Today's Wednesday Wonder features
Oh Danny Boy
by Josie Riviera
About Oh Danny Boy:
This
pot of gold could hold more than they bargained for…
Grand. Just grand. Clara Donovan’s failure to keep her brother from going off the rails—again—is a public spectacle. Including a handsome stranger who puts down his guitar case to help her talk Seamus down from Farthing’s tallest bridge.
Everything about Danny Brady reminds Clara how many times she swore she’ll never again be that pathetic, weak woman who got taken in by a good-looking man. Especially when, the next day, she walks into a new coffee shop in her little Irish town and discovers Danny’s secret.
Danny didn’t lie—technically—about his coffee shop chain. He’s just tired of women going after him for his wealth. Clara is a graceful, fiercely loyal, non-Irish Irish damsel in distress, a combination that tugs at his heart. A heart that’s spent its share of time in pieces.
Danny has never hesitated to go after what he wants, but melting Clara’s defenses will take more than hot tea and charm. He’ll have to prove he’s made of stronger stuff—even when her past threatens to tear her carefully reconstructed world to shreds.
Grand. Just grand. Clara Donovan’s failure to keep her brother from going off the rails—again—is a public spectacle. Including a handsome stranger who puts down his guitar case to help her talk Seamus down from Farthing’s tallest bridge.
Everything about Danny Brady reminds Clara how many times she swore she’ll never again be that pathetic, weak woman who got taken in by a good-looking man. Especially when, the next day, she walks into a new coffee shop in her little Irish town and discovers Danny’s secret.
Danny didn’t lie—technically—about his coffee shop chain. He’s just tired of women going after him for his wealth. Clara is a graceful, fiercely loyal, non-Irish Irish damsel in distress, a combination that tugs at his heart. A heart that’s spent its share of time in pieces.
Danny has never hesitated to go after what he wants, but melting Clara’s defenses will take more than hot tea and charm. He’ll have to prove he’s made of stronger stuff—even when her past threatens to tear her carefully reconstructed world to shreds.
You may purchase Oh Danny Boy on Amazon by CLICKING HERE.
And the Audio book.
For a video introduction, please CLICK HERE.
And the Audio book.
For a video introduction, please CLICK HERE.
To further whet your interest, here is Chapter One:
Chapter
One
“Seamus, don’t jump!” Clara Donovan heard her
own cries, the shouts resounding through the misty night air. She raced across
the sidewalk toward Farthing Bridge, her gaze riveted on a horror she didn’t
want to believe. Her older brother Seamus sat on the edge of a tall bridge with
his head slumped in his hands, a bottle of whiskey beside him. The arched stone
bridge spanned the River Farthing, connecting the town to a once-popular
marketplace.
No. It couldn’t be. Her breath burned
in her chest as she took in gulps of dampness and drizzle. Don’t stop. Run
faster.
When she reached the bridge, she elbowed
through a group of late-night revelers. Several pointed up at Seamus. “He’s off
the rails!” someone shouted.
Her brother seemed unaware of the gathering
crowd. He swung his legs back and forth like an underwound metronome and stared
into the ice-cold river below.
She shook off the image of him on her living
room floor several days earlier. He’d been passed out drunk. Should she have
phoned a treatment center? No. She could fix her brother’s problems. He simply
needed encouragement, surrounded by his loving, supportive family.
Seamus. Gentle Seamus. Kind and
fiery-haired, quick to temper, quicker to make amends. Her heart squeezed at
the scruffy, dejected man he’d become since his wife had died.
Clara put her hands on her knees and took in
calm, even breaths. Quickly, she assessed the corroded pedestrian catwalk
leading to the top of the bridge, the skull and crossbones sign that warned Danger.
She stared upward at her sweet brother. “Dear
saints in heaven, Seamus,” she whispered. “You promised me that you’d never
drink again.”
She stuffed her wool gloves into her jacket
pockets and bent to lace her weatherproof boots tighter. There was no time to
dash around the river to the street that crossed the bridge, and she certainly
wouldn’t ask anyone in the crowd to lend a hand.
