Coming Home to Roseburn: Book 2 in the Devon Trilogy

By Felicity Nisbet

The second book in the Devon Trilogy is the story of three women who find friendship in the local pub.

Rachel Benson, who we met in the first Devon book, Coming Home to Morningside, is struggling to work through her fears. She spends time at The Shamrock and Thistle, trying to become comfortable in noisy crowds. She forces herself to face her fears because she realizes that only when she overcomes her past experiences will she be able to be in a relationship with the man she loves and has chased away.

Sarah Fitzgerald, who is running from a past that she would just as soon forget, is a new server at the pub. The first time she sees Rachel, she takes a disliking to her simply because she reminds her of her own mother. But once she recognizes that they have something in common, she warms to the young woman who manages to see the best in everyone, even the server with a chip on her shoulder the size of Half Dome.

Darcy Murphy, who is running the pub while her parents are vacationing in Ireland, wonders if she made a mistake hiring the defensive and antagonistic woman. She has a limited amount of time to turn the unpleasant server around. But Sarah is not the only distraction in Darcy's life. Jamie McIntyre, her childhood best friend and the true love of her life, has returned to Devon after several years. it doesn't take long for Darcy to realize that, despite being married now, the feelings she had as a teenager for the reclusive and kind-hearted son of her parents' best friends, Flora and Daniel McIntyre, are still very much intact.

The three women form an unlikely friendship due to their common ground--abusive relationships. They grow close enough to support one another and help each other through difficult times and challenging decisions. In the end, that support saves one of their lives. It helps them all find a way to let go of the past. it also gives them hope for the kind of future they desire and realize they deserve.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Felicity Nisbet
• Release date: Nov 17, 2021

Book preview

COMING HOME TO ROSEBURN

Book #2 in the Devon Trilogy

By Felicity Nisbet

©2021 by Felicity Nisbet

Published 2021 by Felicity Nisbet

Cover Image by Aaron Burden

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief quotations to books and critical reviews. This story is a work of fiction. Characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

After running away for the second time in her young life, Rachel Benson had finally found home. She had been living at Morningside for eight months. She’d been attending therapy at Roseburn for four of those months. All thanks to Flora McIntyre who had taken her in after meeting her on a train. Never for a single moment had she made her feel as if she weren’t welcome.

It had been a long journey. Due to a mudslide on the coast that had forced the passengers of that fateful train ride to take refuge in a hotel in Ventura, it had been a lot longer than the usual ride from Southern to Northern California. At the time, Rachel had been distraught by the adventure, terrified that Vince, the man from whom she was running, would find her. And scarcely having two pennies to rub together, she was afraid her money would run out before she even reached her destination, which at the time had been Reno. But in the end, after meeting Flora and Gabi, another runaway passenger, she was grateful for the mudslide. By the end of the three-day ordeal, Flora had invited both her and Gabi to stay at Morningside, her home, for as long as they needed to.

It was all meant to be, she had decided in the end. Synchronicity as Flora had called it. It had to be, considering how different the three of them were, and from such different walks of life. She had known little beyond poverty, and Gabi had been an entitled princess from Bel Air. Flora was a widow, several years older than the two of them. But the three women had found their common ground—starting with Anne of Green Gables—and soon discovered that they were in truth, kindred spirits. And, as unlikely as Rachel had first thought possible, they had become the best of friends.

She sighed as she sat waiting for her lemonade. She missed Gabi terribly, then laughed at herself for that thought. It had only been two weeks since she’d seen her new friend, but she was so used to seeing her every day, it felt as if it had been months. Fortunately she wasn’t that far away. She was just down the hill in Sacramento, attending school, the teacher’s credential program so she could fulfill her dream of becoming a teacher. But classes were only three days a week, so Rachel didn’t see why she couldn’t commute from Morningside.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, the reason for her moving to Sacramento walked into the pub. She scowled at Camden McIntyre Hart who was walking toward her.

What did I do now? Flora’s grandson asked as he pulled out a chair and joined Rachel.

You made Gabi move to Sacramento, she accused.

Oh. Cam cringed, no happier with himself than Rachel was. I had to. For her sake.

Rachel groaned. I know. You were thinking of her.

