Chapter 20

Laine

Shuffling my way up the stepping stone walkway, I hear the boisterous celebration my aunt is hosting inside. Was this a bad day to drop in? Am I crashing her plans? Maybe I should've waited until after I got Mom back from the pub.

How do I explain that to my family?

Telling them I lost my mother in the chaos of a pub shoot-out won't win me any points, so I decide to avoid that if I can. I move to sling my purse higher over my shoulder, but nope…it's gone too.

With no idea what to expect, I climb the steps to the porch. Before I can knock, the screen flies open and a teenage girl squeals. "She's here, Auntie, and she's so beautiful. Come and see."

I smile. "Hey, I'm Madelaine, but I go by Laine."

"I'm Erin. Come inside. We're all waiting for your arrival. Auntie said we couldn't eat until you got here."

I laugh. "You didn't need to hold lunch for me. It sounds like you've got a houseful. If today's a bad day, I can always come back."

Erin looks at me and laughs. "The house is full because you're coming, silly. It's not a bad day at all."

As I step through the doorway, guided by Erin's enthusiastic tug, the warmth of the home envelopes me. The living room is cozy and cluttered in a charming way that speaks of generations of memories.

There's a large, worn sofa overflowing with mismatched cushions, and a stone fireplace that dominates one wall, the mantle adorned with photos and trinkets.

Lace curtains flutter gently at the windows, and the walls are lined with bookshelves stuffed to the brim with well-thumbed novels and family albums.

The scent of freshly baked bread and something sweet and cinnamon-spiced fills the air, mingling with the faint smell of peat from the fireplace.

At the far end of the room, a large, round wooden table is set with a lace tablecloth and piled high with dishes that make my mouth water from across the room. The table is surrounded by a mix of chairs, each one different from the next, adding to the room's eclectic charm.

As I take in my surroundings, a petite, sprightly woman in her eighties emerges from what I assume is the kitchen, wiping her hands on a floral apron.

Her hair is a snowy white halo around her sharp, bright face, and her eyes, a clear, vivid blue that matches Erin's, light up with joy as she sees me.

"Madelaine! Oh, look at you, dear, just as lovely as your mother said!" Her voice is rich and warm, with a lilting accent that wraps around me like a hug. She moves toward me with surprising agility for her age, her arms open wide.

I step into her embrace, feeling an immediate sense of belonging. Her hug is firm and comforting, filled with genuine affection that you feel deep in your bones.

She smells faintly of rosewater and something herbaceous, an aroma that I instantly associate with this quaint, welcoming home.

"Auntie Maeve," I say, finally putting a name to the face.

"Just Maeve, or Auntie, whichever you fancy, my dear," she chuckles, holding me at arm's length to look at me again. "Let's get you introduced, and then we'll be seated and fed. You must be famished after your journey."

It was only just over an hour in the car and Cora sent us with baked yummies, but why bring that up? I learned very quickly that the Irish like to feed people. "Thank you, Auntie."

"Come now, into the sitting room. I have so many people for you to meet."

I glance around the room, and all eyes are on me. There must be a dozen people here. "Wow. I never dreamed I had so many relatives."

"And there are many more than this," says Aunt Maeve with a little laugh. "This is your cousin Geraldine, and this is Allison."

"So nice to meet you girls," I say.

"Over here is Finley O'Dell. He lives not far down the road, a local lad. He was your mother's first sweetheart."

Tall and muscular with dark curly hair, he is vibrantly handsome and attractive in his late fifties. He gets to his feet and as he looks at my face, tears water in his eyes.

"Och, you have the look of your beautiful mam." He pulls me into a hug. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You too." I ease back and wonder what mom's life would've looked like if her parents hadn't moved to the States when she was a kid. "Since you knew my mom, you might know some of her favorite places, right?"

"Aye, I suppose that's true."

"Then, maybe we can talk more later about where you think she might like her ashes spread for her final resting place."

Finley nods. "I'll give it some thought and take you on a little tour when you're ready."

I squeeze his hands and step back. "That's great. Thank you."

