Quest of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 1)(11)

The man shrugged. “Sorry, but that’s what your Uncle Thomas would call you.” He jumped out of the car. Giving her no time to utter another retort, he grabbed her two large suitcases, opened the back trunk, and shoved them inside as if they weighed nothing. Opening the side door, he waved her forward. “Best to get inside, the storm is heading this way.”

“And what do you call this?” Quickly entering the vehicle, she pushed back her hood and snapped the seatbelt in place.

“A light summer shower,” he answered, after getting in beside her. His eyes held mirth when he nodded to her. “I’m Peter Sullivan. I work for the local newspaper at Glennamore. Mr. Casey asked if I could fetch you from the airport. He’ll meet you at the office. There are a few documents that need to be signed before he gives you the keys.” Taking off his cap, he ran his hand through his hair. Placing the cap back on, he gave her a wink. “Ready?”

She tried not to roll her eyes at the man, but failed miserably. “Yes.”

“How was your flight?”

Ivy glanced out the window, trying to get a sense of Ireland, but the rain blurred her vision. “It was long.”

Peter chuckled. “Aye. Most definitely. However, there’s always a movie or two to keep you entertained.”

“I read during most of the flight.”

He slammed his palm on the steering wheel and Ivy jumped. “This is why you’ll be perfect to run the store.” Peter pointed a finger at her. “I figured any relative of Thomas O’Callaghan would surely keep their nose buried in a book, so the bookstore is in capable hands.”

The man was insufferable. His only redeemable quality was his good looks. He certainly did not make a good first impression when he called her wee. Yet despite the remnants of a headache from the long trip, Ivy grew curious. Turning her head toward him, she asked, “Why would you say that? For all you know, I could be a video gamer and hate reading.”

Peter arched a brow. “The O’Callaghans of Glennamore have always enjoyed a good book.” He suddenly swerved. “Sweet Jesus! Some people don’t know how to drive.”

Ivy closed her eyes, though briefly. I’m going to die before I get to see this place. Angels and Fae protect us.

“As I was saying, your people were known to have a great appreciation for the spoken word. Many were seanachies—storytellers, including your own uncle. May he rest in peace.”

Puzzled, Ivy asked, “You seem to know more about my relatives than I do. How did my Uncle Thomas know about me?”

Peter frowned. “Did you not know the man at all?”

She shook her head. “My parents never mentioned him—or any relatives. They said they were all dead.”

Peter’s gaze grew serious. “Your uncle adored you. Spoke all the time about his wee niece in America. In fact, the entire village knows all about you. Each time he received a new school picture, Thomas would show it off to all. He was quite proud of you.”

Stunned, Ivy could barely register his words. “But why would my parents keep this from me?”

“Cannot explain. I’m as confused as you are now that I’ve heard your account. But I’m certain your lawyer, Mr. Casey can sort all this out for you.”

Ivy rubbed her nose. “I suppose…yet, it’s weird to find out that others knew all about me.”

“Don’t worry. You’re liked here in the village. Remember, you’re an O’Callaghan.”

“Hmm…”

For the next hour, Peter filled her in on the daily life in Glennamore village. It was a quiet, seaside town that had survived for centuries, where most of the villagers could trace their lineage back to one of the Irish chieftains. Even Peter boasted of being a descendent. Ivy tried hard to retain all the facts and stories, but there were too many details. Between the tapping of rain on the windows, the movement of the car, and the man’s chatter, she soon drifted off to sleep.

The car jolted to a stop, and Ivy rubbed her eyes vigorously. “We’re already here?”

He chuckled. “Sorry it was only a short nap.”

As Peter got out of the car, Ivy glanced around at her surroundings. Smiling slowly, she opened the door and gazed at the scenic postcard picture village. Standing, she breathed in the crisp, clean air, grateful the rain had turned to a light mist. The wind whispered against her cheek as if in welcome.

Shops dotted each side of the street, their doors painted in different colors. People ambled along in slow movements, unlike the hurried folk she was accustomed to back home. The road sloped downward toward the hills, where sheep grazed peacefully, and Ivy was sorely tempted to run down and greet them. A sense of peace engulfed her and for a moment, she blamed it on the lack of sleep and jetlag. Quickly tossing the idea aside, she looked over her shoulder. Peter was leaning against the vehicle and smiling at her.

She arched a brow. “What?”

“You’ve already fallen under her spell.” He gestured outward. “The true Ireland. The land speaks to you, O’Callaghan.”

“The town is…charming.” She shielded her eyes as a shaft of sunlight pierced through the gray clouds. “Where is my uncle’s store?”

“Down around the bend in the road. You have quite a view of the hills, trees, and river from your home and store.”