Made For Loving You (Rescue My Heart Book 3), Kait Nolan [good non fiction books to read TXT] 📗

motions with the other staff, clearing tables, wiping down, sweeping up. Mhairi went on home—disappointed. And Kennedy promised Seamus, the pub’s owner, that she’d lock up on her way out. Then, at long last, she settled in beside the remains of the fire with her own pint.

Flynn lifted his. “To unexpected encounters with old friends.”

“Why unexpected?”

“You said yourself you rarely stay more than three months in a place. You’ve already been from one coast of Ireland to the other. I didn’t expect you back.”

“I always seem pulled back here,” she admitted. “The people. The culture. As a whole, I suppose Ireland has been as close as I’ve had to a home base over the past ten years. I’ve spent more collective time in this country than anywhere else combined since I started traveling.”

“How long have you been in Kerry?”

“Coming up on three months.”

“Thinking of settling?” he asked.

Was she? No. She still felt that vague itch between her shoulder blades that she got every time she’d been long enough in a place. She knew she’d be moving on soon, searching for the next place to quiet the yearning she refused to acknowledge. “Not exactly. I haven’t decided where I want to go next. Which isn’t the same thing.” She took a breath and spilled out the news she’d told no one. “I’ve been contacted by a book editor in New York. She wants me to turn my blog into a book.”

“Really?” Flynn’s grin spread wide and sparkling as the River Liffey. “That’s grand!”

It was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her, and she was glad to finally get a chance to share it. “I haven’t said yes.”

“Why not? Are the terms not to your liking?”

“We haven’t gotten that far. I’m still thinking about it.” Still looking for reasons to talk herself out of it.

“What’s there to think about?” Flynn prodded.

“A book means deadlines and criticism and working on other people’s schedules. None of those are exactly my strong suit.”

“Bollocks. Every job you’ve had has been on someone else’s schedule. As to deadlines, how hard can it be to take what you’ve already written and turn it into a book? Not All Who Wander is well-written, engaging, and personal. You’re a talented writer.”

On her better days, Kennedy could admit that. But it was one thing having her little travel blog, with its admittedly solid online following, be read and commented on via the anonymity of the internet. It was a whole other animal turning that into a book that lots of people could read. Or not read, as the case might be. That was opening herself up to a level of failure she didn’t even want to contemplate.

“She’s offered to fly me to New York to meet with her, and I’m thinking about taking her up on the offer. I might feel better about the idea of the project if we talk about it in person.”

“And if you go back across the pond, will you finally take a detour home?”

At the mention of Eden’s Ridge, Kennedy felt some of her pleasure in the evening dim. “It hasn’t really been on my radar as an option.”

“Maybe it should be.”

She lifted a brow. “This from the man who’s been on the go nearly as long as I have?”

“I travel and often, yes, but I’ve been home. I’ve seen my family. You’ve been running.”

“I’m not running,” she insisted.

“All right, not running. Searching, then. For something. In all your travels, have you found it?”

“How can I even answer that? I don’t know what I’m looking for.” But that was a lie. She knew what she was looking for and knew she wouldn’t find it in any new country, on any new adventure.

“I’d say that’s an answer in and of itself.”

Kennedy scowled into her beer. “I’ve had my reasons for staying away from home.”

“They aren’t family. You’ve seen them since you left. So who?”

Her gaze shot to his.

Flynn jerked his shoulders and gave an easy smile. “Deduction, deifiúr beag. Who was he?”

Someone better off without me.

She was saved from answering by the ringing of her mobile phone. “Late for a call.” Fishing it out of her pocket, she saw her mother’s number flash across the screen. “Not so late back in Tennessee.” She hit answer. “Hey, Mom.”

“Kennedy.”

At the sound of her name, she felt her stomach clench into knots. Because it wasn’t her mother, and the strain in her eldest sister’s voice was palpable. “Pru?”

“Are you sitting down?”

Absolutely nothing good could follow those words. “What?”

Beside her, Flynn straightened, setting his pint to the side.

“You’re not on the street where you can accidentally walk into traffic or something are you?”

“I’m sitting. What the hell is going on? Where’s Mom?”

Her sister took a shaky breath. “Kennedy, Mom was in an accident. Her car was in the shop, and she was in a loaner. We’ve had a cold snap.”

“What?” Kennedy whispered.

“She…” Pru gave a hiccuping sort of sob. “She didn’t make it.”

The earth fell out from beneath Kennedy’s chair, and she curled her hand tighter around the phone, as if that pitiful anchor would help. She didn’t even recognize her own voice as she asked, “Mom’s dead?”

She wasn’t aware of Flynn moving, but suddenly he was there, his strong hand curling around hers.

“The doctors said it was all but instant. She didn’t suffer. I…we need to make arrangements.”

“Arrangements.” She needed to get the hell off the phone. She needed to move, to throw something, to rail at the Universe because this…this shouldn’t be happening. “I have to go.”

“Kennedy, I know this is hard but—”

“I’m coming home. I’ll be there absolutely as soon as I can. Call you back as soon as I know when.” She hung up before Pru could answer.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Flynn asked.

He would. He’d cancel whatever bookings he had and fly across an ocean with her to face the grief and demons that waited in Eden’s Ridge. But this was for her to do.

“No. I… No.” Lifting her eyes to