I was, but if it helps, I miss her just as much as you do. Actually, I suspect, more.

She couldn’t blame him really. He was being noble. Gabi needed some time on her own before they got married. They had fallen in love so quickly, on the heels of her running from a fiancé whom she hadn’t wanted to marry. And from a family who had dictated her every thought and feeling. Cam had known she needed some time to herself. He was giving it to her.

Are you scared, Cam? Rachel blurted out.

He waved toward the bar. Darcy Murphy nodded and went to pour his usual beer, a local microbrew that the pub kept on tap. Scared of what?

That she won’t come home.

She’ll come home.

Are you sure?

Cam patted Rachel’s hand gently, well aware that any sudden movements could startle her. It still caused her to jolt, but only slightly. Definite improvement, he thought. I’m sure, Rachel. She loves us, all of us. This is her home.

But she sounded really happy when I spoke to her last night. Like she’s settled in and enjoying her classes and—

That doesn’t mean she won’t come back. In fact, she’s planning to come home this weekend.

She didn’t mention that!

She decided this morning, texted me on her way to class. I’m picking her up on Friday.

Good thing. Rachel laughed, envisioning Gabi’s rattletrap of a car, the best she could buy after running from her family and refusing to use any of their credit cards.

I don’t want her driving that hunk of junk on the freeway any more than she has to.

I think she needs a new one.

I agree, but she won’t let me buy her one.

She’s as stubborn as her fiancé—her almost-fiancé.

Cam chuckled. She wasn’t wrong. Back in a minute. He pushed back his chair and headed for the men’s room.

Rachel glanced over her shoulder, noticing that another table closer to the corner was now available. She quickly took advantage of the chance to switch tables. She didn’t like having her back to a room full of people, and especially not the door, even when Cam was with her. Just as she settled into the chair with the fewest number of people behind her, she heard a pair of boots coming toward her. Cowgirl boots, she realized. Thumping along loudly enough to be making a statement.

The server set down Cam’s beer first and then her glass of lemonade more abruptly than necessary, causing at least a quarter of the drink to splash over the edge of the glass onto the table. Rachel glanced up at the server, wondering if it was an accident or on purpose. When the woman met her eyes, an ice cold chill ran down Rachel’s back. What had she done to the woman? She’d never even seen her before. What could she have possibly done?

Refraining from making a comment, Rachel reached for a napkin and set her glass on top of it. But she didn’t miss the roll of the eyes, nor the not-so-subtle snort. Wow. She’d have to avoid being served by her in the future. Or avoid the pub altogether. Not so easy to do since she was determined to get over her discomfort of being in crowds, and the pub was the best place to do that. Besides, it was a family favorite. Family as in Cam and his wonderful grandmother, Flora McIntyre, who had taken her in. She took a small sip of the refreshing liquid, praying the unpleasant server hadn’t tampered with it.

You probably want a new one, the server said, her tone almost a dare.

This is fine, Rachel answered, choosing to take the high road.

The woman shook her head slowly and walked off in a huff. Rachel had taken only a second sip by the time Cam returned. A moment later, they were joined by Luke Winters, Flora’s chauffeur among other things. And the man Rachel happened to be crazy about.

He pulled up the chair closest to her. What’s with her? he asked.

Her? Cam asked.

Luke nodded toward the server whose chin was still in the air. The new server Fiona and Mick hired. Don’t know what they were thinking. You okay? he asked Rachel.

I’m fine.

Cam looked across the room at the woman with light brown hair and a definite chip on her shoulder. Or maybe a stick up her ass would have been more accurate. She definitely has an attitude. What did she do to you, Rach?

No big deal, Rachel said. She accidentally spilled my drink a little.

More than a little, Luke said. And it was no accident.

You could tell?

The way she was glaring at you? Oh yeah. What did you do? Give her a lousy tip the last time you were in?

I’ve never even seen her before. Rachel gazed across the room at the woman who was filling more drink orders. I don’t think Fiona and Mick hired her though. They’re still in Ireland.

That leaves Darcy, Cam said, turning and glancing at their friend who was working behind the bar. She must have hired her.

I wonder what Fiona and Mick will have to say about that, Luke said.

