A Place to Rest My Heart
A Place to Rest My Heart
Galen Rose
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
Copyright © 2012 by Rose Kahn
ISBN 10: 1-4405-5218-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5218-2
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5217-7
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5217-5
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © 123rf.com
Acknowledgements
To my husband Kris, son Ryan, my Mom & Dad and brothers Michael & Robert for their wonderful love and support. It has taken me awhile to get here, but you didn’t doubt me!
To The Council: Barbara, Cindy, Marnie, Tama, & Terena. Five awesome ladies whose friendship means the world to me!
To Tim G. who prodded, and to Bob M. who pointed me in the right direction. To Mike R. for being Superman. To Lauren Murray for helping me get my foot in the door. To Terena Scott of Medusa’s Muse, Prof. Dara Hellman, JoEllen Conger of Conger Books Reviews, Lynna Banning, and Suzanne Barrett for all of their patience and editing assistance.
And last, but not least, Jennifer Lawler, editor at Crimson Romance, for opening the door and welcoming me in!
Contents
Chapter One
I’ve gotten good at starting over. Starting over has never been a problem for me. It’s living the middle part that’s really the challenge. I know that saying “it was a dark and stormy night” sounds like a cliché, but it really
was
dark and stormy when I arrived in San Francisco. I stood inside the Greyhound bus station watching the rain run in small rivers down the windows as the wind picked up trash and scattered it across the parking lot. My thoughts felt as far adrift as those pieces of trash, tossed around with little or no direction. I had no job, no place to stay, and my leather jacket had seen better days; it seemed my luck was not immediately improving. No need to ask if it could get any worse — I knew from experience that it would. I knew Murphy’s Law intimately. Hell, I was pretty sure by now that I had the law memorized.
I bundled up my long hair under a ball cap, stepped outside, and gained my balance against the wind and lashing rain. No cabs waiting at the curb, so I started up the street. A few minutes later I managed to hail an empty cab; better than walking in the rain, and no one knows a city better than a cab driver. The man sitting in the driver’s seat appeared to be about a hundred as he looked at me through his rear view mirror and smiled. He actually smiled. A cabbie that smiled? Go figure. I noticed that his cab didn’t stink, either. There was no foul cigar smell or lingering odor of lunches long past in the air. It smelled of lavender and chocolate chip cookies. Cookies? I should have gotten some inkling, right then and there, of just how much my life was going to change. Being as dense as a post at times, I just chalked it up to a freak occurrence of nature and enjoyed the warm, dry cab.
“Good evening, young lady.” His Irish brogue was slight. “Where to?”
I couldn’t help myself. I let the Irish accent that had been beaten out of me come slipping right back over my tongue like warm honey. “Well to be sure, on a night such as this, I am in need of a good place to eat for starters.”
“Well now, lass, you have come to the right cab,” he said, and began whistling as he hung a couple of illegal left turns and headed up a busy street. “I just happen to know that the best food in all of San Francisco is at Muldoon’s. I am willing to bet, Miss, that you will find all that you need there.” His smile, reflected in the rear view mirror, held a hint of mischief. Eventually, far down the road of life, I would have to agree with him. I had no idea then that Fate drove a yellow cab.
When I leaned in through the window to hand him some money, he smiled knowingly at me, “I hope you enjoy your stay here.” He gave a wink, a tip of his cap, and drove off, making an illegal U-turn right in the middle of the street to honking horns and shouted curses. Turning back to the building with a shake of my head I stared in disbelief at what was Muldoon’s Pub.
I’d seen quite a few pubs, and this was not in the realm of ordinary. It was a large building with big bay windows that spilled light onto the well-swept sidewalk. Each window had a flower box overflowing with colorful blooms. Inside it was crowded with people but spacious, with plenty of tables and booths. A waitress could walk through and not get bruised before delivering her order.
It also didn’t smell of stale beer and burnt fish and chips, which seemed to be de rigueur for many pubs. No, Muldoon’s was alive with the scent of fresh-baked bread, Guinness, and spices.
I’d nothing to lose at this point and my stomach growled loudly. I stepped further inside to get the lay of the place before I headed to the bar. Normally I liked sitting in a booth, but judging by the number of people in the pub, getting a booth or a table would be out of the question. As luck would have it, a stool became vacant as I walked up to the bar.
As I dropped my duffel bag at my feet and sat down, the bartender turned to face me. The huge mirror along the back wall afforded him a grand view of the entire pub’s comings and goings, so I knew he hadn’t missed my arrival.
“Good evening, lass. What can I get for you?” He was a huge man, at least six four, with broad shoulders and a thick Irish accent, his hair a salt-and-pepper blend of black and white. I pegged him to be in his mid-fifties but he moved with the ease of someone younger. He also handed me a towel. “You’re dripping on my counter, darlin’.”
