Whiskey Rebellion (Taking Risks Book 3) Read online

  “You FaceTimed a damn horse?”

  As I shake my head, the bell over the door of the little pub where I work rings, and I glance toward it, ready to greet whomever.

  But I’m stunned.

  As my mom prattles on about whatever the hell she is bitching about, I drink in the beauty who looks around the bar as if she is searching for someone. Probably looking for a boyfriend or something. Has to be, a girl that gorgeous. While I haven’t been here long, only three months, I know stunning girls like her don’t stay single long. Doesn’t matter if they are the biggest bitches in the world. A girl like her, long, wavy blond hair that reaches her ass, with almost crystal-blue eyes, yeah… She is way too magnificent. When she fully turns, glancing down the hall that leads to the bathroom, I get to take in an ass I have to say is pretty round for such a skinny girl. Her waist is small and she doesn’t have much of a rack, but then, I’m not much of a boob man. As long as there is enough ass for me to dig my fingers into as I bury myself in her, I don’t care about much else.

  And now I wish my fingers were deep in her ass.

  “Do you hear me, Jackson!”

  “Yeah, Mom, let me call you back.”

  I hang up before she can protest, tucking my phone into my pocket as I call out, “Need some help?”

  She glances over at me, a tendril of hair falling into her eyes as she meets my gaze. I don’t know why, I don’t even know what is happening, but her lips part, and her eyes darken as she slowly tucks her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “I’m surprised it’s empty. Guess I’m early.”

  Holy shit, that accent. It’s like she’s punched me in the gut. I’ve met many women on my adventures, but I haven’t made it to Ireland yet, and her accent is giving me the preview I’ve been craving. Swallowing hard, ignoring how my cock is trying to stand at attention, I shrug, hoping I come off aloof. “It’s a little after one. Usual time for the afternooners.”

  She doesn’t seem to like the nickname I’ve pinned on my regulars as she walks toward the bar in front of me. Her hair moves with her body, and I notice that it’s wet. She must have just gotten out of the shower, which for some reason, turns me on. Before she sits, she throws her hair up in a messy knot of a thing before sitting down on the barstool. “I’ve never seen ya before.”

  Man, the lilt of her voice and that brogue have me tight as fuck in my jeans as I nod. “I work the day shift. You just missed the lunch crowd.”

  She lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God, me head couldn’t handle it for sure.” Inhaling sharply, she looks up at me. “Cathmor on the rocks, please.”

  “You want to drink with a headache?” I ask. Though, if she were one of my regulars, I’d say it as a joke. But she doesn’t look like a regular.

  She sets me with a look. “I’ve done popped the pills, I need them to work faster. Cathmor, please.”

  “All right, then,” I mutter before reaching for the top-shelf whiskey that is our best seller and pouring it over some ice. “This is some strong stuff for someone your size.”

  “My size will be the least of yer worries when I kick yer ass.” I look up, and she’s sending me a little kittenish grin. “Yer just big.”

  I grin back at her. “I am a big dude.”

  “Massive. What? Six nine?”

  I pass the glass across the bar to her. “Six six.”

  “Ah, I knew ya were bigger than my brother for sure. Yer built like my brother’s best friend. Beefy.”

  I chuckle. “I haven’t been called beefy before.”

  She feigns shock. “No? Yer huge for sure. Jaysus.”

  Oh. I like her.

  As she takes a long sip, I tease, “Intimidated?”

  She outright laughs at that, setting the glass on the bar. “I’ve stood up to men bigger than you, mate. I’m not intimidated by anyone.”

  I don’t doubt her, but something in her eyes tells me there is someone out there who scares her. But then, isn’t there always that one person who can send terror into your soul?

  Mine died, but I’m still scared of his ghost.

  Which is completely insane.

  “Duly noted.”

  Her lips curve as she moves her finger along the rim of the glass. “I heard ya on the phone with yer ma. Not from here, yeah?”

  “No, I’m not, and by your accent, I can tell you’re not either.”

  She leans on her hand, her eyes such a beautiful blue as they hold mine. “What? I’m British.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She giggles as she takes another sip. “Fine, I’m a foreigner.”

  I send her a smirk. “Obviously, I am too.”

  We share a small smile before she asks, “Where from?”

  “Calgary.”

  Her face scrunches up, and then she points to me. “Canada.”

  “I should be offended it took you so long.”

  She scoffs. “I’m smashed and drinking at, what, one? Give me a bit, yeah?”

  I watch as she takes a drink, and I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stop myself. “Why is that? Do you usually drink so early?”

  She shakes her head, leaning on the bar as she shakes the glass, the ice clinking against the sides of the glass. “No, actually. But I couldn’t sleep, and I needed something to do.”

  “So you came to a bar?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “And drinking is the answer.”

  She looks up at me, clinking her ice some more. “I got into it with my brother, so yeah, a drink takes the edge off.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  Her brows pull together. “I don’t even know ya.”

  “So? They say bartenders are the best therapists.”

  She scoffs at that. “Last thing I need is a feckin’ therapist.”

  I smile then because it’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about whatever brought her here. That’s fine, and while I know I have a lot of work to do, I just want to sit and talk with her. “So why don’t you go explore London?”

  She waves me off, placing her drink down in a dramatic fashion. “Ah, off with ya. I’ve been here so much, it’s boring now.”

  I absolutely dig her accent, way more than I should. With a laugh, I wave her off instead. “What? I love it here. It might be one of my favorite places thus far.”

  Her face scrunches up. “Thus far?”

  “I’m on a, um, I think you guys call it a holiday? I’m backpacking through Europe.”

  She smiles. “I did that when I was sixteen with my brother. Where have ya been?”

  I go through the list, and she nods along, commenting that she has been to some of the same places. But when she slaps her hand to the bar out of nowhere, I actually jump. “Ya go to Germany, Rome, Paris, and London, and all in between, but ya haven’t made it to Ireland? That’s mad! None of those places, not even here, compares to me home.”

  I could listen to her talk for hours. “Oh, yeah?”

  Her eyes widen as they brighten a bit, and she nods. “Listen, mate, ya step off the plane in Ireland, and you just feel complete. The air, so feckin’ fresh and crisp. The wind kisses yer face. It’s so green ya swear all the shades of green you thought ya knew can’t compare. There is a lake out by my home, ya see, and when you’re on the lake, nothing matters. It takes yer breath away. Then when the sun comes out, peeking through the clouds, ya just stop. Gazing up and thinking how ya got so blessed to feel that warmth. The birds are happy and sing the most gorgeous songs.” She smiles big, leaning on the bar closer to me. “When I was nine, I used to go out and sing like some Disney princess. It was insane, but even as I got older, I still wanted to do it. It’s just magical there. Perfect, even.”

  My heart actually skips a beat, and I’m blown away by her description. She’s a natural storyteller, and I swear I can feel the breeze she talks about and hear those birds. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, perfect, I tell ya.”

  “So where i