GettingLuckyinGalway (2 page)

“Oh aye, we’ve turned this Yankee into a right proper
Irishwoman, we have,” Liam bragged as his brogue thickened with emotion and
drink.

Swatting the older man’s thick shoulder, Calder shot the
wily Irishman a look of mock irritation. “Watch who you’re calling Yankee,
Irish. I’m Louisiana born and bred.”

Now he understood the hint of spice flavoring her accent.

“Tell me something, stranger, if you’re a man of this wild
land, then why do you have the feeling of a foreigner?”

“How do you know my heritage?” This observation truly
startled him. No one, at least not in the last hundred and fifty years, had
managed to catch the hint of Irish in his voice. Yet in a matter of minutes
this curvy brunette from the wild bayous pegged his ancestry perfectly.

Stranger still was the need, almost a compulsion, to tell
her the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as he could. There were some
secrets that simply weren’t his to tell. “Aye,” he deliberately filled his
voice with the sound of his homeland. “I’ve a bit and more of the shamrock
blood flowing through my veins. How did you guess?”

“Oh I’ve got a bit of luck on my side as well,” she answered
without giving Roark a direct answer.

“Then what brings you to the most beautiful spot on our
lovely planet?” He dropped the brogue, finding it silly and immature to keep
forcing the accent he’d worked so hard to erase from his voice. Roark wasn’t
ashamed of his Irish roots, but he’d found in his many years of travel that
most people didn’t tend to take a body seriously unless he looked and sounded
serious. To many that meant losing the lilt of his homeland.

Most people would have missed it, the slight shift in her
tawny eyes, but Roark truly was like no other man. He saw things the majority
of mortals would never see. Before she even spoke he knew her words would be a
lie.

A casual shrug accompanied her “An itch to see the world.”
She turned to face the broad-chested bartender, ensuring the conversation
ended.

“A wily one, she is,” Liam spoke. “She’ll give the right man
a good proper chase before letting a fellow catch her.”

And that was the problem, Roark thought, taking a deep
swallow of his beer. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him in
recognition. The furious pounding of his heart, the light sheen of sweat
covering his flesh, told him everything he did and didn’t need to know.

Fuck, he knew those sisters had been screwing with him. The
greatest treasure known to man, his lucky green ass. Setup was what had
happened, and him as gullible as a dew fairy to follow so easily the bread
trail they’d laid out.

So now what? Roark didn’t see himself walking up to her and
informing of her newly mated status. Somehow, from the few minutes spent with
her, he knew without a doubt Calder wouldn’t take such an announcement lying
down. Hell, she probably wouldn’t take it at all. With his unusually bad luck,
Calder might just prove to be the only mate in the history of leprechauns able
to walk away and never look back at her mate.

Chapter Two

Raindrops continually dripped down her nose, but Calder knew
from past experience to wipe them away would accomplish nothing. Instead she
sighed and dug further into the base of the wide old ash she’d chosen for her
night’s spying.

Her quarry looked to be tucked in for the night, but some
sixth sense refused to let her leave and seek out her own warm, comfortable
bed. So she lay in the mud and grass, eyes narrowed until the beautifully
restored three-hundred-year-old white stone farmhouse was the only thing in her
sights.

How, she wondered, did a renegade former Irishman land
himself such a sweet place to stay? Twenty minutes from Limerick yet with all
the privacy a shifter could need. The cottage had at least three good-size
bedrooms with attached bath and a true country kitchen. This all from her quick
peek through the wide bay windows before settling down to be miserable for the
night. The large ash trees swayed in the breeze while the leaves dripped
steadily with water.

Even more stupid—why was she here? What point could she
possibly be trying to make to herself by scouting out his house? Prove that the
wily man was her mate? Pretty hard to do with the male being tucked away in the
house for the night and her being upwind. The scent of him had been tainted
earlier in the pub with assorted scents of humans, smoke, peat and numerous
others combing to mix the air into a hodgepodge of confusion.

Be honest with yourself
, her conscience insistently
prodded her.
Fine
, she grumbled back to the annoying voice. She could
have picked out his scent amongst the various others, but panic and fear had
kept her from doing so. She didn’t want to know if the minty-smelling human
belonged to her. After all, her whole life had been spent dreaming of the day
she found her cat mate, the shifter who would complement her life, not
complicate it. So was it any wonder she backed away from what instinct demanded
of her?

How would she ever explain to a oney, the name the dual
natures gave run-of-the-mill humans, that she was his mate or wife and by
biting him Calder would join their lives for eternity? Yeah, that would go over
well with the species that preferred to shoot first and ask questions later.

So instead of being in her rented cottage, warm and cozy,
Calder lay outside aggravated by the elements and getting more pissed off by
her potential mate. Where the logic in that line of thinking came from she
didn’t care. Somehow she knew it was Roark’s fault. She’d worry about finding
the reasons behind it later.

