Luis found all this very exciting. He had enthusiasm for myths, legends, bad omens, bad weather, supernatural happenings and inexplicable events. His passion for superstitions and doomsaying drove his other family members crazy. He didn’t often meet curious strangers with whom he could share his fantastic tales.

He was a scoundrel and a saint and a survivor. A tangled Celtic knot of thorns and roses. Ragged and sincere. It moved her deeply. Like a forgotten melody that suddenly struck a vibrant chord inside her heart. He was almost irresistible.

His deadpan expression turned bitter with a curl of his lip. “Save your sermon for some other sap. Nobody shares money—not even dead people. Why do you think they invented wills and trust funds?

He didn’t wait for her to react. Their mutual desire was obvious. He started kissing her mouth first gently, then harder. He pushed her into the wall and started to slip her robe off. She was intoxicated by his touch. She reeled him in closer. They crashed into the bedroom.

Their encounter had formed a strange chemical bond. Mitch, a hardened ruffian, had opened up the prison of his soul to her. And Kika, who led a bitterly puritanical existence, had started to make love to him on her sofa.

My Irish predecessors had deep religious convictions and were unwilling to compromise their beliefs. They also had strong views about independence.

No more lip from you. Otherwise there might be a misunderstanding.” Kika eyed the door. She considered making an escape. “Oh…I forgot to mention something. It’s terribly stormy outside tonight,” said Mitch, with an ominously sweet smile. “It’s raining bullets.