Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(52)

“It worked.”

“Think of the time I’d save on laundry if I had a trick like that,” Meara commented.

Grinning, Iona ran a hand over her wet, dripping hair, turned it to a sunny, dry cap. On a quick laugh, she covered her face with her hands, closed her eyes briefly. When she lowered them, her face glowed, the color of her lips deepened to a rosy pink, her eyelashes darkened, lengthened.

“How do I look?”

“Ready to head to the pub and flirt with all the handsome men,” Meara told her.

“Really?” Delighted, Iona rushed to the mirror. “I look good! I really do.”

“Smoothly done, and with a bit of finesse as well. You’ve come along well.”

“Stick around,” Iona said to Meara. “She never says things like that to me.”

“So when I do, you know I mean them. I’ve shortbread biscuits, Meara, and the jasmine tea you’re fond of.”

“I won’t say no to either.” She made herself at home at the table, taking a moment to rub Kathel when he laid his big head in her lap. “The weather’s dampening our business, and they’re saying we’re in for more of the same tomorrow. Boyle’s arranged for classes from the school to come in, see the horses. We’ll give the young ones rides on leads around the ring.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Oh, he has them, our Boyle does.” Meara smiled at Iona as she helped herself to a cookie. “And as for you, I had a thought for my sister’s birthday next month. Maureen. She lives down in Kerry, as she and her husband work there,” she added for Iona. “You know the sets you do—the soap, the candle, the lotion, and such—the special ones you make with that particular person’s traits and personality in mind.”

“I do. You’d like one done for Maureen?”

“I would, yes. She’s the oldest of us, as you know, and about to turn thirty-five. For some reason, she’s gone half mad over it, as if her youth is done and over, and she’s nothing but the miseries of age left to her.”

“Bless her, Maureen was always one for drama.”

“Oh, that she is. She married her Sean when she was just nineteen, so she’s had sixteen years of his plodding. He’s a sweet man under it,” she continued, “but a plodder for all that. She’s two teenagers driving her to the edge of insanity, or beyond it, and another coming up behind them. She’s taken to texting me, our other sister, or our ma all day and half the night to keep us abreast of her trials and tribulations. I’m thinking the gift, being it’s created for her, and it speaks to pampering and female things, might perk her up enough to have her leave off hounding me until I want to thrash her.”

“So it’s about you,” Branna said with a laugh.

“I’m saving her life, and that makes me a fine sister.”

“I’ll have it for you next week.”

“I always wanted a sister,” Iona mused.

“Would you like one of mine? Either of them’s up for the grabbing. I’ll keep my brothers, as they’re not gits most of the time.”

“Being an only child is lonely and you never get to bitch about your siblings.”

“I would miss the bitching,” Meara admitted. “It makes me feel so superior and smart.”

“I had imaginary siblings.”

Amused, Meara sat back with her tea. “Did you now? What did you call them?”

“Katie, Alice, and Brian. Katie was the oldest, and patient, smart, comforting. Alice was the baby, and always made us laugh. Brian and I were the closest in age. He was always getting into trouble, and I was always trying to get him out of it. Sometimes I could see them, as clear as I see you.”

“The power of your wishes,” Branna told her. Lonely child, she thought. So not tended, so not understood or cherished.

“I guess. I didn’t understand that kind of thing, not really, but they were more real to me, a lot of the time, than anyone else. Between them and horses, I kept pretty busy.”

She stopped, laughed. “Am I the only one who had imaginary people in her life?”

“Connor was more than enough for me.”

“He’s more than enough, indeed,” Meara echoed.

“And we both knew, Connor and I, much younger than you, what we were about.”

“And even with that, you both forged other really strong things. Your work here, the shop, his falconry—and his handy hands. And you, Meara. You’re not one of the owners, but you’re an essential element in the business.”

“I like to think so.”

“It’s clear you are. Both Boyle and Fin respect your skills and your opinion, and depend on both. I don’t think either of them give that sort of thing lightly. It’s what I want. To forge something, and to earn respect, to have people who matter know they can depend on me. Do either of you want more than that?”

“It’s good to have what you say,” Meara considered. “I wouldn’t mind a pot of money to go with it.”

“What would you do with it?”

“Well now, that’s a thought. I think first a fine house. Doesn’t need the fancy, just a good house, with a bit of land and a little barn so I could have my own horse or two.”