Someone To Believe In Read Online Free Page A

took a
while—he scanned the interior. Tables scattered throughout. Thick
planked floor. Subdued lighting. And posters everywhere. Of
Ireland, houses, events sponsored by the establishment. There were
photos, too. Right next to him on the adjacent wall was a corkboard
of pictures. Little kids—a lot of them. “Them’s the grandkids,”
Bridget said as she brought his beer and plunked it down on the
bar. Some of the foam dribbled down the side of the glass.
    Taking the mug, Clay lifted the drink to his
lips, sipped the creamy smooth blend, and sighed. “Your
grandkids?”
    “No, the O’Neils’. There’s Michael, Shea,
Sinead, Kathleen, Cleary, and Hogan.”
    Clay grinned at the catalog of names, which
sounded like an Irish school roster.
    “And this here’s little Rory. The newest. The
devil’s in him, for sure.”
    The boy was a miniature of all the O’Neils.
Dark hair. Blue eyes. Maybe four or five years old.
    Clay was about to ask after another photo,
one of a young teenage girl who looked vaguely reminiscent of the
O’Neils but wasn’t the spitting image of them, when Bailey came up
behind Bridget. “I’m here, so go rest. You’ve been on your feet
all...” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of who sat before
her. Her eyes—he’d forgotten how blue they were—widened. Her pretty
mouth scowled as she took Clay in. She had a few more freckles than
he remembered. “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing
here?”
    “Bailey Ann, don’t take the name of the Lord
in vain.”
    Bailey heard her mother chide her, but her
head was reeling with shock. Peripherally, she saw Bridget back
away, and her father come into the bar area, on the opposite
side.
    “Bailey? Did you hear your ma, lass?”
    Uh-oh. “Yeah, Pa. Sorry.”
    Sensing something, as only mothers do, Mary
Kate O’Neil came to her side. “And who is this fine lookin’
gentleman?”
    When Bailey said nothing, Wainwright stood
and held out his hand. “Clayton Wainwright.”
    Her mother’s usually ruddy face turned as
pale as cumulus clouds in the Irish sky. What the hell was wrong
with Wainwright? He should have known better than to come here.
Her parents blamed him completely for her sojourn in prison—and an
Irish grudge could rival an Italian one any day.
    “Woman, what is it?” Her father’s voice
penetrated the haze Bailey was in. He’d crossed to them and she
nodded to Wainwright. Paddy recognized the senator right away.
“Come with me, Mary, my girl.” Pa escorted her mother away.
    “What are you doing here?” Bailey whispered
harshly.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t think...” He cocked his
head. “Look, I didn’t commit any crime, Ms. O’Neil. You did. But I
didn’t realize your parents would be at your place tonight.” He
stood. “I’ll be going. I’m sorry if my coming here has upset
them.”
    “Not so fast, Wainwright,” came a deep
baritone from behind her. Oh, geez. Patrick. The Fighter. In her
presence, especially when it dealt with any male on the planet,
her brothers fell into their childhood roles. “Pa’s takin’ Ma home
anyway.”
    Bailey sighed.
    Patrick glared at Wainwright. “Hasslin’
Bailey again, Senator?”
    “I’d say we’re about even on that score.”
    “Yeah, well, we got different views than
you.” This from Dylan, the Taunter. He flanked Bailey on the other
side.
    In minutes, Liam, the Manipulator, was behind
Wainwright’s stool. “Come down here slummin’ for a reason,
Senator?”
    Wainwright looked over his shoulder and
seemed startled but not afraid to see her third oldest
protector.
    Where the hell was Aidan the Peacemaker when
she needed him? The youngest son, only a year older than Bailey,
could diffuse this situation. She looked around frantically for
him, and saw him flirting with a pretty redhead across the room.
“Aidan!”
    He glanced up grinning, took in the situation
and bolted over. “What’s goin’ on, guys?”
    “You know who this is?” Patrick