The rain continued to fall in a slow, steady stream and
while nothing overtly changed, Calder felt a difference in the air around
her—something small, like a flash, normal one minute and then different.
Lifting her head, she sniffed. One good whiff and her body knew.

Slowly, so as not to startle the male, she turned her head
and found herself face-to-face with the man so recently occupying her thoughts
and rousing her anger.

“Hello. Rotten night to be out for a stroll,” he said,
sounding and looking so normal.

Did he not see her? Not understand there was a
four-hundred-plus-pound lion lying wet underneath this large ash tree? She
sniffed again, searching for signs of agitation, nerves, fear or even a hint of
mental instability.

Nothing!

Calder’s mind whirled with possible actions, dismissing all
within a few seconds. Shit. She cursed herself, the situation and the
ridiculously stealthy male able to sneak up on her supernatural senses. If she
shifted to human form then she risked blowing his diminutive human mind.

Instead she let out a little chuffing sound, hoping to scare
the man aware, but the fool continued to stand there, his head cocked to the
side, bright green eyes almost glowing with amusement.

Irritated, Calder growled, deep and low, a warning any
half-wit could recognize.

“Is that really necessary? I only came out to see if you’d
like to move your spy camp inside the house and out of the rain. I didn’t come
out to have my head bitten off by a cranky cat shifter.”

Calder went statue still in shock. What? How? Huh? Who the
hell was this man and how did he know about shifters? Feeling the first
tendrils of fear slide up her spine, she rose to her haunches, ears straining
and whiskers twitching for the slightest sign of attack.

“No need for violence between us, cat. To prove how
civilized I can be I’m offering my home and a change of clothes, in case you
need them. See what a great host I can be?”

As he turned and walked in the direction of the house, the
wind shifted and his scent blasted through her like cocoa through a chocolate
addict.

I have got to get me some of that
, she thought and
raced to follow him, no matter the danger he might be leading her into.

After all, mates were to be protected, even from themselves.

The tension tightening Roark’s shoulders eased when he heard
the movements of the large lioness. Turning his back on a predator never
occurred to him before, but something about this one shouted trust and
protection. Since his people relied on their instincts more than the senses, he
put more confidence in his walk then he actually felt.

The warding around his house parted easily, allowing him and
his companion to pass through with no harm. However if anyone else attempted to
pass the magic of his barriers then things would be different. The wards would
shock as a first warning then, if the stranger didn’t take heed, all barriers
would engage and the unlucky sod would be torn apart until not even molecules were
left to identify him.

With a careless wave of his hand, Roark opened the front
door and gestured for his furred companion to enter.

“Be at peace in my home while my rainbow offers you
protection and shelter,” he offered the traditional Leprechaun greeting.

The big cat snorted and shook her wet coat, sending prisms
of water cascading over him and his wood-planked floor. If possible, the
man-eating predator was actually laughing at his ancient good luck greeting.
Silly Americans, he thought with a mental eye roll and turned his attention to
his poor waterlogged floor.

“I do own towels, you know, and I’m more than happy to put
one or two or ten at your disposal.”

“Oh what have ya dragged into my clean house, Roark?” a
deep, gravelly voice demanded from the firelit living room.

“Calm yourself, Nob, and come meet our guest.” He moved and
gestured to the large female lion sinking down on her haunches, growling low at
the new intrusion. He made sure to keep his tone even and easy as he faced one
of Mother Nature’s most cunning hunters. “No need for all that, lady, Nob is no
threat to you. Ease back.”

“Ack, you’ve left her dripping on my freshly washed floors,
you son of a silversmith,” Nob accused as he waddled into the foyer. His large
pointed ears flicked back and forth in agitation as he wrung his brown wrinkled
leather-looking hands together.

The cat sat back in stunned silence, her tawny eyes wide
above her strong muzzle. Yeah, he kind of understood the reaction. House
brownies were a shock to the sight on first encounter. Having grown up with the
loyal but persnickety creatures, Roark was at ease with them as he would be any
member of his widespread but nosy family.

Beautiful eyes the color of fresh lilacs blinked beneath a
thick set of black lashes that matched the long midnight tresses, curled and
braided and decorated as was the custom of house brownies. Standing no more
than four-foot tall, wearing jeans and a bright purple t-shirt and nothing
else, Nob looked no more threatening than the average six-year-old. Many fools
had perished under the mistaken belief as well.

“You must change before my floors are ruined, mistress. Nob
will garb you, so please,” he waved small hands around the air, “please hurry.
Oh my poor original ash planked floors.” The last came out more a whine than
whimper, but in Roark’s mind it was close.

The cat sat there looking between them with, if he wasn’t
mistaken, a confused look on her feline face.

“Come, come, kitty-lady, shift,” the brownie urged more for
the sake of his poor floors than any urgency to settle Roark’s guest. Roark had
been on the other end of Nob’s tongue-lashing more than once. “My magic will
protect your modesty from the young one if that’s what worries you.”