She won’t stand a chance, Cam noted, visualizing their initial meeting. Especially not with Fiona Murphy as her boss.

Darcy Murphy was still cringing as she reminded herself to take a deep breath. Had she made a mistake hiring Sarah? She’d felt sorry for the woman who had wandered in off the street seeming desperate for a job. It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what she was doing. She had claimed to have worked in two different bars before. And after watching her serve and even fill in behind the bar on occasion, she definitely knew what she was doing.

Unfortunately she couldn’t say the same for her people skills. She was abrupt with most of her male customers, and now she had taken on an attitude with Rachel. Sweet Rachel, one of Flora’s rescues. Darcy smiled as she recalled the day her mother had told her about her best friend’s new house guests. Fiona Murphy had gone on about Flora’s need to rescue every stray in sight from dogs to people. Darcy hadn’t stopped smiling through the entire rant that had turned her mother’s Irish lilt thicker by the minute. But Darcy knew her mother well. Fiona Murphy was just as bad as Flora McIntyre. She was just better at hiding it.

Darcy sighed at the realization that she took after her mother and her mother’s best friend. Otherwise why would she have hired someone as unpleasant as Sarah Fitzgerald who had a chip on her shoulder the size of Half Dome? And why would she tell her she could stay in the studio apartment above her garage until she found an apartment in town? Of course, finding her sleeping in her tiny car had not given Darcy much choice in the matter. She couldn’t have lived with herself if she’d left her there.

When she looked up and caught Sarah’s eyes darkening as she tossed the rag she’d been using in the bin, untied and retied her pony tail inside its band, and grabbed another rag, nervously cleaning a table that didn’t need cleaning, she knew. Despite the woman’s effort to look tough, she had been hurt. Judging from the fleeting look of vulnerability she had just witnessed, deeply hurt.

But vulnerable or not, she couldn’t allow the woman to treat their customers badly. This was a small town and the majority of customers were regulars. She wasn’t about to allow her to chase away a single one, particularly while she was in charge. She glanced at the clock on the wall as if that would tell her the date. She smiled to herself. She knew the date. It was exactly two more weeks—minus a day—until her parents would be returning home from their month-long trip to Ireland. That gave her exactly thirteen days to whip their new employee into shape, or Sarah would be without a job the minute the pub owners returned. Even her Irish last name wouldn’t save her if her attitude didn’t improve.

No time like the present, she thought as she strolled over to the end of the bar where Sarah had just finished serving a couple pints. You okay? she asked, urging a hint of nonchalance into her voice.

Sure, fine. Do you need something?

Darcy considered answering her with the blunt truth. What would her mother do? She’d definitely be blunt, but with her Irish accent, she could get away with it. She’d have to take a slightly more subtle tack.

I noticed that you don’t seem to care for some of our customers.

Sarah glanced at the men at the bar who had given her leering looks. I just don’t like it when men leer at me like that.

Jason and Nate? Darcy glanced over her shoulder. They weren’t leering. They were smiling.

Looked like leers to me. The sexual harassment kind.

They wouldn’t dare. They know better.

What do you mean?

You haven’t met my parents, Mick and Fiona, but everyone in this tiny town knows they would not put up with anyone mistreating their employees.

They’re not here.

Doesn’t matter. I am.

So, they really weren’t letching?

No.

Sarah shrugged. Sorry. I just like to let men know I’m not available, you know?

Darcy knew well. She’d done the same thing plenty of times when she’d worked in different bars and pubs, grateful to have moved home and to be back working at the pub her parents owned. I do know. But you can rest assured that the men in this town are, for the most part, decent guys. They don’t take advantage of women. They don’t mistreat women.

That you know of, Sarah murmured.

Darcy turned and looked at her.

Sarah’s hands turned up in an innocent gesture. Just saying. No one really knows what happens behind the walls of someone else’s home.

Darcy couldn’t argue with her there. Well, one thing I do know is what happens inside the walls of The Shamrock and Thistle.

Sarah sighed with relief. This was good to know. She could drop her defensive stance and actually allow herself to smile once in a while. Except for one problem, one she didn’t mention to Darcy. Waiting on men always seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth. Unfortunately it was the one thing she knew how to do and did well. She had, after all, had that skill modeled for her since childhood. And consequently, had been good at it during her marriage. As if she’d had a choice.

