A Place to Rest My Heart (Crimson Romance) Read online

  A Place to Rest My Heart

  Galen Rose

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Rose Kahn

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5218-5

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5218-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5217-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5217-5

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband Kris, son Ryan, my Mom & Dad and brothers Michael & Robert for their wonderful love and support. It has taken me awhile to get here, but you didn’t doubt me!

  To The Council: Barbara, Cindy, Marnie, Tama, & Terena. Five awesome ladies whose friendship means the world to me!

  To Tim G. who prodded, and to Bob M. who pointed me in the right direction. To Mike R. for being Superman. To Lauren Murray for helping me get my foot in the door. To Terena Scott of Medusa’s Muse, Prof. Dara Hellman, JoEllen Conger of Conger Books Reviews, Lynna Banning, and Suzanne Barrett for all of their patience and editing assistance.

  And last, but not least, Jennifer Lawler, editor at Crimson Romance, for opening the door and welcoming me in!

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Also Available

  Chapter One

  I’ve gotten good at starting over. Starting over has never been a problem for me. It’s living the middle part that’s really the challenge. I know that saying “it was a dark and stormy night” sounds like a cliché, but it really was dark and stormy when I arrived in San Francisco. I stood inside the Greyhound bus station watching the rain run in small rivers down the windows as the wind picked up trash and scattered it across the parking lot. My thoughts felt as far adrift as those pieces of trash, tossed around with little or no direction. I had no job, no place to stay, and my leather jacket had seen better days; it seemed my luck was not immediately improving. No need to ask if it could get any worse — I knew from experience that it would. I knew Murphy’s Law intimately. Hell, I was pretty sure by now that I had the law memorized.

  I bundled up my long hair under a ball cap, stepped outside, and gained my balance against the wind and lashing rain. No cabs waiting at the curb, so I started up the street. A few minutes later I managed to hail an empty cab; better than walking in the rain, and no one knows a city better than a cab driver. The man sitting in the driver’s seat appeared to be about a hundred as he looked at me through his rear view mirror and smiled. He actually smiled. A cabbie that smiled? Go figure. I noticed that his cab didn’t stink, either. There was no foul cigar smell or lingering odor of lunches long past in the air. It smelled of lavender and chocolate chip cookies. Cookies? I should have gotten some inkling, right then and there, of just how much my life was going to change. Being as dense as a post at times, I just chalked it up to a freak occurrence of nature and enjoyed the warm, dry cab.

  “Good evening, young lady.” His Irish brogue was slight. “Where to?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I let the Irish accent that had been beaten out of me come slipping right back over my tongue like warm honey. “Well to be sure, on a night such as this, I am in need of a good place to eat for starters.”

  “Well now, lass, you have come to the right cab,” he said, and began whistling as he hung a couple of illegal left turns and headed up a busy street. “I just happen to know that the best food in all of San Francisco is at Muldoon’s. I am willing to bet, Miss, that you will find all that you need there.” His smile, reflected in the rear view mirror, held a hint of mischief. Eventually, far down the road of life, I would have to agree with him. I had no idea then that Fate drove a yellow cab.

  When I leaned in through the window to hand him some money, he smiled knowingly at me, “I hope you enjoy your stay here.” He gave a wink, a tip of his cap, and drove off, making an illegal U-turn right in the middle of the street to honking horns and shouted curses. Turning back to the building with a shake of my head I stared in disbelief at what was Muldoon’s Pub.

  I’d seen quite a few pubs, and this was not in the realm of ordinary. It was a large building with big bay windows that spilled light onto the well-swept sidewalk. Each window had a flower box overflowing with colorful blooms. Inside it was crowded with people but spacious, with plenty of tables and booths. A waitress could walk through and not get bruised before delivering her order.

  It also didn’t smell of stale beer and burnt fish and chips, which seemed to be de rigueur for many pubs. No, Muldoon’s was alive with the scent of fresh-baked bread, Guinness, and spices.

  I’d nothing to lose at this point and my stomach growled loudly. I stepped further inside to get the lay of the place before I headed to the bar. Normally I liked sitting in a booth, but judging by the number of people in the pub, getting a booth or a table would be out of the question. As luck would have it, a stool became vacant as I walked up to the bar.

  As I dropped my duffel bag at my feet and sat down, the bartender turned to face me. The huge mirror along the back wall afforded him a grand view of the entire pub’s comings and goings, so I knew he hadn’t missed my arrival.

  “Good evening, lass. What can I get for you?” He was a huge man, at least six four, with broad shoulders and a thick Irish accent, his hair a salt-and-pepper blend of black and white. I pegged him to be in his mid-fifties but he moved with the ease of someone younger. He also handed me a towel. “You’re dripping on my counter, darlin’.”

  I accepted his towel with a mumbled, “Sorry,” as he handed me a menu. I started to ask for a Coke but had to clear my scratchy throat. Damn it all to hell, I was coming down with a cold. Now what?

