Praise for Kate Hoffmann from RT Book Reviews …

“Hoffmann’s deeply felt, emotional story is riveting.

It’s impossible to put down.”

— on The Charmer

“Fully developed characters and perfect pacing make this story feel completely right.”

— on Your Bed or Mine?

“Sexy and wildly romantic.”

— on Doing Ireland!

“A very hot story mixes with great characters to make every page a delight.”

— on The Mighty Quinns: Ian

“Romantic, sexy and heartwarming.”

— on Who Needs Mistletoe?

“Sexy, heartwarming and romantic … a story to settle down with and enjoy—and then re-read.”

— on The Mighty Quinns: Teague

Dear Reader,

I can’t believe another Quinn saga is coming to an end. The Mighty Quinns: Ronan is the fourth and final book about the Seattle branch of the Quinn family and marks my eighteenth Quinn book.

Will I be writing more? Of course! I’ve already begun planning for the next set of Quinns. I’m going to switch things up a bit and there will definitely be some surprises along the way. But you’ll recognize those sexy Irish boys you’ve all come to love. Watch for them coming soon. (Like many Irish families, sometimes you have to split people up to keep some sort of control.):)

Happy reading!

Kate Hoffmann

About the Author

KATE HOFFMANN has written more than seventy books for Mills & Boon. She spent time as a music teacher, a retail assistant buyer and an advertising exec before she settled into a career as a full-time writer. She continues to pursue her interests in music, theatre and musical theatre, working with local schools in various productions. She lives in south-eastern Wisconsin with her cat, Chloe.

The Mighty Quinns: Ronan
Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Brenda, my friend and my editor and my own best critic.

These Quinns are for you!

Prologue

THE CLOSET WAS dark and quiet. Ronan Quinn clutched the flashlight in his hand, the failing batteries providing a weak shaft of light. Closing his eyes, he tried to banish the disturbing images from his thoughts.

The dreams had started just a few months ago, right after his eighth birthday party. It had been the first party his family had attempted since his parents had disappeared the previous year.

Of course, it hadn’t been the same. Birthday parties were what his mother did best. She could turn an ordinary day into the most wonderful, magical event of a person’s life. For his seventh birthday, she’d taken him and his whole Cub Scout troop to the aquarium. They’d seen the most amazing thing. There’d been octopus cupcakes with long, licorice tentacles. And games like “Pin The Fin” on the shark. There had even been a fish shaped piñata filled with gum and jawbreakers and all his favorite candy.

At the end of the day, after the party was over and he was exhausted from the excitement, he’d received his gift, a beautiful aquarium, placed on a stand right next to his bed. He remembered how he’d stayed up all night, just watching the fish swimming back and forth in the blue light.

The aquarium was empty now, all the fish dead and the water drained. It was one of those things that had been forgotten once their world had been turned upside down. There was never any time to shop for fish. No one wanted to bother keeping the aquarium clean.

This year, his grandfather and older brothers had planned a party on the family sailboat, gathering ten of Ronan’s classmates for a sail on the sound. But when they’d gotten to the dock, Ronan had refused to get on the boat.

Fear had welled up inside of him as he stared at the dark water slapping against the hull. His stomach had begun to roil and his hands had grown ice cold. Ronan knew that if he got on the boat, the sea would swallow him up and pull him down to the very bottom where he would drown.

Dermot had stayed with him on the dock while the rest of the party left. And though his older brother tried to reassure him that everything would be fine, Ronan had seen the looks on his friends’ faces. He’d already been marked as being different since his parents’ disappearance. Now, he’d be completely alone, the subject of whispers and pity.

Ronan looked down at the book clutched in his arms. The huge picture book of ocean fish had been another gift from his mother. But this one had appeared next to his breakfast one morning. It hadn’t been his birthday or Christmas or any type of holiday at all. She’d just decided that he needed the book.

He turned the flashlight onto the pages and stared at the pretty pictures. But when he flipped the page to the chapter on sharks, Ronan slammed the book closed and hugged his knees to his chest.

There were always sharks in his nightmares. Sharks circling in the dark water. He tried not to think about what might have happened to his parents, but the nightmares brought it up again and again.

He’d asked questions that his grandfather and brothers refused to answer. How long could they live in the water? How far could they swim? If they were in the life raft, wouldn’t they drift to land? But there were never any explanations. He’d just been told to accept the fact that his mother and father were gone.

But he didn’t want to accept it. There was always a chance that they’d be found. Maybe on an island. Or maybe the boat was just floating around in the ocean, the sails torn or lost. Why couldn’t anyone see that?

“Ronan?”

His breath caught in his throat and he watched the door, shadows playing with the shaft of light. A few seconds later, the door swung open. His oldest brother, Cameron, stood in front of him.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Nothing,” Ronan said.

“You got a book. Are you reading?”

Ronan shook his head.

“Come on,” Cameron said. “You need to get back to bed.”

“I can’t,” Ronan said. “I’ll have bad dreams again.”

Cameron squatted down and rubbed Ronan’s knee. “You’re having nightmares?”

Ronan nodded. “Bad ones. With sharks. And Mom and Dad are swimming and trying to get away. But the water is dark and they can’t see anything.” Cameron held out his hands and Ronan crawled into his embrace. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“How about you sleep in my bed tonight,” Cameron said.

“Okay,” Ronan said, a flood of relief washing over him. Cameron would be able to protect him from the bad dreams. His older brother could do anything.

“You want to bring your book?” Cam asked. He handed it to Ronan. “Your fish book. You really like this book, don’t you?”

“Mom gave it to me,” Ronan said.

“You like fish? Maybe we could go fishing sometime.”

Ronan frowned. He never wanted to go near the ocean again. “I don’t like fish that way,” he said. “I don’t want to go near the black water. It might suck me up and pull me down to the bottom.”

“You don’t have to be scared of that,” Cam said.

But that was one point that Ronan refused to give to his older brother. He was never, ever going to go on the ocean again. “I like my aquarium fish,” Ronan ventured.

“You don’t have any aquarium fish,” Cameron said.

“I know. But I used to like them. They helped me sleep.”

“Well, maybe we could ask Grandda if we could go get you some new fish. Would that make you feel better?”

In truth, the only thing that could make Ronan feel better was if his mother was there to tuck him in and his father was there to kiss him goodnight.

Maybe his older brothers could do without that. Cameron was twelve and the twins, Kieran and Dermot were nine, almost ten. Maybe when you got older, hugs and kisses weren’t important. But it wasn’t a baby thing, was it, to want hugs and kisses?

