The blonde woman tossed her hair back petulantly.
“The nerve! How could he come in here?” Julie said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “And with his...bimbo!”
“Just calm down, Julie, please,” Kevin said. “We can’t throw him out—there are laws and all—though, believe me, we’d be happy to kick him out if we could.”
Danny, working the floor, had noticed the trio, too, and was moving in their direction.
“You stay here with Agent Frasier, Julie,” Kevin commanded as he rose, then hurried to cut off his brother.
“You really can’t give him a right jab to the jaw, Julie. You don’t want me to have to cart you off for assault, do you?” Craig said, trying to make her smile.
She stared at him with sad brown eyes. “Would you really arrest me?”
“I’m an agent, not a cop, but I’m still sworn to uphold the law,” he told her. He took her hand and held it tightly. “Look at me. Just...talk to me. Tell me, what do you do for a living?”
“Huh? What?” Julie asked.
He smiled. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a game designer.”
“A game designer? That sounds exciting. What games?”
“I, uh, work with a team. I guess our most popular game is ‘Dargon the Dragon Slayer.’”
“One of my favorites,” he assured her.
“You play video games?”
“Love to play. When I can, that is.” While he’d been talking to Julie, he’d still been watching Kieran, her brothers and Gary and his friends.
Kevin had blocked Danny before he could reach the threesome and was talking animatedly to his younger brother.
Declan, oldest and clearly the master of the house, had just entered from the back room, rolling a keg. He stopped to watch what was going on.
Kieran was still talking earnestly to Gary and his companions.
And it seemed her strategy had been successful because the men were leaving. The older man was shaking his head, and now Gary looked angry as well as embarrassed. The woman tossed her hair petulantly again.
They were on their way to the door when Gary saw Julie. For a moment he looked at her with loathing. Then he noticed Craig, and his eyes widened, his mouth tightening. He shook his head and mouthed the word “Bitch.”
He didn’t actually say it to Julie, but it was said just loud enough for her to hear.
Craig rose, staring him in the eyes. “Friend, that kind of language isn’t appropriate.”
He knew he had the man by several inches, and Gary, too, seemed to realize that Craig was taller and bigger and undoubtedly tougher all around.
The older man urged Gary Benton away, and the three of them left the pub.
Craig saw Declan breathe a visible sigh and start rolling his keg again. Someone at the bar called out that they were getting parched. Kieran hurried back behind the bar.
Julie’s hand trembled in Craig’s. Then, suddenly, she rose and threw her arms around him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
He disentangled himself gently. “It was nothing. But you have to learn to ignore him.”
“I know, and believe me, I’ve tried,” Julie whispered. “He just keeps sliding the knife in deeper and deeper.”
He wished he knew what to say to that. “Try feeling sorry for him,” he suggested.
“Sorry? For him? Why?”
“Because he’s so messed up that he isn’t able to behave any way except badly. And because he’s clearly incredibly stupid if he left a woman as sweet and pretty as you.”
“Thank you. It’s just scary to suddenly be alone.”
“Julie, I know you’ve heard all this, but the right person is out there. You’ll find him. Like I said, you’re pretty and sweet, so learn to like yourself. Then you’ll know when a guy like Gary is just being a jerk.”
He flushed suddenly, aware that Kieran was standing beside their table.
He fought bad guys; he wasn’t a therapist. Was she going to think he was an idiot for trying to give advice?
But she was smiling at him.
“I keep telling her that. Maybe she’ll believe it coming from you,” she said.
He shrugged and said, “How come no one’s been by to take our order?” He looked at Julie and whispered with a wink, “Service kind of sucks here, huh?”
“Just part of the charm,” Kieran assured him. “Don’t worry. Rory, our chef, knows you’re here. He’s sending out something special.”
He saw that she was smiling as she turned and headed back toward the bar. A moment later Chef Rory O’Bannon himself came out bearing three plates. His best Guinness pie, he told them. He was a big, florid man, but not overly heavy, perhaps forty-five or fifty, with a quick smile.
“The finest you’ll have this side o’ County Cork,” he assured them. Then he frowned suddenly. “You’re not one of those vegetarians, are you, sir?” he asked Craig.
“Not at all, and this looks delicious,” Craig assured him.
“And you, missy,” Rory said, looking at Julie. “You’re as lovely as the dew on the Emerald Isle. Don’t be letting that damned fool steal another moment of your happiness.”
“I won’t,” Julie promised, “and thank you.”