With that set, Aunt Maeve goes around the room and introduces me to all. I try to remember their names, but that will have to come in time.

"Now, with that done," Aunt Maeve says, gesturing to the dining table, "everyone help yourselves to the buffet."

That sets the room into motion, and I step back and watch them bustle about, making plates.

"You really didn't need to go to all this trouble on such short notice, Auntie. I am happy just to come and meet everyone."

Maeve waves that away. "Och, nonsense. When I sent word around that Kate's wee lass was coming, everyone threw together something and there we have it. Welcome to Ireland, Madelaine."

Wow. And here I thought it was me against the world now that Mom is gone. I've never been so happy to be wrong.

After filling a plate with all kinds of delicious-looking food, I sit next to Finley on the sofa. "What was my mom like when you two were kids?"

Finley spends the next half hour sharing stories of when he and my mother met as children in the playground and then were mates at school and how they spent all their spare time together.

Mom never once mentioned Finley to me, but I would never tell him that. Maybe losing this relationship when she moved away was too painful for her to talk about.

It could be that, because after he spoils me with a dozen stories, he grows a little sentimental and then takes his leave to go home to do chores.

It's mid-afternoon when my cousin Patrick—a guy with shaggy dark hair, dark eyes, and a bit of scruff on his face—calls Erin and I in from the little barn out back to find Aunt Maeve has laid out high tea.

"We've got Earl Grey with finger sandwiches, freshly baked scones with clotted cream, and plates of homemade squares that Gisele is famous for."

I give my new cousin a nod. "Thank you, Gisele. I can practically feel the pounds going on my thighs."

Patrick and I take our tea together and I find we have a lot in common. Not only are we both in our early thirties, we're both lawyers, so we have lots to talk about.

"Do you mind if I make an observation, cousin?" he asks, a long while later.

"No, go ahead."

"It doesn't make much sense—your sudden relocation, I mean."

I check that everyone is otherwise occupied in their own conversations and lean in a little closer. "Can we keep it between us?"

"Of course."

And so, I tell him everything. I start with the home invasion and racing off in the middle of the night, starting over as Laine O'Neill, and then everything that has happened since going to the Jimmy Frances Pub.

When I finish, I can see by his expression that it's as bad as I thought. "Tag Quinn? Oh, Mother Mary, you need to stay far away from him, Madelaine."

"I didn't mean to get pulled into his orbit. He was just a hot guy I shared a drink with at a pub. When the world exploded, I was right there beside him."

It's obvious Patrick is trying to figure out how to get me out of that. "What if you come stay here? We could go get your things and be back by dark."

"I love that idea, but if Tag's right and the McGuires took notice of me, I won't lead them into your lives. Also, I don't even know how things ended in Chicago. Are people looking for me? I just don't know. For the next day or two, I'll do as Tag asks and stay within his protection until this blows over."

Patrick frowns. "The Quinns are an incredibly dangerous family connected to other dangerous people all over the Irish counties. His protection doesn't mean you'll be safe."

"But he says they live by a code: the Quinn Laws. Do you know of them?"

Patrick nods. "Aye, I expect almost everyone in Dublin and the surrounding area does—hell, you could probably find them on the internet if you search—but even if the wolf tells the lambs he'll do his best not to eat them, it doesn't make him any less of a wolf."

"Still, a code means he tries to keep things in hand, doesn't it?"

Patrick pegs me with a stern scowl. "Don't romanticize them, Madelaine. You are a lawyer. You know there is only one side of the law to be on—the right side."

Ah, but he's a family law solicitor and I am a criminal defense attorney. I'm already predisposed to look for the redeeming qualities in the clients I encounter.

A moment later, he pats the top of my arm and draws me out of my thoughts. "I've upset you. That was certainly not my intention."

I wave away his concerns. "Not at all. It's been good to talk to someone objective about this. I appreciate your thoughts and I'll sort it out. Thank you for listening."

He nods. "I still think you should come stay here."

"Not until I know I won't be dragging danger to your doorstep either from Chicago or from Dublin. I'll be fine. Believe it or not, my life has prepared me well for situations like this. But for today, I should make my way back."