All Our Luck: Complete Irish Reverse Harem Series Page 3

  She steps past me and bends over to get a closer look at the lilies. I can’t help but admire her shapely ass while she runs her long fingers along the colorful petals.

  “Maybe we can replant them over at your place,” I offer. “You’d probably have more luck keeping them alive.”

  Delia looks up at me, clearly touched.

  “That’s sweet. I might just take you up on that.”

  She straightens up and I realize just how close to me she is. She seems fully aware of it as well, and steps just a little closer, leaving little distance between us. Those big green eyes gaze up at me and I give in to the pull, leaning down and brushing my lips over hers.

  The soft heat of her mouth sends a flare of desire through me and I want to pull her closer, but she breaks the kiss and takes a step back. She tries to speak and nothing but a breathless squeak comes out.

  I try not to laugh as her cheeks turn pink and she clears her throat, taking a deep breath.

  “Um. Well, if you um, need any help with the garden, you know where to find me,” she stammers, backing away towards her place.

  “And if I need help with something else?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her suggestively.

  A sultry smile spreads over her face and she winks at me before heading back to her place without another word.

  Chapter Five

  Keenan

  Two Months Earlier

  Aunt Molly’s funeral was a stuffy, formal affair, the kind of thing the woman herself would have mocked mercilessly. The priest had droned on and on to the point where several people were dozing. And the music had been some of the most clichéd, hyper -religious tripe that one could come up with. It had made me sad to see her legacy wrapped up in a way that so sharply contrasted such a vibrant, funny woman.

  But at the same time, it wasn’t much of a surprise. It had been planned primarily by our grandad, who had never understood Molly and had tried to shoehorn her into his image of the perfect young lady.

  He’d even set her up with her ex-husband, Brogan O’Leary, a widower friend of his who was nearly fifteen years Molly’s senior and already had three sons of his own. He’d talked her into marrying at only twenty years old, wanting her to be settled, rearing kids and cooped in the kitchen, so she would no longer be his problem. And Molly loved her father, despite his indifference, so she had agreed to marry Brogan, who was about as interesting as wallpaper paste, dim-witted and quick to anger.

  After Grandad’s death, and after suffering through far too many years of his abuse, Molly had finally had enough, and left Brogan when Rowan and I were teenagers. That’s when she’d bought the ranch in Texas and left Ireland. Brogan had been furious, ready to chase her down and drag her back by her hair, but fortunately, our da had stepped in and stopped him. He’d loved his little sister fiercely, and the fight that had ensured had been an ugly brawl.

  Da had sported that black eye with pride, especially considering that was all he walked away with. Brogan, who’d gotten in that first punch, had taken weeks to recover from the broken jaw and busted ribs.

  That fight was the main reason why we had told Da not to go to the reading of Molly’s will. Because we both knew Brogan would show, and another bloody brawl wasn’t exactly something we wanted to see, especially in a lawyer’s office.

  So we sat there, in that office, with Brogan and his sons and Molly’s lawyer. Unlike Brogan, his sons, Barry, Cillian, and Seamus actually seem to be decent guys. But then again, we’ve spent relatively little time with them. They might just be more quiet about their douchebaggery than their father is.

  A heap of legalese was thrown at us, and most of it went over my head, but the crux of what we were told, to our shock, was that Molly’s Texas ranch, with all its assets, belonged to us. She’d also willed a bit of money and some special items to her former stepsons, but the only thing Brogan inherited was, and I quote, “A very large dildo to shove up his arse, and the contents of my compost heap, where that shithead will feel right at home.”

  Brogan had pitched an unholy fit, his toad-like face turning nearly violet as he spewed his outrage at this poor attorney. I’ve blocked out most of his tirade, but I remember some things along the lines of “Are you fucking kidding me?” and “How dare that fucking bitch do this to me!”

  His sons, looking embarrassed, had tried to force him to sit down and placate him, particularly when he decided Rowan and I were the reason he wasn’t getting anything and he lunged for us. They held him back and I’d grabbed Rowan, who was spitting and spewing insults right back at the bastard and trying to swing at him.

