Running Back

Theoretically.

Next, I set up a meeting with the local crew hires. In the pub, of course, no surprise there. They’d already congregated in the back half of the pub when I arrived on Saturday. They laughed loudly, foam clinging to the sides of their pints. I lifted a hand and smiled, and headed first for the bar and Fi

“That’s a lot of alcohol.”

Startled, I took in A

A

I raised my brows and examined her glass. “Sounds like a solid life choice.”

A

“I’m meeting with the crew. You want to come with?”

A

A

I recognized some of the dozen. Sean Larry, who’d spoken to me at the month’s mind. Eileen’s granddaughter, Amanda, who helped around the i

One of the men, with a head full of prematurely gray hair, said, “Not to worry, lass. Why don’t you pull up a chair?”

Lassied in the first thirty seconds. I worked to maintain level breathing. Not a good sign for establishing authority.

“Call me Natalie, please.” I tried to make my tone firm but friendly as I sat, A

Everyone nodded, because most of them had already met her. She delivered her signature scowl, but didn’t say, “I’m not his fucking niece,” so I considering it a positive.

We did a round of introductions as Fi

A

Several of the gathered smirked slightly. One of the men, Colin, who had ears that stuck straight out of his head, a bobbing Adam’s apple and startling beautiful green eyes, spoke. “And you’re the one in charge and all?”

The others laughed.

I sat straighter. “I’m a doctoral candidate in archaeology and I’ve worked on plenty of digs before.” I’d just never been crew chief. “I’m very well qualified.”

The twenty-something smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t have to be,” he muttered, adding some additional comment under his breath.

MacCarthy thwacked him and sent an apologetic look my way. “It’s all in good spirits.”

A

A

I kicked her before she started spreading any more rumors, and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m go

They watched A

One of his cronies joined in. “Has his eyes.”

Devon’s eyes twinkled. “Has his trouble.”

I slammed the flat of my hand on the table. “Sirs. Sirs!”

They all looked at me with surprise—either at my exclamation, or that I was still here. The prematurely gray one—Tim? Tim O’Brien?—smiled benignly. “What is it, lass?”

“It’s Natalie. Please.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s go over what we’ll be doing in the upcoming weeks.” I smiled brightly, making sure to meet everyone’s gaze. “We’re having a specialist come in next week to see if we can identify any interesting subsurface features. We’ll clear the field before—I’ll be supplying the tools. Next week the other three archaeologists will come down from Dublin and we’ll start opening the selected units.”

Green-eyed Colin leaned forward. “You think we’ll really find something?”

Quiet Jan piped up. “How long do you think this dig could last?”

“My wife is a cook—we could get our lunches catered—”

“I can get you a good deal on screens and woods, and my cousin’s a carpenter, so he can build them for us—”

The faces surrounding me were tense with wary hope. Proud faces. Watchful faces.

I chose my words carefully. “It all depends on what we find, but I’m hopeful that this will be a very successful excavation. If it is, we’ll be coming back in the next summers.”

They all nodded. “And you’re the one that decides?”

“It really depends on what we find. And if we can dig up grant money.”

I left first, amidst cheerful goodbyes and after organizing everyone’s appearance next Monday morning. My legs wobbled and my palms were dry and tingly. I knew this was a small village. I knew every extra bit of economy helped. I knew digs often created infrastructure.

I hadn’t realized how much they were counting on it.

A

He maintained his aloof and brooding expression, like he’d taken a Heathcliff pill. “Went out with Mary and the others half an hour ago.”

I had no idea who Mary and the others were. “That was water earlier, right? Anything else?”

“Just a cider.”

I didn’t have to worry about her on one cider. Theoretically. I texted Lauren just in case and headed back to the i

An hour later, I was sitting in the parlor and pretending to read Yeats—but really trying to figure out what color a curd-pale moon would be, because was that like off white? Had I ever actually seen curds? Did anyone besides Yeats and Little Miss Muffet talk about curds?—when Lauren burst in, her cheeks flushed almost as bright as her hair. She dropped down in the chair across from me. “You’ll never believe what I learned.”

“I won’t? What?” A

“Maggie used to be engaged to my dad.”

“No!” The photo. The photo in the study of the brothers and Maggie. I’d forgotten it in everything that followed. “Wait, and then she married his older brother instead? Wow. She told you this?”

“No, Paul did.”

“You saw Paul? What happened?” This was all too much for my brain to process.

She waved a hand. “Nothing. Whatever. But no wonder she doesn’t like Mom. And no wonder everyone describes Patrick as bitter, if his wife was in love with his younger brother.”

“Was she still? Who broke up with who?”

“I have no idea. Paul just dropped it in passing, like he thought I already knew, even though he knew I didn’t, and then was all like, nevermind, no big deal. What an ass.”

“So do you think that’s the real reason the brothers were estranged? A fight over a girl?”

She shrugged. “Makes some sense, right? But you’d hope there was a little more than that to a fight that lasted so long.”

It wasn’t really my place to figure out the O’Co