“Virgie and I grew up together.” Iris’s face registered pain with every step. “It’s only natural that we’d be alike in our old age.”
“Old, my Irish arse,” Bridget said. “Nana didn’t go down without a fight, and neither will you.”
“Amen to that.” Maverick winked at Bridget. “Since you two ladies have everything under control, I’m going back to my room.”
Bridget got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and then arranged several cookies on a plate. By the time she got down the hall and into Iris’s room, Iris was unsnapping her cotton duster.
“I hate these damn things. I want to get better so I can wear my jeans and shirts. Damned old nightgowns and robes are for old people in nursing homes, not for ranchin’ women,” she fussed.
“It’ll only be for a few weeks. We get the staples out Monday, and then it’ll all be downhill healin’ after that,” Bridget assured her.
“I hope so, darlin’ girl.” Iris threw the robe over the handles of her walker, and slowly turned around.
Bridget set the water and cookies on the nightstand, and then flipped the covers back before Iris could ease down on the bed. Taking care of Iris wasn’t so different from what she’d done with her nana the last several days of her life. It had to be frustrating to be active and then boom, be an invalid.
“What’d you think of Mav?” Iris asked as she got her legs swung up onto the bed.
“He’s even more handsome than his photograph.” Bridget pulled the covers over Iris.
And just as sexy as he was in Ireland, she thought.
“Going to have trouble living in the same house with him?” Iris pressed.
“Of course not,” Bridget answered.
And that’s a lie, the pesky voice in her head said. Just a simple wink sent your heart into flutters.
“Good,” Iris said as she picked up the remote and turned on the television in her room. “I wish me and Virgie had introduced you two while we were in Ireland, but you were off on a holiday for the first bit we were there, and then Mav was exploring the country. We often talked on the phone about how y’all would have gotten along if you’d ever met. Her granddaughter and my grandson—oh, well, it is what it is—and we can’t change the past. Good night, Bridget, and thank you for everything you do.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.” Bridget headed for the door. “Thanks should be to you for giving me a job and takin’ me and the baby in for the holidays. Sleep tight.”
Iris picked up another remote and raised the head of her bed. “Buyin’ this bed must’ve been an omen. It sure comes in handy now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bridget eased the door shut behind her, checked on Laela, and went to the living room to tidy up a bit before she went to bed.
“This is just another change in the past year of my topsy-turvy life,” she muttered as she fluffed pillows and folded the quilt Iris used through the day.
A little burst of heat shot through her insides as she thought of the night she’d spent with Maverick. The very next day Deidre had found out that the baby she was carrying would be a girl. She’d already picked out a name and asked Bridget if she’d be Laela’s godmother when she was born. Of course she would. Bridget figured her biggest duties would be birthday parties, christenings, and the other events in Laela’s life.
Bridget had been there when the baby was born. Other than Laela’s parents, Deidre and Jimmy, Bridget had held her first and lost her heart and soul to the baby right then and there.
“I got me a first-rate set of settlin’ down and baby fever,” she said as she carried a couple of empty water bottles to the kitchen.
The memories kept coming as she made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the table. Bridget was babysitting her two-month-old goddaughter when she got the news that Deidre and Jimmy had both been killed in an automobile accident. Both of them had been raised in foster care and had no living family, so Bridget became an instant mother.
“Thank God for Nana,” Bridget muttered.
Virgie O’Malley had insisted that she could take care of the baby while Bridget worked, and had even gotten her a job in a bakery right there in Skibbereen so she could be home at night. Bridget hated the work and missed the pub, but she didn’t have a choice in what she did, now that she had Laela.
A teardrop fell from her cheek into her cup of tea. What she really missed was being around all her friends who frequented the pub and Deidre, who usually worked with her. She still missed that life, and she’d never have it again.
The next memory that popped up was when Nana told her that the doctor said she had only six weeks, at the most, to live. Bridget had thought then, just like she did that evening, sitting in a kitchen thousands of miles from Skibbereen, that her world had turned completely upside down. Her nana was her stability. She’d lived with her since before she was even in school. How could she go on without Nana? Bridget remembered that feeling of total helplessness as she watched Nana’s health get worse and worse. There was absolutely nothing, not one bloody thing that she could do, other than make her nana comfortable.