She bit back her concerns and told Darcy, I’m glad to hear that. She had to make an effort here, especially with the woman had hired her and was giving her a place to stay—at least temporarily. It was a tiny apartment. A studio with a single bed and a dresser and a kitchenette with a mini fridge and a sink and a two-burner stove and microwave. There was a bathroom attached as well. And it was clean. And safe. At least so far. If she hadn’t felt as if she were infringing or taking advantage, it would have been perfect.

Good, now go out there and enjoy your job. Our customers are good people and a lot of fun once you get to know them.

All of them? she asked, her eyes narrowing as she turned and gazed over at the table with the beautiful and petite dark-haired woman who was seated between the two incredibly good-looking men.

Darcy chuckled out loud. All of them, but none more than Luke and Cam.

Luke and Cam?

The two men you’re staring at.

Sarah was about to deny that, but gave it up. Darcy had keener vision than she was used to. They look like they’d be full of themselves.

Because they’re more good-looking than your not-so-average movie star?

Sarah shrugged. She hadn’t seen too many men as attractive as these two. The one with the dark hair and beautiful arctic blue eyes was just about the best looking man she’d ever seen, although the one who had come in after him, with his blond hair and dimples, was damned attractive too. She mentally slapped herself as those thoughts scurried through her mind. She was off men, she reminded herself. Finished. Done. No man was going to touch her again. Ever.

It hasn’t gone to their heads, Darcy said.

What? Sarah asked, trying to recall where their conversation had left off.

Their good looks. It hasn’t gone to their heads. They’re two of the most decent guys I know. It doesn’t get better than Camden Hart and Luke Winters. Darcy smiled to herself. Except for Jamie McIntyre.

Sarah frowned at that bit of information. Naturally, the two nicest guys in town would be into little Miss Uppity Rich Bitch. Men always went for the petite ones who acted all demure, just like they went for Melody Fitzgerald Martin. Her very own mother. Her mother who no one believed was actually her mother since she, unlike this stranger, didn’t resemble her in the slightest. Men would choose that petite woman over her with her chunky, over-sized build every time. Petite women were, after all, easier to take advantage of, easier to control.

Well, maybe not, she reconsidered. After all, she was anything but petite and she’d been taken advantage of plenty. But no more. No man would ever take advantage of her again. Especially not her bastard of a husband.

But just so you know, Cam is taken.

Huh? Cam?

The one with dark hair. He’s pretty much engaged—not officially, but as close as it gets. And Luke, the other one, may not be engaged or even seeing anyone, but from my observation, his heart is taken.

"With her?" Sarah asked, hearing the hostility in her own voice.

Darcy’s eyebrows arched in surprise, wondering what had provoked such intense animosity and jealousy. "Yes, her. Rachel Benson who happens to be one of the sweetest people you’ll ever hope to meet."

Sarah wanted to gag. Sweet? Of course. Petite little Rachel’s being sweet had attracted a nice guy. It couldn’t have hurt that she had grown up privileged. Sarah had seen her walking through town with that older woman, carrying packages from every store in sight. And riding around in that Bentley. Apparently being sweet and privileged attracted an entirely different element from being sweet and underprivileged. Only she wasn’t so sweet anymore. All the sweetness that had been demanded of her by her over-zealous, fanatically religious father had been beaten out of her. As far as the underprivileged part was concerned, she planned on changing that. Just as soon as she could.

Darcy shook her head slowly, thinking she had her work cut out for her with her new employee. And only a couple weeks in which to do it. Go refill their glasses. On the house, she told Sarah, nodding toward her friends. And be nice.

Darcy collapsed into a chair on the patio and pulled up a second one for her feet. If she smoked, this would be the time to do it. Maybe it was time to start. But she’d never liked the concept of smoking or the nasty fumes that went with it. Although she wasn’t completely averse to using nicotine to soothe her nerves. But she’d never admit that, especially not to her cousin Ryan who was a dedicated smoker.

