Getting Lucky Read online

  “Why don’t you come on out here and let me have a look at you?”

  God, that’s about the last thing in the world she needed right now—for Sean to see her face all puffy and blotchy from crying. Shaking her head like he could magically see through the pine plank door at her, Shannon replied more steadily this time, “I’m fine, truly. Just tired from all the travel, that’s all.” Maybe if she repeated that like a mantra in her head for the next decade or two, she could make it true.

  Shannon was unsure of the cause, but slowly she felt the tension starting to ease from her body as the panic began to recede. Whether the attack was running its course or talking to Sean had distracted her out of it, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she was thankful that it was almost over.

  And deeply unsettled that they had returned.

  For three years she’d been attack free—almost cured of her anxiety disorder. Three full years of carefully cultivated peace. Hours of managing and maintaining her life in as stress- and anxiety-free an environment as she could make it. And it had worked well, keeping the major panic attacks at bay and leaving only the mild day-to-day anxiety, which hummed like white noise in the back of her mind.

  Instead of living in the guest house on her parents’ property like they’d wanted, she had her apartment just off Broadway in Saratoga Springs that she loved more than anything. She had her Swedish Warmblood jumping horse, Teddy, who was like her baby and whom she adored to bits—and whom she kept stabled at another farm so that she didn’t have to constantly see and deal with her family. She’d learned to avoid situations that knowingly spiked her levels, and time together with her mother and father was a biggie.

  What happened to parents recognizing their child’s autonomy and treating them with respect? She was coming up on thirty next year, and as much as she tried to convince them otherwise, they refused to acknowledge that she was a completely separate person from them. And now, here she was, reduced to panic attacks again, with all her hard work down the drain because she’d failed to stand up to her father and say no when she should have.

  But saying no meant damning her entire family to a sad existence, and he knew she was far too loyal to let them suffer when she had the ability to do something about it. Her father knew it—he’d exploited it.

  And he’d won.

  Shannon straightened her shoulders and brushed back loose strands of hair with shaking fingers. Colleen was her best friend as well as her sister, and she had her whole future ahead of her—one that included being a brilliant doctor out saving the world one patient at a time. She deserved this, if no one else in her family did. And as much as a part of Shannon wished that Colleen had been chosen instead of her, it simply hadn’t been an option. For one, her sister couldn’t keep a secret if the world depended on it. God, no. She was far too blunt and honest—and had zero tact. And for two, she was about to start rotations at a teaching hospital in Cambridge and her stress level was through the roof, making her even more brash than normal. As much as Shannon loved her, the woman simply lacked the ability to be discreet.

  Shannon, however, could be discreet as a field mouse. It came from years of sitting down and shutting up like a good little girl. Disappearing into the floor had been her specialty.

  Feeling resolve settle over her, Shannon wiped at her cheeks again and puffed out a breath. “I can do this,” she said quietly into the small room. This was for her sister. For Colleen’s future.

  Raising her hand in a half-hearted cheer of fist pumping to bolster her confidence, she was just about to open the door and step out to do this thing when her phone began to vibrate in her pocket. Startled, Shannon grabbed it quickly and opened the screen with a touch and swipe of her thumb.

  It was a text from her father with one single demand:

  Secure the position.

  And then just as she’d finished scanning the first message, another one came through. Even as anxiety began to creep its ugly, sneaky little self back up her spine, she pulled up the new message and read:

  Remember what’s at stake.

  How could she possibly forget? Even if she wanted to, he wouldn’t let her. God, no wonder she’d had an ulcer on and off since she was fifteen. He was such a loving paternal figure. It was almost impossible for her to believe that once, long ago in the recesses of her childhood, he’d been a different man—a loving one. For about the millionth time, she wondered what the hell had happened.

