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  Live to Fly

  Another Day

  The Travel Mishaps of Caity Shaw

  Book Five

  Eliza Watson

  What’s a girl to do when her dreams go down the loo?

  Caity Shaw has finally found her place in the world when she moves to her grandmother’s homeland, Ireland. A new full-time event planner job, a steady paycheck, and less travel are providing her a more stable and balanced lifestyle. She is able to focus on nurturing her relationships with family, friends, and Declan—who has taught her to once again believe in love and herself.

  Caity’s lack of meeting planning experience and having to run off to England to visit an ill newfound rellie soon jeopardize her job. And when she uncovers this rellie’s mysterious life, her entire family must come to his aid and Caity’s personal life turns upside down. Despite her growing client list and passion for genealogy research, Caity feels inept after she fails to trace even one of her clients’ ancestry lines. Then Caity faces her biggest research challenge to date. She’s unable to locate her grandmother’s birth record. Without it, Caity will not be able to obtain citizenship and remain in Ireland.

  If she is forced to leave Ireland, she fears she’ll lose everything she’s worked so hard to attain—her sense of identity, direction, and belonging, and most importantly, her relationship with Declan.

  Live to Fly Another Day

  Copyright © 2019 by Elizabeth Watson

  All rights reserved by author.

  Cover design by Lyndsey Lewellen at LLewellen Designs

  Interior formatting by Author E.M.S.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Elizabeth Watson.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0-9992168-9-9

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9992168-9-7

  Table of Contents

  LIVE TO FLY ANOTHER DAY

  About the Book

  Copyright

  Books by Eliza Watson

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Family Tree

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Coming Soon

  Author’s Note

  About Eliza Watson

  Books by Eliza Watson

  The Travel Mishaps of Caity Shaw Series

  Flying by the Seat of My Knickers (Book 1)

  Up the Seine Without a Paddle (Book 2)

  My Christmas Goose Is Almost Cooked (Book 3)

  My Wanderlust Bites the Dust (Book 4)

  Live to Fly Another Day (Book 5)

  Other Books

  Kissing My Old Life Au Revoir

  Writing Romance as Eliza Watson

  Identity Crisis

  Under Her Spell

  ’Til Death Do Us Part

  Writing Young Adult as Beth Watson

  Getting a Life, Even If You’re Dead

  Dedication

  To my sister, and fellow author, Penny Wolberg

  for inspiring my love of writing.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my husband, Mark, for taking the ferry with me from Ireland to England to research this book. And a big thank you for driving while we were there. To Charlotte, Des, Mags, and Darragh for helping me polish Declan’s dialogue. Our Irish slang sessions are always great craic. To all my friends and family for believing in me and supporting my writing in so many ways. I would have given up years ago without your encouragement. To Nikki Ford, Elizabeth Wright, and Meghan Lloyd for your in-depth feedback, helping to make this a stronger book. To Sandra and Judy Watson for reading the book several times.

  To Dori Harrell for your fab editorial skills. To Chrissy Wolfe for your final proofreading tweaks. Thanks to you ladies I can always publish a book with confidence. To Lyndsey Lewellen for another incredible cover and for capturing the spirit of Caity. And to Amy Atwell at Author E.M.S. for a flawless interior format and for always promptly answering my many questions.

  Thanks to my brilliant fans who began this adventure with Caity in Flying by the Seat of My Knickers and who continue to follow her journey. A special shout-out to Caity fan Nicole Duvall, who won my contest to have a character named after her!

  Chapter One

  Little Caity on the Bog. Laura Ingalls, I was not. I’d never have survived traveling out west in a covered wagon and settling on a Minnesota prairie. And I might not survive glamping on Ireland’s west coast. Rather than enjoying a pint of Guinness at my first St. Patrick’s Day parade in Dublin, I was drinking tea, shivering inside the gypsy caravan that reeked like cow dung and my parents’ musty basement. The wind howled and rain pelted against the soft-top roof.

  Gemma, my coworker at Flanagan’s beer, had weaseled her way into working the holiday event, so I was now stuck conducting a site inspection for a rustic team-building retreat. It would have been my first time managing a group, proving I could handle my new position. Instead, Gemma was once again on-site for an event my sister, Rachel, had planned, proving she couldn’t manage it.

  A loud moo sounded outside the caravan.

  I jumped up from the lower bunk bed, hitting my head on the top one. Zoe hopped off the purple beanbag chair. The brightly colored bohemian furnishings did little to perk up my mood.

  “We have a visitor,” Zoe said.

  My friend—and my boyfriend Declan’s sister—had agreed to join me on my glamping adventure when she’d seen the website with rolling green hills and quaint stone fences, the blue Atlantic Ocean on the horizon. It hadn’t mentioned that we’d be in a field with cows and that the scenic ocean could only be viewed from the end of the long dirt road leading to the site in County Galway.