She scooted the chair that held her feet slightly so they were out of the direct sunlight. The only thing she didn’t love about her home town in the Sierra foothills was the hot dry summers. She’d considered living elsewhere, for Eric’s sake, closer to his work, but he claimed he liked it in Devon. And he wanted her to be near her family. Still, if he’d said the word, she would have picked up and moved.

She laughed out loud, glad that no one else was crazy enough to be outside in the August heat. "Mad dogs and Englishmen . . . ." Again her laugh was out loud. She was, after all, not English but Irish. As Irish as it got. One hundred percent. At least as far as she knew. And she was full of blarney if she believed for even one minute that she could easily move away from Devon, the town that her father’s father’s father—or maybe it was his father—had helped found. She loved it here, and every day of her life she thanked God for her incredible family.

Besides, she’d had her time away. First college, then some traveling. When she and Eric had gotten married, she’d figured he’d want to live in the Bay Area where they’d met and where he worked most of the time. To cut down on his travel, she had been willing to make the move permanent, but to her surprise, he had agreed to move to her home town in the foothills east of Sacramento. More than agreed, he had initiated it, insisting that it was where she belonged, where she wanted to be, and he wanted her to be happy. She’d thought she’d died and struck gold when he’d suggested it, and she’d naively believed that her life would be as near to perfect as possible.

She was free to do whatever she wanted. She could have pursued a teaching career, seeing as how she’d done the work, first majoring in history and then obtaining a secondary teaching credential. But two things had stopped her. There were no teaching positions available at any of the nearby high schools which would mean a commute down the hill to Sacramento or further. And after doing some student teaching, she’d realized that teaching wasn’t her passion after all. As incredible as it seemed, she much preferred working in her parents’ pub. She could pretty much pick her hours and shifts for one. And she actually enjoyed working behind a bar and serving people—or at least the joking around with them part. And truth be told, she preferred adults to teenagers.

One other thing had stopped her from pursuing the career she had planned. She hadn’t wanted to commit to a teaching job, only to abandon it a year or two later when she stayed home to raise the children she and Eric had planned to have.

She released a deep sigh, really wishing she’d become a smoker, or at least an avid drinker. Disappointment had a way of sucking the life out of you. More than anything, she had wanted children. Try as they might, it hadn’t happened for them. Both she and Eric had gone through numerous medical tests, and the doctors couldn’t find a reason for their lack of success in becoming pregnant. It was baffling, to say the least.

Her mind flashed quickly on something her mother had said to her. Only once. Despite her lovely Irish lilt, Fiona Murphy was not a soft-spoken woman. On the contrary, she was outspoken. And very wise. Wise enough to know not to repeat the words that her daughter hadn’t been able to dismiss. "Perhaps the reason is not physical, my darling daughter. Perhaps ‘tis another reason that you have not welcomed a child into your womb."

Darcy remembered asking her mother what that other reason could be.

Her mother had blinked hard and said softly, "Perhaps the soul that is hovering about you and wishes to come into your life is wiser than the rest of us. Perhaps it knows that it is not the right time . . . or even the right situation. Perhaps it wishes to be welcomed by two loving parents."

Fiona had wisely walked away at that moment, not giving Darcy an opportunity to ask what she was talking about, but rather giving her food for thought. She had dwelled on her mother’s words for a long time afterward. Apparently, she was still dwelling on them, considering that several years had passed since her mother had spoken them.

All she could think was that her mother was insinuating that Eric did not really want children. That the child that was to be theirs, or at least hers, was aware of that and had chosen not to come into their lives until that changed. But was it true? He claimed he wanted children. She knew without reservation that she did. So what was stopping her from getting pregnant?

And considering that she was nearing forty, it was a question she was running out of time on answering. She released another deep sigh, knowing she had to do something. If she was ever going to be a mother, she was going to have to do something now. Either convince Eric to adopt a child or . . . . She wasn’t sure what, but if nothing else, she could once again revisit those medical exams and tests. Something. Anything. Because she knew that she was destined to be a mother.

And if for some reason, God did not agree with her, that was one more rationale for not leaving Devon. At least she had her nieces and nephews—the children of her two older brothers—to dote upon.

Hey, you okay out here?