Ronan reached out and grabbed his brother’s hand as they walked out of Ronan’s room and into the hall. He needed to be braver. That’s what older boys were expected to do. It was time to grow up.

1

THE SUN ROSE as the bus rolled across the state line from New Hampshire into Maine. After four days on the road, crossing the country accompanied by complete strangers, eating at roadside diners and truck stops and sleeping in fits and starts, Ronan was ready to reach his destination.

The sunrise had become an important event for him, something he looked forward to when there was little else to mark the passing time. But now that they’d reached the Atlantic coast, he saw a completely different sunrise, a blaze of color over the blue ocean.

Like Seattle, the passing landscape was dominated by the sea and Ronan felt a hint of familiarity in such a strange, new place. The villages along the route were populated with white clapboard buildings and red brick churches, towering hardwood trees and tidy town squares, and harbors filled with bobbing sailboats.

“Thanks, Grandda,” he murmured to himself. He couldn’t imagine that his brothers’ destinations in New Mexico, Kentucky and Wisconsin came close to the natural beauty he was seeing here.

The bus ride really hadn’t been that bad. As a kid, he’d spent a lot of time alone, riding his bike around the neighborhood or mastering tricks on his skateboard. As he grew older, he’d hiked and climbed and camped, he’d taught himself to ski and snowboard, but always alone, finding comfort in the quiet of a silent mountaintop or a lush forest.

His fondness for solitude had made him a bit of a black sheep in a family of brothers who were impossibly close. Ronan had just never found a proper place for himself. His oldest brother, Cameron, was the responsible one, charged with holding their fractured family together. Dermot was the charmer and Kieran the quiet one. Ronan was the outsider.

It didn’t help that Ronan was the only one of the four Quinn boys who harbored an unshakable fear of the water. It had been difficult when every Quinn family activity revolved around boats and sailing. Cam, Dermot and Kieran spent their free time on the water, while Ronan had been forced to find solitary activities on land.

Ronan knew his fear of water had everything to do with what had happened to his parents. He didn’t remember many details about that time when the world went black and everyone was sad. Yet, to this day, he remembered the nightmares of cold water and high waves, endless depths and interminable storms, and a deep and utter feeling of loss.

The mother who had comforted him, the father he’d adored, were suddenly gone, and no one had ever really explained to him how that could have happened. He was the one who held hope the longest, certain that one day, his parents would walk in the door and life would get back to normal.

Ronan didn’t mind that he was labeled the odd little brother. It was his place in the family hierarchy and it was comfortable amidst brothers who seemed to thrive on competition. He didn’t mind that making friends didn’t come easily to him. Or that he was twenty-six and drifted between women the same way he drifted between jobs at the yachtworks.

He didn’t want to make plans, he avoided commitment. No one could know what the future held so he didn’t think about the future. He lived his days, and his nights, one at a time.

But last week, his grandfather had asked them all to imagine a different life, to put aside the responsibilities they’d taken on as kids and to follow their dreams. To his surprise, the further he got from Seattle and his life there, the more his past began to fade in his mind.

The only dream he’d ever had as a child was more of a fantasy, one where his parents magically reappeared in their lives. Maybe it was time to start making a plan for himself, to focus on a goal and make it come true. Without his family around, he was no longer the black sheep. He was simply Ronan Quinn, a clean slate, a fresh start.

When the bus driver finally called “Sibleyville,” Ronan jumped to his feet. He was about to walk into a different life for the next six weeks. A month and a half was what his grandfather had required for this challenge and starting now, Ronan would have to find a job and a place to sleep.

The bus pulled up in front of a drug store and the driver opened the door. “Sibleyville. Anyone for Sibleyville?”

Ronan walked down the aisle, his duffel slung over his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said to the driver as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

If there was a picture next to the definition of quaint in the dictionary, this was it, Ronan thought to himself. A neon Rexall Drug sign hung over his head and a variety of merchandise was displayed behind the gleaming plate glass windows on either side of the entrance. The bus pulled away behind him and Ronan turned and watched it disappear down the street.

He drew a deep breath and the salt-tinged sea air filled Ronan’s lungs. It was a different smell from home, he mused. Familiar, but different. Small town life was bound to be a change for him. He enjoyed having all the conveniences that a big city provided. But then, people were supposed to be friendlier in places like this. And for a guy who usually depended on himself, Ronan might need the kindness of a few strangers right now.

He walked inside the drug store and immediately noticed the lunch counter along one wall. He still had a little cash left in his pocket so he decided to take a seat and have something to drink while he got his bearings.

An elderly man stepped behind the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Chocolate malt,” he said.

“Made with vanilla ice cream or chocolate?”

The man’s New England accent was thick, the words flattened out until Ronan could barely understand. “Vanilla,” Ronan said.

He grabbed a menu from the rack in front of him and perused the prices. They served soda fountain treats and sandwiches for lunch, but he’d have to find another spot for breakfast and dinner. “I’m looking for a place to stay,” Ronan said. “Something cheap. Can you suggest anything?”

“Well, it’s still high season around here, but there are a few boarding houses in town that you could try. Mrs. Morey has a place over on Second Street and Miss Harrington has a few rooms in her house on Whitney. They’re pretty fussy about who they rent to. No funny business, if you get my drift.”

“Do you know how much they charge?” Ronan asked.

The old man considered the question for a long moment as he prepared the malt. “Can’t say that I do.”

“I’m also looking for a job,” Ronan said.

“There’s a board over at the visitors center,” he said. “There’s always someone looking for help. They’ll help you find a room, too, if you ask Maxine. She’s usually behind the desk.”

He placed the malt in front of Ronan. The old fountain glass was filled to the brim, then topped with whipped cream and a cherry. “That’ll be three-ninety-five,” he said.

Ronan pulled out his wallet and laid a five on the counter. “Keep the change,” he said.

Ronan lingered over the malt, watching as customers came and went, getting a feel for the locals. Everyone in town seemed pretty friendly. There was a certain civility in their manner that he’d never seen in big city residents. Maybe it was because they all knew each other that they went out of their way to greet each other with a friendly hello or a short conversation.

When he finished his malt, Ronan grabbed his duffel and headed out to the visitor’s center. The converted railroad station was home to the local merchant’s association as well as the tourist office. He went to the job board and scanned the opportunities. There were jobs in restaurants and motels, a job at the local library and one at the marina.