  Zoe opened the wooden door, and a gust of wind about blew it off the hinges. I brushed my hair from my eyes to find an escaped cow staring up at us with big brown eyes, its front hooves on the bottom step.

  “Can cows climb stairs?” I said.

  “I would think, but it’s much too big to fit between the handrails. Isn’t it?”

  I shrugged.

  The cow placed a hoof on the second step, apparently taking offense with Zoe’s too big comment. Zoe and I leaned back.

  “You did a bril job herding Carrig’s sheep off the road and back into the field at Christmas. Want to give this a go?”

  I shook my head, staring down the cow. “What if it charges me?”

  “If it’s gonna charge anything, it’d be this bright-red caravan. But it’s not a bull.” A look of inspiration filled Zoe’s blue eyes. “What a fab team-building event. See which team can herd cows back into the field first. Or at all.”

  “Sounds like a liability issue.”

  “Have them sign waivers. What a gas. A bunch of suits herding cows. That would go viral and make you a few quid.”

  “It’d
get me fired. Maybe we could do cow-dung bingo. Although, not sure how that could be a team-building event.”

  Zoe’s forehead crinkled in confusion.

  “It’s a fundraiser,” I said. “A fenced-in area is marked off with numbered squares, and each one is sold for, like, five bucks. A cow is turned loose and determines the winner by making the first cow pie in one of the squares.”

  The cow let out a moo and clomped a hoof down on the step.

  “Don’t think it likes the idea,” Zoe said.

  I had to come up with some killer team-building events to impress my boss. There’d been friction among the executives, and the CEO insisted they learn to work together by roughing it. He’d canceled the five-star Scottish castle hotel where I could be relaxing in the spa right now, enjoying a mani and pedi, sipping a mimosa.

  The cow placed its other front hoof on the second step.

  “Its shoulders fit, but it’ll get stuck at the belly,” Zoe said.

  As if to prove Zoe wrong, the animal proceeded up another step, its back hooves now on the bottom one, its middle squeezed between the handrails. It let out a distressed moo, wriggling around. Its head swiveled from side to side.

  Zoe and I jumped back.

  “Bloody hell! It’s stuck. What are we gonna do with a stuck cow?”

  Mr. Donovan, the grounds’ owner, an elderly man dressed in red wellies and a worn tan jacket, ambled up, shaking his head at the cow. “Sorry ’bout that, luvs. Don’t know how this one keeps getting loose.” He swept a calming hand over the cow’s back. “You’re all right there, not stuck, ya aren’t. Just a bit frightened is all.” He guided the cow down the few steps to freedom.

  Zoe and I let out relieved sighs.

  The man eyed our matching green tutus with gold sparkly shamrocks over our jeans. “Heading down to the pub to celebrate, are ya?”

  Zoe had made the tutus when we thought we’d be participating in Dublin’s holiday festivities. We were bundled up in green wool sweaters, scarves, and gloves. I had on my purple wellies, a Christmas present from Zoe and Declan’s family. The tourists hadn’t yet arrived for the season, so our outfits were a bit more festive than the locals’. The glamp grounds didn’t open until April 1 but had accommodated us because the owner was my boss’s uncle.

  “No, we’re going kayaking.” A gust of wind blew Zoe’s scarf and long blond hair against her face. “At least checking out the cove where they can do it. Which reminds me. The sink in the main building is banjaxed. Water doesn’t seem to be working.”

  The man nodded. “Aye, was coming to tell ya a water pipe broke in town.”

  “When will it be fixed?” I asked.

  “Not today I suppose, seeing as the lads are in the pub celebrating. Don’t think ya want them to be fixing a pipe.”

  “So we won’t have water until tomorrow?” I said.

  He shrugged, rubbing his chin. “Possibly the next, I’d say. They might be recovering from a few too many jars. Things can be a bit lacksy-daisy o’er the holiday.”

  Suddenly, the grounds’ community showers didn’t sound so bad. No way was I going two days without a shower or water.

  “And don’t be flushing a toilet more than once,” he said.

  Seriously? The women’s restroom only had two toilets. There’d better be more than that in the men’s room, or I’d be using a urinal for the first, and hopefully only, time in my life. No way was a bladder infection going to be my souvenir from this trip.

  “’Tis a government conspiracy, the broken pipe.” His face reddened. “People weren’t paying the new water bills, so they had to refund the money to those who did. Ended up taking a loss on the whole bloody mess. So now the water company is getting revenge on us all.” He walked off with the cow, grumbling about water bills, property taxes, the price of petrol…

  “How did people just not pay their water bills?” I said.

  “My mum and dad didn’t pay it. People were livid.”