  “Shannon?” came her name once more, soft and lyrical through the door. There was such genuine concern expressed in those two syllables that it set off a sharp, poignant pang deep in her chest that brought tears back to her eyes. Blinking hard, she glanced down at her smartphone screen to where her father’s ominous warning glared back at her, so domineering and grave, and she let out an unsteady breath.

  Whatever connection she’d just felt between her and Sean had to be irrelevant. She had to pretend like it hadn’t happened at all to begin with. Because as much as she hated being bullied by her father, the truth was that she loved him and her family that much more.

  Straightening her back once more with all the resolve she could muster, Shannon brushed her braid back and gripped the doorknob, prepared to open the door.

  Piece of cake. No big thing. A total and complete walk in the park.

  All that bolstering worked until she swung the door open and got a good look at Sean Muldoon’s face. Her ability to put coherent thought together disseminated into a thousand useless pieces. Green eyes as clear and bold as her collection of decorative glass looked at her with genuine concern and kindness.

  She didn’t know what to make of it, so she downplayed and hoped beyond hope that her crying jag wasn’t as obvious as she was pretty sure it was. “Sorry about that. It seems that I’m more worn out than I realized.” When his gaze stayed level with hers and he didn’t crack so much as a fraction of a smile, she tried for a joke. “That, or the airport food in Newark is suspect.”

  The corners of his finely sculpted lips finally curled upward in a small, lopsided smile and her stomach went all excited and jittery. It really wasn’t fair that he was so good looking. It was all that Black Irish that was so evident in him, giving him golden skin, coal-black hair, and those wild green eyes. That, combined with his tall, muscular body and rugged demeanor (the crescent-shaped scar on his chin helped with that too), made it fair to say that the guy was pretty much the perfect amalgam of every man, factual or imaginary, that she’d ever lusted after.

  “Let’s do the tour later, shall we?” he said and took a step closer. Shannon could feel his energy brush against her, and her pulse quickened in response. He was just so masculine. For goodness’ sake, he even smelled male. Like earth and pine and clean soap.

  Feeling her brain start to melt at his nearness, she was completely unprepared when he reached out and cupped her chin with a huge, work-hardened hand. Though his hands were rough, his touch was light and gentle. “You look worked, lass. Some rest will set you to right again. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow.”

  Shocked by her body’s response to his unexpected touch, Shannon could only mutter, “Okay.”

  His smile grew, revealing slight dimple creases in his stubbled cheeks. “Great, let’s get you settled. I hope you don’t mind living above the horses. The manager’s flat mentioned in the ad is here in the stables, on the top floor at the far end.”

  “That’s fine,” she mumbled absently, completely transfixed by the heat of his fingers on her skin and the deep emerald flecks in his eyes. The accent was one seriously seductive bonus.

  “Anything you need, tell me, and I’ll have it scrounged up for you. You’re saving me from the fecking computer.” He grinned lightning fast and seductive as fine chocolate—and her brain blew a fuse. “For you, Shannon, there’s nothing I won’t do.”

  Chapter Four

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON Sean slowed his truck as a bend in the mountain road up ahead came into view. His new stable manager
was firmly lodged in his thoughts, making it hard to concentrate on the windy route. What was he supposed to make of Shannon?

  He didn’t know.

  But he really wanted to make her naked. And honestly, that’s what had him reeling. The reactions and feelings that she evoked in him were disconcerting to say the least. Mostly because he’d never felt anything quite like them before. And maybe more importantly, simply because he couldn’t do a damn thing about them.

  But feck it all, he was getting really sick of sitting on the sidelines, waiting.

  Always waiting. When was he going to be free to live his life, to pursue the things his heart really needed?

  Probably never.

  His mouth tightened and his hands gripped the wheel hard, frustration and something almost like despair swirling greasily in his gut. Would that answer ever change? Would he ever be free?

  Probably not.