A job at a local oyster farm caught his eye. He glanced around, then pulled the card from the board and tucked it in his pocket. He loved oysters and farming meant that he’d be spending his time outdoors. He couldn’t think of a better combination.

Ronan walked over to the hospitality counter and gave the elderly woman sitting behind it a quick smile. “Are you Maxine?”

She nodded. “I am.”

“I’m looking for a room. I’m going to be in town for six weeks. It needs to be cheap. I don’t have a lot of money.”

“We have a couple of boarding houses in town,” she said. “And Isiah Crawford rents out a few of his motel rooms on a monthly basis. Let me try Mrs. Morey first.”

The woman dialed a number. “Hello, Elvira. It’s Maxine down at the Visitor’s Center. I have a young man down here looking for a room. Do you have anything available?” She paused. “Wonderful. How much?” She scribbled something on her pad, then glanced up at Ronan. “What’s your name?”

“Ronan Quinn?”

Maxine’s eyes went wide for a moment, then she cleared her throat. “Yes, Elvira, you heard that right. Well, I’m sure he’ll understand. If you forgot, you forgot.”

Maxine hung up the phone and smiled apologetically. “It seems that she doesn’t have a room after all. Some big group coming in.”

“Could you try the other boarding house?” he asked.

“I—I don’t think Tillie has anything available either. I just saw her at church this morning and she—she would have mentioned it. Maybe you could try across the river in Newcastle?”

Ronan had the distinct impression that he was getting the runaround. Why were these people suddenly unwilling to rent to him? “Maybe you could try the motel?”

With a reluctant smile, she dialed the phone. “Hi there, Josiah. It’s Maxine over at the Visitor’s Center. I have a young man here named Ronan Quinn and he’s looking for a—yes, that’s what I said. He’s looking for a room. Well, that’s a shame. All right. You, too, Josiah.”

She hung up the phone again and shrugged. “He doesn’t have any vacancies either. Newcastle really is your best option. It’s just over the bridge.”

“I need to stay here, in Sibleyville,” he said. Ronan picked up his duffel bag. “Never mind, I’ll find a place on my own.”

Maxine forced a smile. “Can I offer you a bit of advice? Don’t give them your name. In fact, use a different name entirely. But don’t dare tell anyone I gave you this advice. Run along now.”

With a soft curse, Ronan walked outside, keeping his temper in check. What the hell was going on here? Did the town have something against the Irish? Or was it just because he was a single guy? From what he could tell, the town thrived on tourism so it didn’t make sense they’d turn anyone away. If he’d thought Sibleyville looked like a friendly place at first glance, he’d been sadly mistaken.

He looked down at the card he held. Mistry Bay Oyster Farm. Contact Charlie Sibley. Would a potential employer feel the same? Especially one named after this very village? For now, he’d keep his name to himself until he knew for sure.

“Maybe living a different life is going to be more difficult than I thought it would be,” he muttered.

“YOU NEED TO scrape harder than that,” Charlotte Sibley said, running her hand over the rough hull of the skiff. “All this old paint has to come off. If you paint on top of it, it won’t stick.”

Her fourteen-year-old brother, Garrett, looked up from the task she’d given him and rolled his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Of course you do. You’re just not doing a very good job of it. You’ve been bugging Dad to let you work the boats on your own but you’re not willing to put in the effort that comes with it.” She ruffled his hair. “Come on, princess, put some muscle into it. We’re going to need that skiff this season.”

“Who made you the boss of me? You’re not the boss of me, Charlie. Dad is.”

“And if you haven’t noticed, Einstein, Dad is laid up with a bad back. His doctor says he can’t work for at least a month or two. He made me the boss of things, so that makes me the boss of you, too.”

Garrett muttered something beneath his breath and went back to work. Charlotte smiled to herself. Now that she’d been put in charge of the Mistry Bay oyster farm, it had been a bit of a rocky ascension from worker to boss. Charlie knew the business from top to bottom, after working it for years with her family. And six years away hadn’t been long enough to forget the ropes. But being in charge meant that she’d had to rein in the members of the Sibley clan who preferred malingering to hard work.

A knock sounded on the door of the boathouse and Charlotte strode over to the door. She’d been expecting a visit from an up and coming chef from Boston who was visiting the area. Chef Joel Bellingham had already made a name for himself in Boston with one highly rated restaurant and would soon be opening a second—a seafood place that might feature Mistry Bay oysters.

She yanked the door open, but her greeting died in her throat as she came face-to-face with an impossibly handsome man, not much older than she was. He watched her with pale blue eyes, as she tried to regain her breath, his gaze holding hers. Charlie swallowed hard, then cleared her throat. “Hello! Come on in. I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.” She’d met Bellingham over the phone earlier that morning and had somehow gotten the impression he was much older. This guy could be thirty, tops.

“There was a sign above the door,” he said, glancing around.

They stood there for an uncomfortable moment before Charlie could shake herself into action. “How was your trip?” she asked. “The traffic on Highway 1 can be really bad on the weekends.”

“It was fine.”

He was a man of few words. Charlie felt a stab of disappointment. He obviously wasn’t interested in chatting with her. And usually she was so good with customers. But this guy, though stunningly handsome, didn’t have much of a personality. “Let me show you around.”

The waterfront building served multiple purposes for the family business. Charlie pointed out the shop area where they repaired equipment and boat engines. Housed in the other half of the lower floor was the shipping area, where workers cleaned and sorted oysters before they were boxed to be sent all over the east coast and beyond. As Charlie rattled off her talking points, she realized she wasn’t even listening to herself. He stood beside her, nodding politely.

The second floor housed the business offices and a small apartment Charlotte sometimes used when she needed to get away from the craziness at her parents’ house. It also included a finely appointed tasting room, modeled after a gourmet kitchen, where they often entertained visitors interested in featuring Mistry Bay oysters at their restaurants or seafood counters. The room overlooked the river and was the perfect setting to talk oysters.

“Mistry Bay is a family business,” she said as they walked up the stairs. “We’ve had the oyster farm for nearly twenty years and we think we have some of the best oysters on the east coast. But I’m a bit prejudiced.” She drew a ragged breath. “Why don’t we taste some oysters.”

He walked beside her into the tasting room and she couldn’t help but notice how tall and well built he was, dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt that hugged his muscular chest. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, but the stubble made him look slightly dangerous. He was like the kind of guy who wore his sex appeal with a casual indifference, as if he didn’t care if women noticed him.

