She didn’t seem to be on alert, and she was here alone. If she knew what was coming, if any of them knew, others would be with her. An army of Raintree would be swarming the countryside.
“Keep an eye on her for now.”
“Of course.”
The call ended abruptly. It was just business, after all.
Echo walked into the house. A few moments later, the light in a second-floor window came on. She was there. Right there. On her own and unprepared. It would be so easy...
Maybe killing the Raintree woman wasn’t approved just yet, but a good scare to make her leave town would probably be seen as clever initiative.
The whisper was caught on the wind that picked up. “I’ll be watching.”
Echo walked through the front door of the pub, ready to get to work. Already the place felt a little like home to her. The warm atmosphere, the smell of ale and wood polish, gave a kind of comfortable aura. Ryder Duncan stood behind the bar in his usual place, and he did not look happy. He glanced up, shot some seriously dark eye daggers her way, then shook his head.
The Drunken Stone was a lot busier than it had been yesterday. The same three old men were in what was probably their usual spot, but today four other tables were occupied. At this time of day there was more food and tea being served than cider and beer. It truly was a village gathering place. Every town needed a place like this one.
She dropped her sweater and purse in the back room, then headed toward a grumpy Duncan. “What’s up?”
“You’re twenty-three minutes late,” he said in a sharp voice.
“That’s specific.” She looked around and saw no clock. He wasn’t wearing a watch. One of his things, she imagined.
“What happened to ‘I’ll be on time, boss’?”
“I wanted to look around town, and it’s not like you do a lot of lunch business.”
Duncan swept his hand out to indicate the customers.
“Well, how was I supposed to know?”
“Table four’s order is up,” he snapped as Doyle walked out of the kitchen.
Echo got to work without delay. Thank goodness the customers were a lot friendlier than her boss. They were a little distant—they didn’t treat her as if she were one of their own—but they weren’t outwardly rude the way Brigid had been when Echo had mentioned her name.
A couple of them called her love, and she did not chastise them. Their intent seemed to be cordial enough. Duncan hadn’t called her love since she’d told him not to. If he called her anything at all it was Raintree. On his lips, her surname sounded like a curse.
The early lunch crowd was all male, but just after noon three women came in together. It was obvious that they were here to see her. One of the three was Brigid, the woman who’d sold Echo her green sweater before getting all snippy. The way the women glared at her, with interest and more than a touch of antagonism...apparently they didn’t get a lot of new people in Cloughban. Apparently they didn’t want new people.
It didn’t take any special abilities to tell that these ladies didn’t like her. Gideon kept insisting she was a powerful empath, but Echo had fought that curse tooth and nail. Endure the feelings of those around her as well as her own? Experience their hate, love, heartbreak and fear as if it was her own? No, thanks. Whenever she felt that ability drift to the surface, she did her best to beat it down.
As she was cleaning up a recently vacated booth, she heard one woman say to Brigid, “I asked Rye about hiring Shay a few months back, and he said he wasn’t busy enough to take on a waitress. Apparently this Echo has special skills that my Shay doesn’t possess.”
The innuendo was so blatant it couldn’t even be called innuendo. It was an out-and-out insult. Echo considered setting the woman straight, but Duncan insisted that she learn discipline. She supposed letting something like that slide was the height of discipline. She’d show him.
While the women waited for their food to be prepared, Echo managed to stay busy elsewhere. She chatted with a couple of customers, and cleaned tables that didn’t really need to be cleaned. When it was ready, she delivered thick vegetable soup and ham and cheese sandwiches to the table. She managed to keep a smile on her face, a smile that was not returned. She even nodded to Brigid, an acknowledgment that they had met. Echo was no fool. The tight T-shirt had been intended to appeal to Duncan’s male customers. It only seemed to piss the women off.
It was odd. Yesterday, right after she’d arrived, everything in town had seemed so bright. The flowers, the shop windows, the people. Brigid wore a nice outfit she’d surely gotten at her own shop, but it was a drab gray green. The other two were dressed plainly; they wore little or no makeup, and but for plain wedding rings they wore no jewelry, either. If there were Children of the Corn nearby, she was looking at their mothers.
The wind picked up. Echo heard it howling around the building, rattling the door, as she placed a fresh pitcher of water on the table. The wind whistled, danced and howled. The wooden sign that read Drunken Stone, a sign that hung outside near the entrance, clanked loudly against the side of the building. One of the women jumped. The other two ignored the howl and whistle of the wind. Maybe it was normal, for Cloughban. She hadn’t been here long enough to know.
They ate, but did not linger afterward. The woman who had mentioned “her Shay” gave Echo one last glare as she walked out the door and into the wind, which caught her dark hair and made it stand straight up for one weird moment.
When the last of the lunchtime customers had left, Echo sat at the bar and faced Duncan. Again.
“Sorry I was late,” she said with sincerity. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
She couldn’t very well argue with him. She had been late.
There was so much she wanted to know about the man before her. The questions that filled her head as she looked at him were all personal. Are you married, boss? Got a girlfriend? I didn’t see a gym on my way into town, so how do you keep those muscles? I see Romany in you and I know the Irish are not fans of tinkers, so how did you get here?
None of those were wise questions, so she said simply, “Tell me about Cloughban.”
His response was immediate and rather cool. “Why?”
“I know it’s home for you, but to me Cloughban is entirely different from anywhere I’ve ever lived. It’s so far off the beaten path I had a hard time finding it. I kept getting turned around.” She couldn’t keep looking into his eyes, which were so dark and deep and angry they made her shiver. “I know there are farms nearby—I saw a ton of sheep on the way in—but...why does anyone live here? Why live so far away from everything?”
“You don’t see the charm?” Again, his sarcasm.
“Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice enough, in a ‘I want to remove myself from society’ kind of way, but where’s the nightlife? What do the people of Cloughban do for fun?”
“Fun?” he asked, as if the concept were a foreign one.
“Music, theater, sports. Good heavens, Duncan, I haven’t even found a hint of Wi-Fi anywhere in town.” She’d walked around town all morning with her cell phone set to Wi-Fi and held high above her head as she watched for a flicker of a connection. Nada.
“Ah, the internet. I’ve heard of that.”
She gasped, shocked, then almost instantly realized he was pulling her leg. So he did have a sense of humor in there. Somewhere.
“I pretty much figured