  “I’d like a Coke and a shepherd’s pie.”

  “Good choice, but some good hot tea would do your throat better.” Still smiling, he started through the stages of building a pint of Guinness for a customer.

  “Fine … whatever.”

  “Whatever, to be sure,” he mumbled before calling out my order to the kitchen. I looked at him for a minute with the uncomfortable feeling that I was not fooling him for a second.

  “I’m Muldoon. Tommy Muldoon.” He extended his hand to me. My own hand was lost in his as he shook it. “Now this is the part where you give me your name.” His hand still held mine in a firm grip.

  “Laney. Laney Murphy,” I said, trying to keep the accent from my voice. I failed. The accent was back as if it had always been there. Truth be told, it had always been there, just deeply buried along with the rest of my life.

  “You have a bit of Irish in you, don’t you, Laney?” He asked letting go of my hand to take the cup of tea a waitress had brought to him.

  I looked at him for a long minute trying to decide how to answer. “Some
,” I finally answered. His smile told me he figured I had more than some but he kept his own council as he set the tea and honey before me and went to the other end of the bar to take an order.

  He returned a few minutes later. “So, Laney Murphy, what brings you to my end of the world?”

  “A cab,” I mumbled, with a cough.

  He laughed and set a plate in front of me. “Well tuck into that and see if it doesn’t do the trick.”

  After the first bite, I was in heaven. My God, this was not pub grub, this was a delight of textures and scent. No mushy peas or dry, day-old mashed potatoes. The shepherd’s pie was wonderful and I told Muldoon so before I could stop myself.

  “This is the best meal I have had in … well, forever.”

  “Well now, thank you kindly, lass. So are you just passing through, or are you staying in our fair city?”

  “I closed my eyes and chose San Francisco on the map. I don’t know if I’m staying yet.” I took my last bite and gave a thought to licking the plate but my aunt’s voice, shrieking about good manners, jumped into my head. I set my fork down and drank some more tea instead.

  “I was living in San Diego. It didn’t agree with me.” More like fading away there, I thought, but I didn’t think he needed to know that. Although something told me he probably wouldn’t bat an eye if I told him only a few days ago I had been thinking that life truly wasn’t worth living without William.

  “I can’t say as San Diego would agree with me either. For me home has either been here, or Ireland,” he said, as if there really was no other place to live but those two places. “Ahh, good evening, Sean. You’re a wee bit late tonight,” Tommy chided the person who was taking the open seat beside me. I hadn’t even noticed who had been sitting next to me, nor that anyone had left. The man had barely begun warming the seat before Tommy set a pint in front of him. He must have been a regular.

  “Evening, Tommy,” said yet another Irish accent. Christ, I was surrounded by them.

  I turned a curious gaze on the man who met my look with cool, appraising eyes of sea-glass green.

  I swear to God, I heard a bell go off somewhere that rattled me from the very tips of my worn combat boots to the top of my head. The man nodded. His assessment of me did not waver as his smile faded to smirk before he turned his attention back to Tommy.

  I mentally shook myself. Not like you haven’t seen a man before, idiot, I told myself, even a smirking, self-possessed, good looking one with cool green eyes, high cheekbones, and a lean, rugged face. I turned back to my tea to find that Tommy had added more hot water to it and another tea bag. I sighed and kicked my brain for getting all muggy and tried to focus on the conversations around me. But the one with Tommy and Sean caught my ear right off.

  “You find a replacement for Thea yet?” asked Sean, sipping his Guinness. “She’s leaving in two days. Not much time left to train someone.”

  “I know. I know.” Tommy muttered, wiping the counter again near my cup of tea. Tommy leaned on the bar, “You have to understand, Sean. Thea has been with this place for going on six years. She’s family. And no one — I mean no one — can build a Guinness like her … well except for myself, mind ya, but I’ve been spoiled by Thea. It’ll be hard to let her go, but go she must.” Tommy sighed and looked at me, this time catching my interest in his conversation. “Well, Laney Murphy, can I get you anything else?”

  Thinking he meant that it was time for me to move on and stop eavesdropping, I stood up and the room swam before me. I placed my hands on the counter to steady myself and to hopefully hide the fact I was as dizzy as hell.

  “Easy, lass,” Tommy said, placing a hand over one of mine. “You have no business going back out in that rain.” Tommy nodded to Sean, who rolled his eyes and shook his head at Tommy but put his hand under my elbow and tried to stabilize me.

  “I’m fine,” I said hoarsely, and tried to shake off his hand. But my muscles had their own ideas and were slowly slipping out of my control.

  “Sure you are, your highness.” I hoped to hell a gong was going off in his head too by the way he stared at me, his look unreadable. I hoped a whole bloody symphony was going off in his head as I tried to focus. “Just put me in a cab and point it to the YWCA or something.”