  If I could refuse to pay bills, I wouldn’t be such a financial wreck. Maybe that would be an added bonus of living in Ireland. However, I had to obtain Irish citizenship to live here, which was proving more difficult than I’d anticipated.

  Fifteen minutes later, we were almost to the end of the muddy road when Zoe’s small blue car got stuck in a rut. She floored it, which did nothing but cause an awful noise and smell.

  She smacked a palm against the steering wheel. “Bloody hell!” Her gaze darted to me. “Gonna have to give us a push.”

  “A push?”

  “Don’t think it will take much. Seems close to moving.”

  I pulled my jacket hood up over my head and stepped out into the rain. I placed my hands firmly against the back of the car and pushed with all my strength while Zoe pressed on the accelerator. Nothing. I gave it another push. The car flew forward, and I fell down. My hands braced my fall, preventing my face from hitting the ground, but muddy water splashed all over me. I raised myself up on all fours.

  Zoe hopped out of the car. “Are you all right?” When she saw me, she burst out laughing.

  “It isn’t funny,” I whined. “There’s no water to shower.”

  “It’s great craic.”

  I started laughing so I didn’t cry.

  Zoe held out a hand and helped me up. I was tempted to pull her down in the mud with me after she’d laughed, but I didn’t have the energy. I shrugged off my muddy raincoat and tutu and threw them in the trunk. My other pair of jeans was still wet from getting caught in the rain yesterday while traipsing through a deserted village, planning a scavenger hunt.

  Zoe placed a plastic bag on the seat for me to sit on. She grabbed a pair of green-and-blue plaid flannel pants and a green sweatshirt from the backseat. She sniffed the clothes and handed them to me. “They’re clean. I always keep an extra outfit in my car in case of an emergency.”

  I peeled off my wet jeans and slipped on the flannel bottoms. At least the outfit was green since my tutu was trashed.

  “Look how well we worked together as a team,” she said. “Another bril idea. The first team to get a car out of the muddy drive wins. Or maybe you could use dune buggies rather than cars…”

  “How about whatever team best survives glamping wins?”

  It wouldn’t be me.

  Escape rooms were all the rage right now for team-building events. Attendees would definitely be motivated to escape their caravans and the glamping site.

  Zoe pulled onto the main road and flipped the windshield wipers into panic mode. We encountered a flooded corner, and water splashed against the windows. “Sure hope they don’t close the bridge from Achill Island to the mainland.”

  “Would they do that?”

  “No clue. Maybe if there are gale-force winds and flooding.”

  “I’m not staying in that caravan in gale-force winds.”

  “Maybe we should stop for a pint until the rain lets up.”

  “I think we could drink a keg and it’ll still be raining.”

  “Have to make sure we use the loo before we leave the pub, to conserve on toilet flushes.”

  My phone rang. I finally had service. I scrambled to grab it from my purse, hoping it was Declan. Rather than Declan’s twinkling blue eyes and charming smile, I was greeted by Gemma’s green-shadowed eyes and Irish Princess tiara crowning the top of her stylish blond do. I smoothed a hand over my wet and windblown auburn hair and wiped a blotch of mud from my face with a dirty hand.

  “The restaurant your sister supposedly booked doesn’t have space for the group. It was never confirmed.”

  “Of course, it was confirmed.” Rachel didn’t screw up. Why hadn’t Gemma called to reconfirm yesterday?

  “She’s not answering her phone.”

  “Because it’s four a.m. in Milwaukee.”

  “So what should we do about her messing up?”

  What was with this “we” thing? She was in Dublin while I was in the boonies. Yet I didn’t want it to come back on Rache
l, even though it was surely Gemma’s fault. She’d probably taken them to the wrong place or was lying to sabotage Rachel’s job with Brecker, a US-based beer corporation that owned Flanagan’s Irish beer. She thought Rachel and I had conspired to steal her job, even though she was an admin assistant, not a meeting planner. Rachel had been against me approaching Flanagan’s CEO about creating an internal planner position, insisting I was too inexperienced. My sister had been right.

  “I’ll call you right back,” I said.

  I disconnected and growled at the phone. Gemma was my new Gretchen. However, my former coworker Gretchen and I were on better terms, which was why I hadn’t yet told her I was coming up empty on her ancestry research. Wish I could say the same about my client Nigel’s family tree, which I’d stumbled across online. I was dreading telling him that his family didn’t come from blue blood. Far from it.

  I called Gerry Coffey. The owner of Coffey’s pub in Dublin was Rachel’s love interest and my landlord, renting me a studio apartment above the pub.

  “A happy Paddy’s Day to ya, Caity Shaw,” Gerry said.

  I tried to sound as cheery as he did and recounted the group’s situation in a nutshell. If anyone was motivated to get Rachel out of a bind, it was Gerry.