Since she’d left Danny in New York over a year ago, Charlotte hadn’t found herself attracted to any man. In truth, she’d written off men completely. As long as she was living in Sibleyville, romance was an exercise in futility anyway. But she wasn’t averse to indulging in a little fantasy every now and then and Chef Joel Bellingham provided plenty of raw material.

She pointed to a stool at the granite-topped counter then moved to the other side of it to retrieve a bowl of freshly harvested oysters from the refrigerator. As she stood across from him, she laid a folded towel on the counter and grabbed an oyster. Charlotte felt him watching her. She was almost worried to look up, afraid that he’d be able to read her thoughts.

She held the oyster with another towel and popped the shell open at the hinge. After carefully slicing the meat from the shell, she placed the fresh oyster on a Mistry Bay oyster plate, preserving the liquid in the shell. “Lemon?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I like them plain.”

“Can I offer you a pairing? We have champagne, muscadet and ice-cold vodka. All three really enhance the taste of our oysters. Not all together, of course. Each one separately.”

“It’s eleven in the morning,” he said.

“Right.”

He regarded her warily. “Champagne would be good. If you’re going to join me.”

She found a split of bubbly in the fridge, popped it open and poured it into two flutes. Drawing a deep breath, she went into her business pitch as she continued to open oysters. “We ship from September through June and use overnight delivery. That means you can have fresh oysters Tuesday through Saturday mornings. We harvest early in the morning and ship that afternoon.”

Charlotte continued to shuck oysters and place them on the plate, describing the attributes of the Mistry Bay oyster in sensual terms. They were plump and juicy, briny and sweet. Usually a half dozen on the half-shell satisfied most customers, but Chef Joel seemed to be particularly hungry.

When she wasn’t talking, she was nervously sipping champagne, trying to keep herself from spinning right out of the room. He finally held up his hand at a dozen, then drew a deep breath. “They were really good. Thanks.”

Really good? Usually her oysters received more than a “good.” Exquisite, delicate, satisfying, better than sex. Really good wasn’t that good at all. “Do you have any questions?” she asked.

“Just one. Does this mean I have the job?”

She sent him a quizzical look. “Job? I—I don’t understand.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an index card, then held it out to her. “I found this over at the visitor’s center. It said you were looking for help?”

A gasp slipped from her throat. “Wait a second. You’re not Chef Joel from Boston?”

“Nope. I’m Ronan. Ronan Smith from Seattle. I don’t mind working hard. I’ll be here early and stay late. You tell me to do something and it’ll be done.” He gazed at her silently.

Charlie felt a shiver skitter down her spine and she had to force herself to look away. She cleared her throat. “You ate a dozen oysters,” she said. “Did you think that was part of the interview?”

“I just thought you were showing me the product. And I was hungry.”

She really couldn’t blame him for the mix-up. She’d been caught off guard from the moment she set eyes on him. The fluttery feeling in her stomach and the buzzing in her head had made it impossible to think clearly. Maybe if she’d had her wits about her, she might have seen his confusion sooner.

“So, do I have the job?” he asked again.

“Come with me,” Charlotte said. She had just posted the job yesterday. Considering the other employment opportunities available, she hadn’t expected such a quick response. Nor such an interesting prospect. But here was guy who set her heart racing and she had a perfectly good reason to keep him around a little longer.

“The job is hard, with long hours. The pay isn’t great, but with the hours you work, you should make a decent living. Are you going to have a problem with that?”

“Nope,” he said as he followed her downstairs.

She led him over to the inverted skiff. “This is my brother, Garrett. Garrett, this is Ronan Smith. He’s interviewing for the job. Give him your scraper.”

“No problem,” Garrett said, handing Ronan the paint scraper. “I’m going home, Charlie.”

Charlotte didn’t argue this time. She was glad to be rid of her little brother. She certainly didn’t need him watching her fall all over herself around the gorgeous new employee. “Cut the lawn when you get home. You know Dad can’t do it and Mom is too busy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Garrett said.

“Teenagers,” she murmured as they watched Garrett walk out the door. When she turned back to Ronan, she caught him staring, his blue eyes direct and intense.

“You’re Charlie?” he asked. “You’re the boss?”

“Yes. Charlotte. Charlie. Sibley.”

“I was expecting a man.”

“And I was expecting a chef,” she countered.

“What do you want me to call you?”

She caught a look in his eyes that appeared to be amusement. Was he just toying with her? Or had she completely lost control of this interview. “You don’t have the job yet.” She picked up the paint scraper and safety glasses and handed them to him. “If you want the job, show me what you can do with this scraper first.”

He nodded. And for the first time since they met, he smiled. To Charlie, it was as if the morning mist had suddenly parted and the sunshine shone down. He was even more attractive, if that was possible.

Men who looked like Ronan Smith usually learned to wield their charm early on. By the time they reached their teens, they knew the effect they had on the opposite sex and used it to their advantage. But Ronan seemed reluctant to use his God-given advantages.

He set to work on the skiff, a shower of paint chips flying off with each stroke. Charlie watched him for a moment, her gaze falling on the finely cut muscles in his arms. A shiver skittered down her spine and she turned and hurried back upstairs to clean up the tasting room. A bit of privacy gave her a chance to take a deep breath and focus her runaway thoughts—on Ronan Smith. It was an odd name, Ronan.

She grabbed the bottle and guzzled the remainder of the champagne, then opened another split. He’d mentioned he was from Seattle. She really ought to ask for references. Or a resume. For all she knew, he could be a criminal or a con artist—or a competitor, out to get an inside look at their operation.

Sliding onto one of the stools, she opened up another oyster and slurped it down. Ronan was a complete enigma. But then, when it came to men, she really didn’t know what she was doing. She’d only had one romantic relationship in her life and that had lasted six years.

She and Danny had started dating when they were juniors in high school, playing opposite each other in the school musical. When they graduated, they were both determined to chase their dreams on Broadway.

But New York was a rude awakening. Danny was easily discouraged and took a full time job selling cell phones. After some minor parts in a criminal drama, a series of commercials for generic laundry detergent, and an appearance in an off-off-Broadway play, Charlie was beginning to break through.

But as she got more work, Danny became more and more distant—and jealous. Their relationship began to fracture and Charlie realized that New York wasn’t where she wanted to be. So, she moved out and came home to Sibleyville, older and a little wiser.