She yanked off the “Danger” sign and threw it
to the ground. That pressing feeling in her chest, like she was running out of
air, slowed her movements. Dragging in another breath, she grasped the slippery
wet handrails and stepped onto the bottom rung of the catwalk.
“Missus, are you trained for this?” a man
from the crowd inquired.
She glanced around. The man stood a
hairsbreadth away. He was tall with piercing blue eyes and carried a guitar
case. His dark brown hair had a reddish tinge and his navy wool jacket strained
against his athletic form.
“Thanks. I can manage on my own.”
Despite her refusal, she hesitated. Was she
trained to climb to the top of a rusted bridge when she was crippled with fear
and could hardly breathe? Umm, no. But she was desperate, and desperation made
people do things they thought they could never do.
“I insist.” The man set his guitar case on
the grass and stepped forward. “Who’s sitting on the top of the bridge?”
“My brother!”
“I’ll follow behind you. No worries.”
No worries. Dear saints in heaven, her brother was about to jump
off a bridge.
She gripped the slick railings with both
hands and began climbing, acutely aware of the guitar player’s encouraging
whispers behind her. She counted each step until she reached the top, scrambled
to her feet, and raced to her brother. Seamus’s chin was hunkered in his hands,
the empty whiskey bottle beside him.
She stopped a foot away from him. “Seamus,
come with me.”
His legs stopped swinging. He turned to her,
his metallic-grey eyes glazed with drink. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m looking out for you, same as always.”
She attempted to keep her tone light. “The weather’s a wee bit fierce up here.
The wind and rain are driving my hair sideways.”
Inwardly, she shuddered. He was a sight
wearing tattered clothes, his flaming red hair caught in a ponytail.
“And who’s that dodgy bloke behind you?”
“Someone who’s offered to help.” She
struggled to control her trembling. Her brother’s big-boned body was
precariously close to the edge.
Seamus’s mouth twisted. “It’s better if I end
my life. I’m on me tod, I’m all alone.”
She extended a hand. “You’re not alone. I’m
here for you.”
Despite the chilly night air, Seamus was
sweating. “I long for my wife. My beautiful woman …”
“We all miss Fiona very much.”
Seamus’s fingers found the empty whiskey
bottle and flung it into the river. “I’m warning you. Leave me alone or I’ll
jump.” Slowly, he stretched out his hands.
“Seamus!” Clara hunched over, sick to her
stomach, listening to the hoots and jeers of the spectators.
“Shut your gob!” Seamus hollered to the
crowd. “Are ya’ thick?”
Clara caught her breath. Stay calm.
Level-headed and composed.
She straightened. “Those people won’t help
you, but I will.”
What was she supposed to do now? Move slower,
speak gentler? On watery knees, she started forward.
“You’re managing perfectly,” came the whisper
behind her.
The guitarist. She’d almost forgotten. His
breath was warm and reassuring against her hair.
She extended her hand again. “Please, Seamus,
please. Come with me.”
Seamus openly sobbed. “I’m no use to anyone.”
“Think of Anna and me. We’re your sisters and
we love you.” Clara tried to smile. “What would I do with myself if you weren’t
sleeping on my couch every night? You know I don’t like to be alone.”
Seamus squinted at her. Using his worn
shirtsleeve, he wiped at the tear-stained bags under his eyes. “I lost all my
money on the horse races. Five hundred euros that I’d borrowed from a friend,
and one hundred euros of Anna’s money, too. The bookies were certain Green
Dragon would win the second race, but the ponies double-crossed me.”
Clara dug her nails into her palms. “We’ll
pay the bookies all the money you lost.” How, she had no idea. Her income as a
factory worker and part-time dance teacher was scarcely enough to pay their
current living expenses.
In the distance, insistent sirens blared,
angry red lights flashed.
“Keep talking,” the guitar player told her.
What to say? The wrong words might send her
impulsive brother over the edge. She chanced a peek at the guitarist and lost
her footing. Gasping, she held in a scream.
His arms went around her. “I’ve got you,” he
said softly.
She steadied herself and shook off his hold.
Without making a sound, she ventured another two steps until she stood behind
her brother. “We’ll return to my flat and I’ll light a fire in the hearth.
