Her Great Irish Escape Read online

  Her Great Irish Escape

  An Escape to Ireland Series Novella

  Michele Brouder

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editing by Jessica Peirce

  Book Cover Design and Formatting by Rebecca Ruger

  Her Great Irish Escape

  Copyright © 2020 Michele Brouder

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

  To God be the Glory.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  Michele Brouder

  Chapter One

  Declan O’Grady stared at his brother in disbelief.

  “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate,” said his older brother, Paul, from his hospital bed. Paul’s leg was in a cast and elevated, and he twisted his wedding ring around his finger as he spoke. He had a lot to be worried about. He was self-employed with a pregnant wife and four kids under the age of ten at home.

  Declan, his hands in his pockets, rocked his six-foot frame on his feet. He was supposed to fly back to Australia in two days’ time. He’d been Down Under for the last eight years and was home on his annual visit to Ireland. And although he loved and missed his homeland, he did have a job and responsibilities back in Australia.

  But his brother needed help. Paul was the sole owner/driver of a tour bus company, a mini-tour bus to be exact. How could Declan refuse?

  “No worries, Paul,” Declan reassured him, trying for an appearance of self-confidence that he didn’t feel. His mind raced between his loyalty to his family and his obligation to his job on the other side of the world.

  Paul sighed, leaned his head back against the pillow, and looked up toward the ceiling. “Thank you. With Maureen pregnant and on bedrest, we can’t have interruptions in the money coming in.” He frowned and added, “Of course you’ll be paid for it.”

  Declan waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it, Paul, we’ll work something out.” Declan envied his brother his nice wife and family. He hadn’t been as lucky, and not for lack of searching for “the one.”

  “You won’t get in trouble at work, will you?” Paul asked, straightening out the bedsheet that didn’t need straightening.

  “Nah, I’ll square it with Joe,” Declan said. His boss might own a multi-million-dollar construction company, but he was a family man above all else.

  “There’s a tour scheduled for tomorrow. I’ve to pick them up in front of the hotel in town,” Paul said. He nodded toward the bedside drawer. “My keys are in there. Including the key to the man cave at home, where I schedule everything. Maureen can help with the scheduling and the banking.”

  “So, is it the same deal as usual?”

  His brother nodded. “There’s an itinerary for each day located on my desk. This particular group has booked for three days: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.”

  Declan said, “No problem.” Over the years while home on his holidays, he had stepped in for his brother several times. He was glad now that he had always kept his Irish driver’s license up to date.

  He did not leave until his brother dozed off.

  AFTER DECLAN LEFT THE hospital, he stopped at Paul’s house to pick up the itinerary. His parents’ car was parked out front. Along with Maureen’s parents, they were helping with all the kids while Maureen was on bedrest and Paul was in the hospital. The house was pure bedlam when he arrived, which was nothing new. Between the blaring television and the two boys shouting and screaming upstairs, Declan couldn’t hear himself think. He looked briefly up the staircase but decided they didn’t need intervention; they could sort it out themselves the way he and Paul used to do. Instead, he popped his head into the front room. Maureen was supine on the sofa, her hands resting on her belly. At her side, on the floor, was the youngest, Anya. She played at her mother’s feet.

  “Declan, how are you?” Maureen smiled.

  Declan thought she looked pale and hoped she was all right. “I’m fine, how are you?”

  “Ugh, you know, bored, can’t do anything but think about all the things that have to be done,” she said.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” Declan said. “I’m here for the itinerary and the schedule.”

  “They’re in the man cave,” she said with a laugh. “But seriously, you are a star!”

  “I don’t mind,” Declan said. And he didn’t.

  “Say hello to Uncle Declan,” Maureen prompted the toddler.

  Anya regarded him with uncertainty. Only two, she had no real memories of him. Maureen patted the child’s back, but she shook her head, remaining mute.

  “No worries,” he said. “I’ll just pop back and say hi to Mam and Dad and then I’ll get the schedule.”

  “Thanks again, Declan,” Maureen called out.

  Just as Declan left the front room, his two nephews, Ciaran and Ronan, came tumbling down the stairs. Literally. Declan took the steps two at a time to stop their forward momentum.

  “Hey, hey, easy lads, don’t break the staircase,” he said, lifting the two boys up and separating them. He carried them down, one under each arm, and set them on the floor.

  It was apparent that the younger boy, Ronan, had been crying. Declan reached out and tousled his hair. “Come on now, be nice to one another.”

  He sent them off with a warning and headed back to the kitchen. His mother was at the wall oven, removing a casserole dish. His father sat at the table with the oldest girl, Sarah.

  “Mam, Dad, Sarah,” Declan said.

  Sarah waved.

  “You’re just in time for supper,” Mam said.

  Declan shook his head. “I’m taking Gran out to dinner.”

  His mother nodded. “Oh, that will be nice. She loves going out for dinner.” She set down the casserole and began pulling plates and glasses out of the cabinets.

