Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
I knew his wife was deceased. That he had a nineteen-year-old son and a daughter who had just turned eighteen. His intentions for his son were clear—to join his father in the ranks and be one of my men. The daughter, I had no idea about. I knew little about her. Often, that was the case in syndicate families. The males were doted on, while the women faded into the background. Expected to marry and produce children. Sometimes marriages were arranged, but I refused to be part of that. I believed a person should be allowed to love and live with whom they chose. Whom their heart chose. Some families were more progressive and the women were treated as equals. I applauded that. I expected, given Jim’s old-fashioned ways of doing things, his daughter would be part of the former.
What I didn’t expect was the old soul that dwelled in the young girl. From the moment she met me at the door, she acted like the matriarch of the family. Made sure I had a drink, sat primly, chastising her older brother like a mother when he’d run his mouth too long. She was articulate and well-read. She made and presented a roast dinner a much older person would have had trouble pulling off. One that reminded me of meals from long ago back in Ireland.
She was still a child, yet I caught glimpses of the woman she would become, and I had a feeling she would be a force to be reckoned with. I found myself talking to her, asking her about her studies, her goals.
“I want to run a hotel,” she informed me. “The very best. Small. Exclusive.”
“The hospitality industry is hard work.”
“I’m aware. I plan to take courses, then work in as many hotels as I have to in order to learn from the best.”
I was impressed with her mind-set.
“Where?” I asked.
“Tobermory or Niagara.”
“Given this a lot of thought, I see,” I said. “Expensive proposition.”
She lifted her stubborn chin. “I will save. Work hard. Get a job. Two, if I need to. Get a singing gig on the side.”
I was intrigued. “You sing?”
For the first time, her father interrupted our conversation. “Like an angel.”
Even her brother nodded. It was obvious that Brian Murphy had one goal in life and that was to follow in his father’s footsteps. He wanted nothing to do with the corporate world. He wanted the life of a soldier. I knew that was one reason for this invitation. Jim wanted me to meet Brian. To have that connection, so when he finished school and came to me for a job, I would take him on.
Oddly, I felt nothing for her brother. No interest either way. He didn’t impress me. His father insisted he go to community college before joining the ranks, in case he changed his mind. But Brian barely made passing grades. He had little ambition and even less personality. His younger sister impressed me completely. I was twenty-eight at the time, and I felt as if I were speaking with a woman my own age, not a teenager.
We had finished dinner when a neighbor came by, asking for help from Brian and Jim. “It’ll only take a few moments,” she assured them. I offered to help, but Jim waved me off.
“Una will make you coffee. We will be back soon.”
I sat at the kitchen table as Una efficiently tidied up. Unable to sit and not help, I picked up a tea towel to dry the dishes.
“Oh, you shouldn’t,” she protested. “Dad wouldn’t like it.”
I laughed. “I’ve done my fair share of dishes.”
I found myself enjoying the domestic moments with her. And I liked hearing her talk. Small inflections of an accent on occasion, no doubt picked up from her parents, gave her voice a lilting sound when she spoke that was somehow soothing.
“Do you like school, Una?”
She shrugged. “The classes, yes. The other students, not so much.”
“Why?”
She paused, lifting a hand to wipe away a stray curl from her forehead. I had to fight not to do it for her. “I feel old next to most of them. Our interests aren’t the same.”
“I understand.”
She turned her face, her lovely eyes curious. “You do?”
I nodded. “I felt much the same growing up. As if I lived a different life.”
“Yes!”
“What do you do for fun?”
“I read. Sketch. I like to run.”
“Where do you run?”
“The track at the school. I’ll be off to have a run soon.”
“But it’s getting late.”
“The track is well lit, and there are always others there,” she said, brushing off my concern.
“It’s not safe,” I insisted, stepping closer.
She smiled. “My dad has taught me to defend myself. I carry pepper spray. I can fight hard. And I’m alert. If the track is empty, I come home and run on the treadmill. But I like to run outside.”