Kiss Me, I'm Irish: The Sins of His Past / Tangling With Ty / Whatever Reilly Wants...

They both turned to where she stood in the kitchen doorway, a vision in white from head to toe, her precious Newman in her arms. “I recognize you from your pictures, Deuce.” At the sight of a stranger, Newman yelped and squiggled for freedom.

Deuce stared at Diana for a moment, then stood. “That’s what they call me,” he said.

Diana breezed in, releasing the jittery little spaniel who leaped on Kendra’s lap and barked at Deuce.

“I’m Diana Lynn Turner.” She held out her hand to him. “And thank God for that pacemaker, because otherwise your father would have a heart attack when he comes downstairs.”

Diana beamed at him as they shook hands, sweeping him up and down with the look of keen appraisal she was known to give a smart investment property. Her mouth widened into an appreciative smile that she directed to Kendra.

“No wonder you’ve had a crush on him your whole life. He is simply delicious.”

Diana was nothing if not blunt. Kendra willed her color not to rise as she conjured up a look of utter disinterest and a shrug. “Guess that depends on how you define delicious.”

DEUCE FILED THE lifelong crush comment for later, and turned his attention back to the most unlikely maternal replacement he could imagine.

Her smile was as blinding as the sun in his eyes when he squinted for a pop fly. Jet-black hair pulled straight back offset wide, copper-brown eyes, and she had so few wrinkles she’d either been born with magnificent genes or had her own personal plastic surgeon. While she was certainly not his father’s age of seventy-one, something about her bearing told him she’d passed through her fifties already. And enjoyed every minute of the journey.

He released her power grip. “You’ve done quite a number on this house.”

She arched one shapely eyebrow and toyed with a strand of pearls that hung around her neck. “That’s what I do. Numbers. What on earth made you decide to finally come home?”

No bush-beating for this one, he noted. “I retired.”

She choked out a quick laugh. “Hardly. But your father will be over the moon to see you. How long are you staying?”

He casually scratched his face. He’d already admitted his plans. “A while.”

“How long is a while?” Diana asked.

“For good.”

“Good?” Her bronze eyes widened. “You’re staying here in Rockingham for good?”

“Who is staying for good?” The booming voice of Seamus Monroe accompanied his heavy footsteps on a staircase. He came around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Good God in Heaven,” he muttered, putting one of his mighty hands over his chest. For a moment Deuce’s gut tightened, thinking he had given his father a heart attack. He barely had time to take in the fact that Dad’s classic black-Irish dark hair had now fully transformed to a distinguished gray, but his eyebrows hadn’t seemed to catch up yet. Then the older man lunged toward him with both arms open and squeezed until neither man could breathe.

Deuce thought his own chest would explode with relief as they embraced. Although his father had been the most demanding human who ever raised a son, he’d also loved that son to distraction. Deuce was counting on that. That and the fact that age might have mellowed the old man.

They slapped each other’s backs and Dad pulled back and took Deuce’s face in his hands, shaking it with only slightly more force than the hug. “What the hell were you thinking getting in that race car, son?”

Maybe mellowed would be pushing it.

Deuce laughed as he pulled away. “I was thinking I wouldn’t get caught.”

“You could have been killed!” his father said, his eyes glinting with a fury Deuce had seen a million times. And those words. How many times had Seamus Monroe uttered “you could have been killed” after Deuce had “gotten caught”?

There was only one answer. Deuce had used it a few times, too. “I wasn’t killed, Dad.”

“But your career was.”

Deuce extended his right arm and shook it out. “Hey, I’m thirty-three. Time to let the young dudes take the mound.”

Seamus made a harumphing noise that usually translated into “baloney” or something harder if ladies weren’t present. Then he brightened and reached out for one of the ladies who was present. “And you’ve met the love of—Diana.”

His life.

Mom couldn’t be the love of his life forever, and the mature man in Deuce knew that. It was that temperamental little boy in him who wanted to punch a wall at the thought.

“Sure did. And I’m impressed with this house. Doesn’t look anything like the old Swain place.”

“Have you seen Monroe’s?” Dad said, throwing a proud look at Kendra.

She still sat at the kitchen table, the brown-and-white dog sizing him up from her lap. The almost-blush that Diana had caused had faded, but Kendra’s eyes were still unnaturally bright.

“Yep,” Deuce said, his gaze still on her. “I saw the bar. Big changes there, too.” He dug his hands into his pockets and leaned against one of the high-gloss countertops. “In fact this whole town looks completely different.”

Dad squeezed Diana a little closer to his side. “This is the reason, Deuce. This lady right here has done it all. She’s a one-woman growth curve.” He slid his hand over her waist and patted her hip, then glanced back at Kendra. “And so’s our little firestorm, Kennie.”

“So what’s going on down there, Dad? Kendra tells me you’re sticking your toes into the Internet waters.”

“We’ve been testing the waters for over a year and we haven’t drowned yet.” Dad laughed softly. “And if everything goes like we think it might, we’re going in deeper. Right, Kennie?”

She leaned forward and slid her mysterious envelope across the table. “And here’s the boat we’re taking out.”

“Oh!” Diana squealed and grabbed the envelope hungrily. “Let me see! How wonderful that Deuce is here for the final unveiling. Have some coffee, everyone. We’ll go into the family room and have a look at Kennie’s masterpiece.”

Kennie’s masterpiece? Not exactly just some paperwork. Deuce gave her another hard look, but she gathered up the dog and her mug and turned her back to him.

As the women moved to the other room, Deuce sidled up to his dad. “So, how you feeling? That, uh, thing working okay?”

The older man gave him a sly smile. “My thing works fine. I don’t even take that little blue pill.”

Deuce closed his eyes for a moment. “I meant the pacemaker.”

Dad laughed. “I know what you meant. It’s fine. I’ve never been healthier in my life.” He looked to the family room at Diana, his classic Irish eyes softening to a clear blue. “And I haven’t been happier in a long time, either.”

Things had changed, all right. And some things weren’t meant to change back.

“I can tell,” Deuce responded. He purposely kept the note of resignation out of his voice.

He couldn’t argue. Dad looked as vibrant as Deuce could remember him in the past nine years. Not that he’d seen him very often.

In the family room, Kendra had spread computer printouts of bar charts and graphs over a large coffee table. Alongside were architectural blueprints, and hand-drawn sketches of tables and computers. He took a deep breath and let his attention fall on an architect’s drawing of some kind of stage and auditorium. What the hell was a stage doing in Monroe’s?

He could try to deal with Dad’s romance, but messing with the bar he grew up in might be too much.

“So what’s this all about?” he asked.