  “What are you doing?” Declan said with a nod toward Sarah and his father. There was a small loom in front of them and a pile of rainbow-colored loops on the table.

  “We’re making potholders!” Sarah beamed.

  “Very good.”

  Declan looked around and decided that now that he was going to be staying on a bit longer, he might take the older kids to the beach one of these days or some kind of outing. He bid them all goodbye and headed out back to the ten-by-ten shed that held the washing machine and dryer on one side and Paul’s desk and desktop computer on the other. He studied the calendar. Starting tomorrow was the three-day tour with six tourists. On Tuesdays, Paul drove the local link, a bus service for those who lived in the rural area. It drove them around to the shops in town. There was a hen party scheduled next Friday evening. He was to drive the group down to Killarney as they crawled from pub to pub. The schedule was busy. That was a good sign. Declan realized if he hadn’t agreed to help his brother, his brother might have lost his business.

  He grabbed the itinerary and the keys to the bus. His phone told him it was time to head over to Gran’s house.

  GRACE KELLY WAITED outside her hotel with the rest of her tour group. She glanced at
her watch, scowling. The tour operator was fifteen minutes late. Not very professional. She folded her arms across her chest and sighed. The last thing she wanted was to be standing around and waiting. She wanted to see Ireland! Every last bit of it. What she didn’t want to be doing was hanging around. She didn’t want to have any time to think. She wasn’t ready to think about all that had transpired last weekend. She sighed heavily and leaned against the wall of the hotel.

  Her tour group was small, a total of six people including herself. There was an elderly priest and two couples of retirement age. She had hoped for a much bigger crowd to get lost in. In the smaller group, she felt exposed. But as she had booked at the last minute, this was all that had been left.

  A small white minibus decorated with the word “O’Grady’s” in green and gold, with a shamrock where the apostrophe should have been, pulled up in front of the hotel with a screech. Grace raised an eyebrow.

  “That didn’t sound good,” said the older woman on the tour. She was in her seventies with salt-and-pepper hair, and she wore jeans, a turtleneck, and a sweatshirt that read “Maine” on it. She had introduced herself to the group earlier as Rhoda Peete.

  The door to the minibus opened and a man descended with a clipboard in his hand. Grace’s breath caught in her throat. The man was beautiful in a striking, very Irish way. He was tall and solid, with a thick mop of inky black hair and mischievous eyes. This was an unexpected surprise. She’d expected some older, semi-retired guy. Immediately, she straightened up.

  Whistling, he approached the group. As he walked, he almost bounced, as if he was full of too much energy. The rest of the tour group gathered in a small circle around him, but Grace remained on the periphery.

  “My name is Declan O’Grady from O’Grady tours. I’m sure you were expecting my brother, Paul, but he’s had an accident and is now in hospital with a broken leg,” Declan explained.

  “Oh my goodness, that’s awful,” said the other woman. Helen Robinson was her name.

  “Awful,” her husband, standing beside her, repeated.

  “Well, I hope it wasn’t a car accident,” Mrs. Robinson said, fiddling with her necklace and eyeing the bus nervously. “That would be terrible.”

  “Terrible,” agreed Mr. Robinson.

  Declan shook his head. “Nope. Skateboarding. He was teaching his two sons how to use a skateboard.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mrs. Peete chimed in.

  “When it happened, Paul’s older boy said to him, ‘Dad, is your leg supposed to be going in that direction?’”

  The group laughed, but all Grace could manage was a tight smile.

  “Ah, there’s no fear of him,” Declan said with a smile. “He’ll go on to fight another day.” He glanced around the group. “Right then. We’ve got a full-on weekend ahead. Let’s get rolling here. We’ve got the Cliffs of Mohr, Doolin, and Aisling Manor today.”

  Without another word, he headed back to the minibus and stood by the open door, perusing his clipboard. Without lifting his head, he called, “As you get on the bus, tell me your name, so I can make sure everyone is here.” He broke into a grin. “Ah, I see we have a film star in our midst.”

  They all looked at him, confused.

  “Is there a Grace Kelly here?”

  Like that isn’t the first time I’ve heard that, Grace thought. Slowly, she stepped forward and raised her hand. “I’m Grace Kelly.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and continue to grin, looking at her.

  This is going to be a long weekend, Grace thought. She wanted to wipe that amused expression off his face. Grace glanced away, avoiding eye contact. The rest of the group began to climb aboard the bus, leaving Grace the last one to get on. Declan engaged in some kind of banter with each passenger, asking where they were from, if it was their first time in Ireland, or making a benign comment about what they were wearing.

  As Grace began to board, he said to her, “Although fair play to you, your looks are darker. Kind of like Liz Taylor.”

  She turned to face him and came up close and personal with those dark eyes of his, glinting with merriment. She swallowed hard, reminding herself not to be tempted by this charmer. Deciding on politeness, she gave him a tight smile and said nothing. Once aboard the bus, she saw with relief that everyone else had taken the seats up front. She was more than happy to go to the back of the bus and avoid being singled out by this smooth operator. She settled down in her seat, leaning against the window, not wanting to miss one bit of the scenery.

