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“Why?” Danny asked.
“Just do it. I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Riley and Nan have me stuffing invitations for their engagement party. This is important stuff I’m workin’ on, Kell. I can’t just be hopping off for no good reason.”
“It’s an emergency. Maybe even life or death. Leave now. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
“I’m on my way.”
This time, when Kellan hefted her over his shoulder, she groaned and fought against him. “That’s right,” he said. “It’s not so comfortable, is it? Maybe if you could summon the energy to walk, we might both be spared the trouble of me lugging you through this meadow like a lumpy sack of potatoes.”
“Ow,” she said.
“What were you doing on that beach, anyway? If I hadn’t come along, you’d be on your way to dead right now. Dead and washed away by the tide. That’s no way to leave this world. What about your family? They might never have known what happened to you.”
“I— Oh, sick,” she muttered. A few seconds later, she retched and he felt the back of his leg go damp. After that, she seemed to settle down.
“Lovely. Brilliant.” Kellan tried to calm his own stomach. If there was one thing he couldn’t handle it was— He felt a wave of nausea overtake him and he stopped and drew a deep breath through his mouth. “I don’t know if you’re drunk or just crazy, but you’ll be thanking me for this later.”
By the time he reached the road, Danny was waiting in his battered old Land Rover. His brother jumped out of the driver’s side and ran up to him. “What the devil! Where did you find her?”
“On the beach at the cove. She’s cold and I think she might be drunk. Or sick. I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do with her?”
“Take her back to the cottage. I’ll get her warm and call Doc Finnerty.”
“Maybe we should drive her directly to the hospital?”
“All the way to Cork? Let’s get her out of these wet clothes first and warm her up. If she doesn’t come round, I’ll take her.”
When they got her settled in the backseat, Kellan slid in beside her, resting her head on his lap. Danny turned the car around and raced back toward town. At the fork in the road, he turned up toward the cottage.
Kellan had been living in Ballykirk for the past couple weeks, taking a break from life in Dublin while his family planned for the upcoming wedding. The small, whitewashed cottage had been his childhood home, set on a high rise above the seaside village. On occasion, it was let out to tourists, but when it wasn’t, Kellan often stayed there.
When Danny pulled the car to a stop, Kellan got out and carefully scooped the woman up into his arms. “Do me a favor. Give Doc Finnerty a call and if he doesn’t answer, see if you can find him.”
“I know where he is,” Danny said. “He’s having a pint at the pub. He was there when I left.” He ran up the garden path and opened the door for Kellan. “I’ll go get him, then.”
Kellan turned toward the bedroom, then realized that the sofa was a better choice. He could light a fire and it would provide the warmth she needed. He set her down, then hurriedly laid peat and kindling in the hearth. A few minutes later, a flicker of flame licked at the sod, smoke curling up into the chimney.
“There,” he said. He leaned back on his heels, then realized the fire would do only half the job. He had to get her out of her wet clothes and into something warm. Though he didn’t relish undressing a woman without her permission, Kellan figured if he didn’t look at her in a sexual way, it would remain a purely practical matter.
He strode into the bedroom and grabbed the quilt and a wool blanket off the bed, then returned to the sofa. She was so still, curled up in front of him. Kellan gently sat her up, then slipped his jacket off her shoulders.
If she were conscious, he could put her in a warm shower. But there was no way she could stand unless he joined her.
Her hair was tangled with sand and bits of debris from the beach. He managed to skim her damp dress up along her legs, but was forced to pull her to her feet to get it over her head. To his relief, she seemed able to stand on her own for a few seconds.
He tossed the dress aside, then grabbed the quilt, wrapping her up in it and trying not to dwell on the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Why should that surprise me?” he murmured.
She had a beautiful body, slender and long-limbed. Her skin was pale and soft as silk, but so cold to his touch. His gaze slipped lower, to her lovely breasts, the curve of her hips and the junction of her legs.
He drew a ragged breath and pulled her against him, rubbing her back with his palms until the friction created warmth. What she really needed was a long, hot bath. But the cottage had only a shower. A bath would require hauling in the old tub that they’d used as kids.
A sharp knock sounded on the door and a few seconds later, Danny stepped inside followed by Jimmy Finnerty. Dr. Finnerty was the closest thing the town had to a local doctor. He had retired from his practice in Cork three years ago and now lived a quiet life with his wife in his vacation home on the bay, spending his days fishing and only coming out of retirement for the occasional emergency.
“What have we here?” he asked, setting his bag on the end of the sofa.
“I found her on the beach,” Kellan said.
“The beach? What beach?”
“A little spot I know just up the coast. She was lying in the sand.”
“Naked?”
“No, she was dressed. I took her dress off to try to get her warm. I think she’s a bit better. I had her standing. But she hasn’t really opened her eyes.”
The doctor reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial, then cracked it and held the smelling salts under her nose. She jerked back, then waved her hand in front of her face, moaning softly. “Well, she’s not unconscious. She seems to be under the influence.”
