Too Wrong to Be Right by Melonie Johnson

Author:Melonie Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER 16

Mick

“Drinking on the job, huh?” Mick teased, easing up beside Kat. “Better not let the boss catch you.”

“Don’t worry.” Kat waved a hand. “I’m friends with the boss.”

“Is that so?” Mick narrowed his eyes. Something was off with her. He’d gone upstairs to settle Seamus back in his cage for the night, and when he’d come back down, he’d found Kat standing at the bar, staring forlornly into the crowd of mourners.

“Join me in another?” He motioned for his cousin to pass the whiskey and poured himself a healthy dollop.

“I’m not sure,” she began, but he’d already tilted the bottle and was replenishing her tumbler. “Okay, then.”

“To Mr. William Donnelly.” Mick raised his glass. “May joy and peace surround you.”

Kat touched her glass to his. “That’s a nice sentiment.”

“It’s part of an old Irish blessing.” Mick sipped his drink. “Now, this is the good stuff.” He sighed reverently, the smoky flavors of oak and barley lingering on his tongue.

“O’Sullivan’s don’t skimp on the booze,” Kat said. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Mick grinned. “You’ve been talking to Uncle Mike.”

Her lips curved in response, but he noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Something was definitely bothering her. And she still hadn’t touched her drink. “Do you not like it?”

“Like what?”

“The whiskey.” He gestured at the glass she was fidgeting with. “You’re nursing it.”

“Actually, I think I like it too much.” She leaned closer and confessed in an exaggerated whisper, “This is my third one.”

Well, this was an unexpected development. Mick propped his elbows on the bar and leaned back, eyeing her. He’d been worried Kat was upset about something, but perhaps she was tipsy. “I do believe you’re drunk.”

A hoarse giggle erupted from Kat. “I do believe you’re right.” She copied his position. Or attempted to. But one of her elbows slipped and she tilted sideways.

“Easy there.” He scooted closer so she could lean on him for support. “Someone can’t handle their Irish whiskey.”

“Someone has never had Irish whiskey,” Kat corrected primly. “Before today, that is.”

Mick took on a thick Irish brogue and teased, “If I’d known that darlin’, I’d have never poured you a third.”

“Did you say ‘turd’?” she asked. Kat studied him over the rim of her glass. “Why are you talking like a leprechaun?”

“That’s enough for you, lass.” Mick snaked the whiskey out of her grip. He’d finish it off himself, but he had a feeling he was going to need his wits about him, so he passed the glass to his uncle to empty and rinse.

“Fine,” Kat murmured. “I didn’t want it anyway.”

Beside him, she was making weird faces, moving her mouth all around, and he had a feeling he knew why. “You can’t feel your lips right now, can you?”

“Of course I can,” she insisted. She reached a hand up as if to touch her mouth … and missed.

Mick swallowed a laugh. He had to at least try and be serious. He shifted, catching the eye of his uncle. “I might have to duck out early.

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