Wild Irish Rose Read online

  Wild Irish Rose

  by

  Ava Miles

  ~ The Merriams ~

  Trevor & Becca

  © 2019 Ava Miles

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  International Bestselling Author Ava Miles kicks off her new series with an irreverent hero, two well-intentioned matchmakers, and a heroine as beautiful as a wild Irish rose.

  Trevor Merriam doesn’t like being ordered around by his older brother, much less to a sleepy Irish village to complete a business deal for their family company.

  Worse: the owner of the land he needs to buy doesn’t want him there. In fact, Becca O’Neill loathes him so much that she won’t even serve him the award-winning scones her famed Wild Irish Rose Bed and Breakfast is known for.

  Even worse than that (and not getting scones is bad in Trevor’s book): Becca has an ornery cat, a mischievous Irish setter, and a lovesick alpaca that delights in chasing him around. Then there’s the woman herself. If she weren’t so indignant about his business offer, they might have a good romance budding.

  Worst of all: his Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara Hale show up from Dare Valley hoping to help him get hitched—not exactly the help he was looking for.

  How in the world is he going to make this deal with his heart—and his dignity—staying intact?

  To the magic of life and new beginnings—in all forms.

  And to my divine entourage, who makes me laugh so hard when I most need it and pretty much every other time in between.

  In the storied history of matchmaking, no two people could have been more ill-suited for the job.

  Some would say they were both far too old, although neither would admit it.

  He was cantankerous yet sweet, like a tattered old teddy bear who’d seen too many years.

  She was a bit loony in a fun Auntie Mame “let’s jet off to Paris for the weekend” kind of way.

  But Uncle Arthur and Aunt Clara’s hearts were in the right place and that was all that mattered.

  Or so they told themselves…

  The Merriam children tried to tell them that they didn’t want or need their help.

  Like that would do any good with these two.

  It was going to be fun to see what kind of matchmaking mischief they cooked up.

  Chapter 1

  The Wild Irish Rose Inn was the kind of place that called to mind the rolling emerald hills, lush mist, and magical rainbows of Ireland, what with its sweeping two-story structure punctuated by dramatic towers on each end.

  Too bad Trevor Merriam was here to buy this place from Becca O’Neill and put it out of commission.

  A lot was riding on this deal, and it was Trevor’s job as Merriam Oil & Gas’ leading deal maker to make sure it happened. The company didn’t want the inn, per se, but the land associated with it. According to geothermal imaging, Ms. O’Neill was sitting on a hefty tract of crude oil, which stretched out to the sea and their company’s offshore oil field. Drilling was usually easier on land, and after a recent accident in the South China Sea, Trevor’s oldest brother, Connor, Chief Executive Officer of Merriam Enterprises, wanted easy—and safe. He was determined to drop their original offshore plans and set up shop where The Wild Irish Rose was currently located.

  Connor was so motivated he’d personally called Ms. O’Neill with a generous offer last week, taking care not to tell her why they wanted to buy her land, of course—people reacted unpredictably to news of oil. Occasionally, land owners even went to their competitors for a better offer.

  Not Ms. O’Neill, though. She’d turned Connor down flat.

  When his follow-up attempt had failed just as miserably, Connor had turned the job over to Trevor, saying they needed boots on the ground in beautiful County Cork. Besides, no one had a better track record with this kind of work.

  Trevor was intrigued by a woman who would turn down thirty million dollars without so much as a by-your-leave. Then again, Irish women had intrigued him with their perspicacity and frank speaking since he’d made his home in Dublin three years ago.

  He stepped out of his Land Rover and immediately detected the pleasing rose scent coming from the hedge of pink and white wild roses that flanked the house. They’d be a requirement with the inn’s name, he supposed.

  Trudging along the gravel path to the periwinkle front door, a perfect match for the aged gray stone, he almost laughed at the quaintness of the scene. He was already looking forward to savoring the inn’s award-winning scones. No reason they couldn’t conduct business with a little civility.

  He knocked on the door and waited. And waited. Of course, he wasn’t expected. Connor had thought it best for him to show up unannounced after Ms. O’Neill had hung up so abruptly on him. Twice.

  A dog whined behind the door, followed by the angry meow of a cat. Terrific. He wasn’t a patient man, so the crank of the old door handle was music to his ears. When he saw the woman who’d opened it, he was struck speechless. And for a man who made his living sweet-talking people, that was something.

  God, she was beautiful. Standing there holding an Irish setter by the collar, the woman who’d answered the door looked like the portrait of an Irish lass. Her shoulder-length, dark brown hair was laced with hints of mahogany, shining as it were from the afternoon sunlight streaming down. Her narrowed eyes were as blue as a calm Irish Sea. Then there were her lips… Lush and red like a ripe pomegranate waiting to be enjoyed.

  He wasn’t usually the type to be carried away by romantic fancies. That had been the purview of his twin brother, J.T., at one time.

  “May I help you?” she asked.

  Oh, she had the softest, sexiest Irish lilt too. He’d lived in Dublin for years but still wasn’t immune to the charm of a lilt like that.