  At least that was what I thought I was saying. It sounded reasonable to me, but Tommy was making, tsk tsk noises and the next thing I knew I was being scooped up into Mr. Arrogant’s arms and after that everything became sort of fuzzy. Voices fluttered around me like butterflies as I tried to grasp their content.

  “Damn it, Tommy. Not another stray.” The man called Sean set me down on a bed.

  “You were once a stray too, boyo. You couldn’t just put her out in the rain any more than I could and you know it.”

  “Don’t bet on it.”

  I felt my jacket being tugged off and my boots being unlaced. Some of this really didn’t make sense to me and I kicked out trying to make them stop. A muffled grunt made me smile in spite of myself. “Oh you think that’s funny do you? Stop smirking, Tommy.” Sean grumbled.

  I felt my damp shirt being pulled off of me and I fought to keep it on, but my world dimmed and then faded to black.

  Chapter Two

  I tried to wake up several times, but it seemed like such an effort and I was very comfortable and warm. I had a feeling of security that had been lacking in my life, as of late.

  I lay there, my eyes closed, feeling the softness of the sheets against my skin and hearing the faint sounds of children playing outside. I finally opened my eyes to sunlight filtering through the curtained window and took a moment to take stock of exactly where I was and what condition I was in. Not dead: groggy, thirsty as hell, but alive; definitely hungry.

  I sat up quickly, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and looked around the room. Where the hell was I? Was I in someone’s house? If I was, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how I’d gotten here. I remembered having eaten something wonderful at the bar but things after that were very fuzzy. Half-remembered erotic dreams of a man with green eyes and strong hands flitted through my mind, as I continued to look around the room. The small details of soft sheets under my hands, lace curtains on the window across the room, and flowers in a vase on the bedside table said care was taken by whoever lived here.

  I knew this was no YWCA or hotel, but where? I slowly stood up, my head only swimming a little as I headed to the door, opened it, and ran right into the man of my dreams. I jumped back, smacking my elbow on the doorframe.

  Strong, warm hands grabbed my arms to steady me, “You always so jumpy?” That smirk that had been on his face in the bar was still there. He released my arms, stepped back, and I watched his eyes darken with heat as he slowly looked me over head to toe. I realized at that point I was only wearing a pair of well-worn sweat pants and a thin tank top.

  “Some people, myself included, think it’s rude to stare.”

  “I don’t give a damn what some people think.” He moved a step closer to me, his eyes boring into mine, and I caught a whiff of some knee-melting cologne. I got the feeling he had something to say, his manner shifting from leering to threatening. But I held fast and stared right back at him. I turned the tables and gave Sean an appraising look, taking in how his worn jeans fit nicely over his long legs, and that his t-shirt fit snugly across his chest. I moved forward to stand toe to toe with him. His grin turned cocky, but his eyes still had some heat to them and his voice was soft and direct, “I’m sure you want to hit the road as soon as possible but if you’re hungry, breakfast is this way.” I got the message loud and clear.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  “Is this twenty questions?”

  “Am I going to need to ask that many before you tell me where the hell I am and where my clothes are?”

  “Sean Michael, behave yourself. Your clothes are right here dear,” a small woman bustled down the hallway carrying a full laundry basket. “Go,” she said, giving Sean a little
shove. “Be useful.”

  He took one more once over of me, shook his head, and walked away.

  “Good to see you up and around, dear. We were worried about you.” She moved by me and set the laundry basket on the bed. A deep flush crept up my face as I realized that she had washed and folded all of my wrinkled and mostly threadbare clothes. I had hastily stuffed my duffel bag with my few possessions before leaving San Diego. It had been awhile since I had cared about much of anything, clothing included.

  “How rude of me, I’m Molly Muldoon.” She took my hand and shook it firmly. No more than five feet tall, this woman was a powerhouse of energy, with not one gray hair on her head. “You’ve been out for almost two days, Laney Murphy. A touch of the flu is what you had. No surprise there, you were soaked through to the bone. But you seem right as rain now.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Goodness me, of course you’re curious. You’re in our home. You met Tommy, the man mountain of mine, who tends the bar, and you just met Sean, one of our sons. Now take your time, get dressed, and come downstairs. I bet you’re hungry.”

  I looked over at the neatly folded clothes. “I’m sorry to have been a burden on you. I should probably get going as soon as possible.”

  “All in good time, Laney, dear. Come and at least fortify yourself for whatever road you plan to take.”

  After Molly the powerhouse, left the room, I sat back down and smiled, shaking my head. Well, I had my orders so I had better get to them. Bright sunshine from a skylight lit up the bathroom, bathing it in a pale yellow glow. Soft white towels already sat on the edge of the sink along with a bottle of some sweet-smelling shampoo. I sniffed at it, trying to place the scent. There was no brand name on the bottle but yet it smelled familiar. The water was hot and plentiful, which was a novelty after my last apartment. I couldn’t remember the last time I had enough hot water to even get through washing my hair. I dried myself off, quickly got dressed, and stepped out into the hallway to head downstairs.