For his part, he was supposed to be taking an inventory of everything that had been broken or damaged. That didn’t take long at all. Everything that had been on the shelves, from the finest Irish whiskey to the cheapest rum, was now nothing but a sea of broken glass and spirits on the bar room floor.
The store room was a different story. It would take hours to go through everything and make a list of what survived Foster’s rampage and what didn’t, but Jack didn’t dare tempt her wrath. Kathleen had expressly forbidden him from doing anything that would involve using his injured shoulder, and that, she told him, included moving crates and kegs. Before he’d been able to argue the point, she called her brother-in-law, Seamus, to come over later and help with the heavy lifting. Jack would be damned if he’d sit idly by and let another man clean up his mess, but he didn’t tell her that. With any luck, Erin would come along too, and keep Kathleen occupied elsewhere while he and Seamus took care of business in the storage room.
It wasn’t long after the sheriff left Jack heard the scrape of a snow shovel outside the front entrance. He and Kathleen shared a look, then went over and opened the door to find Brian O’Connell clearing the sidewalk.
“Heard what happened,” Brian said by way of greeting.
“New travels fast.”
“It’s Pine Ridge. What did you expect?” Brian shrugged. “Anyway,” he flicked a glance at Jack’s sling, “I thought you could use a hand.”
“I appreciate the effort,” Jack told him sincerely, “but it’s not necessary. We won’t be opening for business.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Brian smiled.
“The place is trashed, Bri.”
Brian’s eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. Behind him, Declan Kennedy came by with his two grown sons. They had shovels as well. With a nod to Jack and Kathleen, they started shoveling the sidewalk where Brian had left off.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Like you said, news travels fast.”
“What the hell does that...” Jack stopped mid-query when Joe McCreevy pulled up in his truck. His grandson, Rory, jumped out of the passenger side and jogged to the door.
“Gramps says I should get your keys and move the cars so he can plow the lot.”
Jack started to protest when Kathleen handed the boy the two sets of keys. “Thanks, Rory. Tell your Gramps I’ll put a fresh pot of coffee on for him.”
Jack was still shaking his head when more people appeared, carrying brooms, dust pans, and trash bags.
Then a few more showed up, with buckets and rags and assorted cleaning products.
Conlan O’Leary and his wife roared up in his big 1970 Jeep Gladiator, the back filled with coffee machines and boxes of food for the growing number of volunteers. Right behind him were Seamus and Erin. Seamus’ pickup held a variety of tools and equipment; he’d recently started his own construction company, the new Connelly Construction logo proudly displayed on the side. He was followed by no less than six more trucks, each sporting the logo of various subcontractors.
Awed by their selfless actions, Jack hauled out what remained of his inventory and offered drinks free of charge to anyone who had come to help.
By night fall, most of Pine Ridge and a fair portion of Birch Falls had swarmed the place. Women took over the kitchen with crock pots and large, cast iron Dutch ovens, while men carried up extra chairs and tables from the basement and cleaned them off.
“Ye’ll never make any money by givin’ it all away, Jack,” Danny Finnegan lamented over his Jameson’s, watching as Jack filled another tray and a smiling Kathleen carried it out to the volunteers.
“Nope,” Jack agreed, smiling. “But I am building one hell of a client base.”
Danny laughed at that, then sobered. “I canna tell ye how shamed I am by Jimmy’s actions, Jack.”
Jack shrugged. “Wasn’t your doing.”
“Nay, but a taint nonetheless,” he sighed, and Jack felt for him. Pride was important to men like Danny Finnegan, and a man’s family was a big part of that.
“Ye are a good man, Jack,” Danny continued. “These people, they know that.” He looked wistfully at the crowd. “Ye have a gift, young Jack. The Pub hasn’t seen this many people since my grandfather started the Wake procession on Saint Paddy’s day. Kinda makes me think I should have kept the Pub and just made ye manager,” he grinned.
“Miss it, huh?”
“Aye. Retirement isn’t quite what it’s cracked up te be. This place, well, she’s all I know.”
It was the moment Jack had been waiting for. He’d seen the way the older man had been looking around longingly, the way he’d walked around, running his hands over the beams when he didn’t think anyone was looking. Danny Finnegan wanted his Pub back.
“It’s a great place,” Jack said carefully.