  “Right then, we’ve got about an hour’s journey to the Cliffs of Mohr. Then we’ll stop in Doolin for lunch, and then we will wrap up the day at Aisling Manor. I’ll tell you a bit about the place as we head on to the Cliffs. If you have questions, by all means ask!”

  After he pulled out onto the road, he looked in his rearview mirror and announced, “I see Grace Kelly has opted for the Rear Window.”

  Everyone on the bus laughed. Except for Grace. She rolled her eyes, then looked up, her eyes meeting his in the mirror. He smiled broadly.

  “Ugh,” she muttered to no one in particular, sinking down farther in her seat. If she’d wanted a clown, she would have gone to the circus.

  Chapter Two

  The dark-haired American had left Declan distracted. When he picked up the rota, he’d figured it would just be a bunch of retirees on a tour of Ireland. And when he saw Grace’s name on the list at first, he thought it must be some kind of joke. But when he looked up and saw the face that went with the name, he was momentarily speechless. She was pretty with her long, thick hair the color of sable, and those eyes: big and luminous. All at once he became hyperaware of his surroundings. The fresh mist that blew in off the sea, the subtle taste of salt on his tongue, the bright gray sky. The smell of diesel as another, bigger tour bus rolled by. The tourists walking up and down the street and the din coming from inside the hotel. It was as if his mind was telling him that this moment was important. That someday he would look back with a smile and say, “Let me tell you about the day I met Grace Kelly.”

  After fumbling with the keys for a bit, he’d managed to get the bus started. He drove the bus with ease, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, navigating the narrow roads and the oncoming traffic. He kept the banter up, getting laughs out of his tourists, but Grace remained in the last seat, hardly turning her head away from the window and not once cracking a smile. This surprised him, because he thought himself to be somewhat of a wit. Apparently, his image of himself was inflated.

  When they arrived at the Cliffs of Mohr, Declan announced, “First stop of the tour. Just a few things to remember, please.”

  Even Grace looked up at him. Finally, he had her attention. “All the heritage sites are run by the Office of Public Works, and they’re all about preserving the authenticity of the site. What does this mean for you and me? It means that we’re going to need a boatload of common sense to proceed.” He paused and looked around. “There are no guardrails and sometimes the ground can be slick, especially with the mist today. So please be careful. If you go over the cliff, it’s a two-hundred-meter fall. You won’t survive it.”

  He opened the bus door and turned around. “One more thing before you go. Do me a favor and don’t take any selfies near the cliff’s edge. Sure, didn’t we lose a tourist here not too long ago taking a selfie? Enjoy yourself, take as many pictures as you want, but don’t ruin my day and yours by falling off the cliff. Enjoy yourselves!” He clapped his hands. “Okay, be back at the bus at noon.”

  Declan stood on the pavement, helping some of the older tourists off the bus. The last in line was Grace.

  “For you, I guess that would be High Noon.”

  Automatically, he extended his hand to help her off the bus but she declined, giving him a cold look.

  Trying to get a laugh out of her, he said, shrugging and feigning a shiver, “It feels like a cold front is moving in.”

  She regarded him with steely eyes and looked him up and down. “Y
ou seem to have enough hot air to counteract it.”

  And with that, he let out a bark of laughter.

  IT WAS LATE BY THE time they arrived at Aisling Manor. Declan had taken a wrong turn somewhere back at the bad bend of beyond, as it was known to the locals. It had unnerved him a bit that he’d lost his way. After all, this was his home. Annoyed, he blamed it on the dark-haired beauty at the back of the bus, who acted as if he didn’t exist.

  As he drove through the main gate, he noticed all sorts of construction vehicles parked on the lawns and around the manor. He also noticed a scaffolding company van pulling in ahead of him. The manor was over three hundred years old; it was in need of renovation.

  After he opened the door of the bus and stepped down onto the curb, he stood next to the bus, ready to help passengers disembark. As usual, Grace was the last one off. Again, he offered his hand and again, she refused.

  “This is Aisling Manor, built about three hundred years ago and owned by the Fitzpatrick family, who still live in it today.” He looked around at the faces of his tourists. All were smiling and their expressions were open. They looked relaxed and happy. Except for Grace. She remained unsmiling. her expression unreadable. He wondered what her story was. Most tourists were happy to be here, but she seemed as happy as a patient in a dentist’s office, waiting for a root canal.

  She didn’t even regard him with a glance when she stepped down. It bothered him that she wouldn’t give him the time of day. What was wrong with him? He was tempted to give his armpit a sniff, wondering if his deodorant was failing him. He was decent looking enough. No film star, but he didn’t look like an extra from the set of The Walking Dead, either.

  It was in this sour mood that he led them through the front entrance of the manor. His cousin Ada greeted them.

  “Declan! It’s great to see you!” Ada said, throwing her arms around him.

  He hugged her back and they momentarily enquired about each other’s families.