For the Love of Brigid

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Published by: Words of Passion
Release Date: December 15, 2022
ISBN13: 978-1-958904-01-5


Discover an ancient legend, powerful magic, and heartwarming romance in the gentle hills of western Ireland.

Tongue-tied around men, the only place shy librarian Brigid Cleary finds love is in the books she reads. Certainly not in the novel she’s writing—as appealing as a dusty desert. Then a famous mystery writer enters her life to research an Irish legend related to her family. As their easy conversation grows, Brigid develops feelings. There’s just one large problem—he’s engaged.

With two failed books behind him, Andrew Connally is desperate for success. The Irish legend has to pull him through. When Brigid invites him to Ireland for a family celebration, in exchange for his help with writing, he jumps at the chance. But surprises emerge in this enchanted land. The flames of attraction climb, and the legend pulls them both on a powerful journey.

As the secrets of the legend come to light, Brigid and Andrew discover an unexpected path to love and the dreams they both desire.

Enchanting from the very first page to the last.
Christy Baker Knight,
author of On Display, a novel of natural history
A cozy, sweet romance with a sprinkle of magic that will delight your senses and warm your heart.
Heidi McIntyre,
author of Sea Magic
An enchanting tale of love and finding the person to make your dreams come true.
Susan Peterson
A heartwarming story that will tug very hard on your heartstrings.
Lisa Wetzel
Chapter 1

Chelton, New York

Some books take you on an emotional journey. Some take you to unexplored lands or unknown worlds. But this book . . . this book speaks to the child in us all. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve read it. The ending fills me with such hope, such light.

With a dramatic pause and a hushed voice, I say the words I can easily recite from memory:

Dreamers are meant to fly.

To soar on wings of light above the earth and spin adventures full of love.

Let your imagination take you high into the sky, higher than an eagle climbs. Pierce the clouds and drift on raspberry currents and lemon-lime winds.

Give yourself permission, and follow me.




On that last note I gently close the book and hold it on my lap, my palms pressing down as if to transfer the words inside me. To hold them tight for that future someday when I’ll have a child I can read to and impart great words of wisdom.

Then I turn my attention to now, here, at story hour in my own private library. At the back of the Sugar and Spice room, on flowered armchairs and sofas, the parents wait. The children sit in front of me in a semicircle on the carpet, all bright, shining beacons of light, embracing the magic at hand.

“Is anyone a dreamer?” I ask.

Hands shoot up and bodies wriggle. “I am,” Samantha calls out.

“Me too,” Billy chimes.

“Miss Cleary,” Joseph says, “how do you get to be a dreamer?”

I pause to let the question soak in. “What do you think, Joseph?”

A chorus of “I know” fills the room. I wait, smiling. It’s important to let each child arrive at an answer.

Finally, Joseph speaks. “Um, you dream?”

I cock my head, an old trick I learned years ago that makes the listener feel more important. “Well, I think you may be on to something. What kinds of things do you dream about?”

Joseph’s dark eyes flash. “Airplanes. My great-grandfather was a pilot,” he says with a puffed-out chest and regal spine. “He flew a P 51 Red Tail with the Tuskegee Airmen in the 332nd Fighter Group of the US Army Air Corps. I want to be just like him.”

His animation warms the room. “And when you think about those airplanes, does that make you feel good?”

He nods so fiercely his body moves in agreement.

“Then you’re a dreamer.”

His mouth widens in a grin.

I address the room. “I want all of you to go home and dream your best dreams. Can you do that?”

The kids shout “Yes,” and their parents come to collect them. “Remember to clean up after yourselves,” I remind them. On their way out the children give me hugs accompanied by shy smiles and goofy grins. I return them all, absorbing the wriggles, the stiffness, the timidity with deep satisfaction and a fair amount of blushing.

“Excuse me,” says Mrs. Holling, Joseph’s mother, the last to leave. “What was that book you were reading?”

The Unenchanted Boy by Alice P. Carver. One of my favorites.” I hold it up for a glance.

She caresses the cover. “I can tell my Joseph won’t put it down. The light in his eyes when you talked about dreamers. Well . . .”

“I hope you’ll encourage him. The world needs more dreamers.”

She sighs. “I’ll do my best. My husband doesn’t believe in dreaming. Thinks it’s a waste of time.”

A waste of time. The very words my father said about my love of reading. If I’d been the youngest child instead of the eldest my dad would have had little time to notice. He would have spent more time on the water with Finn or showing off Meabh’s beauty. Instead, I bore the brunt of his struggling business and his impatience with a daughter who wasn’t a help.

I push down the old emotions. “Joseph has my approval and permission to dream all he wants when he’s here.”

“I can see why the children love you. Thank you, Miss Cleary. Joseph, time to go.”

“Brigid,” I remind her. “You can call me Brigid.” But she’s already walked away.