Page 21 of Bracing The Storm

I point at the filled bookshelves. “You buy them with your own money?”

Sinead nods again. “The books are free to borrow for everyone. Help yourself on your way out. Just make sure to bring it back once you’re done. Around here, people still think of others and share.”

“I might actually take you up on your offer. It’s very generous of you. You don’t even know me.”

Her smile brightens a little more at that, and she points at the glass counter. “We trust each other, probably because everyone knows everyone and we look out for each other. You don’t find this in the bigger cities. It’s rare that someone moves away or even wants to. What can I get you?”

I glance at the counter even though I can’t make out much from this distance. “Anything local would be great.”

“Coming right up.” She shimmies her way to get my order while she continues chatting. “Are you staying in one of the guest rooms? I think Mrs. Dowers is the only one who’s currently offering B&B. All the others are closed this time of the year.”

“No. I’m staying up on the hill, at the Walsh residence.”

The room is suddenly bathed in silence. I peer at Sinead, unsure whether she heard me. I notice she keeps her head bowed over something, so I can’t read her expression, but her hands are frozen in their movement. And then she clears her throat, andreturns to my table, carrying a tray with two mugs and two plates with what looks like scones.

She pushes one of the plates toward me. “Hope you’ll like it.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I will.” I take a bite, and my taste buds are instantly hit by the aroma of ground almonds. I moan and roll my eyes in delight. “Delicious.”

“I’m glad. The Walsh residence. Fancy. I didn’t know Patrick had visitors.” Her eyes narrow a little, as though the idea doesn’t sit well with her.

“He doesn’t.” I force myself to swallow the food in my mouth before replying. “I doubt he’d have me over if he wasn’t forced to. Luckily for me, he can’t get rid of me. It’s not for lack of trying though.”

Her brows shoot up and the glimmer of curiosity from before returns. “Really? How so?”

“I’m the new owner. The late Ms. Walsh left her estate to me. It’s a long story.” I don’t know how much I can say at this point. Maybe I shouldn’t reveal too much? Then again, it’s not like the law firm asked me to sign a confidentiality agreement. “I should get going. I still haven’t seen much of the place.”

“Of course. I’ll wrap this up for you.” Sinead disappears behind the counter again. A few moments later, she’s returned with a plastic bag.

“Thanks.” Unsure how much to pay, I take out some cash and hand it to her.

She holds up a hand. “First order is always on the house. A happy customer is a returning customer. Not that you’ll have many options if you want a decent cup of coffee and a quick bite. McDonald’s haven’t found their way to us yet.” She laughs at her own joke.

“Thanks again.” Carrying the bag in one hand and the book in the other, I head for the door. That’s when I notice the small job vacancy sign in the corner of the window. “You’re hiring?”

Sinead nods. “I’m looking for someone to help out part-time. The pay’s not great but—” She shrugs apologetically.

I decide to seize the chance before she can even finish the sentence. “I would like to apply. I have experience in sales and could start straight away.”

She regards me for a moment; the surprise crossing her features is quickly replaced by a frown. She doesn’t need to ask the obvious question. I can sense it from a mile.

Why would I want a low-paying job if I’ve just inherited an estate as grand as the Walsh’s?

But, as Duncan so eloquently put it, the mills of the law grind slowly. My inheritance could come in tomorrow or next year, trickling in like a tiny rivulet forcing its way through mountainous terrain. As things stand, my current life resembles the steep, rugged cliffs above the Colorado River. A tiny rivulet of financial help won’t cut it; I need a steady stream of it, and that’s only going to happen if I get a job. The chances that I’ll find something else in the middle of nowhere when I can barely understand the local accent, let alone speak it, are slim, if not next to nil. Besides, Sinead seems like a great employer. I bet she would even throw in a free bagel or two.

I hold Sinead’s gaze and raise my chin in the hope she’ll mistake my growing desperation for confidence. “I’m also a fast learner and good with people.” The last part’s a bit of a stretch, but Icanput on a sunny smile as long as the customer in front of me is not Patrick, in which case the mood forecast is probably going to be something like “dark, overcast sky with a lot of scowling”.

“Where did you say you’re from?” Sinead asks.

“New York,” I say. Her brows shoot up again, as though she saw that one coming and doesn’t seem too thrilled. I can see where this is going. For some reason, she doesn’t want to give me the job. Maybe she thinks I’m not qualified or her firstimpression of me is that I might not be a hard worker. Or maybe she doesn’t like Americans. So I hurry to add, “But I grew up in a tiny town that’s probably not even on the map, just like this one. I know what it’s like to work hard for a living, which I assume is what most people around here have to do.”

Her expression softens a little, as though I’ve hit a tender spot, and something like pride flickers in her gaze.

I continue. “It’s beyond my comprehension why the late Ms. Walsh left her estate to me instead of passing it on to her son. I certainly didn’t know her long enough to warrant such generosity, but I plan on earning a living rather than live off that money.”

“Not many would,” Sinead says. “So, you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

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