The Seventh Sister by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Author:Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Romance, Paranormal Romance, Ireland, Love Story, Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Sue-Ellen Welfonder
Published: 2012-12-30T14:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THREE

The Right Side of the Atlantic

Howth, Ireland

Again.

It was the same.

Maggie stepped from the Dublin bus and took a steadying breath. Howth hadn’t changed. If anything, the harbor village appeared even more dear than in her memories. Her calming breaths weren’t helping. She was trembling and although she prided herself on not being a woman who burst into tears at the drop of a hat, she had to blink to banish the heat pricking her eyes.

She’d come here to rid herself of old hurts, not to be enchanted anew. Yet as soon as the bus had swept into Howth’s curving Harbour Road, she knew she’d been kidding herself.

This was her place.

And, painful or not, being here was a homecoming.

Too bad her reason for visiting concerned more than her passion for Ireland. Even if Howth was still a place of magic, she knew that if she ran into Conall Flanagan, she’d find him much changed.

Likely, he wouldn’t even remember her.

Not that she expected to see him.

He might have forgotten her over the years, but she remembered he’d gone to Spain. After so much time, he was probably married to some fiery Andalucian siren who’d seduced him with hot Flamenco dances, Sangria, and torrid sex on a moonlit beach.

Maggie frowned.

She blotted the images from her mind and walked to the seawall, finding the place she’d stood so long ago. Her pulse jumped when she spotted the Morna, looking not a day older, but moored deeper out in the harbor. The fishing boat bobbed on the waves and its hull was still painted blue.

Only this time the Morna was empty.

Maggie shivered. She couldn’t shake the urge to close her eyes and reopen them, sure that if she did, she’d see Conall on the boat. Everything felt so familiar, as if she hadn’t stepped off a bus, but back into the fateful day that had changed her life.

So much was the same. The waters of the harbor tossed and danced, with the waves smacking the seawall, the larger ones sending up spray. Seabirds wheeled and screamed, some of them swooping low as if to greet her. Fitful autumn sun tried to pierce the clouds and it was colder than summer, but the damp sea air still smelled of salt and tar. Many of the houses and pubs had fires going, the rich, earthy tang of peat smoke adding charm. And – her mouth watered – she also detected a tantalizing trace of fish and chips in the chill wind blowing down the waterfront.

She turned her face into the gusts and breathed deep, appreciative.

How she’d yearned to drink in this heady brew. To her, the scents were an elixir. The essence of Ireland. And to fill her lungs with them again was a privilege. Wishing she could do so every day, she pressed a hand to her heart, savoring each inhale, regretting the exhales.

It also stung that she might not have the nerve to enter Flanagan’s. The popular tavern had already blindsided her. She’d caught a quick glimpse of the pub’s bright blue door and diamond-paned windows from the bus window.

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