She glanced up at the chef’s mirror above the granite counter. A groan slipped from her throat. Her chestnut hair looked liked a tangle of seaweed. Charlie grabbed a clean oyster brush from the drawer next to the fridge and ran it though the shoulder-length strands, then pinched her cheeks to give herself some color.

She rarely wore make-up when she was working and usually didn’t care to dress in anything that showed off her figure. Yet she couldn’t help but regret that it wasn’t the New York City actress Charlotte Sibley that opened the door to Ronan Smith rather than the oyster farmer Charlie Sibley.

She looked at herself in the mirror once more. Though she could pretend to be a myriad of interesting and exotic characters, Charlie knew that the woman she was would have to be enough.

Shaking her head, she walked to the door, but found herself off balance from the champagne she’d guzzled. If she was going to hire Ronan, than she’d have to keep her feelings to herself and her wits about her. A man like Ronan probably had women drooling over him everyday. And Charlie had never aspired to be one of the crowd.

RONAN SMOOTHED HIS hand over the hull of the twenty-foot skiff. The boat was old, maybe sixty or seventy years old from the clues he’d found in the construction. Nowadays, most commercial outfits chose fiberglass boats for their easy upkeep and long life.

“How’s it going?”

He glanced up to see Charlie watching him. Jaysus, she was pretty. Her wavy dark hair framed a beautiful face, each of her features a perfect complement to the others. She had the kind of beauty that made him want to sit her down in front of him so he might study her in greater detail, like a fine painting or a famous sculpture.

“Good. This is a beautiful boat,” he said. “I love the lines.”

“It’s old,” she said.

“They don’t make them like this anymore. I think the best boats are made of wood.”

“My dad would totally agree with you.” Charlie came closer to examine his work. “You’re very thorough,” she murmured.

The compliment pleased him, more so because it came from her. “This scraper is kind of dull. If you’ve got a way for me to sharpen it, I’d get more done. And you might want to use a better grade of marine paint next time,” he said. “If you apply it properly and maintain it, you shouldn’t have to repaint as often.” He stopped himself. Now he was sounding like the boss.

“You know something about boats?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Ronan said. “Just a little.”

“You said you were from Seattle. What are you doing in Maine?”

“Just traveling,” Ronan said. “Seeing America.”

“Well, if you’re willing to work hard, I’ll pay you a fair wage,” she said. “We have the office and shop here in town. And our nursery and hatchery is out at Kepley Pond. Then we grow out the oysters at Mistry Bay.”

Kepley Pond. Mistry Bay. That sounded like a lot of water. Since he’d been eight years old, Ronan made a point to stay off the water, at least the ocean. But he wanted this job and he’d need to put his fears aside. Maybe it was time to face the past. Besides, no one ever got lost at pond or at bay like they got lost at sea.

“You’ve done good work on the boat,” she said. “The job is yours, if you’d like it.”

“There is one thing,” he said. “I need to find somewhere to stay. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“We’ve got a small apartment upstairs next to the office. I could rent that to you,” she said. “As long as you’re quiet and tidy, I don’t see any problems.”

“Great,” he said. Ronan knew he ought to tell her his real name. She didn’t seem like the type to discriminate, although he still hadn’t figured out what the problem was with the rest of the town. “I tried to find a place in town, but no one wanted to rent to me.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. As soon as I told them my name, they suddenly didn’t have a room to rent.”

“Ronan?” she asked. “Or Smith?”

“Quinn,” he said. “My name is Ronan Quinn, not Smith.” He paused and watched as surprise came over her pretty features. “See. That’s the look right there. So it is the name.”

She laughed softly and then a sudden hiccup stopped her. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she sent him an apologetic smile. “Yeah. People around here have a pretty big grudge against anyone named Quinn.”

“How could they have a grudge against me? They don’t even know me.”

Charlotte shrugged. “Well, I don’t really believe in all the silliness. Spells and curses and witches. I’m willing to give you a job, Ronan Quinn. And a place to stay, if you want.”

“What did this Quinn do to make everyone mad?”

“It’s a complicated story,” Charlie said, waving him off.

“Don’t you think I ought to hear it, so I know what I’m up against?”

She shook her head. “If I tell you the story, you’ll think we’re all so crazy that you’ll want to leave town. And I need an oysterman.” She pointed to his duffel. “Grab your bag and I’ll show you the apartment.”

Ronan breathed a silent sigh of relief. “I didn’t mean to lie about my name. I was just trying to figure things out.”

“No matter,” she said, walking him back upstairs.

When they got to the second floor, a doorway opened into a lobby for a spacious office opposite the tasting room. “Things usually get busy in here in the afternoon when we’re preparing packing lists and labels for our shipments but all that starts next week.”

She showed him a comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a galley kitchen and a comfortable bed. A bay window overlooked the water and he could hear the metallic clank of the boat riggings through the glass. “This is nice,” he said.

“If you need an advance to buy groceries, I can help you out there.”

“I could use that,” he said. “And I can finish the skiff today. I’ll work on it all night if I have to.”

“Great,” she murmured. Charlie stood in front of him, her gaze flitting nervously around the room. Though Ronan had tried to hide his attraction to his new boss, he hadn’t really considered that she might be attracted to him. As she shifted nervously, her fingers twisted together, he decided to test a theory.

He leaned a bit closer, just a few inches, waiting for her response. Would she lean in as well, and close her eyes, expecting a kiss?

“Bathroom,” she said, turning away.

He followed her into the tiny bathroom. It looked like the room had once been a small closet and they had to struggle to move around. When they finally maneuvered themselves into a comfortable position, they were so close Ronan could feel the heat from her body.

“You—you have to jiggle the handle on the toilet to get it to stop running. And the—the tub drains real slow,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “So it’s probably best to use the shower stall instead. Unless you’re a bath guy.” She paused. “Most guys aren’t.”

He leaned a bit closer and when she turned back to him, she sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the move. Charlie retreated a step, but didn’t realize how close she was to the edge of the tub. She began to lose her balance, flailing her arms.

Ronan had to think quick and decided to save her the pain and humiliation of falling into the bathtub. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. But this didn’t have the intended effect at all. She shifted to evade slamming up against his chest and ran face first into the edge of the door.

“Ow!” she cried, covering her eye with her palm.

“Are you all right?” Ronan asked.

Charlie pulled her hand away and shook her head. “I think I’m bleeding.” She struggled to get to the medicine chest above the sink and Ronan wrapped his hands around her waist.