  “Hello,” he said, shifting on his feet as a fluffy white cat with eerie green eyes wound around his feet. “Might you be Becca O’Neill?”

  She nodded decisively in a way he found compelling. “I am.”

  “Everything okay, Becca?” a man called from somewhere inside.

  “Yes, Cian,” she called over her shoulder. “Are you here looking for a room? Normally, we ask guests to call or go through our online process before arriving, but you strike me as a spontaneous sort of fellow.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, wishing the cat would stop weaving figure eights through his feet. His expensive suit would be covered in cat hair.

  “American, yes?” she asked him with a straightforward look, as if she were taking his measure.

  He liked that about the Irish. They sized people up and made up their minds about them. Part of the reason he’d settled in the country was its no-bullshit attitude about everything from life to relationships, a delightful contrast to the legends and lore infusing Irish culture. “Yes, but I live in Dublin.”

  “It’s a nice day for a drive up,” she said, leaning against the door, a picture in a blue cotton dress that seemed to cover her like a waterfall. “Having a weekend away then?”

  The three-and-a-half-hour drive had been pleasant. He’d counted the numbers of rainbows he’d seen along the way. Four precisely. Although he wouldn’t admit that piece of information to his brothers under torture. “A little business, a little fun. The Irish way, you know.”

  Her mouth pursed like she was holding back a smile, and the dog barked softly as if to admonish Trevor for letting his eyes slip to her lips again. “You’re fortunate. We have one room in the main house left if you’d like it. Of course, the bed will be a bit small for you, I think. It’s only a full.”

  He laughed. �
�I’m used to having my feet hang off most of the beds in Ireland.”

  This time she laughed at him outright. “Stay in many beds not your own, do you?”

  Leaning closer, he ignored the dog barking again softly. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

  She slapped him playfully in the chest. “Oh, you’re a cheeky one, aren’t you? I imagine you do well in Dublin with that kind of charm. Out here in Cork too, I expect. Have you visited our fine county before?”

  “Many times,” he said, finding himself smiling full out at her. God, he was enjoying himself more than he should. She was as charming as her bed and breakfast. He needed to keep his head in the game, sure, but he’d learned a long time ago that you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, as his Irish-American grandmother, Anna, had been fond of saying. “I hear you have the best scones around, Becca. Perhaps we can check me in and then have a nice visit.”

  “Oh, you have taken on the Irish ways, haven’t you? Cian,” she called over her shoulder, “could you ask Aileen to bring out a basket of scones for the gentleman? As for the visit, we’ll have to see.” Was that a wink she gave him? The dog gave a resounding bark, whether to welcome him or warn him off he wasn’t sure, and the cat stopped its weaving and stared up at him.

  A car backfired in the parking lot suddenly, and she jerked at the sound, jumping back. He was afraid she was going to fall, so he caught her arm. “Just a car,” he said.

  She was trembling, he realized.

  “Don’t worry,” he felt compelled to say. “I’ve got you.”

  Her eyes met his gaze and lingered there. She licked her lips and drew away, and to his amazement, his hand burned as if it had caught fire.

  “A guest’s car. Of course. How silly of me.” She shook herself. “If you’re staying with us, you should meet Boru and Hatshep. Come inside.”

  He knew enough about anatomy to know the dog was Boru and the cat was Hatshep. “Boru after King Brian Boru who drove the Vikings from Ireland?”

  “Ah, you’ve done your research,” she said, leading him to a rosewood desk with classic lines set against a massive stone wall that rose from the floor to the second-story ceiling. “Usually only the Irish know him. What about Hatshep? Any guesses?”

  Since Trevor always took note of his surroundings, he caught sight of the wiry older gentleman standing by the wide main staircase, watching them. He nodded a greeting, but the man only continued to take his measure. Protective, he thought. Well, who could blame him? While Ireland was built on hospitality, you couldn’t count on a guest being completely above board, he supposed.

  “Hatshep,” he said, rolling the word around on his tongue. Trevor looked around for clues, taking in the tasteful yellow and navy furnishings in what would have been called the great room in older times. There were paintings of people he didn’t recognize on the walls—her ancestors, perhaps, the inn had been in the family for hundreds of years—a couple of country landscapes, and a few hunting scenes. Then he saw the cat’s collar, decorated with crowns. “Ah…king and queen. Hatshepsut, the famed female ruler of Egypt?”

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed, sitting in the chair behind the desk and drawing out a sleek gray laptop. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet someone who knows their ancient history.”

  She was a history buff? Another piece to what looked to be a really interesting puzzle.

  “Have you seen her temple in Luxor, Egypt?” she asked, her whole face brightening.

  “It was one of the most incredible sights I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go.” Those lovely blue eyes shuttered, and she looked down, punching her computer keys so hard they clacked. “Unfortunately, running the bed and breakfast doesn’t leave much room for holidays. We’re technically big enough to be an inn with twenty-odd guest rooms, but I like the other term since it conveys a warmer hospitality.”