In a flash of sparks and glowing lights, the lion shifted
into a very beautiful and very familiar female.

“Thanks for the offer, uh…Nob, but I’ve got that one
covered.”

When she waved a hand across her body, Roark finally noticed
his guest had gone from a sopping wet feline to a casually dressed, fully dried
human female.

And wasn’t he sorry to have missed the sight of her bare,
smooth, silky flesh.

The amazing little…man stared at her with a weird light in
his almost too pretty purple eyes.
Huh.
Calder wondered where the heck
Roark had found this small man and how old he had to be to consider Roark a
young one.

Then reality came crashing back with the viciousness of a
weekend bender. Whipping her attention from the tiny…person to the big man she
demanded to know, “How do you know about shifters? What are you and what is
he?” Shit, the one rule all two-natured followed was to keep their secrets from
humans, no matter the cost. She’d hate to kill either male, but sometimes fate
left her with no choice.

In a placating manner that annoyed her to no end, Roark put his
arms out, palms up. “Relax, darlin’, no need to get your pretty kitty all
upset. We’re all friends here.”

Did the man think she woke up on the stupid truck this
morning? Really, were all drop-dead sexy Irishmen this thickheaded and ignorant
or had she just gotten particularly lucky with this one?

“
Cher
, I’m not even close to losing my temper and my
cat is just fine. What we’d both like to know is how the hell you know about
us? What are you?”

“The floor,” the diminutive man in the OshKosh jeans said in
an awed tone. “You’ve dried my floors, like new they are. Not so much as a damp
spot.” Nob bent to his knees, both hands rubbing along the water-free floor.
“Oh mistress, thank you so much.”

She gave a casual shrug. “No big deal, uh…Nob. It’s all part
of the shifter package. We pretty much clean up after ourselves.”

Standing up, he clapped his small hands. “Oh how wonderful,
truly wonderful, no wonder you have no house brownies in your lands. You
certainly don’t need them, not like some lazy creatures I could mention. The
one that used my finest cooking pot to test bombs. Have you ever heard of such
disrespect, such insolence?” The slight creature’s lilac eyes swam with unshed
tears and Calder rubbed his small but muscular shoulder in an attempt to stem
the waterworks. She didn’t deal well with emotional issues and tears were at
the top of the do-not-tolerate list.

“Um, I’m sure he’s sorry and I bet if you asked he’d buy you
a new pot.” Calder looked over at the man responsible for her current
uncomfortable position. “Tell him you’ll buy him whatever he wants,” she
demanded.

Roark huffed out a breath, green eyes narrowing in agitation
before sighing and running a hair through his still wet locks. “The incident
happened when I was eight. It wasn’t bombs it was more like a little gunpowder
play and…” He pointed a finger in their general direction. “I’ve already
replaced the pot several times over. Nob only pulls out the big guns when he
wants something. So I’m going to guess Martha Ray came out with a new line of
cookware that you now just have to have.”

The brownie sniffed in irritation. “It’s Martha Stewart, you
cretin. But yes, the goddess of home domestication has created an even more
perfect set of pots and pans that I simply have to have.”

“Then buy them, I don’t care, but please stop the drama
brownie routine every time your favorite television characters come out with
something new.” The last line came out more a plea than a demand, but even
Calder could read the sincerity and affection between the two.

“I’m off to the market then.” The brownie clapped his hands
and raced away, out of sight.

“Should have waited until after he got us settled down
before offering up the latest in cooking magic from the magnificent Martha.”
Roark waved a hand to the living room. “Come on, let’s see what the useless
lazy creature can conjure for you to eat.”

Had she landed in some alternate world? Because nothing
she’d seen, sniffed or felt since coming to this house fell within her realm of
normal. “Seriously, am I on some Irish version of
Punk’d
?”

“What? No, of course not. Come on, we’ll get tea and see if
Nob was in a cooking or baking kind of mood today.” Without giving her a chance
to speak, much less refuse, Roark grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him.

What the hell, she thought. Why fight insanity when it was
much easier to humor the loony patients. Besides, her cat urged her to explore
and a free meal sounded better than the cold cereal waiting at home for her.

The winding dark hallway glowed softly with wall sconces adding
to the romantic ambiance rather than detracting from it, and for a second
Calder almost tasted fear in her throat.

But that was ridiculous, right? Female lion shifters feared
nothing. They were the queens of any forest they entered. Just because a male
entered her jungle, a man with a human scent but with hidden powers, she
shouldn’t freak out? Right?

“Come now, I don’t bite, but you could talk me into letting
you have a nibble or two.” The grin he shot her sent heat spiraling straight
between her thighs and her cat into a frenzy of lust. Stupid hussy, she
mentally smacked the cat back. Having sex with a stranger she’d never see again
was one thing, but inviting her mate to have sex without knowing what species
he was… Well, she wasn’t that kind of cat.