“Out. I’ll get them.” Ronan found a box of band-aids and then grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack and soaked it with cold water. He found Charlie leaning against the kitchen counter, her fingers doing little to staunch the flow of blood.

“Let me look,” Ronan said.

Wincing, she pulled her hand away. “It’s bleeding a lot. Does it look like it needs stitches?”

Ronan dabbed at the small cut. “No. It’s tiny. There’s a lot of blood. Here, hold this.”

She pressed the cold cloth to her head as he fumbled to open the bandage. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“What are you apologizing for? It’s not your fault.” Ronan wanted to reach out and touch her cheek, to see if it was as soft as it looked. His gaze drifted down to her mouth. If they were going to spend time together, it was going to be hard to resist kissing her.

Though Ronan didn’t work hard at romance, he had enjoyed the regular company of a number of beautiful women. But he usually liked to spend his free time in solitary pursuits, which left little for long-term, serious relationships. Still, he was curious about this particular woman. What was it about Charlie Sibley that he found so intriguing?

“Hello! Anyone home?”

She forced a smile. “That would be the real Joel Bellingham,” Charlie murmured.

Ronan drew her wash cloth away and then neatly covered the cut with a small band-aid. “There. All better.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“No problem.”

She stared at him for a long moment and Ronan’s gaze fell to her lips, so lush and slightly parted. He wanted to lean forward and take just a quick taste, but she seemed to sense what was on his mind and quickly stepped back.

He watched as she hurried out of the apartment, her footsteps fading on the stairs. They’d have plenty of time to figure this all out, Ronan mused. A lot could happen in six weeks.

2

CHARLIE WALK ED CHEF Joel to the door, then shook his hand. “We’ll be looking forward to your first order. Please, don’t hesitate to call me if you have any questions or concerns.”

He patted the folder she’d given him. “I’ve got everything I need right here,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Charlotte. We’ll talk soon.”

She closed the door behind him and smiled. Mistry Bay oysters in one of the best new restaurants in Boston would be a huge account for the farm.

The effects of the champagne had worn off and she counted herself lucky that she’d been able to complete her sale pitch without an embarrassing incident. What had she been thinking? Ronan Quinn had thrown her into a complete tizzy.

“A tizzy,” she murmured to herself. It was the perfect word for how she felt when she thought about Ronan. In fact, the word applied to her everyday life lately.

Since she’d been back from New York, she’d been waiting for some sign, some new direction for her life. Charlie had always had a laser-like focus on a goal. At first, it had been the move after high school, and then auditioning and attending acting classes and finding an agent. After that came the jobs, each one bigger and better than the last.

But here in Sibleyville, there was no goal anymore, besides getting up in the morning and going to sleep at night. She was drifting aimlessly through life and she couldn’t seem to stop herself. It really was time to make a few hard decisions about what she really wanted to do. Cursing softly, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

When she got to the tasting room, she quickly tidied up the mess from Chef Joel’s visit. She’d heard the shower through the door of the apartment, but the water was off now. Drawing a deep breath, she crossed to the door and rapped on it softly.

The door swung open and Ronan stood on the other side, shirtless, his cargo shorts riding low on his hips. His hair was damp and droplets clung to the smooth expanse of his chest.

Charlie drew a deep breath and the scent of soap and shampoo filled her head. Her fingers twitched and she fought the urge to reach out and smooth the water from his skin. “I thought it might be good to show you the nursery and the farm,” she said. “You’re going to be working at both.”

“All right,” Ronan said. “Just let me grab a shirt.”

She swallowed hard. “I’ll just wait outside in the truck.”

The image of Ronan Quinn half-naked was now burned into her brain and it was a memory she didn’t really want to forget. His body was beautiful, lean yet muscular, every limb in perfect proportion. It had taken every last ounce of her resolve to walk away.

She could have reached out and touched him, knowing that he might take the action as an invitation. But what then? Would he have kissed her? She wanted to believe that she saw desire in his eyes, but she’d only ever been with one man and that gave her little to use as a reference.

The only option left to her was to wait until he made the first move. At least then she wouldn’t be humiliated by misreading his signals. Charlie hurried down the stairs, stumbling on the last step and grabbing the rail for balance. But maintaining her composure was going to be the difficult part. Whenever she looked at him, her knees got wobbly and her brain refused to function.

Charlie grabbed a brochure from the rack near the front door, then walked outside to her SUV. She hopped behind the wheel, the started it up, a love song blaring from the radio. With a soft curse, she reached out and turned it off. The last thing she needed was to start thinking about romance. Besides, if the curse was to be believed, then falling in love within the village limits of Sibleyville was impossible.

A few minutes later, Ronan stepped outside, squinting his eyes against the noonday sun. He slipped his sunglasses on. She honked the horn and Ronan started toward her. When he was settled in the passenger seat, she handed him the brochure. “There’s a map inside. You’ll need to learn how to get to the pond and the bay by road as well as by water. I’ll show you by water tomorrow, but today, we’ll go by land.”

“I don’t have a car,” he said.

“How did you get here?” she asked as she pulled out of the parking lot onto the street.

“Bus?”

Charlie frowned. Why would a guy like Ronan be traveling by bus? He might as well have told her that he’d rode up on a camel. “Bus?”

“Yeah. It was part of the deal,” he said.

“What kind of deal was that?” A sudden sting of doubt pricked at her thoughts. “You didn’t just get out of prison, did you?”

This time he laughed, a deep, resonant sound that caused her heart to flutter. She glanced over at him and took in his smile. God, he was really handsome when he smiled. “Did you?”

“No,” he said. “My grandfather sent me on this trip. He picked the place, bought me the bus ticket and sent me on my way.”

“Why?”

He paused for a long moment, as if he was deciding exactly how much to reveal to her. “When me and my three brothers were just kids, our folks died in an accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Charlie murmured.

“We all worked together on the family business,” he said. “We build custom sailing yachts. Quinn Yachtworks in Seattle.”

“So that’s why you knew so much about the skiff.” She risked another glance over at him and caught him staring at her from behind his dark glasses. “Why would he send you away?”

“He wanted us all to live a different life for a while. To figure out if we wanted to continue on with the family business or strike out on our own.”

“So you decided to try oyster farming,” she said. “I’m not sure that was a very sensible choice. It’s not nearly as glamorous as building yachts. It’s a lot of dirty, sweaty work. And some days, the mosquitoes are so thick they’ll carry you away.”