  And Ireland was built on tourism and hospitality. Yet he hadn’t become one of the company’s lead negotiators without developing a knack for reading people. The regret in her voice indicated she longed to travel. Now this was something he could use. He well knew the value of discovering what someone really wanted—even if it seemed like an impossible dream—and using it to structure a deal they couldn’t pass up. If she wanted to travel, the deal he was offering would make that happen, and in a style she might not have imagined. Connor had made this out to be difficult. Trevor was going to have this deal in hand by dinner, if not bedtime.

  If he was lucky, perhaps the inn’s proprietress would be willing to celebrate with him even.

  A delectable buttery scent wafted to him, and an older woman decked out in a blue and white floral apron appeared with the basket of scones, the perfectly golden pastries cradled in a white lace doily. They certainly did have hospitality down to an art. The woman’s white hair bobbed around her round face, framing a friendly smile. “Here you are. I’m Aileen, by the way. Welcome to The Wild Irish Rose, Mr.—”

  He was already reaching for the scones, their scent making his mouth water. “Merriam. Trevor Merriam.”

  Becca plucked the basket out of his grasp and stood up so quickly her chair scraped on the stone floor. Boru barked sharply, Aileen gasped, and Trevor caught the lurking Cian straightening to his full height.

  “How dare you abuse my goodwill as the owner of this establishment,” Becca snapped. “I told Connor Merriam, whom I expect is your relation, that I’m not selling this land. Ever. It was rude of him not to respect my wishes. Please leave, Mr. Merriam.”

  The cat pawed at Trevor’s feet as if to punctuate her mistress’ ire. “Let’s all settle down a minute. You didn’t ask for my name before, and I’m sorry learning it distresses you. My brother said he hadn’t handled things well—”

  “It must be a family trait,” Becca said dryly. “Don’t make me ask you to leave again, Mr. Merriam.”

  The charming, approachable innkeeper was gone—the woman he saw before him was pure steel. “I still need a room for the night.”

  She gave an indignant snort, a sound he normally would have found adorable if she hadn’t taken away his scones and wasn’t trying to kick him out.

  “I’m sure you can find accommodation in town,” she said, closing her laptop with a snap. “I hear The Beastly Pig has vacancies.”

  Given the name, that place didn’t bear contemplating. “You’re seriously kicking me out?”

  She walked to the front door and opened it, gesturing. “As assuredly as King Boru kicked the Vikings out of Ireland.”

  Trevor saw no other option than to do as she asked. For now. When he reached her, he leaned in. “Savor your victory because I’ll be back.”

  “You’ll be wasting your time,” she said, drawing up under his scrutiny.

  Her long, graceful neck caught his eye, the skin delicate and welcoming. Goodness, if they weren’t at odds, he’d have asked her out to dinner.

  “Admit it,” he heard himself say in a cajoling tone. “Up until you knew my name, you were liking me as much as I was liking you.”

  She playfully swatted him again, and Boru gave a short bark. “Up until I knew your name, Mr. Merriam, I was planning on serving you our mouthwatering scones followed by the most delicious venison tenderloin you’ve ever tasted. You certainly don’t want me to tell you what I’d planned for dessert.”

  His mouth went dry.

  She gave a knowing look, indicating he would really have enjoyed “dessert.” “But I can assure you that after you leave Cork, all you will recall of our encounter is what you didn’t enjoy. Including my land, mind you.”

  “I will think about it,” he told her as he stepped onto the stoop. “But now that you’ve made it a challenge, rest assured I’ll be back.” He had to see her again, land or no land.

  “Don’t bother.” Then she slammed the door in his face.

  As he left, he found himself whistling.

  It had been a long while since he’d enjoyed such a challenge, especially wit
h such a woman.

  Chapter 2

  Becca watched Trevor Merriam saunter down their lane to his car with a gait as easy as a cool summer breeze. And he was whistling.

  “Goodness, but he was a handsome fella,” Aileen said, her hand resting on her ample hip. “I rather liked the look of him until I heard his cursed name.”

  Since those words echoed the cheeky ones Trevor had given her, Becca ground her teeth. She had been liking him—all six foot three inches of him—until she’d learned he was from the family who’d offered millions for her land. In fact, after he’d touched her arm, leaving a trail of fire sparks, she’d thought about asking him to have dinner with her tonight, in her suite, and seeing what might come of it. It wasn’t like she had the opportunity to run across men like him every day. This was something to capitalize on, something the Irish in her would call a magical encounter.

  After all, it was unusual for her to be so taken with a man. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, and charming enough. More, he’d known about Boru and Hatshepsut, and the cat had liked him. But she encountered scads of people who were handsome and charming, and few had affected her in such a way. He was smart, and she liked a smart man. Too bad he was a Merriam.

  “And suggesting he go to The Beastly Pig,” Aileen said, starting to laugh. “That was a good one.”

  She’d invented the name on the spot, trying to insult him while also misdirecting him. She hoped he’d be stumped when he searched for the inn on his phone.

  Cian walked over. “He’ll be back, that one. I know the kind of man who doesn’t take no for an answer.”

  “He’d be a stook to come back here,” she scoffed, even though she rather agreed with him. “I couldn’t have been clearer to his brother and now him.”