“Of what?” Danny asked.
“Pills. Liquor. Can’t say for certain. Why don’t we start with some nice hot coffee and see if that helps.” He glanced over at Kellan. “You say you found her on the beach?”
Kellan nodded. “She threw up while I was carrying her out to the road.”
“That’s a positive sign.”
“Not for me,” he muttered.
“You don’t suppose she’s a—”
“A drunk?”
“No, a mermaid,” Finnerty said with a chuckle. “She could be a mermaid washed up onshore.”
“Look at her,” Danny said. “She has that look about her.”
Kellan stared at the woman, frowning. “She looks … I don’t know. Pretty. But she has feet. Don’t mermaids have … fins?”
“Naw. Not after they come ashore,” Finnerty said as he slipped on a blood pressure cuff. “The skin is so pale and the hair like spun silk. I’ve seen pictures. This is what they look like. Otherworldly. Was she combing her hair when you first saw her?” He looked up. “That’s how they cast their spells, you know.”
“I don’t believe in mermaids,” Kellan said. “And neither do you two. She was unconscious when I found her.”
Finnerty listened to her pulse, then removed the cuff. “Well, she’s here. And her vital signs are strong. What are you going to do with her?”
“I thought you could take her. To hospital, if need be.”
“She appears to be slightly hypothermic and possibly hungover. Now that she’s getting warm, she’ll probably wake up and be just fine. I expect the best place for her is right here—at least until she’s feeling better. Then you can take her back where you found her.”
“What? I can’t put her back on that beach.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll sort it all out,” Finnerty said as he rose from the sofa. “You’re a smart lad, Kellan. Now, my wife has dinner waiting and I’m late. If you need me, give me a ring and I’ll come back. Danny, let’s be off and leave your brother to nurse this pretty merrow back to health.”
Danny gave Kellan a shrug and followed the doctor out the door. “Bring me up some soup from the pub,” Kellan called. “And a bottle of whiskey.”
“No problem,” Danny said. “And I’ll fetch a bushel of kelp and some herring, too.” He was still chuckling as the door slammed behind him.
Kellan stared down at the woman lying on the sofa. He reached down and brushed the flaxen hair from her eyes, taking in the perfect features of her face. Finnerty was right. She had a look about her, something … extraordinary. “Otherworldly,” he murmured.
And familiar. Kellan couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her somewhere before. And yet, he certainly would have remembered meeting her. A woman this beautiful would have stuck in his mind.
“If you are a mermaid,” he murmured, smoothing his hand over her temple, “then we’re going to have a very interesting conversation when you wake up.”
GELSEY WOODSON SNUGGLED into the warm recesses of the blanket wrapped around her naked body. Her head ached from the bottle of champagne she’d drunk the night before and her skin itched from salt water and sand, but she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes.
She listened distractedly to the male voices, realizing they were talking about her. The one man was obviously a doctor and she stifled a moan as he took her blood pressure. There was another voice, her rescuer. The man who’d carried her up from the beach. She liked his voice. It was like liquid chocolate, smooth and dark and just a bit sweet.
Their conversation turned to mermaids and for a moment she was confused, until she realized that they thought she was a mermaid. That nearly made her laugh out loud. She’d always been one to indulge in fantasies. From the time she was a child, she’d woven a rich imaginary life for herself where she was a princess one day and a fairy queen the next, or a sorceress or an elf or a pixie with powers that could change her world in the blink of an eye.
And now she was a mermaid. Maybe that was for the best, she mused. For she certainly didn’t want to be Gelsey Woodson anymore.
Her stomach growled and she winced, remembering the humiliation of vomiting over the man’s shoulder. Though she was used to overindulging, bouncing around as he carried her had been a recipe for disaster.
She pulled the blanket up more tightly around her nose. Just a few more hours of rest would be enough. Then she could face the world again. But even though she wanted to sleep, she couldn’t help but be curious about the man who’d plucked her off the beach.
When the house went quiet, she slowly opened her eyes and looked around. A fire flickered on the hearth and the acrid smell of peat teased at her nose. She glanced under the quilt. Though she was certain she hadn’t undressed herself, she couldn’t remember who had.
Her mind wandered back to the previous night. Though she’d done her share of stupid things, especially when it came to her relationships with men, this might just top the list. A late-night phone call, an argument with her ex-fiancé and too much to drink had ended with her tossing a nine carat diamond ring into the sea before passing out on the beach. It seemed as if all her problems had become too heavy to bear. Not just the breakup, but the everything that had come before it—the fights, the paparazzi, the Italian police and the “incident.”
That’s what she’d taken to calling it. That’s what her Italian attorney called it. And that made it sound so benign. But punching a photographer was a serious offense, even if she’d done it while under the influence of another very expensive bottle of champagne and the misunderstanding that the photographer was trying to grope her.