Startled, Darcy looked up to see Sarah studying her. Of course, why?

You’re sitting out here in almost one-hundred-degree temperatures.

It’s not that bad in the shade.

Still— Sarah fanned herself in exaggeration, causing Darcy to laugh.

I needed a break.

From me?

Everyone. Hazards of working in a pub. Just wanted a little peace and quiet.

Got it. Now are you ready to come back inside before you suffer heat stroke?

Darcy allowed her feet to drop from the chair and followed her server inside. Hey, want to hang out tonight? she asked.

Tonight? The woman couldn’t have looked more surprised, and Darcy wondered if it was the fact that she’d claimed to need a break from people, yet here she was inviting her to hang out, or whether it was simply the fact that they were employer-employee. But she figured what better way to get to the bottom of the younger woman’s attitude? She could do it while they were on the job, but it would be slower treading. People tended to open up more easily in social situations, especially after a drink or two.

Yeah, tonight. We both get off early. If ten could be considered early.

You’re not closing tonight?

No, Tuesdays tend to be slow nights so I told Ben he’s closing for me.

Told him?

Darcy gave her an impish grin. Being related to the owners has an advantage. As does being naturally bossy.

Sarah laughed. Darcy was definitely bossy, but she had a charm about her that made her orders slide down more easily. But I thought Eric was coming home tonight. And if that was the case, she would be very surprised that her boss didn’t want to be home with him. The man was hot. Not just hot, but one of the best looking men she’d ever seen with his thick dark hair and blue eyes. Even better looking than the rich bitch’s two companions.

Darcy held up her cell in response, revealing a text message she had just received. He’ll be gone another few nights. The job is taking longer than he expected.

What does he do anyway? Sarah asked. Whatever it was took him away an awful lot. Since she’d moved into the apartment above the couple’s garage over a week ago, the man had been gone all but one night.

NDT.

Sarah frowned. Should she know what that was?

Darcy chuckled. Sorry, I’ve heard the lingo for so long, I forget to speak in layman’s terms. It means nondestructive testing.

Sarah cocked her head to the side. Which is?

They inspect welds and metal thickness without having to destroy the material. They use Ultrasound and Liquid Penetrant and Eddy Current and Magnetic Particle and Radiography and other means in order to determine the integrity of the material. Eric is an advanced ultrasonic inspector. He oversees the other guys in the company, does a lot of training and certifying, auditing. That kind of thing.

I see, Sarah said, feeling clueless and ignorant. And he has to travel to do it?

Well, considering that he deals with the clients a lot, and the work is mostly in refineries, and on occasion, ships, yes.

Oh. Sorry.

It’s okay. I’m used to it. Darcy grabbed her apron that she’d left on the back of the chair in the office and wrapped it around her waist and tied it. She was definitely used to it. And the truth was, she didn’t mind her husband’s being gone. It just wasn’t usually for such long periods of time. Or during holidays, such as Christmas.

Is he always gone for a week at a time? Sarah asked, covering her mouth when she realized the question was a bit personal. Sorry, it’s just that I’ve only seen him once since I moved in.

Yeah, well, that’s the nature of the job, Darcy said. We could have stayed living in the Bay Area, which would have meant he was home a lot more, but we opted to move here. Rather, he had opted to move here which still, after all these years, left her bewildered.

What? Sarah asked, noticing the confused and even concerned look on Darcy’s face.

Darcy shook her head. Nothing. So, about tonight?

Sure. That would be fun. Did you mean here or—?

I think we could both use a break from this place. Besides which, every time I try to relax and play customer in my own pub, I end up being roped into working. Come over to the house. I’ll order a pizza. We’ll have a grand time.

Pizza? Sarah swallowed hard, afraid she was going to gag, just on the word alone. She’d eaten enough pizza to last a lifetime, but maybe she could get down a single slice. The circumstances were different. Besides, she hadn’t indulged since she’d left home. Home. Not anymore. She shivered against the chill that ran through her body. Never again would she allow herself to serve pizza and beer to a bunch of her husband’s slimy friends. The only reason she could even stand working at the pub where she was forced to serve, not only drinks but food as well, was because they didn’t serve pizza. No matter how desperate she was for a job, she seriously doubted she could have taken it if pizza had been on the menu.

