Free The Mystery of the Claddagh Rings by Kallie Lane Page B

inhaled the ocean’s scent and watched gunmetal waves roll into shore. A dusting of snow covered sand dunes and sea grass, beach heather poking through the drifts. Frozen sunflowers and blue hyacinths drooped along white picket fences lining the drive. They looked forlorn and yet beautiful, very much like Poppy herself.
    Fin heard a door open and close behind her. She turned to see a man walking down the steps. Hands deep in his pockets, she thought it amazing he didn’t keel over in the biting wind without a jacket. But no, he obviously had enough meat on his bones not to notice the chill. She eyed him, curious about her future stepfather.
    He was a man any red-blooded woman would notice in a crowd—well over six-feet tall with an athletic build. Eyes as green as the hills of Ireland offset hard, striking features. She guessed his age to be late twenties to early thirties. For heaven’s sake, her mother had really done it this time. Talk about robbing the cradle.
    His gaze took her in from head to toe, the sardonic tilt of his mouth speaking volumes. He’d been expecting a younger version of her mother. Instead, he got tattered jeans and a windblown mane of sable hair—not tight, leather pants and blond, rasta braids extending to her butt. Even her cornflower blue eyes were different than her mother’s mysterious brown ones. Poppy was also tall and curvy whereas Fin was shorter and what she liked to call streamlined, although some would argue she was built like a boy.
    “You’re on private property.” Her future daddy’s words held bite, his muscled arms crossing an impressive chest in order to intimidate. “If you’re hoping for Poppy’s autograph, contact her publicist and maybe he’ll send you one. Now leave before I call the cops.”
    Fin laughed. Just couldn’t help herself. This one’s a real winner. “Hmm, not even married yet and you’re already barking orders.” She locked the CR-V, and taking a step forward, got in his face. “Get out of my way.”
    “Damn. I hate dealing with stalkers before my morning coffee.” In a quick move, he had her plastered against him, her hands pinned behind her back. Not exactly the way a man should greet his future stepdaughter, considering it felt more like an embrace. “I thought I made it clear. Poppy wants to be left alone.”
    “I can see you’re a little slow on the uptake, so I’ll try again.” Fin stood tall, tipping her head back to glare at him. He smelled of woodsy shower gel and looked even better close up, the stubble on his jaw as dark as his short-cropped hair. Then again, Mom had always been selective about packaging. Too bad she never saw the worms rotting inside her eye candy. “Take your paws off me before I knee your balls clear through the top of your head.”
    He chuckled, his grip tightening around her. “Honey, you’d need a stepladder to do that.”
    “Fiona?” Poppy ran down the stairs in a silver hip-length sweater and yoga pants, her beaded rasta braids clinking together. She batted the hulk out of the way and wrapped her in a familiar cloud of perfume. “Ohmigod! I can’t believe you’re really here.”
    “It’s me, Mom,” Fin said, hugging her back.
    Her mother grabbed her hand and started dragging her to the house. “Call me Poppy remember? God forbid anyone finds out I have a child your age.”
    A familiar reminder, one Fin had been hearing since high school. She stopped the forward momentum, gesturing to the man breathing down the back of her neck. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your fiancé?”
    “What?” Poppy turned, her eyes questioning. “Oh, him. He’s not my fiancé, darling. Say hello to Ryan O’Shea, our temporary property manager while Holmsby recuperates from gallbladder surgery.”
    “Ma’am.” Fin thought him too arrogant to be a property manager. “If you’ll hand me the keys, I’ll grab your luggage from the car.”
    Sure, don’t bother apologizing for being a macho jerk. She