And so she’d run away to Winterhill, to lick her wounds and await her hearing scheduled for late January. Her grandmother’s country house in Ireland was a place she’d remembered so fondly from her childhood. The windswept cliffs and brilliant green meadows had been her playground every summer, creating fantasies for a girl used to a solitary existence. She’d come back to find the center in her life again, to hide from everything that confused and frightened her. Though she’d lived all over the world, Ireland had always felt the most like home.
She drew a deep breath and winced, her head throbbing and her mouth dry as dust. Was this what all her therapists had talked about? Everyone had been predicting it. Had Gigi Woodson, tabloid princess and celebrity heiress, finally hit rock bottom?
Her father, Ellery Woodson, was a diplomat for the British government, and her mother, an American socialite. She was their only child and after the first eight years of her life, a pawn in their very nasty divorce. Bad behavior had come easily. It had been the only way to get her parents’ attention.
At age twelve, she’d been kicked out of her first boarding school. By seventeen, she’d been kicked out of more schools than she could remember. She had a brief spell of normalcy during her university years in Paris, when she worked on an art history degree and lived with a handsome French banker. But then her grandmother died, leaving her Winterhill and a large trust fund. At age twenty-one, the naughty Gelsey returned with a vengeance—and with a seemingly bottomless bank account.
She’d transformed herself from Gelsey Evangeline Woodson, well-educated daughter of a diplomat, to Gigi Woodson, party girl without a care in the world. For the first five years, it had been fun, like playing make-believe only with posh parties and exciting new friends. Even her mother had approved.
But in the past few years, her life had started to spiral out of control and she began to suspect that she really did care. That all the pretending didn’t make the loneliness and the insecurities go away. Maybe she hadn’t had the best family life and maybe her parents hadn’t really wanted her around. But she’d come to realize that the life she was living would never make her happy and the friends she had weren’t true friends at all.
Gelsey drew a ragged breath. So, perhaps this could be a fresh start. Today, this morning. Or afternoon. When she opened her eyes again, she could forget the past and start all over again. She could use what was left of her trust fund and build a simple life for herself, away from the glare of the spotlight and the flash of the paparazzi’s cameras.
Her thoughts dissolved and she fell back into a shallow sleep, content for the first time in a long time. Everything would be all right. She’d be safe here, in this tiny cottage. No one knew her in Ireland beyond the housekeeper at Winterhill. No one would care if she stayed away for a day or even a week.
She wasn’t sure how long she slept, but the touch of a hand on her face brought her back from a dreamless state of exhaustion. She opened her eyes and found him sitting on the floor near the end of the sofa and staring at her intently.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she said, her voice croaking. Gelsey cleared her throat.
“Would you like something warm to drink?” he asked. “I have coffee or tea. Or soup. Or maybe a bit of whiskey?”
Her stomach growled at the mention of food. “Yes, soup would be nice.” As for the whiskey, she’d decided to take a new direction in her life. It was time to stop drinking … at least to excess.
“Soup,” she said.
“I’ll be right back,” he murmured.
Gelsey clasped the quilt to her chest as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. To her surprise, she didn’t feel nearly as bad as she’d expected. Just a little bit weak and a tiny bit embarrassed. But she was here, being waited on by a devastatingly handsome man who was making her soup. The first day of her new life was beginning quite well.
As promised, he returned in a few moments with a huge mug and spoon. He sat down beside her and handed her the soup. “It’s beef and barley,” he said. “It’s from the pub down in the village. My ma makes it.”
Gelsey took a spoonful. The hearty warmth made her smile. “It’s delicious.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“How is it you came to be on the beach?”
Gelsey opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. She didn’t want to explain it all, especially to this man. She didn’t want him to think badly of her, to make assumptions and to write her off as some stupid girl without any limits.
“I—I don’t know,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
Gelsey shrugged. “I don’t remember.” She took another spoonful of the soup, waiting for him to question her. But he just continued to watch her suspiciously. “I’m not sure.”
“Are you saying you have amnesia?”
Gelsey frowned. It sounded like a reasonable diagnosis and it happened all the time in the movies. If she didn’t know who she was, then she wouldn’t know where she came from. And she could stay here with this man. “I don’t know. I just don’t remember.” She took another spoonful of soup and handed it to him. “I’ve had enough, thank you.”
“You’ve barely eaten at all,” he said.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Kellan. Kellan Quinn.”
A memory flashed in her mind, so clear it might have happened just yesterday. The boy that had chased her from the beach so many years before. His name had been Kellan. She’d heard his brothers yell it across the meadow and she’d committed it to memory. This was the same boy, all grown up.
She smiled to herself. How many times had she woven long and complicated fantasies around that boy? For at least a month after, she’d thought about returning to the beach to find him. But the summer had ended and she’d been sent back to school, leaving thoughts of him far behind.
“Kellan,” she repeated. “I like that.”