Not a pizza lover? Darcy said. How about Chinese?

Sarah sighed with relief. Chinese sounds great.

Darcy nodded as she watched the woman head over to take an order from a customer who had just come in. But before she took more than a couple steps, she turned and smiled at her. Thanks, Darcy.

Darcy nodded, still focused on the woman’s smile which was surprisingly transformative. Not only did it light up her face, but it showed her softer side, the side that revealed a hint of vulnerability. Maybe her task of knocking the chip off the woman’s shoulder wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

CHAPTER TWO

Jameson McIntyre stood amidst the rubble that had once been the living room of Roseburn Estate, the estate which, until a few months ago, was the home of his oldest sister, Aileen, and her family. This was the final room to be renovated, transformed into what would soon be two bedrooms with a bathroom in between. They were on the homestretch.

He was pleased that the project was moving along so quickly, but with his nephew’s skills as both an architect and a contractor, and his mother’s connections, he was not surprised. He had returned home only five months ago, just in time to catch the beginning of the transformation of the original McIntyre estate home into a shelter for abused women and children.

Not only was he pleased, but he was impressed. And very glad he had, after thirteen years, returned home to Devon.

You might want to go outside for a while, one of Cam’s workers told him. Or put on a mask. That final wall is coming down and it’s going to be dusty.

Outside wasn’t an option. It was over a hundred degrees today, and despite having lived in India for several years and then in a Southern California desert, Jamie still didn’t embrace the summer heat of Devon. He could make himself comfortable in one of the finished rooms that was closed off from the construction, but he was feeling restless today. He considered going back to Morningside, his current home. Due to his father’s vision and desire to build a home for his new bride, it was the home in which Jamie had been raised. But even that wasn’t appealing right now. Restlessness wasn’t something he felt often which made it even more intense.

Right now the only thing that did appeal to him was taking a boat out on the local—and very small—lake, but it was too hot for even that. Another option was going to the pub for a pint, something he had managed to avoid doing for five months. Not easy, considering that The Shamrock and Thistle was his family’s favorite hangout since it was owned by his parents’ best friends, Fiona and Mick Murphy. Only because he had the reputation of being a quiet man, devoted to spiritual studies and solitude, had he been able to get away with that. Being a man who pursued serenity and peace, no one had questioned why he hadn’t been to the pub since his return home any more than they had questioned his mother’s reluctance to go there for well over a year following her husband’s death.

Not that Jamie cared what other people thought, because if there was one thing he had learned on his journey to living a conscious life, it was that his business was his alone. His thoughts were his alone. His choices were his alone, as was the responsibility for making those choices.

When his cell phone chimed, he jolted, still not used to having a phone in his pocket. He only had it at his mother’s insistence, and his nephew Cam’s. Since Jamie was the new director of the McIntyre Foundation and the Roseburn shelter in particular, Flora and Cam needed to be able to reach him. He was yet to see a real need for the foreign apparatus, yet he understood. After he had disappeared from Devon and his mother’s life over thirteen years ago, she had an intense need to be able to press a few buttons and instantaneously hear his voice.

He pressed the tiny instrument to his ear. Hello?

Jamie. The name was whispered on a sigh, one of elation, proving him right.

Hey, Mom. He was smiling on his end as well. His greeting was met with silence, and he knew his mother was soaking in the sound of her son’s voice. A stab of guilt struck him in the chest. Despite the choice he had made to leave home and estrange himself from his family for so many years, and his understanding of why he had made that decision, there were still threads of guilt. A futile emotion, he knew, yet one he often suffered. While he had made the decision for good reasons, he had realized, only after his nephew had tracked him down and urged him to come home, that he might have done things differently. His mother had deserved for him to have done things differently.

But that was in the past and this was now. There was only one direction in which to move and that was forward. Mom?

Another sigh before her response. Sorry, I was distracted.

He chuckled, knowing she was still finding it hard to believe that she could pick up a phone and so easily speak with her son.

I was just calling to see how it’s going at Roseburn. I know the offices are finished and that there are some therapy sessions going on already, but I have a list of applicants anxious to move in once the residential area is completed.

