just upstairs—and there are two of them.”
She was furious and felt her cheeks heat. Her purse was upstairs. Her cell phone was in her purse. If she could get someone to bring it to her, she could arrange to have her furniture moved in—and then let him try to prove the place was his. Ha!
Suddenly the bizarre offer from Mother Nature smacked her upside the head. That could be her secret weapon! If I were a muse, I could go to the bathroom, pop over to the store, and come back with groceries.
Oh, right… She’d have a hard time explaining how she managed to buy groceries in the bathroom, and Mother Nature had that pesky law about not revealing the paranormal world. Damn.
Still, something about having the powers of a muse sounded like it might work in her favor. But how could she contact Mother Nature? Maybe through Brandee or Bliss? How long would it be before one of them came to the paranormal club?
She might starve to death by then.
The important thing was not to let this arrogant Irishman think he’d won. She strolled off toward the bedroom. At least she could claim that and have her privacy…or maybe she should claim the bathroom. She almost burst out laughing. Yup. Not having a place to pee would drive him out pretty quickly.
Amber made a sharp right turn and hurtled into the little room. “I claim the bathroom. Gotcha!” She quickly slammed and locked the door.
She heard Nathan the bicyclist laugh loudly and say, “Oh yes. You guys are going to be wicked fun neighbors.”
* * *
“Finn…Finn! Get off the floor,” Mrs. O’Malley yelled.
Finn Kelley felt a couple of strong hands grab him. It must have been the Burke brothers. They were farmers and smelled of cow dung. One on either side, they lifted Finn enough to drag his deadweight out the door of the pub and deposit him on the lush, green grass. Standing over him, they summed up his condition.
“He’s fluthered, all right,” one said.
“Twisted and sozzeled,” added the other.
“You’d be scuttered too, if your fiancée suddenly went missin’.” Finn’s best friend, Patrick, must have felt the need to defend his friend, although he had cautioned him about drinking a fourth glass of whiskey in so short a time—or was it his fifth?
“That Arish girl? The young one?” Mr. O’Malley asked. He must have followed them outside.
“That’s the one,” Pat said. “Shannon. They’ve been pre-engaged forever. Rather, they were.”
Finn rolled over and mumbled, “Shannon…Shannon, where are you?”
“She isn’t here,” the village doctor snapped. He must have followed them outside too. “And you won’t find her by passin’ out at O’Malley’s.”
Finn’s arm flopped over his eyes as if to block out the sun—but the sun wasn’t shining. More likely he wanted to block out the doctor’s logic.
“I wish the Irish had never invented whiskey,” Pat said.
Mr. O’Malley smirked. “The Irish didn’t invent it. God did. It was his way of keepin’ the Irish from takin’ over the world.”
“I’ll be headin’ back to me office,” the doctor said. “Tell Mr. Kelley here to take two aspirin and not to call me unless he really is dead—not just dead drunk.”
One of the farmers asked, “How can he call anyone if he’s dead?”
“I don’t think he much cares,” the other one said. “We should be gettin’ back. It looks like rain is comin’.”
“But a rainy day is the perfect day to spend at the pub.”
Finn briefly opened one eye to check for dark clouds.
“Right you are,” Mr. O’Malley said. He wrapped his arms around the brothers’ broad shoulders, and all three ambled back into the pub.
Patrick squatted beside Finn and pried his eyes open again. “Get up.”
“Leave me be.”
Patrick rose and leaned against the rustic building. “I hope you’ll be soberin’ up soon. I can’t keep the garda from tossin’ you in jail if they’ve a mind to.”
Finn pushed himself up to a sitting position,
She was furious and felt her cheeks heat. Her purse was upstairs. Her cell phone was in her purse. If she could get someone to bring it to her, she could arrange to have her furniture moved in—and then let him try to prove the place was his. Ha!
Suddenly the bizarre offer from Mother Nature smacked her upside the head. That could be her secret weapon! If I were a muse, I could go to the bathroom, pop over to the store, and come back with groceries.
Oh, right… She’d have a hard time explaining how she managed to buy groceries in the bathroom, and Mother Nature had that pesky law about not revealing the paranormal world. Damn.
Still, something about having the powers of a muse sounded like it might work in her favor. But how could she contact Mother Nature? Maybe through Brandee or Bliss? How long would it be before one of them came to the paranormal club?
She might starve to death by then.
The important thing was not to let this arrogant Irishman think he’d won. She strolled off toward the bedroom. At least she could claim that and have her privacy…or maybe she should claim the bathroom. She almost burst out laughing. Yup. Not having a place to pee would drive him out pretty quickly.
Amber made a sharp right turn and hurtled into the little room. “I claim the bathroom. Gotcha!” She quickly slammed and locked the door.
She heard Nathan the bicyclist laugh loudly and say, “Oh yes. You guys are going to be wicked fun neighbors.”
* * *
“Finn…Finn! Get off the floor,” Mrs. O’Malley yelled.
Finn Kelley felt a couple of strong hands grab him. It must have been the Burke brothers. They were farmers and smelled of cow dung. One on either side, they lifted Finn enough to drag his deadweight out the door of the pub and deposit him on the lush, green grass. Standing over him, they summed up his condition.
“He’s fluthered, all right,” one said.
“Twisted and sozzeled,” added the other.
“You’d be scuttered too, if your fiancée suddenly went missin’.” Finn’s best friend, Patrick, must have felt the need to defend his friend, although he had cautioned him about drinking a fourth glass of whiskey in so short a time—or was it his fifth?
“That Arish girl? The young one?” Mr. O’Malley asked. He must have followed them outside.
“That’s the one,” Pat said. “Shannon. They’ve been pre-engaged forever. Rather, they were.”
Finn rolled over and mumbled, “Shannon…Shannon, where are you?”
“She isn’t here,” the village doctor snapped. He must have followed them outside too. “And you won’t find her by passin’ out at O’Malley’s.”
Finn’s arm flopped over his eyes as if to block out the sun—but the sun wasn’t shining. More likely he wanted to block out the doctor’s logic.
“I wish the Irish had never invented whiskey,” Pat said.
Mr. O’Malley smirked. “The Irish didn’t invent it. God did. It was his way of keepin’ the Irish from takin’ over the world.”
“I’ll be headin’ back to me office,” the doctor said. “Tell Mr. Kelley here to take two aspirin and not to call me unless he really is dead—not just dead drunk.”
One of the farmers asked, “How can he call anyone if he’s dead?”
“I don’t think he much cares,” the other one said. “We should be gettin’ back. It looks like rain is comin’.”
“But a rainy day is the perfect day to spend at the pub.”
Finn briefly opened one eye to check for dark clouds.
“Right you are,” Mr. O’Malley said. He wrapped his arms around the brothers’ broad shoulders, and all three ambled back into the pub.
Patrick squatted beside Finn and pried his eyes open again. “Get up.”
“Leave me be.”
Patrick rose and leaned against the rustic building. “I hope you’ll be soberin’ up soon. I can’t keep the garda from tossin’ you in jail if they’ve a mind to.”
Finn pushed himself up to a sitting position,
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