Stitches in Time (excerpt from Irish Enchantment)
© Copyright DIANA HUNTER, 2005.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc
"Eight-hundred- eighty-one Euros? Did I hear you right?" Liam Finnerty couldn't quite believe his ears. That tiny scrap of a tapestry-torn from a much larger work, frayed, stained with who knows what, and not much bigger than an oversized postcard-cost how much? "That's over a thousand U.S. dollars!"
"I know. You don't need to make such a big deal of it." Maggie's exasperated sigh could be heard throughout the antique store. "This is all that's left of the castle tapestry. Look, out of the entire picture, only the lucky leprechaun is left. All I said was that was that it wasn't a lot to pay for a piece that old."
Liam Finnerty looked at the petite woman beside him and wondered for the millionth time just why he needed to bring her to Ireland with him on this trip. Liam hadn't exactly been given much say in the matter; Maggie was the boss's daughter and he was expected to teach her his job. But still. The woman had done little but sit in surly silence on the plane all the way across the ocean, and, since their arrival in Dublin, had done little but complain. Sure, she was cute, with deep brown eyes a man could fall into and never want to find his way out again. Sure, the woman had auburn hair that glinted with golden highlights, but she kept it curled tight in that damn knot. How was a man to know whether it was long or short? And sure, she had a figure that looked terrific in the tailored suits she always wore; she even managed to make low-heeled, sensible shoes look sexy. But Maggie Andrew's alabaster skin came wrapped in an invisible shell of professionalism that, so far, Liam Finnerty had been unable to crack.
Maggie Andrews might be the daughter of the company president, but she prided herself on the fact that she had worked her way up through the rungs of corporate life. Her father told her she would take over the company when he retired, but that a good leader knew every single aspect of the business and learning Liam's job had been the next rung she needed to climb. When her father told her she needed to accompany the overbearing man to the Emerald Isles, however, she almost quit right there. Yes, he was incredibly handsome, with broad, muscular shoulders hidden under his custom-made Italian suit. She noticed the jet-black hair that curled around his ears and piercing blue eyes that saw through her every trick, every shortcut she tried to make in doing the job. He was as bad as her father in that way, never letting her get away with doing anything other than her best.
"Maggie, me dear, you get paid a salary-you buy it if you want it so badly." Liam decided he was not about to be pushed around by the boss's daughter - no matter how cute she was. He was not in the habit of buying expensive presents for women he barely knew. And he already knew this one as much as he wanted to.
"You're as American as I am, so you can stop affecting the Irish accent," she shot back at him, her anger building. "I'm not asking you to buy it for me. And for your information, I do not get paid for what I do. My father is old school; believing I should live at home, learn the job, and take over the business when he's good and ready to leave it to me."
She hadn't meant to sound so bitter. Truth was, if her older brother hadn't been killed in that motorcycle accident, she would have already gone on to a career of her own choosing. Forced by her sense of familial obligation to set aside her dreams and instead learn the business, she had mastered every level in the company, while still on an allowance. Yes, it was a generous allowance, but her father insisted that she not receive a paycheck. That was a direct result of Thomas' spending habits - and his death. Tom had lived hard and played hard, and had died as a result. Now his sister paid the price. On an allowance of $1000 per month, Maggie could not afford such an extravagance as this wonderful piece of art.
"Never mind." Maggie turned and stalked away. She didn't want Liam Finnerty to see her frustration and anger with her father - it wasn't professional. Neither were the tears that threatened to fall. In another place and another time, Liam would have been someone she would have wanted to get to know in more than a professional sense. But her commitment to her father and to the company left little room for romantic entanglements. Her jaw in a hard line, she walked to the other end of the store to put as much distance as she could between herself and the man she was forced to work with.
"Now can't ye see the poor girl's hurtin'?"
Liam turned, prepared to blast the wizened old proprietor for sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, except the aisle behind him was empty. Frowning, he turned in a circle, trying to determine who had spoken.
"Sure, an' ye can't see what's in front of yer nose. Lookin' down from that great height, I suppose. Probably miss most of us little folk 'cause ye're always lookin' only at what's right in front of ye, 'stead of bendin' down to see what's hidden in plain sight."
Liam looked toward his shoes, half expecting a fairy he didn't believe in to appear before his eyes. But no dwarf, real or imagined appeared to bedevil him. A loud snort of laughter made him peer at the tapestry again, the colors bright in the dim light of the antique shop. He jumped back when the cloth leprechaun waved at him.
"Fine, strappin' boy ye are!" The little man took Liam's measure even as the American stared at the impossible.
"You're not really talking to me. I only had that one cup of Irish coffee when we got off the plane, but the whiskey in Ireland is known to be strong. That's it, just a wee bit too much whiskey." He rubbed his eyes. "My God, the woman was right, I am beginning to talk like one of them and we've only been in the country two hours!"
"That's 'cause Ireland is the country in yer blood, boy-o. I couldn't talk to ye if it weren't."
"I'm going crazy, that's what it is. Stress. Stress and that blasted woman!"
"Ah, yes, and a beauty ye've got there as well. But a bit of a temper, I see." Liam watched in amazement as the leprechaun sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the bole of a tree. The leaves overhead had been ripped off when the piece was torn away; in fact, all that remained was the outside border on two sides, a rock, the tree - and the saucy-looking leprechaun.
"She's not mine, thank you very much." Of course, that hadn't been for a lack of trying on his part. The woman made his fingers itch to rip off that hard shell of hers, to break the professionalism she hid behind. That little slip of the tongue there-about not being paid? He hadn't known that. 'Course it was easy to see why she'd agree to such an arrangement; the woman stood to be very rich when she inherited the company from Daddy. Still, Liam knew she maintained her own apartment outside the city; that showed an independent spirit. Still, it galled him to find out she was worse off financially than he was, president's daughter or not.
"Ah, I see yer heart has moved a little. That's a good thing, me boy-o, 'cause that's the girl yer goin' to marry!"