Lilac Lane (Chesapeake Shores #14)(84)

“Something tells me you might be in the enemy camp,” Bree told him. “I think we’ll make this a girls’ night. Gram, are you coming?”

“I’ll be there,” Nell said. “Luke, you’ll tell Moira?”

“I can tell her,” Kiera said. “I’m with Bree. I’m not entirely sure where Luke’s loyalties lie.”

“Hey, you’re my mother-in-law. You’re family,” Luke protested indignantly.

“But your pub’s reputation is at stake,” Bree taunted. “That makes you suspect.”

Luke glanced from one woman to the next, then turned to Nell. “Now see what you’ve done, Gram? It wasn’t enough that you stirred up my staff, but now you’ve got my family divided.”

“All in the name of a good cause,” Nell said blithely. “And it seems to me things are going along swimmingly.”

Kiera’s sigh was loud enough to be heard over the laughter. They all turned in her direction. She shrugged off the attention. “I’m just thinking that Nell’s playing a little fast and loose with the definition of swimmingly.”

*

Kiera walked into the pub after the disconcerting meeting at Nell’s to find Mick seated on his favorite stool at the bar. Since it was only lunchtime, his presence was suspicious. And when he hastily jammed something into his pocket and the man talking to him darted away, her suspicions deepened.

“Mr. Pennington seemed to be in a bit of a hurry,” she said mildly. “And you’re here much earlier than usual.”

“Just catching up with a few people,” Mick said.

“And that paper you were quick to hide from me, what was that about?”

“Just a little business.”

“You and Mr. Pennington, a man in his eighties, are involved in a business venture?”

Mick managed to keep his gaze steady. “We are.”

“Is he building a new house? Wouldn’t that be your specialty? Or perhaps he’s putting on an addition to that lovely home of his a few blocks from here, the one that’s been in his family for two generations? Is it in need of renovations?”

“It’s not that sort of business.”

Kiera put her hands on her hips and faced him down. She had to give him credit for his steady nerves. He never once so much as blinked.

“Mick O’Brien, are you in here taking bets on this cooking competition? What would the police think about your being involved in some sort of illegal gambling? You’re a pillar of the community.”

“Call the chief and ask him,” Mick encouraged, a grin spreading across his face. “I have a record of his bet right here in my pocket. And you might not want to be so high and mighty with him. He put his money on you.”

Kiera groaned. “You’re incorrigible.”

“If you’d asked Megan, she would have told you that when you first arrived in town.”

She marched past him and went into the kitchen, where Bryan was busy chopping herbs he’d brought from his garden.

“Do you realize that Mick is out there taking bets right under our noses?”

Bryan laughed. “And this is the first time you’ve noticed it?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. And where were you this morning? You missed the committee meeting.”

“You would have known that I was going to see one of our produce suppliers if you hadn’t taken off so early,” he said mildly. “I stopped by to give you a lift to Nell’s on my way into town.” He practically pushed her down onto a stool and set a glass of ice water in front of her. “Now, what are you really upset about? I doubt it’s Mick’s betting or my missing a meeting.”

She sighed heavily. “This whole cooking thing has gotten out of hand. I just found out I have to prepare stew for hundreds of people. I’ve never cooked for more than a half dozen in my life.”

Bryan tried to fight a smile and lost. “I’d say that gives me an edge, then.”

“I don’t have pots big enough to make that amount of stew.”

“You can use some from here,” he said. “Just multiply your recipe.”

“I know how to do the math,” she grumbled.

“Okay, then what’s really bothering you?”

“I thought it might be fun, but everyone’s taking it so seriously. What if I give them all food poisoning or something?”

“Has anyone ever gotten food poisoning from your cooking?” Bryan asked with exaggerated patience.

“No, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Think of it this way—if they taste mine and yours to judge fairly and get sick, they won’t know which stew made them ill, will they?”

She scowled at him. “And that’s supposed to be a blessing?”

“Kiera, are you afraid of losing?”

“Losing? What makes you think I’m going to lose? I’ve been making Irish stew practically my whole life, while you’ve been making it for how long? A few years?”

“Which would make it doubly humiliating if you were to lose to me.”

“I’m not so easily humiliated,” she declared, then stood up, her fine spirit restored. She cast a defiant look at him. “But I am not going to lose.”