I accepted his towel with a mumbled, “Sorry,” as he handed me a menu. I started to ask for a Coke but had to clear my scratchy throat. Damn it all to hell, I was coming down with a cold. Now what?
“I’d like a Coke and a shepherd’s pie.”
“Good choice, but some good hot tea would do your throat better.” Still smiling, he started through the stages of building a pint of Guinness for a customer.
“Fine … whatever.”
“Whatever, to be sure,” he mumbled before calling out my order to the kitchen. I looked at him for a minute with the uncomfortable feeling that I was not fooling him for a second.
“I’m Muldoon. Tommy Muldoon.” He extended his hand to me. My own hand was lost in his as he shook it. “Now this is the part where you give me your name.” His hand still held mine in a firm grip.
“Laney. Laney Murphy,” I said, trying to keep the accent from my voice. I failed. The accent was back as if it had always been there. Truth be told, it had always been there, just deeply buried along with the rest of my life.
“You have a bit of Irish in you, don’t you, Laney?” He asked letting go of my hand to take the cup of tea a waitress had brought to him.
I looked at him for a long minute trying to decide how to answer. “Some,” I finally answered. His smile told me he figured I had more than some but he kept his own council as he set the tea and honey before me and went to the other end of the bar to take an order.
He returned a few minutes later. “So, Laney Murphy, what brings you to my end of the world?”
“A cab,” I mumbled, with a cough.
He laughed and set a plate in front of me. “Well tuck into that and see if it doesn’t do the trick.”
After the first bite, I was in heaven. My God, this was not pub grub, this was a delight of textures and scent. No mushy peas or dry, day-old mashed potatoes. The shepherd’s pie was wonderful and I told Muldoon so before I could stop myself.
“This is the best meal I have had in … well, forever.”
“Well now, thank you kindly, lass. So are you just passing through, or are you staying in our fair city?”
“I closed my eyes and chose San Francisco on the map. I don’t know if I’m staying yet.” I took my last bite and gave a thought to licking the plate but my aunt’s voice, shrieking about good manners, jumped into my head. I set my fork down and drank some more tea instead.
“I was living in San Diego. It didn’t agree with me.” More like fading away there, I thought, but I didn’t think he needed to know that. Although something told me he probably wouldn’t bat an eye if I told him only a few days ago I had been thinking that life truly wasn’t worth living without William.
“I can’t say as San Diego would agree with me either. For me home has either been here, or Ireland,” he said, as if there really was no other place to live but those two places. “Ahh, good evening, Sean. You’re a wee bit late tonight,” Tommy chided the person who was taking the open seat beside me. I hadn’t even noticed who had been sitting next to me, nor that anyone had left. The man had barely begun warming the seat before Tommy set a pint in front of him. He must have been a regular.
“Evening, Tommy,” said yet another Irish accent. Christ, I was surrounded by them.
I turned a curious gaze on the man who met my look with cool, appraising eyes of sea-glass green.
I swear to God, I heard a bell go off somewhere that rattled me from the very tips of my worn combat boots to the top of my head. The man nodded. His assessment of me did not waver as his smile faded to smirk before he turned his attention back to Tommy.
I mentally shook myself. Not like you haven’t seen a man before, idiot, I told myself, even a smirking, self-possessed, good looking one with cool green eyes, high cheekbones, and a lean, rugged face. I turned back to my tea to find that Tommy had added more hot water to it and another tea bag. I sighed and kicked my brain for getting all muggy and tried to focus on the conversations around me. But the one with Tommy and Sean caught my ear right off.
“You find a replacement for Thea yet?” asked Sean, sipping his Guinness. “She’s leaving in two days. Not much time left to train someone.”
“I know. I know.” Tommy muttered, wiping the counter again near my cup of tea. Tommy leaned on the bar, “You have to understand, Sean. Thea has been with this place for going on six years. She’s family. And no one — I mean no one — can build a Guinness like her … well except for myself, mind ya, but I’ve been spoiled by Thea. It’ll be hard to let her go, but go she must.” Tommy sighed and looked at me, this time catching my interest in his conversation. “Well, Laney Murphy, can I get you anything else?”
Thinking he meant that it was time for me to move on and stop eavesdropping, I stood up and the room swam before me. I placed my hands on the counter to steady myself and to hopefully hide the fact I was as dizzy as hell.
“Easy, lass,” Tommy said, placing a hand over one of mine. “You have no business going back out in that rain.” Tommy nodded to Sean, who rolled his eyes and shook his head at Tommy but put his hand under my elbow and tried to stabilize me.
“I’m fine,” I said hoarsely, and tried to shake off his hand. But my muscles had their own ideas and were slowly slipping out of my control.
“Sure you are, your highness.” I hoped to hell a gong was going off in his head too by the way he stared at me, his look unreadable. I hoped a whole bloody symphony was going off in his head as I tried to focus. “Just put me in a cab and point it to the YWCA or something.”
