Page 9 of Tee’d Up For Trouble

“No, thank God, I’m not.” I grinned. “I’m good with the stew and the bread pudding,ma’am. And to drink…whatever you recommend that’s on tap.”

She huffed. “We don’t have any of that fancy IPA shit you Yanks like.”

“Something local,” I suggested, and that softened her.

“Well.” She pulled a beer for me and set it in front of me. “This is a Dooliner Irish Lager. It’s brewed right here near the Cliff of Moher.”

I took a sip and nodded appreciatively.

“Lass, get me another Smitticks, will ya?” Liam asked.

Dee pulled him a pint, and as she watched me staring at the red liquid, she arched an eyebrow. “It’s an Irish red ale, spelled Smithwick but pronounced Smitticks.”

I nodded.

“It’s smooth, slightly sweet, and a classic choice for those like Liam Murphy who can’t handle their Guinness anymore,” she explained with sarcastic saccharine sweetness.

Liam growled. “Now, don’t be insultin’, Dee. Every Irish man worth his salt takes pride in drinkin’ a perfectly poured pint of Guinness.” Then he looked at me as he rubbed his chest. “But it gives me heartburn these days.”

Dee went to the other end of the bar to take care of a patron, and another older man who was wiry and wore thick glasses, who was sitting at a table near us, walked up and thumped Liam on his back. “You gotta stop playin’ with fire, Liam. Dee won’t just kick you out. She’ll kick us all out.”

The man looked at me. “You the Yank with the Porsche?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who you callin’sir?” He turned to his companion at the table. “He’s callin’ me sir,” he complained.

“You can callmesir.” His companion, who was balding and wore suspenders, came up to where Liam and I sat. He pulled at the suspenders, leading with a pot belly. “Sir Cillian, I like it.”

I was introduced to the other two men:SirCillian and Liam Ryan. According to them, the two Liams and one Cillian were the Three Musketeers of Ballybeg. Liam joined his friends at the table to play cards. As I looked around, I realized that The Banshee’s Rest was a community center of sorts for the village. There were families, people young and old, and a sense of camaraderie that was probably prevalent in small towns and villages. Definitely very different from Charleston.

The server came up behind me. “Pardon my reach. Here’s your stew.”

I moved to let her set the big bowl, a plate of thick soda bread, and a small bowl of whipped herb butter in front of him. “Enjoy. Ronan makes the best stew in all of Ireland.”

I glanced at the steaming bowl, which smelled like heaven. “If this tastes as good as it smells, I might just move in.”

She fluttered her eyelashes at me. “You should,” she said breathlessly.

“Go on, girl.” Dee banged her hand on the weathered counter, making me jump.

The server made a face. “She thinks you’re too old for me,” she complained.

I blinked.Say what?

“I said you’re rich enough to be as old as you like.”

I cleared my throat. If there was a candid camera somewhere, I wanted them to let me knownow. “Ah, I’m flattered, but Dee is right, I am too old for?—”

“Get going, Saoirse,” Dee snapped.

The server flipped her auburn braid and marched away.

“You keep your pants zipped up around that one,” she warned.

Okay, that was taking it too far. “She’s a child, and that warning is insulting.” I couldn’t keep the anger or hurt out of my voice.

Dee immediately (and surprisingly) became sheepish. “Ah…you’re right. That wasn’t fair. You want another beer? On the house.”

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