Chapter Two
"Who the hell are you?" a voice demanded. It sounded as if it belonged to an old man. Finnegan glanced around the barrel of the gun and saw the man standing there in a white nightdress, his gray hair wild around his heavily wrinkled face and his yellowed eyes narrowed and fixed on Finnegan.
"My name is Finnegan. I mean ya no harm. There seems to be a bit of a storm brewin' and I was hopin' ya might allow me to have a roof over my head before she hits."
The old man studied him intently before glancing over Finnegan's shoulder and scanning the forest around them, "You alone?" he grunted.
Finnegan nodded, "Just me and my horse Theo."
Several more tense seconds ticked by as Finnegan wondered if perhaps he'd be eating some shotgun lead. Finally the gun lowered and Finnegan was able to draw a breath, albeit a shaky one.
"Now that I'll need to change me britches—" he mumbled with a grimace. "—can I come in out of the approachin' storm?"
As if on cue thunder rumbled in the distance. The old man grunted, his paper thin lips pursing. "Yeah, I reckon," he finally relented. "But if you try any bit of funny business I'll give you another hole to shit out of, you hear me?" A bushy gray brow quirked up as he finished his threat.
Finnegan fought back laughter at the colorful description and the images it brought to mind, "Yes, sir. No funny business. Ya have my word as an Irishman on that."
"Irishman," the old man snorted but didn't illustrate any further on what he thought of the people. "You can put your horse over under that lean-to so he stays dry."
Finnegan whistled for Theo and the horse trotted over. He removed his saddlebag and kissed the beasts cheek, "He'll get under there on his own, won't ya boy?"
"Kissing horses..." the man grumbled. There were a few other words mumbled under his breath that Finnegan couldn't make out enough to understand but he was fairly certain that he heard the word unnatural tossed in there. "You reckon you should tie him up at least? Lightning's been known to scare critters."
"Not as much as it scares me," Finnegan mumbled and then he yelped when a flash of it lit the sky. "Can I come in now then?" Without waiting for the old man to move, Finnegan slid past him and into the tiny shack.
And shack truly was the word for this place. The single candle was all that lit the ten foot by ten foot interior. Wind blew in threw the drafty walls and blew the feed sack curtain wildly. Finnegan walked to the only chair he saw, a rickety chair that did not appear strong enough to support the weight of a field mouse. With a shrug, Finnegan sat down, wincing at the sound of creaking wood and waiting to be sent crashing onto the dirt floor, which, thankfully, did not happen.
"Never seen a grown man so scared to death of a little thing like lightning before," the man scoffed as he closed the door and then secured the shutters on the window. Rain began to fall, clanging loudly on the rusted tin roof.
"Little thing?!" Finnegan demanded as he pulled his flask of whiskey from his pocket. "I'll have ya know that there ain't no such thing as a little bit o' lightnin'. I'll have ya know that there was once I time I was camped beneath a sycamore tree and a storm like this one here comin' began. A blast a lightning came down from the heavens and blew that tree right in half!" Finnegan grunted as he put the flask to his lips. "I didn't shite properly for a month afterward."
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To Love A Wild Irishman
Romance***Finnegan Callahan is the son of an Irishman. He loves rye whiskey, women and gambling though he always leaves his women a bit more bitter and his gambling companions much richer. His take on life is that it is meant to be lived and live it he do...
