A Celtic Witch (A Modern Witch Series: Book 6) by Debora Geary Page B

from the hallway, amused.
    “Nay.”  Cass blinked, trying to see into the shadows.  The voice held the lilting tones of home.  “I’m just a silly girl who left her woolies in the car.”
    “Ah.”  An elderly woman stepped forward into the light.  “Well, I’d venture you’re big enough to decide for yourself whether to wear them or not.  I’m Moira.  Welcome to the Sea Trance Inn.”
    It seemed like a big place for one little old lady to run, but Cass knew better than to underestimate an Irish grandmother, wherever she found one.  “I was hoping to get a room for a night or two.”
    “You’ve come to the right place.”  Moira’s smile was welcoming, her hands already reaching for the jacket Cass was shedding.  “Come on in and have a cup of tea and get warm.  There’s a lovely fire here in the parlor.  Aaron’s gone to take some scones over to the church, but he’ll be back momentarily.”
    It was the kind of hospitable chatter that anchored every hearth in Ireland.  And it made Cass miss her nan terribly.  “You sound so much like my grandmother.”
    “Miss her, do you?”  Warm green eyes took in Cass from head to toe.  “You’ve been away from home a while, I’d guess.”
    Scrubby jeans and a big sweater fit in just about anywhere.  “I go back.”  At this moment, her heart said it wasn’t nearly often enough.
    “We all have roads to travel,” said Moira softly.  “Come sit a spell and tell me about yours.”
    Manners very belatedly made their way through the pulsing homesick.  “I’m Cassidy Farrell.”
    Green eyes glinted with humor and something else.  Almost a recognition.  “Ah, and of course you are.”
    Huh.  The name “Cassidy Farrell” meant something in some circles, but she hadn’t expected it to here.
    And then the old lady leaned forward and touched her copper-brown curls.  “Named you for your hair, did they?”
    Cass gaped—she’d never met a soul outside Ireland who knew the meaning of her name, and not that many at home did either.  “Yes.  My mum said I was born with these curls.  My grandda took one look at me and the name stuck.”
    “A wise man.  It suits you.”  Moira smiled and gestured toward a doorway.  “Please come in—I assume the hordes will be here shortly.”
    She didn’t have long to wonder.  The door opened behind her, a gusting wind blowing in along with a smiling woman and a young girl dressed in an enormous turquoise jacket.
    Cass returned the smile, always ready to meet a new friend.
    A head popped out of the sea of turquoise.  “Hi, Gran.  Who’s the new lady?”
    “This is Cassidy.”  Moira helped with the formidable outerwear.  “She’s come to stay at the inn for a wee bit.”
    Inquisitive eyes looked up.  “I hope you like strawberry shortcake.  Aaron only makes it in the winter if he has a guest who likes it.  It’s totally scrumptious.  I helped pick some of the berries.  Well, the ones I didn’t eat, anyhow.”  An impish grin joined the dancing eyes.  “If you like it, I’ll ask him really, really nicely to make you some.”
    Cass was fairly certain that grin was well used to getting its way.  “Strawberries are one of my favorites.  We don’t get very many on tour.”
    “What kind of tour?”  The smiling woman ruffled the little girl’s curls and then reached out a handshake in welcome.  “I’m Sophie, by the way, and this chatterbox is Lizzie.”
    Fisher’s Cove might be small, but it was definitely friendly.
    “I’m a musician.  A fiddler.”  Cass took the offered hand and felt the glow of immediate kinship strengthen.  “Taking a bit of a break right now to smell the flowers.”
    “You should come back in summer.”  Lizzie was not-so-subtly herding them all into the parlor.  “We don’t have very many things blooming right now, but Gran’s gardens are the best in the whole world.”
    Summer was the height of music festival madness.  Last year, Cass