Wild Dreams
Wilder Irish, book twelve
Mari Carr
Copyright © 2021 by Mari Carr
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book is dedicated to Nan, my partner at work and in crime for twenty-nine years. Be sure to save a spot for me on your back porch for wine and plotting after your retirement!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Wild Chance
About the Author
Prologue
Patrick Collins slowly rocked back and forth as his youngest grandson, Oliver, nestled in his lap. He was spending the night at his son Sean’s home, babysitting. Sean was currently at the hospital with his spouses, Lauren and Chad. Sadly, Lauren, who had been ten weeks pregnant, had suffered a miscarriage earlier in the evening.
Patrick had driven to their house the moment Sean called to ask if he could stay with Oliver. His chest grew tight as he considered the tension in his typically affable, happy son’s voice. This wasn’t Lauren’s first miscarriage. In truth, it was her sixth, each loss driving the sadness that seemed to be his daughter-in-law’s constant companion even deeper.
Lauren had dreamed of a large family, a houseful of kids. After she’d first married Sean and Chad, she’d told her husbands countless times she wanted to break Patrick and Sunday’s record of seven children.
She hadn’t made that joke in years.
Patrick knew Sean was worried about Lauren, and not just her physical health but her emotional state as well. This evening when she’d gotten in the car, she looked like a ghost of her former self, an empty shell. She hadn’t shed a tear. Patrick suspected it was because she’d cried every single one of them out over the past decade. His heart ached for her, for Sean, for Chad.
Sean had been fearful of another miscarriage ever since Lauren told him she was pregnant again. She’d suffered four miscarriages before Oliver came along. And since his birth…two more. Sean had confided in Patrick just last week that this was it. He simply couldn’t watch his wife’s heart break again, couldn’t suffer the pain of losing another child.
They called Oliver their miracle baby and no little boy was more doted on, more adored.
Oliver had just turned five and usually he was a rambunctious ball of energy. Patrick often compared him to a bull in a china shop, something he’d often said of Oliver’s father when he was growing up as well. The boy took after Sean in terms of stature and disposition. He was a full head taller than the other kids in his kindergarten class, his strength was off the charts, and he was never without a huge grin on his face.
Patrick’s daughter, Riley, had given him the nickname Bam Bam a couple years earlier, likening him to The Flintstones’ character, after Oliver, only three at the time, had managed to dismantle the stone border she’d placed around her herb garden.
There was none of that energy present in Oliver tonight. While he didn’t know where his parents had gone or why, Oliver clearly sensed something terribly wrong had happened.
The two of them had claimed this rocking chair on the front porch after Sean and Chad got Lauren to the car, the three of them driving away, and they’d remained just like this for the better part of an hour.
Patrick thought perhaps Oliver had been tired, but the young boy hadn’t fallen asleep. Instead, he sat quietly on his lap, looking out across the yard.
“Would you like to go inside and watch TV, lad? Or maybe have some ice cream?” Sean told Patrick they’d just finished dinner when Lauren had felt the sharp pains, then noticed the blood. Mercifully, Oliver hadn’t seen any of that.
Oliver shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
That response told Patrick everything he needed to know. Oliver might not understand what was going on, but if the boy was turning down dessert, it was obvious he was scared and sad.
Patrick decided it was time to distract the boy from his heavy thoughts.
“Have I ever told you what your name means, Ollie?” Patrick asked.
Oliver twisted in his lap to look at him, shaking his head. “What it means?”
Patrick loved learning about the history of names, the meanings, the symbolism. He’d taken to telling each of his twelve grandchildren about their names. Some, like Padraig, loved hearing the stories tied to past namesakes, while others, like Colm, were less impressed by the game. Granted, Padraig had the fascinating story of St. Patrick driving the snakes from Ireland to entertain him, while the best he’d had to offer Colm was the symbol of the dove.
“Every name has a meaning. And in your case, it has three.”
Oliver grinned, clearly excited by this discovery. “What does it mean?”
“Well, some people say Oliver is derived from the olive tree. Have you ever heard the expression extending an olive branch?”
Oliver shook his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s an olive branch?”
“It’s a limb, a twig, from a tree.” Patrick pointed to the large maple in the front yard, then to the ground below it. “See that stick over there?”
Oliver nodded.
“That’s a branch from that tree.”
“Why would somebody want a stick?” Oliver crinkled his nose, unimpressed by the gift.
Patrick chuckled. “Well, in this case, the olive branch isn’t actually there. It’s more of a symbol.”
Oliver tilted his head and Patrick hastened to continue his explanation, lest he lose the boy’s interest.
“If someone extends an olive branch, it means they are offering a promise not to fight. It’s meant as a symbol of peace and friendship.”
“Like the way I gave Billy half my
