carvings. It was the best day of Danny’s whole life, better than any day he could remember. Somehow, he knew things had changed, that he was someone important to Riley and Kellan now. The duo was now a trio.
“I can show you something else,” Danny offered. “It’s a secret and you can’t tell Da or Ma or they’ll take the strap to us all. And you can’t tell anyone else. None of your friends. It has to be for Quinn brothers only.”
“We swear,” Kellan said.
“You have to make a blood oath,” Danny said. He opened his pocketknife and held out his hand. Without flinching, he cut the tip of his index finger, then handed the knife to Riley. “Do it,” he said. “Or I won’t tell you.”
Reluctantly, both Kellan and Riley cut their fingers, then let the blood drip onto their palms. Then the three brothers grasped hands, mingling their blood. Riley grinned at Kellan. “He’s a brave little bugger, isn’t he?”
“Let’s see it,” Kellan said, drawing his hand away.
“It’s a cave,” Danny said. “In the cliff. It’s deep and I didn’t go all the way in because the tide comes up into the opening. But I think that smugglers might have used it.” He pulled a tiny flashlight out of his jacket pocket and turned it on. “We’ve only got an hour before the tide starts coming in. We’ll have to hurry.”
“Are you sure we should do this?” Riley said. “What if it’s dangerous?”
Danny gave him a look. “If you’re afraid, you can stay on the beach.”
As he walked across the sand to the rocky outcropping, Danny smiled to himself. Though he was only eight, he felt like a full-grown man. Maybe now, he’d have enough courage to talk to Evelyn Maltby.
1
“SO THIS IS BALLYKIRK,” Jordan Kennally murmured to herself, peering through the windshield of her car at the picturesque village below.
She’d been in Ireland for nearly sixteen months now, working as the project manager on the Castle Cnoc renovation. And though she’d seen a lot of the countryside, she was still amazed at how every sight managed to look exactly like some picture-postcard. Ireland was nothing if not quaint.
She glanced at the clock on the dash, then calculated the time it would take her to find Danny Quinn, discuss their business and get back to the castle. She wasn’t used to chasing around the countryside looking for workers, but she’d been told that Danny Quinn was the best. And Jordan needed the best.
She steered her car down the winding road that led into Ballykirk, following the carefully drawn map that Kellan Quinn had provided. The town was like so many others along the coast of County Cork-a pretty collection of colorful buildings set against a stunning landscape, this time the blue waters of Bantry Bay.
When her father had assigned her the project at Castle Cnoc, she’d looked at it as both punishment and reward. It was her first project as manager, solely in charge of a five-million-dollar budget and pleasing one of her father’s wealthy clients. It was also a way of putting her firmly into her place at Kencor.
She’d been doggedly scratching her way up the corporate ladder of her family’s multimillion dollar real estate development firm, working hard to carve out a place for herself. But with four equally driven and talented older brothers above her on the ladder, just the process of getting noticed was impossible.
She’d begged for good projects to manage, but had always been given a secondary role, usually as the interior designer, for projects that her brothers headed. She’d been sent to Ireland to oversee the restoration of a once grand manor house and castle keep, because no one else could be bothered to come. They were all too busy with hotels and shopping malls and office towers.
“Whistler Cottage.” No street, no number, just a name. Jordan studied the map. “Behind the bakery and up the hill to the blue cottage,” she read. The bakery was easy enough to find and when she did, Jordan parked her car, grabbed her bag and jumped out of the vehicle.
There were blacksmiths scattered all over Ireland, their skills ranging from amateur to competent artisan. But Danny Quinn was known as one of the best ornamental blacksmiths in the country, a true artist, and she intended to hire him for her project.
His brother, Kellan, had served as the architect on the Castle Cnoc restoration and Jordan had assumed that Danny would jump at a big-budget job so close to home. But he hadn’t returned any of her calls. So Jordan had decided to force the issue. She needed an answer, one way or another, or she’d be put off schedule.
The pressure to bring the job in on time and under budget was immense. If she did, her father wouldn’t be able to ignore her anymore. The next logical step would be the boutique hotel they were developing in SoHo and after that, progressively larger projects. They wouldn’t think of her as the company “decorator” anymore.
Jordan cursed softly. They all looked at her like some swatch-wielding cream puff, unable to exert any power with the mostly male contractors on the job sites. Maybe she didn’t curse and throw tantrums and berate the workers, but that didn’t mean she didn’t get the job done. Jordan had always preferred a quiet confidence to a raging temper. You get more flies with honey. That’s what her grandmother had always said.
But she’d been pleasant to Danny Quinn, polite on all the messages she’d left. Maybe it was time to get tough. If he didn’t want the job, he needed to tell her outright so she could find someone else. Trouble was, she didn’t want anyone else. Kellan had shown her a portfolio of his brother’s work and Danny was exactly who she needed to provide some of the authentic details she sought for the project.
As the map indicated, a cobblestone path led between the bakery and the adjacent building. After walking through a narrow alleyway, she saw the sign for the smithy-a decorative iron anvil and tongs attached to the side of an azure cottage set on the low hillside.
The front door to the cottage was wide open and she walked inside. Two black-and-white dogs lying near the fireplace immediately leapt up and began barking at her. They scampered across the room, driving her against a battered breakfront.
“Shh,” she urged, working her way back to the front door. “Settle down. I’m not going to hurt you.” Jordan held out her hand as she made her retreat. But just as she turned to step outside, she ran face-first into a wide, muscular and naked chest.
A tiny cry slipped from her lips as she stumbled back. The dogs got behind her legs and she felt herself losing her balance. And then she was on the floor with the dogs climbing all over her, licking at her face and nuzzling her hands.
“Finny. Mogue. Away now.”
The dogs retreated a safe distance, then sat down and peered at her with curious blue eyes, their tongues hanging out, their heads cocked. They looked so pleased with themselves. “Thank you so much for the lovely welcome,” she muttered to the dogs as she struggled to her feet. A moment later, the man grabbed her hand and helped her up. It was only then that Jordan got a good look at the elusive Danny Quinn.
The family resemblance was keen. At first glance, he looked like his older brother, Kellan. But upon more careful study, she saw that where Kellan was handsome in a cool, sophisticated way, his brother oozed raw sex appeal.
He wore torn blue jeans that rode low on his narrow hips, and an old work shirt, open at the front and missing its sleeves. A sheen of perspiration covered his sinewy arms and chest. His hair, nearly black, stood up in unruly spikes. But it was his eyes, pale blue in color, that caught her complete attention. She forced herself to look away and her gaze drifted to a narrow strip of hair that traced a line from his navel to beneath his-
“Sorry about the dogs,” he said with a boyish smile. “They’ll herd anything that moves.” He paused. “How they could mistake you for a sheep, I’ll never know.”
Jordan looked up, her face warming with embarrassment. Sheep? What was she doing? Quinn was a business associate. “You-you must be Daniel Quinn.”
“I must be,” he said. “And who must you be?”
“Oh.” She held out her hand. “Jordan. Jordan Kennally.”
He seemed taken aback by her introduction, but then wiped his hand on his jeans and took her fingers in his. “You’re Joe Kennally?”
“Jordan,” she said. “Your brother calls me Joe. He thinks it’s funny.” She cleared her throat, determined to stay on the subject at hand. “I’ve been trying to contact you for the past two weeks now and haven’t gotten a call back. So I decided a visit was in order.” He stared at her silently. “What?” she asked, an impatient edge to her