  Molly’s attorney had called security and had Brogan tossed out on his arse. Once our cousins had left, embarrassed and apologizing for their father, the lawyer had presented us with some paperwork to fill out to set everything to rights and put Molly’s ranch into our name.

  “If you ask me, her compost heap is probably full of less shit that that prick,” her lawyer muttered as he swept all of the papers into a neat pile.

  Rowan snorted.

  “That’s an understatement,” he replied.

  From there, the two of us had gone back to the pub, weighed down with sadness and deep in thought.

  Whiskey in front of us, the two of us sat in silence for a long time.

  Finally, I was the first to speak. “So, how do we go about selling a ranch?”

  Rowan looked up at me, his expression surprised. “Sell it?”

  “Well, yeah,” I take a drink, “What else would we do with it?”

  “Run it!” A spark of enthusiasm glimmers in my brother’s eyes.

  I laugh in disbelief. “Us? Run a ranch? In Texas?”

  “Why the hell not?” Rowan slugs back the dregs in his whiskey glass, “It’s what Molly would have wanted, or else she wouldn’t have left it to us. Think about it, Keenan, we were just talking about finding a way out of the rut, weren’t we? Maybe this is our chance!”

  “You’re daft, Rowan! I thought getting out of the rut meant taking a holiday, or maybe exploring some new business venture, but packing it all up and leaving the country to go take care of some fucking cows? You’ve got to be havin’ a go at me, you can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious, Keenan. This is Aunt Molly’s legacy, how can we just throw it away?”

  “That’s not fair, Rowan,” I said warningly, “We don’t know the first thing about farming, we’re just as likely to run it into the ground as anything.”

  “But at least then we did something! Molly would be so proud of us for trying. She’d obviously trusted us to decide what to do with it, over useless Brogan.”

  I rake my fingers through my hair. This is fucking crazy, but Rowan’s right, it sounds like an interesting way to get away from the rat race. But neither of us have a clue what we’d be getting into down there.

  “Let’s at least give it a try, Keenan,” Rowan wheedles, “If we try it for a few months and it’s no good, we go with your plan, sell the place, and come back to the same old life we know and hate here in Ireland.”

  I sigh and shake my head, “I can’t believe you’re talking me into this.”

  Rowan lets out a hearty laugh. “Yes! This is going to be awesome!”

  “You mad git,” I tell him, laughing, “I really think you’re crazy and this is going to be a mess, but it’s worth a shot, I suppose.”

  He lets out a whoop of glee and orders another round of drinks to celebrate my acquiescence to his crazy plan.

  Chapter Six

  Keenan

  Present Day

  We’ve officially been here a full week now, and some of the frostiness between Rowan and me has thawed. We’ve seen Delia every day, though, and every time she comes around, tensions get high. Neither one of us has backed down, and Delia shows no signs of taking a side.

  But the actual running of the farm has been going pretty smoothly for the most part. Delia has been a great help as far as answering our questions and showing us how to h
andle this or that, but she seems pleased by our work so far.

  And I’m beginning to think that maybe coming here was the right choice. It’s been a refreshing change of pace. I go to sleep at night dead tired and wake up ready to go. My muscles ache not from sitting at a desk, but from working hard. It’s fulfilling, and I’m actually enjoying myself.

  Rowan and I have done a fair job of divvying up tasks, too. He seems to prefer working with the garden and the crops while I handle the “critters,” as Delia affectionately refers to them. I’m getting kind of attached to all the little beasts, too, from the rooster that screams us awake at five in the morning to the small herds of goats and cows.

  Delia keeps suggesting I get a herding dog, too. I’ve watched her with her dog, Mayhem, and it seems like a good idea, but I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  I’m wishing for Mayhem’s skills as I’m trying to coax the cattle into the barn today, though. Rain clouds overhead are threatening to erupt at any moment, and I’m trying to drag them in one by one, with little success.