  Sean thumped the wheel with the heel of his palm, cursing his life in Gaelic before easing into the set of hairpin turns that twisted tightly and then eventually dropped down the mountainside into Glacier Valley, where his adopted hometown of Fortune lay nestled. Founded as an early mining camp by gold panners in search of that ever-elusive shimmering nugget, and then almost immediately abandoned for locales untold, his beloved town had a colorful past that it chose to celebrate and embrace.

  Now Sean’s adopted home was a thriving, bustling village full of character and quirks and an underbelly of true grit—which he related to and respected. He liked that he’d picked a home-away-from-home that had clawed its way from neglect and transformed itself into something with substance. He liked to think that it said a little something about himself that he’d chosen such a place to call his own.

  His first real home.

  Sighing as the view pulled on his heartstrings, Sean noticed that Jasper’s Peak was still capped in glistening snow even though it was June. Jesus, that sight would never get old. Whatever the season or weather, that jagged mountain was spectacular as it stood sentry over the valley at its feet. It had called to him when he’d first stumbled into town—that sense of protection and safety he’d felt from it.

  It’s why he’d stayed five years ago, instead of moving on.

  At that time, all he’d wanted was a quiet place to hunker down and hide out until the storm passed. That storm being a mob-initiated manhunt for him over a bet gone horribly wrong.

  He’d warned Mickey O’Banion not to place wagers on him when the short, stocky mobster had come into the back room of Flannery’s Pub. The Russian boxer his manager had just secured him a match with was out of Sean’s league and he knew it. Bigger than him by fifty pounds of rock-hard muscle, with more experience and a lot of shite for brains, that big bastard was crazy and dumb. A deadly combination, to be sure.

  Sean had assured O’Banion he was deeply flattered and appreciative of his admiration, but tried to impress on him that it was in his own best interest to not throw pounds down on the match. Sean had always been honest about his abilities, and this was one time in which he knew he was in over his head. Unfortunately for him, there’d been no way to back out—not with all the betting money being flung around. He’d had a lot of people to make good for then—and felt every ounce of the pressure.

  But the white-haired mob boss with the deceptively cordial manner had declared bollocks on Sean’s protests, claiming his worries were nothing more than performance anxiety. As evidence of his considerable arrogance and overinflated confidence, Mickey declared that he was so certain of Sean’s success in the ring that in addition to his original wager, he would separately bet Sean his prize new bay Thoroughbred—a foal that he’d just acquired from the finest horseracing farm in Ireland—against the odds of Sean losing out to a foreigner.

  Sean had protested with all his might, knowing full well who O’Banion was and wanting nothing to do with him. It was a well-known fact on the streets of Dublin that being involved in a bet with the mob was about the stupidest thing in the world a person could do. Because no matter which way the bet went, the person was screwed and almost always wound up floating face down in a river.

  The Irish mob took their betting seriously. It was some sort of twisted code of honor that they believed the bet had to be completed. It was only after the competition was over and they’d honored their fecked-up code that they could kill him and take the horse back with a clear conscience.

  And Sean, well, he very much liked being alive.

  He’d hemmed, he’d protested—he’d all but begged O’Banion not to bet his horse that night in Flannery’s Pub. But in the end, he’d found himself deep in their twisted trap anyway. Refusing hadn’t been an option for Sean, not since he’d wanted to keep his hands attached to his body at least long enough to box the Russian. But then he’d lost the boxing match like he’d predicted he would, thereby winning the bet, and he wound up the reluctant owner of a colt—which he didn’t have a clue what to do with—and a death warrant. But he’d kept his hands and his life, and that had meant everything.

  He’d spent the evening after the fateful exchange scrambling for the quickest passage out of the country: a cargo ship that had agreed to transport him and the colt for cold, hard cash. Sean had gratefully given all he had, and then waited three terrifying hours for the ship to undock. He’d passed that time in a nearby pub at the bottom of a shot glass of Irish whiskey, mourning the state of his life.

  His life was now a slowly sifting hourglass? Nah.

