Free Hot Whispers of an Irishman by Dorien Kelly Page B

his head as she marched shoulders back and head high in the direction of the house. He took a moment more to gather his gear. Vi had returned with a patchwork bag made of a mad jumble of fabric by the time he was saving the data he’d captured. She and her dog got into the car while he stowed the equipment. When he went to get in the driver’s side, the dog was sitting in his seat.
    “To the back,” he said to Roger.
    “I don’t know,” said Vi. “He could do no worse than you did yesterday.”
    A diplomat, the dog hopped in back.
    “Don’t be discussing driving or I’ll remind you of your first time behind the wheel,” Liam said once he’d climbed in and closed the door.
    That settled her into silence for a few minutes. He supposed it would have done the same to him, had he ended up going the wrong way round and round and round a rotary with a Garda hot on his tail. It had been ugly enough sitting in the passenger’s seat.
    Vi wasn’t daunted for long. “About being on my nan’s property…”
    “Yes?”
    Her hand shot out, and she plucked a few hairs from his head. Liam yelped and swerved, then rubbed at his scalp once he’d put the car back on course.
    “Jesus, Vi! Has no one ever taught you to leave the driver alone?”
    She smiled as she tucked the hairs into a smaller velvet bag that she’d pulled from her patchwork sack. “I will…now.”
    He shot her a baleful look. “What have you in mind, a voodoo doll?”
    She laughed. “An Irish voodoo doll? Never! It’s Nan’s recipes I’m thinking of. Somewhere in her writings is one fit for curing a trespasser. Something with tar to make you stick where you should be. A bit into your food or drink when you’re not looking and my problem will be gone.”
    Liam grimaced. “As would be my gut. I’ve run across her ‘recipes’ before.”
    Vi nodded. “Good, then. This one has done its job already, and you know not to wander.”
    A fine threat indeed from a woman who’d been in a faint not long before. Liam would have to weigh the risks of actually letting her get to full strength.
    “Pull in there,” she said when they were just down the street from his family’s pub. “That’s my car, which means Da must be near.”
    Liam did as asked. Once parked, he came round to her side of the car and opened the door for her, earning a surprised sounding “thank you.” Her dog hopped out and waited next to her on the curb as she slung her bag—and Liam’s pirated hairs—over her shoulder.
    “Did your father have any plans?” Liam asked.
    “Just to catch up on life in Duncarraig,” Vi said.
    “Then he’s sure to be in the pub.”
    When they were all inside, including Roger, Jamie came round the bar with a speed that could make him the first Irishman to win track and field gold at the Olympics.
    “Welcome to my pub, Vi,” he said, placing himself squarely in front of her and subtly nudging Liam aside.
    “Yours and Da’s,” Liam muttered while his brother kissed her on the cheek.
    Vi shot him an arch look. It wasn’t jealousy he was feeling, so much as what he usually did when in Duncarraig—that his place in the world was being trampled flat by others.
    He beat his brother to a table and pulled out a chair for Vi, who thanked him again. Thinking he must not have had the same manners fifteen years ago, Liam sat opposite her.
    “Vi’s in need of a meal,” he said to his brother, who lingered at her right hand.
    “We’ve a ginger carrot soup today,” Jamie said. “Would you like to start with that?”
    “Since I can catch them pureed, I will,” she replied, brows raised in Liam’s direction. Then she sent a sunny smile to Jamie. “After the soup, I think a toasted cheese sandwich. And have you some lettuce and tomato slices? No mayonnaise, though. Liam here was saying that I’ve put on weight.”
    He’d said no bloody such thing and was about to point that out when he saw the laughter in her eyes. Threats of being snuck one of