Now and in the Hour of Our Death by Patrick Taylor Read Free Book Online Page B

front teeth. He only shaved every two or three days, and his mousy stubble completed the illusion.
    And where Cal was broad, Sammy was so skinny and had such narrow shoulders that she could imagine him slipping down a rabbit hole to chase terrified rabbits out under the guns of the hunters. Where Cal was easygoing, Sammy McCandless had a vicious streak. And with the work the three of them did as an Active Service Unit of the Tyrone Provisional IRA, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
    The cell had had four members. Eamon was in the Kesh, but she’d not much longer to wait for him. He’d be out very soon. And a bloody good thing. The look on his face when she’d given him that wee gun last Thursday. That look had been worth the risk she’d taken.
    She tested the butter’s softness with the flat side of a knife. The knife was stiff, the butter soft, soft as she’d be when Eamon brought his hardness to her. She held her arms to her sides, feeling her nipples being thrust against the stuff of her blouse, forgetting Cal and Sammy and thinking only of Eamon.
    His family farm bordered theirs. She’d thought when he’d started courting her four years ago that he’d only been after her so that he and Cal could set up a family partnership, with her as the gift to seal the bargain. It was the way the old kings of Ireland cemented alliances, but it had been her he wanted. And she’d wanted him. Wanted him from the first day he’d kissed her. Wanted him for the nearly three years he’d been inside. The waiting hadn’t been easy. She’d nearly given up two years ago.
    A harder piece of butter stuck to the bread, and the pressure from the knife tore the slice apart. Erin would eat that herself. She pushed it aside.
    Just like she’d tried to push Eamon aside. She’d nerved herself two years ago to tell him that she loved him but that no woman should be expected to wait for twenty-five years. It was all very well for the women’s libbers at the university to argue that men and women should be equal. Erin had no doubts on that score, but slogans like, “A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle” had been coined by someone who was out of touch with reality—or a nun or a lesbian. Erin needed a man, and not just for what he could do in bed, although what Eamon did made her gasp and shudder, and claw at him like a wild cat. She squeezed her thighs together at the thought of it.
    But to expect her to remain celibate for twenty-five years?
    And she had had no intention of sneaking round behind Eamon’s back. There were plenty of lads in the village, secure in the knowledge that Eamon wouldn’t be around for a very long time, who’d be happy to accommodate her.
    She looked over at the table where Cal and Sammy were in deep conversation. That Sammy would be up her leg like a ferret up a rabbit hole if she gave him the slightest encouragement. She smiled at the stupidity of the thought. That would be a cold day in August.
    Cold as the day she’d driven to the Kesh to tell Eamon it was over. She’d got colder still when she’d had to pull the car over to the ditch, get out, and throw up, her stomach knotted by the thought of what she was going to do.
    She’d still been shivering when she’d gone into the visiting hall.
    He was all pleased to see her, and she felt like hell, knowing what she was going to tell him.
    â€œEamon, I need to talk to you.”
    â€œAnd I need to talk to you.”
    â€œWell…” She’d rehearsed what she was going to tell him. That she still loved him but couldn’t wait forever. That it wasn’t fair to him and wasn’t fair to her. That they’d get over it. That she’d still go on fighting with the Provos. She couldn’t find the words to begin.
    Maybe she would say nothing about it today, write him what the Americans called a “Dear John” letter? No. That