“They let you through with that?” he asked.
Nan stopped short, her hand clutching the railing. “What do you mean? Was I supposed to declare it? They said just meat and dairy products. And plants. The jars have never been opened and I-oh, no. Do you think they consider tea a plant?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Here in Ireland, plants usually don’t have leaves.”
“I have to go back.”
She reached for her suitcase, but he pulled it away and grabbed her arm. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he warned. “We’re not going back inside.”
“But I may have broken the law.”
“So you’re a criminal now. You’re just going to have to live with the shame. Come on, Alice Capone, let’s get the hell out of here before you find another way to waste my day.”
“If I get in trouble, I’m going to blame you,” Nan said.
“Oh, you’ll be fine. It’ll be a grand adventure, your life on the run from the Irish authorities. It’s better than kissing the Blarney stone, you know.”
“This is not how I imagined my vacation going,” she murmured.
When they reached the first landing, Riley stopped and turned back to her. “I’m sorry if I’ve been acting like a wanker.” He held out his hand and she grasped it. “We’ll begin again. Hello, Miss Galvin. I’m Riley Quinn. Welcome to Ireland. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Nan smiled, staring down at their hands, so casually joined. He had beautiful hands, long, tapered fingers. So he was a nice guy at heart. “See, that wasn’t so difficult.” The warmth of his hand seeped into hers and she realized the attraction she’d first felt for him was still there, only multiplied. A tingle snaked up her arm. He was handsome and funny and even a bit chivalrous. If he could sing, he’d be the perfect man. “Thank you,” she said.
He held on, a lot longer than she considered polite. His thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, turning a benign greeting into something almost sexual. She didn’t really mind. It felt nice. “The car is just up here,” he finally said, his voice soft, his gaze fixed on her face.
Nan tugged her hand away then stuck it in her jacket pocket for safekeeping. “Lead on,” she said.
RILEY DOWNSHIFTED the car as they approached the interchange, then looked over his shoulder as he turned onto the roundabout. When another car nearly cut him off, he laid on the horn, cursing beneath his breath. He’d never make it back to the pub for the lunch rush, so why bother trying?
Nan was sitting stiffly in her seat, her eyes wide and her hands folded on her lap as if she were praying. “Don’t worry, I’ve never had a wreck.”
“It’s a…” She cleared her throat. “It’s a feckin’ miracle,” she finished, imitating his Irish accent perfectly.
Her use of an Irish curse seemed so ridiculous coming from a proper little thing like her, he couldn’t help but laugh. “There you go. You’ll fit right in with a mouth like that.”
She grinned. “When in Ireland…”
Gad, she was pretty, Riley mused. Not at all what he usually pictured when he thought of American women. He’d met a fair number of American students in pubs all over Ireland, but his image had been finely honed early in life, by old episodes of
Nan was fresh and feisty, with a very simple, straightforward beauty. Her short-cropped black hair curled softly around her face and long, dark lashes ringed vivid green eyes. She was stubborn and opinionated, the kind of woman who would make charming her a tough go, even for the most experienced Casanova. But then, Riley enjoyed a challenge.
Though he had been anxious to get back to the pub, now that they were on their way, Riley decided to get off the expressway and enjoy the rest of the trip. The local roads back to Ballykirk provided a picturesque drive and he found himself wanting to spend a bit more time with Nan before delivering her to the cottage.
“So, you mentioned that your family had a pub. Do you serve lunches there? I’m starving. The food on the plane was awful.”
“Best lunch in all of Ballykirk,” he said.
“Are you the cook?”
“No. I tend to the bar every now and then.”
“You’re a bartender.”
“No. Actually, I make my living as a musician. I write songs and sing. At the Hound and at other pubs around Ireland.”
“You sing,” she said, as if surprised by the news. “Really? Are-are you famous?”
“Depends on what you consider famous. I’m no Elvis. But people know who I am. They come to see me. They buy my CDs. But I’m not planning a stadium tour anytime soon.”
“Maybe I can come and hear you sing,” she said.
“Maybe you can,” Riley replied.
She sent him a smile that was so sweet, he wanted to reach out and touch her again. He clutched the wheel until his knuckles turned white, wondering why he found himself so attracted to the American. It wasn’t just the fact that she was pretty in an unconventional way. There was a wide-eyed innocence about her that he found intriguing. Women her age were usually quite jaded, but not Nan. There wasn’t a cynical bone in her body.
As they continued on to Ballykirk, Nan seemed fascinated by each new sight that passed by her window-the churches, the graveyards, the stone walls. When they rounded a curve in the road, Nan threw her arm out and grabbed his shoulder. “Stop!”
“What?” Riley slammed on the brakes and the car skidded. “Jaysus, did I hit something? What was it?”
“That,” she said, pointing over him to a crumbling round tower. “It’s a round tower. I saw these in my guidebooks. They’re called…cloy-cloh-”
“They’re called
“I didn’t think they’d just be sitting out in the middle of a field. Do you think they give tours?”
“Nah. That one’s just a ruin.”
“Let’s go,” she said. “I want to see it up close.”
He considered her request for a long moment. They were expecting him back at the pub, but his cousin Martin was behind the bar. He could do the job if Riley was late. “All right. I guess we could stop for a bit.”
“I have to get my camera,” she said, searching for the door handle. “It’s in my bag.”
He leaned over her seat and opened the door for her. She jumped out of the car and opened the rear door, then grabbed her carry-on and rummaged through it. When she’d retrieved the camera, she ran up to the drystone wall surrounding the field.
“I’m in Ireland,” Nan shouted, throwing her arms out. “I want to see it all, starting right now.” She pointed to the tower. “I want to see
Riley shook his head. She might be a bit fussy at times, but she was also adorable. He followed her, holding her hand as she scrambled over the wall. They walked across the field, Nan staring up at the old stone structure. “Who takes care of this? Why hasn’t anyone rebuilt this? How old is this one?” She threw questions at him, one after another, not waiting for an answer.
“We have these all over Ireland,” he said. “There’s one just a few kilometers from Ballykirk. It’s bigger than this one. And you can climb up inside of it.”
She pointed to the small window at the top of the crumbling tower. “Don’t you wonder who might have lived here? Who sat at that window and stared out over all this beauty?”
“I doubt anyone ever lived here. They lived in the area around the tower. Some say these were bell towers. Like a warning system for the people who lived in the area or a way to call them to worship. They may have been used for defense. People would shut themselves inside if they were attacked.”
She gently ran her hand over the rough stone wall and closed her eyes. Riley watched her, wondering if she was tired or if she was saying a prayer. “Are you all right?” he whispered.
Nan glanced over at him. “Yes,” she murmured, nodding. “I’m just…all the life this tower has seen. Where I come from, the oldest building is maybe two hundred years old. This is ancient.”
She looked so beautiful, the color in her cheeks high, her gaze bright with excitement, that he couldn’t help