  In the end it had been Garth Brooks and his friends in low places who’d shown Sean the way out of his dire predicament and onto the path that had led to his current life. When that American country-western song had come on the jukebox in the corner of that smoky pub he’d been holed up in, he’d had an important realization: He had a chance to start completely new. To be anybody. He’d found inspiration and followed Garth’s lead, moving out to the American West with his newly acquired horse to become a rancher, intent on reinventing himself.

  And he had.

  In more ways than one, he thought as he drove down the bustling Main Street and pulled into the parking lot next to Two Moons Brewery and Pub. The sun was just starting to set behind Jasper’s Peak, tinting the sky in wispy shades of violet and rose. Sean knew that if he stood there, in a few more minutes the sun would hit the horizon and the sky would light up, exploding in a glow of bold magentas and orange.

  Having that beautiful and colorful display in the sky on a regular basis was something he’d never take for granted, not after decades of Ireland’s soggy, cloud-covered evenings. They had a beauty about them all their own, to be sure. But after living in Fortune for over five years now, he’d come to realize just how much he appreciated the dry, clear weather of the Colorado Rockies.

  It was uplifting. Uncomplicated. Invigorating.

  And it suited him.

  Maybe more to the point, it had been what his heart had needed at the time when he’d first arrived. The wide-open expanse of blue sky had spoken to him like nothing else in the world ever could. It still did.

  Sean climbed out of his pickup and inhaled the tantalizing aroma of pine, summer flowers, and sun-warmed earth. For a guy who’d grown up in urban Dublin, he’d taken to country life exceptionally fast—like he’d been born for it. The sense of freedom he experienced every day was priceless.

  “Sean, my boy. Good to see you!” came a holler from behind him.

  Spinning around as he pocketed his keys, Sean grinned when he spotted Gerry Jaffey on the sidewalk. The old man was salty as a sea dog and twice as surly. “And a good day to you!” Sean gestured with a hand toward the pub. “Care to join me for a pint?”

  The balding, stooped man shook his head and leaned on his walking cane. “The wife would have my hide if I did. She’s worried about my health and has banned me from drinking.” His voice grew louder as his sense of indignation bloomed. “Woman ruins all my fun. Have one tiny stroke and you’d think the world had come to an end.”


  Sean figured that for Gerry’s wife, Dolores, her world probably had come to an end when he’d stroked. Taking a few steps and reaching out, he patted the old guy’s shoulder and joked, “Women. Can’t live with ’em, no? Well, if you change your mind, I’ll be inside.”

  “I’ll remember that,” said Gerry, nodding seriously.

  They parted and Sean opened the door to go inside the brewpub, knowing he’d find Jake working behind the bar. His hand was still gripping the old wooden handle when a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye startled him. He looked down just in time to see a short, curvy blonde with big tortoise shell glasses and a high bun dart beneath his arm and swish by him through the open door. Recognizing the town’s librarian, Apple Woodman, he smiled widely and let out a laugh because he’d seen the look on her face—it wasn’t a happy one. And he knew that there was only one person inside Two Moons who had such a knack for pissing women off like that.

  Jake was in big trouble.

  Following at a more leisurely pace than the busty librarian’s agitated clip, he stopped when he came upon Jake and Apple squaring off at the bar.

  “You stood me up!”

  “Now, Apple, calm down. I’m really sorry.” Jake’s deep voice sounded a little strained. Given that he was holding his hands up like she’d yelled “Freeze!” Sean thought it was damn funny to see a white bar towel dangling from his friend’s fist like a mini flag of surrender. Whatever he’d done, it had to be bad. He’d known Apple for going on five years now, and he’d never once seen the sweet and shy woman upset like this.

  But she was sure pissed now. One hand was planted on her ample hip and the other was raised up with her finger pointed like a laser at Jake’s nose. Even Sean felt a little scolded, and he was far outside the line of fire. He chuckled. She was good. His mum would have been proud.