“I don’t mind working hard,” he said. “And I like being outside.”

“All right,” she said. “Now, watch that map because this next turn is kind of tricky. It’s easy to miss.”

Charlie pointed out the sign for the hatchery right before she turned down the narrow, winding road to Kepley Pond. “My dad’s brother, Uncle Jake, runs the hatchery and nursery.”

She stopped the SUV in front of the hatchery building, then jumped out and waited for Ronan to join her. “This is where we start,” she said. “Kepley Pond. It’s really not a pond, but an estuary. We bring adult stock into the nursery from the bay. Usually, oysters spawn in mid-summer, when the water reaches a certain temperature, but we gradually bring the temperature up, forcing them to lay their eggs in the spring. We also grow phytoplankton here to feed the larvae. When they’re ready, we move the seed oysters into an upweller system beneath those six docks. We also sell seed oysters to other farmers in the area.”

Charlie led him down to the pond. Long wooden docks jutted out into the brackish water. “As they grow, we put them in containers that sit on the bottom of the pond, giving them space so that they grow evenly. And when they’re big enough, we plant them out in the bay.”

“How do you do that?”

“We toss them overboard with a snow shovel. Very high tech. Maine oysters grow slower in the colder water so they’ll stay in the bay for about three or four years before we harvest them. We do that a lot of different ways, mostly dredging. In some areas we culture them in lantern nets. A few times a year at low tide, we can harvest them by hand.” She smiled. “So, that’s oyster farming in a … an oyster shell.”

They walked to the end of one of the docks and Charlie showed him the upwell system. When she’d replaced the cover, she watched as he sat down at the end of the dock, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

She sat down beside him, glancing over to study his expression. “Is there something wrong?”

He shook his head, his gaze still fixed on a point on the pond. “So, I’m going to have to go out on the water with a boat?”

“Yeah. That’s how we plant and harvest. Can’t you swim?”

“Oh, yeah, I can swim. I’m just not a real big fan of boats. And deep … dark water.”

“That’s going to be a problem,” she said. Why would he have come to an oyster farm for work if he didn’t like the water? Oysters didn’t grow in a cornfield.

“No, it won’t,” he said, his voice on edge. “I need the job. I’m just going to have to suck it up and do it.”

“We wear life vests,” she said. “If you fall overboard, we’ll pull you out. My brothers and sisters fall in all the time.” She paused. “Why are you afraid of the water?”

“It’s just something from my childhood. It really doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“You can tell me,” Charlie said.

“My parents—they were lost at sea,” he said, turned to her. “They were sailing a yacht across the Pacific and it disappeared. Probably sank during a storm. Or maybe it got hit by a cargo ship. Nobody knows.”

“Oh, my God,” Charlie said. “That must have been horrible.”

“After that, I couldn’t bring myself to get onboard a boat and whenever I tried I’d get kind of freaked out.”

Charlie reached out and took his hand, covering it with hers. “I guess we could work on that,” she said.

“You don’t have to pay me until I can do the work,” he said. “It’s my problem. I’ll work it out.”

“Sure. Why don’t we take a little boat ride tonight,” she said. “A test ride, and see how you feel. These estuaries are a lot different than the open ocean.”

He stared down at their hands, then wove his fingers through hers. When he looked back up, their gazes met for a long moment. Ronan leaned closer and in a heartbeat, his lips met hers in a soft, lingering kiss. He drew back, then decided it wasn’t enough, cupping her face in his hands and deepening the kiss.

It was so unexpected, but not at all unwanted. Charlie was afraid to breathe, afraid to make a sound for fear that the spell that had fallen over them would suddenly burst. It had been so long since a man had touched her this way, but all the old familiar feelings came back in a rush.

When he finally pulled back, a long sigh slipped from his body. He pressed his forehead to hers, still holding her face in his hands. “Was that all right?” he murmured.

Charlie wasn’t sure if he wanted permission or if he was asking for a review of his technique. “It was very all right,” she said. “I—I mean, good. Very good. And all right, too.”

He smiled. “So I can do it again?”

“Sure,” she said. “Right now?”

“Later,” he said. Ronan pushed to his feet, then held out his hand. When she stood beside him, he drew her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her wrist. “What’s next, boss?”

In truth, Charlie would have been happy to continue what they were doing. But maybe later would be better. “I think I’m going to take you home to meet the folks,” she said.

He gasped. “What?”

“You kissed me. You know what that means. My mama and daddy are going to want to look you over.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She laughed. “Yeah. But my dad will want to meet you. He has to meet everyone we hire. He’s the president of the company.”

“All right.”

“I won’t tell him about your fear of boats. I think I’ll keep that to myself a little bit longer,” she promised.

“GARRETT SIBLEY, CLOSE that door! You’re letting flies in!”

Charlie’s brother ran down the front steps of the porch, then turned back to grin at Ronan. “It’s Indian food tonight,” he said. “If I were you, I’d turn around and get out of here before she forces you to eat it.”

Ronan turned to Charlie and she gave him a reassuring smile. “My mother likes to try cooking new cuisines. Don’t worry, if it’s really bad, we’ll get something else to eat later. Just tell her it’s good and eat really slowly.”

“I like Indian food,” he said.

“Me, too. But this won’t taste like any Indian food you’ve ever had. Last month, she was mastering German food and everything tasted like vinegar.”

The Sibley family lived in a sprawling white clapboard Victorian, set on a beautiful tree-lined street in the heart of Sibleyville. It was the biggest house in town by far, a testament to the family’s position in a town that bore their name.

They climbed the steps to the wide porch, lined with old wicker furniture and decorated with hanging baskets of colorful flowers. Ronan heard another shout from inside the house and a moment later, a young girl came running out the door. “Garrett, come back here. You have to help me finish folding the laundry.” She froze when she saw Charlie and Ronan, sending Ronan a suspicious look.

“This is my sister, Libby,” Charlie said. “She’s thirteen. Libby, this is Ronan. He’s going to be working for us.”

She rolled her eyes and continued her call for her brother, running down the steps and shouting his name.

“Is your whole family going to be here?”

She nodded. “Isaac is a senior in college and Abby is a sophomore. They’re in college but they still live at home. Jane is eighteen and Ethan is sixteen and both are in high school. Don’t try to remember them all.”

“I’m not sure I could,” Ronan said.

“When they’re all around, things can get kind of crazy, but once you get used to them, they’ll seem almost normal. Whatever you do, don’t look the dog directly in the eyes and if my brother Ethan asks you to pull his finger, don’t do it.”