Won’t that be grand?” She heard her voice shake, the rale insistent.
“And make me a cuppa tea?” Seamus’s
copper-red beard showed days of neglect and grew in dirty spikes below his
chin.
She placed her hands firmly on his shoulders
and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll brew the entire pot and fry a proper Irish
breakfast in the morning.”
Several beats passed. Seamus seemed to be
trying desperately to concentrate. He looked up at her. “You don’t cook.”
“I can manage fried eggs and bacon rashers.”
He relaxed beneath her hands.
She licked her lips, her mouth so dry.
“Please come home. Please. We’re a family. We’ll work this out together like we
always do.”
Seamus rubbed at his eyes, sniffled, and
started to stand.
The guitarist stepped around Clara.
Carefully, he assisted the wobbling Seamus to his feet.
The crowd applauded. They’d observed every
detail of her family’s private business. Clara pressed her lips tightly
together, willing herself to think of her brother and nothing else.
Her sobbing brother slumped into her arms.
She hugged him for a long time, then roughly shook his shoulders and stared
into his bleary eyes. “I understand you’re in a lot of pain. You’ll be
independent again, you’ll see. It took me a long time, remember? And now I’m
fine.”
“Yeh.” Seamus’s lopsided grin showed missing
teeth. He nodded so quickly that he stumbled, so unexpected they both cried
out. She clung to his beefy hand, his body still so close to the edge of the
bridge, as she stared into the frigid waters of the River Farthing far below.
“You’ll both be safer away from the bridge.”
The guitarist’s voice came loud and urgent. He guided Clara and Seamus to the
side of the road, removed his jacket and placed it on the damp grass.
“Who are you, bloke?” Seamus asked.
“Danny Brady.” He wheeled, clear in his
intent to walk away.
“What about your jacket?” Clara called out.
Danny half turned and looked upward. The
clouds had parted, the sky bathed in moonlight and stars. “No rain and no
worries. Keep the jacket.”
An emergency vehicle swerved onto the bridge,
and Clara squinted into the blinding headlights. Several paramedics sprinted
toward her and Seamus. A Channel Four television news van streaked past,
reversed, and screeched to a stop. A woman reporter and cameraman leapt from
the van and scurried to the guitarist.
Clara recognized the reporter, Maeve
Flanagan, an anchorwoman for the local television station. Maeve clutched the
microphone, speaking urgently, then held the microphone out for Danny. He spoke
lengthily, the bright camera light illuminating his china-blue eyes.
“Where are you from, Brady?” her brother
shouted from across the road.
Danny’s handsome face showed signs of
fatigue. “Dublin.” He focused on Clara. “Do you have a name, missus?”
“Clara Donovan.” She nodded at her brother.
“And this very foolish man is my brother Seamus.”
From across the road, the reporter shouted,
“May I quote you, Ms. Donovan?”
Clara stretched out a tired arm. “Absolutely
not! And please take your slanderous reporting elsewhere!”
Maeve muffled the mouthpiece with her palm.
In a loud voice, she asked, “Do I have permission to make a plea to the
community on your behalf, Ms. Donovan? There are resources available for poor—”
Clara cut Maeve off with a wave. Heat flushed
through her body. “My family fends for themselves, Miss Flanagan! If you want
to do something for us, then stay away!”
About Josie Riviera:
Josie
Riviera is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author of contemporary, inspirational, and
historical sweet romances that read like Hallmark movies. She lives in the
Charlotte, NC, area with her wonderfully supportive husband. They share their
home with an adorable Shih Tzu who constantly needs grooming and live in an old
house forever needing renovations.
Have you ever tried something you were afraid to try because it mattered so much to you? I did, when I started writing. Take the chance, everyone, and just do something you love.
Have you ever tried something you were afraid to try because it mattered so much to you? I did, when I started writing. Take the chance, everyone, and just do something you love.
Connect with Josie Riviera:
Website:
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http://josieriviera.com/
http://josieriviera.com/
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Amazon
author page: https://www.amazon.com/Josie-Riviera/e/B009POZLGU/