Closing in on it, he told her, wondering why she was asking, considering that she’d been out to the estate last week and knew perfectly well just how far along they were. I’d say that all the living quarters should be ready in less than a month.

That’s good. Very good. Still soaking in the sound of her son’s voice, Flora McIntyre glanced down at the list on her desk, a list that was growing by the minute. Although, she was certain some of the applicants had found another shelter by now. I was thinking you and Cam and I could meet and go over the applications and at least make some decisions.

Sure. Of course. Just the distraction he needed. Are you at home or your office?

I’m at the office.

How about I come to you? Jamie said. I need to escape the dust anyway.

Flora smiled to herself as she glanced out her office window at the tiny lake that sat below the building that housed McIntyre Industries. She allowed her gaze to extend beyond the lake to the tiny town of Devon. I have a better idea. Cam is in town at the pub. Let’s meet there. She didn’t give her son a chance to object. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes. With that she hung up, a proud grin on her face. She still had it in her to be devious when she needed to be.

Jamie groaned. Apparently he couldn’t escape going to the pub forever. But he knew that. There was no time like the present to bite the bullet. It was either that or call his mother back and manufacture some excuse as to why they should meet somewhere else. Whatever excuse he created, his mother would see through it. Flora McIntyre’s insightfulness and perceptiveness had not diminished over the years. Her mind was just as keen as ever. Unfortunately.

He made it into town in just over fifteen minutes, surprised not to find his mother’s Bentley or Cam’s pickup truck anywhere in sight. Maybe they’d parked around back, he decided as he walked toward the entrance to the pub. His hand gripped the door handle for what felt like an excessive amount of time, the brass handle on the door that his own father had carved for his best friend. But even that fact couldn’t distract him right now. He had never considered himself a particularly brave man, at least when it concerned matters of the heart. But he knew he needed to do this. He had stalled long enough. It was time. He inhaled deeply and released his breath on a long sigh and swung open the door, relieved to be greeted by a cool blast of air conditioning.

It was midafternoon and quiet for the pub. Only one bartender stood behind the bar, drying glasses. Not the bartender he had expected to see. This one was tall, broad-shouldered, and male, wearing a dark T-shirt with a plaid shirt over it. Definitely not the bartender he had anticipated seeing.

Jamie took a moment to scan the all-too-familiar décor. Nothing had changed in all the years since he had honored the establishment with his presence. The walls were covered with paintings of the Irish countryside, drawings of Irish harps, framed coats of arms—both Irish and Scottish. The same worn banners and carvings filled in empty spaces—all with Irish greetings, sayings, or themes—and of course, the occasional picture of a Scottish glen to honor the owner’s best friend, Daniel McIntyre.

Both Scotch and Irish whiskey signs hung behind the bar, along with the common pub mirrors featuring various brands of beer, Guinness in particular and even a Belhaven. The bar itself had been imported from a pub in Ireland, and was the prized possession of the pub owners, Fiona and Mick Murphy. That and the photographs of Mick playing rugby back in the day. There were at least six of those, Jamie noted with amusement.

After glancing around the room and not seeing his nephew or his mother, he found a table in the corner. He grabbed a menu and scanned the beer on tap. He wasn’t certain if he was feeling relieved or disappointed that the bartender he had expected to see when he’d bravely opened the front door was not standing behind the bar. No. That was a lie. Disappointment definitely prevailed.

If ‘tisn’t Jamie McIntyre, as I live and breathe.

He looked up at the sound of the fake Irish accent that had emerged from the lips of none other than Darcy Murphy. A voice he still easily recognized after all these years. Hello, Darce.

She laughed and he could have sworn the light in the room brightened. How could she not have aged in all these years? The last time he’d seen her, she’d been twenty-five. She didn’t look any different at thirty-eight. Same reddish blond hair, same emerald green eyes that sparkled with mischief, same smile that could light up an entire town.

Is that all the greeting I’m going to get then? ‘Tis grand to see you, Jamie.

Manners, he told himself. As painful as it was, he stood and reached out to receive her hug. He held her for only a moment that felt like a lifetime yet not even an instant. Apparently, all those years away had not helped one bit. He was still