Read The Wild Sight for Free Online Page A

fallen in love so fast, so completely.
    She cleared her throat. “Don’t you miss Ireland?”
    “No, not really.”
    He turned the car down another lane, this one unpaved and deeply rutted so that the car bounced and scraped a couple of times.
     The hedge fences on one side turned into low walls of stacked stones. A half-dozen curly-horned sheep grazed in the middle
     of the field in a scene that could have been lifted from a tourist brochure.
    As if he read her thoughts, he shot her an exasperated glance. “In spite of how picturesque this all looks, Miss Powell, the
     day-to-day reality isn’t nearly so grand.”
    “So that’s why you moved to America? And please, call me Rylie.” She paused for a beat before adding, “Donovan.”
    His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel but his voice remained impassive. “Americans don’t appreciate how good they have
     it. Trust me, you wouldn’t really want to be my sister, Rylie. ”
    The inflection he put on her name raised her ire. “Well, neither of us had any say in that, did we?” She hated how petty she
     sounded.
    Her aggravating half-brother gave her another annoyed look. “No, indeed,” he stated, then turned the car through a gap in
     the stone wall.
    They bounced even more over the rough track toward a ramshackle house with peeling white paint and a rusty tin roof. Two Range
     Rovers and a jeep sat in the yard. Beyond the house Rylie could see a canvas canopy and several people moving about. Donovan
     pulled the car between the Range Rovers and cut the engine.
    “So here we are then.”
    Sybil Gallagher emerged from the house and waved in greeting. “Morning Miss Powell, Mr. O’Shea.”
    “Rylie, please.” She extended her hand to the other woman. “I hope we’re not too early.”
    “Oh, not at’all.” Sybil ran her palm down the leg of her pants before shaking hands. “We start working when the sun comes
     up, because we have to quit when it gets dark or starts raining, whichever comes first.” She bobbed her head at Donovan, but
     continued speaking to Rylie. “You’ll want to see inside the cottage then?”
    “Yes, please.”
    “Not much to see,” Donovan muttered as they stepped over the raised threshold into the shadowy interior.
    “I’ll just put on the kettle, then go and fetch Aongus.” Sybil fluttered over to a camp stove, the anxious hostess. She cast
     a worried look at Donovan. “The lads have taken over down here, and I’m afraid they’re not much for housekeeping. Aongus and
     I have moved up to the loft.”
    Donovan waved a dismissive hand at the clothes and other items scattered over and around a couple of camp cots set against
     the far wall. “Doesn’t matter. This place has been vacant for years. You’re really roughing it.”
    Blushing, Sybil nodded in acknowledgment before dashing out the door. Rylie looked around the room, which was dominated by
     an enormous stone fireplace that had once served for both cooking and warmth. She peeked through the open doorway into the
     adjoining room, where the same fireplace had a second hearth. Two additional camp cots and more masculine paraphernalia littered
     the area.
    Cold seeped from the flat gray stones of the floor through the rubber soles of her sneakers, a testament to the uncomfortable
     reality Donovan had mentioned earlier.
    “How long did you live here?” she asked.
    “My first seven years.” He motioned to a steep set of stairs built into the wall behind the front door. “My sister and I slept
     in the loft, same as my mother and her sister had done.” His tone and expression softened, no doubt with memories. “The roof
     was thatch when my mum and Aunt Fee were little, but my grandfather replaced it with tin.” He looked over his shoulder at
     the door in the end wall “He also added the wash room and loo onto the back, along with electricity.”
    Rylie searched her mind to recall where she had lived at the same age. They had moved to California