Excerpt:
Pretty sweet deal: a job where he could indulge his Irish talent for storytelling, and a home he didn’t have to share with dozens of bunkmates. Just himself, the surf’s soft whisper, and the occasional visit from a hundred-year-old ghost—much less scary than the hauntings in his head.
A bark rang out from nearby. He rose to his feet and peered down the footpath winding through the dunes. Sure enough, the woman and dog were heading his way. She kept up a steady patter of one-sided conversation, something about… No, he couldn’t have heard that right. Sounded like she said, “Bumfuck.”
When she stepped over the chain closing off the parking lot, he cupped a hand to his mouth. “Ahoy, miss.”
She jumped backward a good meter and clapped her hand over her heart—not the effect he was hoping for, especially from such a lovely visitor. Even from this height, he was struck by her shining dark hair and bright eyes. Too bad he couldn’t make out their color.
“Good morning,” she replied when she’d recovered her composure.
He’d been about to tell her the park didn’t open until ten o’clock, but a playful notion nudged different words from his lips. “Care for a tour?”
Pale neck arched, she stared up at him, probably trying to decide if he was trustworthy. “I’m afraid my dog couldn’t make the climb.”
“Hang on. I’ll be right down.”
As his footfalls clanged on the spiral metal staircase, he chuckled at his own impulsivity. Something about this visitor and her pup intrigued him. And after a crucial hunch saved his life, he’d learned to respect inner nudges like this one.
If nothing else, he’d pet a cute dog and discover the color of the woman’s eyes, information that suddenly seemed very important.
When he flung open the lighthouse door, they were still there. The woman crouched to rub the dog’s belly. Tongue lolling, the beast wriggled and panted in canine glee.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya both.” Laying the Irish accent on thick usually charmed the ladies—and he found himself particularly interested in charming this one.
The beauty laughed and pushed to her feet. “Is that accent for real?”
Green eyes, pale and glittering like the sea over a sand shoal, scanned him from head to toe before narrowing. She wrinkled her pointy, freckle-dusted nose and swiped a hank of nearly black hair from her forehead.
“As real as my beard, darlin’,” he assured her, “and if you’re not Irish too, I’m not standing here before you.”
“What makes you say that?” She crossed her arms, clearly not buying his blarney. Her dog, however, showed no such mistrust. Despite his grizzled snout, he picked up his oversize stick and dropped it at Kieran’s feet, his fat tail wagging with all the enthusiasm of a puppy.
“Because you’re the very picture of a Black Irish beauty. May I?” He gestured toward the stick, and when the woman nodded, flung to the far side of the parking lot. The dog tore after it, barking joyfully.
He thrust out his hand. “Kieran Gallagher, lighthouse keeper and teller of tall tales, at your service.”
The flicker of a smile warmed her expression as she slid her hand into his. “Addy Connor. Pleased to meet you Kieran.”
“Irish name. I knew it. Where’s your family from?”
That bewitching smile tilted into a smirk. “Bumfuck, Nebraska.”
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