Free The Irish Lover by Lila Dubois

want them painting her baby
in a bad light.
    “How’s it?” Rory Mac Gabhann, Caera’s assistant
director, asked. He was carrying two chairs, and behind him his
younger brother, Gerard, carried a few more.
    “They’re going to take down the pipe and drape
over the window, I hope.” Caera pointed to where she wanted the
chairs. It seemed they’d be using the regular stage, so it was time
to get the chairs in place.
    “Just as well, those black curtains look
hideous.” Rory smiled, his brown eyes sparkling.
    “You’ll be quiet,” Caera said, giving him a
push towards the storage area, a strange cone-shaped addition off
one side of the stable that had once been a dovecote.
    “It does look stupid, Miss Cassidy.” Gerard
tossed his head, the floppy waves of hair that covered his face
flipping back for a second, revealing eyes as melting as his older
brother’s. At fifteen, he was gangly and awkward, with none of his
brother’s finesse and smooth talking. Something for which all the
teenage girls in Cailtytown should be grateful.
    “Well, don’t be saying that so loud,” she
admonished, tapping Gerard on the shoulder with the back of her
hand. “We wouldn’t want to offend them.”
    “Offend the Dubs? Impossible. They’re so thick
nothing gets through to them.” Rory carried two more chairs
in.
    “Rory Mac Gabhann.” Caera looked at the
television crew, who were a safe twenty feet away. “What would your
mammy think to hear you talk like that?”
    “Want me to tell on him, Miss Cassidy?” Gerard
said, helpfully.
    “Watch yourself, boy-o.” Little brother darted
out of the way of Rory’s swat, grinning.
    “You watch, or I’ll tell Ma.”
    “Both of you, stop.” Caera crossed her arms,
wishing once again that she were taller and more commanding. At
five-foot-four, she was shorter than everyone, even teenage Gerard,
and Rory towered over her. “Can we pretend we’re running a real
event venue, and not some country tra-la-la?”
    Gerard had the grace to look sheepish, while
Rory just grinned. His gaze lingered on her a second too long, his
smile a fraction too intense. Caera turned away from it, as she
always had.
    “Caera?”
    The wide double doors opened and Elizabeth
Jefferies, manager of Glenncailty and Caera’s boss, slipped in.
Cold winter wind whirled in the door along with Elizabeth, catching
a few pieces of her blonde hair and making them dance.
    Caera checked the TV crew, then made her way to
Elizabeth. As always, her boss carried what looked like an old,
hard-backed book but was really a case hiding her tablet
computer.
    “Is everything in order?” Elizabeth’s words
were clipped, her English accent pronounced.
    “We’re getting on well enough.” Caera checked
her watch. “We have twenty-four hours before the doors
open.”
    “And ticket sales?”
    “Sold out this morning.” With ten brilliant
musicians participating, selling the three hundred tickets Finn’s
Stable could seat shouldn’t have been a problem—if Glenncailty was
in a major city. They were in the countryside, two hours from
Dublin despite the new motorway, with only small villages nearby.
Cailtytown was the local village, and had a population of only five
hundred. Finding three hundred people out of those five hundred who
would pay the nearly €100 ticket price would be impossible. Caera
had thrown a lot into local advertising and marketing, and it had
paid off, with not a moment to spare.
    “I’m pleased to hear it.” Elizabeth zipped open
her book-like case and started tapping on the flat screen of her
tablet. “Are there any other details I can assist you with?” With
her head bent over the tablet, Elizabeth seemed older than the
thirty-five she was rumored to be. Caera didn’t know much about the
Englishwoman, who never shared anything about herself or her life.
Whatever her personal story, she was a brilliant hotel manager and
had, in two short years, overseen the renovation and grand opening
of