly fifty years.

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