  I’ve finally got one of the last ones into the barn when I realize that the other door is open and the ones I had already corralled have escaped out the other side and are right back to grazing.

  “You look like you could use a hand,” that familiar, sexy voice drawls.

  I turn to face Delia with a sheepish grin. “No kidding.”

  She laughs. “Close the back door, we’ll get those while Mayhem collects the rest.”

  She gives Mayhem a command that sends the collie bounding eagerly off toward the loitering cattle before leading me to the other side to get the escaped convicts.

  “Can you clone her for me?” I ask, laughing. “I need to find a dog like that, she’s done more in less than two minutes than I’ve managed in twenty.”

  “My friend Lucy breeds workin’ dogs like her, that’s where I got May,” Delia says. “She’s actually got a couple left over from her last litter she’s trying to find homes for.”

  “I wouldn’t know how to train a dog to do all of this,” I say, waving my hand at my surroundings.

  “Lucy starts ‘em pretty young, and she also works as a trainer. Between her and me, we can help you,” she offers. “If you want, I can take you down there when we’re done with this.”

  “Sure, sounds great.”

  That’s more time I can fit in with Delia, I think, getting excited.

  She helps me wrangle the escapees, and Mayhem drives the stragglers through the mouth of the barn. With a dramatic flourish, Delia closes the barn doors. “Ta-da!”

  “We make a hell of a team, lass,” I tell her.

  Her cheeks flush pink. “Yeah, definitely. So, you ready?”

  I nod. “Yeah, let’s head out.”

  “You don’t need to tell Rowan or anything?”

  “He’s not my keeper, he’ll be fine,” I say, waving off her concern and following her to her truck.

  I swing around the truck to open her door for her, only to have Mayhem leap into the cab in her stead, sitting in the driver’s seat with her tongue lolling out.

  “Well, I suppose “ladies first” still applies to her,” Delia says, laughing, “Scoot over, May.”

  She pushes the dog lightly and Mayhem shuffles over to the middle of the bench seat.

  She slips behind the wheel and I jump in on the other side, her collie sandwiched between us. I feel a momentary pang of guilt for sneaking off without mentioning anything to Rowan, but I convince myself that this trip is innocent.

  Delia’s just taking me to help me find a working dog for the ranch. I’m not running off to take her to a cheap motel for a fling. Even though the idea is immensely appealing.

  Lucy doesn’t live far down the road, and there’s a young woman sitting on her front porch brushing a collie that bears a distinct resemblance to Mayhem when we pull up. Mayhem immediately starts to whine, propping her paws on the dashboard and wagging her tail so hard that I’m repeatedly getting hit across the face with it.

  The second Delia parks and opens the door, Mayhem vaults out and beelines for the porch. The dog across the girl’s lap looks up and barks, jumping down off the porch swing where they were sitting.

  “Well, hi, Mayhem!” the blonde on the porch says with a grin, tugging shed fur from the brush in her hands.

  Mayhem ignores her in favor of the other dog, the two yipping and growling playfully at each other.

  “Hey, Luce, I might have a new home for one of Jubilee’s pups!” Delia calls as we walk up to the porch. “This is Keenan, and he needs a solid workin’ dog.”

  “Ah, one of the infamous Donoghue brothers,” the girl, apparently Lucy, laughs.

  “Infamous?” I look at Delia, who shrugs.

  “Well, come on in, you two, it’s gonna rain any minute.”

  Lucy waves us inside her house and whistles for the dogs.

  The collies come barreling into the house and we follow. The barking increases in volume as more voices join the chorus and a herd of dogs comes running. I fully expect to be run over in this stampede, but Lucy whistles and all but a couple of the dogs come to a screeching halt.

  The three who don’t stop have that fuzzy puppy face and all of them throw themselves at Delia and me. They’re adorable, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to kneel on the ground and coo and cuddle them. Delia, however, has no such restraint, dropping to her knees and unleashing a cheerful stream of baby talk at the cute little beasts.

