Mismatched by Elle Casey, Amanda McKeon Page B

Wrong century. Continue, please.”
    “Well, Cú Chulainn realizing he was trapped, made another leap, this time in the other direction.”
    “Back to Ireland?”
    “Yes, back to the Loop Head, over the Shannon River.”
    “Did he make it?”
    “Yes, he did.” Paddy beams at me.
    “Did she follow?”
    “Yes, she did.” He beams again.
    “And?”
    “And she crashed into the rocks and died. The end.”
    My jaw drops open, and I look from Paddy to William. The slightly larger man has dropped his forehead into his hand.
    “Och, Paddy. Ye’re hopeless when it comes to a punchline.”
    “What? That was classic storytelling procedure, that was. Build em up and then let ‘em plummet back down to earth.” He pokes his finger into the table for emphasis and then he leans back in his chair, raising his hand for the bartender’s attention.
    William picks up the story while Paddy focuses on getting his next pint. “He had it mostly right. The hag jumps as well, still pursuing yer man there, but the wind is going against her this time, ye see, and so her skirts fly up like a sail in the wind and she’s pulled out to sea where she’s dashed against the rocks below and shattered into a million tiny pieces.” He grins, obviously very proud of himself. “Now there’s how ye tell a punchline.”
    “A million pieces?”
    “A million or so. Mebbe two. And if ye look, ye can see a rock down there in the shape of her ugly face, staring out to sea. We call it Hag’s Head and it lies in Malbay, the water named for her.”
    “And I could walk there from here?” My Guiness-buzzed brain is picturing it already. I could use some fresh air. It’s getting really beer-stinky in here. It could be my breath.
    “The cliffs are no place to be walkin’ at night,” says a voice over my shoulder.
    All of us look up in time to see a broad-shouldered mountain of a man standing behind me. He looks like he just came back from the cliffs directly to this pub, the way his hair is scattered all over his head and his clothing rough with what looks like sea salt. Hubba, bubba, he is hot .
    “Oy, William, look what the cat dragged in!” Paddy whacks his friend on the upper arm. “It’s Donal, the old man o’ the sea.”
    William pulls out a chair. “Take a load off. Have a pint.”
    “I’ve already had one. Now it’s time to go home. Lots of work to do and not enough hours in the day to do it.”
    “Ye work too hard, lad. Look, we found a pretty lass to take yer mind off all o’ that farming business.”
    I stand, seeing that he doesn’t want to be lured in any more than that old warrior did. “That’s okay. I’m leaving too. It was nice meeting you and I really enjoyed the story.”
    “Ye’re leavin’ too?” Paddy frowns and then looks at his friend. “Is it me or is the younger generation failing to appreciate the fine art of having a pint and a gab to settle the stomach?”
    “Oh, trust me, I have mastered that whole program,” I say. “I’ve already had way too many pints as it is and all I’ve done all night is gab.” I take my purse and jacket off the back of my chair. “So, which way to the bed and breakfast called … uh … oh, crap. I forgot the name of it.” Did I ever know the name of it? At this point my brain is too fogged in to remember.
    “What’s the name of the bean an ti ?” asks Donal. “We’ll probably know her.”
    “O’Grady? I think?
    “Aye,” says Paddy, smiling as he rubs his stomach absently. “Siobhan O’Grady of Doolin. I knew her well, once.”
    William rolls his eyes. “Oy, that’s enough, Paddy. You didn’t know her a’tall.”
    “Yes, I did. I knew her verra well, as a matter of fact.”
    William waves him off. “Donal here can take ye.”
    I look at Donal and he nods.
    I’m only a little concerned about the fact that he looks like he weighs about two hundred and fifty pounds of pure, solid muscle. A glance at his hands tells me he could wring my neck with just one