“If this is going to be a problem, I can always pick up some dinner at the grocery store,” Ronan said.

“No, no, my dad is going to want to meet you before you start work. He has to approve my choices.”

“Your dad hurt his back?”

“Last season. He was moving a crate of oysters off the boat and onto the dock. He just twisted the wrong way and herniated a disc.” She reached for the door. “Ready?”

“I guess so.”

How bad could it be, Ronan wondered. Charlie was nice enough. Actually, she was more than that. She was funny and sexy and smart. But there was something else about her he found attractive, a warmth that he rarely saw in the women he’d dated.

She pulled the door open and he stepped inside. The old Victorian was decorated in a style that Ronan could describe as early twenty-first century chaos mixed with beautiful antiques. The furniture was tattered but comfortable. Every available space was filled with some bizarre knickknack or strange painting. On one shelf alone, Ronan saw a stuffed raccoon, an old microscope, a doll with one eye, and a paint-by-numbers portrait of FDR.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” A young man walked through the room, giving Ronan the once over. He resembled Charlotte with her bronze eyes and wavy dark hair. “If I were you, I’d leave right now. It’s Indian food.”

“Isaac, this is Ronan Quinn.”

Isaac’s eyebrow shot up. “You brought a Quinn home? Maybe I will stay for dinner.” He turned around. “Hey, Abs, come and see what Charlie brought home.”

In less than a minute, Ronan realized that he probably should have opted for dinner alone. He could feel the energy in the house, as if the walls were vibrating and the roof was about the blow off.

An older woman appeared in the dining room, her graying hair twisted into a haphazard knot on top of her head. She held a fly swatter in her hand. “Hello, dear. You brought a friend. I’m cooking Indian tonight. Chicken tandoori. I was supposed to marinate the chicken in yogurt, but I had to use cottage cheese instead. And Delbert didn’t have anything called garam masala down at the grocery, so I had to leave that out. You don’t know what that is, do you?”

“Mama, this is Ronan Quinn. He’s going to be helping us out for a few weeks.”

She blinked in surprise. “Quinn? Really. Well, now, that’s very interesting. We’ll have something good to talk about over dinner. I suppose you haven’t had a very enthusiastic welcome in town. But our family really doesn’t set much store in that curse. Charlotte, offer the man a drink.”

“Curse?” Ronan asked.

“Is this the Quinn?” A young woman, about nineteen or twenty came running into the room. “I’m Abigail. Gosh, I almost expected you to have horns and a forked tail. You’re totally hot.” She turned to Charlie. “Good move, sissy.”

“Charlie, if that’s you, I need you in here right away.”

“That’s my dad,” she said. She grabbed Ronan’s hand and pulled him along through the spacious living room. “Come on. Let’s introduce you to the big guy. Then I’ll get you that drink.”

When Charlie had called her father the “big guy”, she’d used an apt description. The man sitting behind the desk in the library was tall and broad-shouldered. He struggled to his feet and held out his hand. “Peyton Sibley,” he said.

“Daddy, this is Ronan Quinn. He answered the ad I put up at the visitor’s center. He’s from Seattle and he knows a lot about boats.”

“Well, Charlotte, that was a lovely introduction,” Peyton said as he sat down again, “but maybe we should let this young man speak for himself. You say your name is Quinn?”

Ronan nodded.

“I suppose you haven’t had a very enthusiastic reception here in Sibleyville.”

“Nobody has really explained that to me, sir. Maybe you could.”

“No, no, no. We don’t really believe in all that silliness. So, you think you can help us out here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You just listen to Charlotte. She’ll teach you the ropes. If you get stuck working with my brother, Jake, do not let him goad you into talking about religion, politics or his three ex-wives. And if you’re staying for dinner, please tell my wife that whatever she’s been cooking all day—”

“Tandoori chicken,” Charlie said.

“I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure I’ll regret it in another four to six hours.” He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a big bottle of antacid tablets. Peyton popped a few into his mouth and offered the bottle to Ronan. “Might want to get a jump on it.”

“No, that’s fine, sir. I have a pretty strong stomach.”

He slammed his hand on the surface of his desk. “Charlotte, I approve! Put this man on the payroll. Anyone who calls me ‘sir’ can’t be all bad. Even if he is named Quinn.”

“Thanks, Daddy,” Charlotte said. She grabbed Ronan’s arm and pulled him along, back out into the foyer. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

“For a Quinn,” Ronan muttered.

“Why don’t you go sit out on the porch and I’ll get us something to drink,” she said.

Ronan nodded and headed back outside. He walked to the end of the porch and sat down on a swing. As he pushed off with his toes, he felt the movement relax him. This entire day had been just a little strange. And the longer it lasted, the stranger it became. Except for one thing—that kiss he’d shared with Charlie.

He drew a deep breath. That had been the only thing that made perfect sense to him. And he didn’t want to wait to do it again.

“I hope beer is all right,” Charlie said as she walked out the front door. She glanced around, then saw him on the end of the porch and slowly approached. She handed him the bottle, then leaned up against the railing and watched him. “Are you all right?”

“Maybe you ought to tell me why everyone in Sibleyville has a problem with me. I think I need to know a little more about this curse.”

She sat down beside him, her shoulder brushing against his. It was an innocent contact, but it sent his senses spinning. He could feel her warmth, smell her hair, listen to the soft sound of her voice. She excited him and relaxed him all at once. How was that possible?

“It’s really kind of silly. And it’s not you. Just your last name.” She paused as if to gather her thoughts. “Her name was Bridget Quinn, but everyone called her Bridie. She lived in Sibleyville about a hundred and fifty years ago and worked as a maid in my great-great-great grandfather’s home. She came from Ireland with her daughter to escape the potato famine. Her daughter, Moira, fell in love with Edward Sibley, my great-great-grandfather and they wanted to get married, but his father refused permission. When Edward wouldn’t give up Moira, his father started a rumor that Bridie was a witch and the folks in Sibleyville ran her and her daughter out of town. But before she left, Bridie cursed the town.”

“Good for her,” Ronan said. “What was the curse?”

“That no one would ever find love within the village limits of Sibleyville. And no one ever has.”

Ronan frowned. “The curse worked?”

“In one hundred and fifty years, no man and woman from Sibleyville have ever married each other. To find love, we have to go out of town. We even have a matchmaker who helps out with that.”

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