  “Well, if you need yourself a workin’ dog, I would advise against the little black and white one, she’s my lazy girl,” Lucy says. “But the tricolor and the sable would both do what y’all need.”

  I look at the puppies, watching them.

  “Honestly, I’ve never had a dog before,” I admit to her. “So whichever one you think is better suited to a total amateur.”

  “The sable,” Lucy says firmly. “He’s smart as a whip, eager to please, and he also likes to cuddle, so he’s a good pet, to boot.”

  I look at the one she’s describing. Visually, I think he’s my favorite anyway, and he’s wagging his tail like crazy at Delia as she scratches behind his ears.

  “I’ll take him.”

  Lucy raises her eyebrows. “That easy, huh?”

  I shrug. “If Delia trusts you, I trust you, so I’ll take your word for what’s best.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got this boy wrapped around your little finger, Del,” Lucy laughs. “Well, come on, then, let’s grab a seat at the table and set this up.”

  About an hour later and after an exchange of money for dog, I’m carting a sleepy puppy to Delia’s truck while Delia carries all of my paperwork. I have a variety of forms from vets declaring his health, plus some informational stuff Lucy had sent along.

  I get in, the pup in my lap, and am joined soon thereafter by Mayhem and Delia. Mayhem returns to her seat between Delia and I, sniffing at the puppy curiously. The pup licks her face and Mayhem seems satisfied, wagging her tail before settling down on the seat.

  Once Delia begins to drive, and my masculinity is not at quite so much risk, I can’t resist giving the little fuzzball a good scratch and cooing at him for a few minutes.

  To her credit, Delia doesn’t laugh at me, and in fact when we pull into her driveway, she teases, “Watching you melt into a puddle of goo over that puppy is enough to make any woman fall in love with you, you know.”

  “Is that so?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

  She nods. “A hot guy and a cute animal? That’s the dream.”

  I lean across the bench seat slightly, moving closer to her.

  “Well, I believe the phrase ‘any woman’ must include you.”

  She swallows, hard. “It does.”

  “So,” I tease, “Does that mean you’re in love with me?”

  “I didn’t -I mean, I never said-”

  I can’t help myself. I silence her adorable stammering with a kiss, claiming that soft, sweet mouth with my own. Sh
e squeaks in surprise, but she kisses me back. After a moment, though, she pulls back.

  “We should get indoors before the downpour really starts,” she says, breathless, “It’s just sprinklin’ now.”

  I decide not to push things too far and nod.

  “Thank you again, lass. Go get yourself inside. But if you want to join us for dinner later, come on by, all right?”

  She nods. “Thank you, Keenan,” she says softly.

  A little shyly, she reaches across the seat and gives my hand an affectionate squeeze before sliding out of the truck.

  I lug my napping pup out of the car.

  “What are you going to name him?” Delia asks, shutting the door when Mayhem jumps down out of the vehicle.

  I look into the sleepy face, thinking.

  “Ruckus,” I say finally, “To go with Mayhem.”

  Delia laughs. “That’s perfect.”

  “Today was perfect, lass,” I look up at her and smile.

  She blushes and smiles back. Thunder booms overhead, making both of us jump.

  “Go get inside,” she suggests, “before you get drenched.”

  Like your panties? I think, but I just nod and head for home.

  Chapter Seven

  Delia

  My head has been a jumble of feelings for the last few days. All I seem to be able to think about is that smoldering kiss, but guilt surges through me as I remember the way Rowan had kissed me days before.

  They’ve both made it pretty clear that they want me. But they’ve also fought over me, and that jealousy between them holds me at bay. I wouldn’t dare choose between the two of them, for fear of alienating the other or hurting anyone. And even if I wanted to, how could I choose?

  As they’ve settled in, I’ve gotten to know them both more and more, and the more I see, the more my feelings for each of them have grown.

  It’s hard to keep myself from flirting with them, too. They’re shameless, and I’m smitten. But I’ve made a conscious effort not to be alone with either of them since, determined not to let this get any further.