Page 22 of The Past

I stared at him, watching his mouth move, but I stopped hearing the words.It was amazing that he could talk and eat at the same time, barely pausing in between bites.Once again, I let my mind drift.It immediately filled with images of the dark-haired lad from America, but I even managed to push those aside for a tiny bit and wondered what tomorrow would be like running Brannagh at Kildare.

♦

The ride homewas quieter and I’m guessing Brian ran out of things to say when I barely engaged with him.I wasn’t impressed with a single thing he told me, and his mood seemed a bit duller by the time we pulled into Glenhaven Estate.

He slowed his Porsche on the gravel road that wound past pastures and barns.I was exhausted from the evening and had let my head rest against the cool pane of the passenger window.

As we neared the training center, movement caught my eye and I spotted Tommy sitting on one of the railings, a bottle of what looked to be whiskey in his hand.He was illuminated by the outdoor lights over the smaller lunging ring, but his face was slightly shadowed.I couldn’t see him clearly, but I sat up straighter as we slowly passed him, my neck twisting to look back his way.

My lips curved upward when he lifted the bottle as if in silent invitation to join him.

The air left my lungs.

I turned back in the seat, watching as my home drew nearer.The lights were on in my father’s study and there was no doubt he would be waiting up for me.

It was so hard to resist the urge to bolt inside, but I politely waited for Brian to walk me toward the door.My nose wrinkled as he leaned in, intent on kissing me, but I turned my head swiftly.

His lips met my cheek and when he pulled back, he looked confused for a moment but recovered quickly.“Let’s do this again soon, yeah?”

I forced a smile.“I’ll check me calendar.”

“Do that,” he said, taking a few steps back.“At the least, we’ll spend time together at the summer festival next week, yeah?”

No.

No.No.No.

I lifted my hand in a polite farewell.

And with that, I turned, stepping inside, my heart already somewhere else entirely.

As expected, my da was waiting in the foyer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his lounging jacket tied around his waist.“Well?”he drawled.

“It was a lovely evening,” I said, never having told a more blatant lie to my father.

“Good,” he said with a nod.“I’m going to bed.Make sure to turn out the lights on yer way up.”

“Yes, Da,” I said demurely and watched him ascend the stairs as I leaned back against the door.

I waited, patiently counting to sixty twice after I heard his bedroom door close.

And quietly… so very quietly, I pushed off the door and crept through the kitchen.In the mudroom, I toed off my heels and jammed my stocking feet into my wellies.A mouse was never quieter when I snuck out the side door and into the night.

CHAPTER 8

Tommy

Isat perchedon the top rail of the fence, one boot hooked on the lower rung, the other dangling freely as I took a slow sip.I studied the bottle of Powers Gold Label Irish whiskey.I’d bought it earlier this evening when I went into town for a meal and thought I’d give it a try.I’m from bourbon country and although I don’t drink a lot of it, I do like the taste.

I took another swig and let the warmth settle in my chest.It went down smoother than I’d expected—very different from the bourbon back home.Bourbon had a weight to it—flavors coated your tongue before the heat kicked in.This whiskey was sharper, had more spice and a little honey in the background, but it didn’t punch as hard.

Holding up the bottle, I tilted it left and right, watching the liquid catch the dim light from the barn behind me.Not bad at all and by the end of summer, I’d probably be used to it.

I stared across the dark landscape before me.A few hundred yards away, I saw the lights of Conlan Manor, but there was a whole lot of dark between me and the house.I didn’t find it creepy at all… the light mist that clung to the ground, curling around the fence posts and the worn path leading up to the barn.The air was damp and smelled of horses, leather and hay.Just like back home.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl bellowed a low, haunting call and I took another sip of the whiskey.I’d been here two full days and Ireland had quickly grown on me.Kentucky nights were warm this time of year, offering honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass on the breeze.Fireflies would light up the pastures and I wondered if Ireland had the glowing little bugs.I hadn’t seen any but maybe it was a geographical thing, or maybe it was just a little too chilly in the evenings.

Regardless, Glenhaven was a damn fine farm, I’d give it that.

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