Irish Sex Fairy: Ellora's Cave by Kelly Jamieson (the lemonade war series TXT) 📕

at her great-aunt. “I’ll call you after your doctor appointment,” she reminded her, stepping back. She pulled the car keys out of her jeans pocket.

Maeve nodded. “Drive carefully, muirnín,” she said, voice low and husky, her brow furrowing. She was worried about her on the highway where she’d had the accident and to tell the truth, Keara wasn’t looking forward to that part of the drive, either. Her stomach clenched unpleasantly at the thought of those winding curves and the memory of that jerk riding her ass and then forcing her over the cliff.

It couldn’t happen again. It was random. Like the break-in at the store that the police had never solved. Shane had been annoyed about that, but they just didn’t have enough evidence. No prints. Nobody had really seen him other than Shane that night. There wasn’t much more they could do.

But she’d be fine. She’d take her time, drive slowly and carefully and she had her cell phone charged up and handy in case of any problems. And she had a piece of pink and gold Connemara marble sitting on her passenger seat for good luck.

“Thank you, Maeve,” she said, her voice coming out thick and choked-sounding. She swallowed, and her throat ached. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome, muirnín. That’s what family is for, right? We look after each other.”

Keara nodded, unable to say another word, her face tight and burning. A heavy weight of guilt settled on her shoulders. She was leaving her. All alone. She was the only family Maeve had. Maeve had helped her—but what if Maeve needed help? Where would she be?

She’d visit. She swore to herself she would come back and visit a couple of times a year at least. There was no reason not to. Her busy weekends of shopping, dinners and concerts seemed so unimportant now, compared to Maeve and making sure she was okay.

She got into the car and pulled out, hardly able to see where she was going through a wash of tears. She lifted her hand in a wave and as she left, the sun sparkled off thin silvery trails on Maeve’s cheeks.

At least she knew Shane and his family were there to make sure she was okay. She didn’t need to worry. Maeve had lived alone all these years and had done fine.

She had to keep repeating the various mantras to herself the entire drive home so she didn’t break down into a sobbing puddle of guilt and sadness.

She spent the rest of the weekend airing out her apartment, shopping for some groceries, doing laundry. In a way it was nice to be back in the little home she’d created for herself. The shopping she’d loved had yielded some pretty furniture and attractive accessories, and she’d created a cozy nest that was all hers, just how she liked it.

But the nest was empty. Even the television didn’t fill the silence and provide virtual company like it used to. And as she sat there on the couch, staring at the TV but not really seeing it, she lifted her head and looked around. She was alone.

For once, she wasn’t afraid. She was just…lonely.

A heavy wave of emotion swept over her, threatening to drag her down and under, like the depression had been doing before she went to Kilkenny. The feeling scared her, because she remembered what it had felt like before—hopeless, helpless, like she was drowning and couldn’t save herself.

But now she knew she could. She just had to remember it. She had to remember the things she’d accomplished. She had to remember the good feelings she’d felt. Which led her to thoughts of Shane, to a flip of excitement in her tummy thinking about how he aroused her, how they’d laughed together and talked and how he’d bossed her around. But remembering how good he’d made her feel, just emphasized how alone she was now.

She thought about what her life would be, from this point on. She’d go back to work. She waited for the panicky feeling and felt only a small flutter. Good. She’d go back, get back into the swing of things. She’d need to get updated on what had happened while she was gone, but then she’d be ready to move forward. She’d had a plan in place for turning around the branch’s performance and she was ready to pick things up again. Next month she’d be meeting with her superiors at corporate head office to review her progress. She remembered how much she’d anticipated that meeting with the prospect of showing them how she was exceeding expectations, how much she would enjoy their pleased reactions. Strangely, now the idea didn’t excite her in the least.

Her bottom lip pushed out. She just needed to be back at work. Once there, she knew her usual enthusiasm and love of her job would take over.

* * * * *

What took over was panic.

It hit her unexpectedly as she walked into the bank Monday morning. She was always there early, before anyone else, and this Monday she was there even earlier, and was grateful for that as she went in because the panic punched her square in the chest and took her breath away.

She couldn’t let it take over, though. Now she understood physiologically what was happening to her body, maybe she could control it better than the last time she’d walked into this building.

She strode into her office and sat down. She focused on breathing, some of the techniques she’d learned in her therapy, because her body needed oxygen. But not too much oxygen. She relaxed her muscles. She repeated positive thoughts to herself and reminded herself she was not having a heart attack.

She’d started to get herself under control when other staff began to arrive. She guessed they’d all been told to expect her because nobody was surprised, and they greeted her with unexpected warmth. She knew they all thought she was a bitch axe-lady boss from hell, but they didn’t treat her like