“Which has been dreadfully overcrowded since the day it opened,” Nell claimed with exaggerated innocence.
“Dreadfully,” Dillon confirmed, nodding, his expression astonishingly serious for a man who knew they were bending the truth, if not flat-out breaking it. Nell’s great-granddaughter’s child care business was flourishing, that much was true, but she had more than enough competent staff to manage it.
“If you think it will take more to persuade her, there’s your own husband’s pub, which is in dire need of an extra pair of hands,” Nell added. “You’re far too busy with your photography and your travel to exhibitions to help my grandson out as you once did.”
Moira nodded. “True enough. Megan would have me traveling once a month if I’d agree to it. I suspect she’s exaggerating a bit, but she tells me she’s had to turn down requests for shows, because I won’t make myself available as often as she’d like. She’s got quite a knack for inducing guilt.”
“Exactly, but we can use that to our advantage with Kiera,” Nell said. “And my health is far too fragile for me to be spending my spare minutes in the kitchen at the pub keeping a watchful eye on the chef to be sure the menu doesn’t stray too far from proper Irish recipes.”
“Nell, you’ve given us a scare or two, but in all honesty, you’re about as fragile as a steel beam,” Moira replied, but she was laughing at the clever strategy. If she handled the performance convincingly, it would play on all of her mum’s weaknesses, most especially on her need to be useful while keeping a firm grip on her independence.
“And you’re wickedly devious to boot,” she told Nell. “Both traits I admire, I might add.”
“I’ll thank you for that,” Nell said, clearly taking it as the praise Moira had intended. “With a contrary family the size of mine, it’s always best to have a few tricks up my sleeve. Sadly, most of them are onto me now.”
“Isn’t this something we should at least be discussing with Luke?” Dillon asked, inserting a word of caution. “If we intend to push Kiera into a job at his pub, he should be brought on board with our plan.”
“Leave Luke to me,” Moira said confidently. “I think I can convince him of the advantages of having her here. It would allow him more free time at home with me and Kate. Mum is far more experienced at running a pub than I ever thought of being. Not only was she more competent, but she loved it as I never did. She’ll be a true asset.”
“Are we agreed, then, that once Luke’s given us his blessing, Moira should be the one to make the call?” Dillon asked. “It’ll receive a better reception than any suggestion that comes from me. Kiera and I have made our peace, but it’s tenuous at best.” He studied Moira. “How are your skills at bending the truth without getting caught?”
Moira laughed. “An improvement on yours, and that’s a fact.”
* * *
Luke walked into his house on Beach Lane well after midnight, expecting to find his wife and daughter sound asleep as they usually were. Instead, he opened the door to discover the soft glow of dozens of candles and his wife wearing one of those shimmery gowns that skimmed over her curves and never failed to cause a hitch in his breath in the few seconds before he managed to get it off her.
Suspicion warred with heat, but as usual the heat won. With his gaze locked with hers, he tried to assess the glint in her eyes as he crossed the room and accepted the glass of champagne she held out to him.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a welcome like this at the end of the day,” he murmured, his gaze drifting to the swell of her breast where the gown had dipped low.
“And it’s long overdue, it is,” Moira said, her voice soft and filled with promise.
She pushed him back against the cushions of the sofa and settled snugly against him. “I’ve missed our time like this. Haven’t you?”
“It’s not as if our love life has been lacking,” he commented in a choked voice as her hand tugged his T-shirt free and slipped below to caress bare skin.
“Not lacking for sure,” she conceded. “But less spontaneous. You can’t deny that. With our schedules so demanding, we practically need an appointment to have a moment like this.”
“And you’ve been missing the spontaneity?”
“Old married couples need an occasional spark to liven things up,” she said, and managed to say it with a straight face.
As intrigued as he was by where this was heading, Luke couldn’t seem to stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Old married couple? Is that how you’re thinking of us these days? When did we both turn gray and start hobbling around? In my opinion, we’ve barely left the honeymoon phase.”
She frowned at his teasing. “If you’re not interested after I’ve gone to all this trouble,” she huffed in typical Moira fashion. She’d always been too quick to take offense.
He brushed a wayward strand of hair from her cheek. “I am always interested in you,” he contradicted. “And will be until the day I die. However, Moira, my love, I know you a bit too well to take this seduction at face value. You have something on your mind. Out with that and then we’ll get to the rest of the evening as you’ve planned it.”
She looked as if she wanted to argue, but in the end she sighed and sat back, then took a healthy gulp of her champagne. Since Moira rarely indulged in alcohol, Luke figured whatever she was about to tell him was likely to be something she knew he wasn’t going to want to hear.
“It’s about my mum,” she confessed.
Luke’s antenna went on full alert. He and Kiera had called a tentative truce since he’d married her daughter, but they weren’t exactly close. And though he sympathized with what she must be going through since Peter McDonough’s unexpected and sudden death, he couldn’t imagine what that had to do with him.
“I was with Nell and my grandfather earlier,” Moira continued.
“So they’re involved in this, too?” he asked, his antenna now waving as if there were a dozen signals coming at him all at once, none of them boding well. If his grandmother was involved, there was a very good chance it involved the sort of sneaky meddling that terrified everyone in the family. The only person even better at it was his uncle Mick O’Brien. Thankfully, so far his name hadn’t come up.
“Just tell me,” he instructed his wife. “What are the three of you conspiring about when it comes to your mother, and what could it possibly have to do with me?”
Moira leaned toward him, her expression earnest. “You know how devastated she was by Peter’s death. We think she needs a change of scenery if she’s not to go back to her old ways.”
“Her old ways?”
“You know, retreating from the world, wallowing in her misery and bitterness,” she explained. “I’ve already heard hints of that when we’ve spoken. She feels betrayed. The walls are going back up. It happened after my dad left. I can’t let her waste the rest of her days being all alone again. She’s still young enough to enjoy a full and happy life, if only she’ll allow it.”
Luke recalled how impossible Kiera had been when they’d first met in Ireland. The only person topping her in that department had been the woman sitting right here with him, her skin glowing, the strap on her gown sliding provocatively low, and her voice filled with passion, albeit of an entirely different sort than when he’d first walked in the door. What sort of idiot was he to have redirected that passion to this conversation?
“I’m guessing you three have come up with a solution to save her from herself,” he said warily.
“We