When Nana couldn’t care for Laela anymore, and needed help doing even the little things, Bridget quit her job and used up the last of her savings for doctor bills, food, rent, and finally for a funeral. Two weeks later, the food was getting low, and the rent was coming due, and that’s the day that Iris called with her offer. It seemed like a godsend.
She laid her head on the table and let fresh tears flow freely for Deidre, Jimmy, and her nana.
* * *
Maverick figured that the scratching noise he heard was Granny’s dog, Ducky, and if he didn’t let him in, he’d set up a pitiful howl. He pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, tiptoed down the hallway, across the foyer, and opened the door. The short-legged, little mutt of a dog dashed into the house, lost traction when he slid into the kitchen, and hit his hip, but he didn’t even yelp.
Maverick followed him and was surprised to find Bridget, her head on the table and sobs wracking her shoulders. He pulled up a chair beside her and sat down. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She shook her head, but didn’t look up at him. He grabbed a paper napkin from the holder in the middle of the table, lifted her chin with his hand, and dried the tears. “Can I help?”
“Not unless you can undo the past year.” She took the napkin from him and blew her nose. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be weeping. I should be giving thanks that I have a job and food and a place for me and Laela to live.”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. “You probably haven’t even had time to mourn your grandmother, and you’ve been through too much for one year, so if you feel like cryin’, just wail away.”
“Thank you. Just when I think I’m all done with crying, the slightest little thing will set me off,” she told him. “Is that the cat at the back door?”
Maverick could have wrung the cat’s neck right then. He liked comforting Bridget and having his arm around her. “I’ll let her in,” he said.
“Ducky and Dolly”—Bridget carried her cup to the sink and rinsed it before putting it in the dishwasher—“are strange names for a dog and a cat. I’ve been meaning to ask Iris about that, but keep forgetting.”
“Ducky because when he was a pup, he waddled like a duck,” Maverick explained, “and Dolly because she sings like Dolly Parton when she’s hungry, like right now.”
A big yellow cat took her own sweet time in coming inside the house when he opened the door. She went straight to a bottom cabinet door and sat down.
“Yes, Madam Queen,” Bridget said as she got out a can of cat foot, pulled the tab to open it, and put it on a plate. “She acts like she owns the place and Ducky is only allowed to visit.” She set the cat’s plate on the floor and turned to Maverick. “Did she have these animals before you left this ranch to work on another one?”
“Nope.” Maverick shook his head. “She got them after Paxton lef
t. She said it was too lonely in this big old house, and she needed something alive and breathing. She only intended to get a dog when she went to the rescue center down in Amarillo. When she saw Dolly, she fell in love with her as well as the short-legged mutt, so she got them both the same day.”
Bridget smiled.
Maverick decided that Bridget needed laughter and happiness in her life if she was ever to get over all the sadness. Maybe that was his job—make her forget all the sorrow with fun and laughter.
* * *
Bridget’s heart suddenly felt lighter than it had in weeks, and she felt as energized as if she’d just drunk a whole pint of Guinness. “I’m not ready for bed,” she said, “so I’m going to make gingerbread. It should age for two to three weeks before Christmas, so this is the perfect time to make it.”
“I’ll help if you tell me what to do,” Maverick offered.
Bridget bit back a giggle. Nana would turn over in her grave for bloody sure if she ever found a man in her kitchen. Bridget had been the only one she’d ever let into the tiny kitchen in their flat in Skibbereen, and even then, she had to do just what Nana said.
“You can get the flour, sugar, and molasses from the pantry,” she told him as she got down the biggest mixing bowl she could find in the cabinet.
“What’s going on in here?” Iris pushed her walker into the room. “I couldn’t sleep. What are you making?”
“Nana’s gingerbread,” Bridget answered. “It has to sit for a while before it’s really good.”
“Did we wake you?” Maverick carried the flour and sugar bins from the walk-in pantry.
“No, I never went to sleep. Don’t know what I was thinkin’ anyway. I never go to bed before eleven.” Iris parked her walker and sat down at the table. “Virgie must’ve got that recipe from her mother. I remember eating those Christmas ginger squares when we were kids. Haven’t had them since I left Ireland.”
“Well, Merry Christmas to you, then.” Bridget smiled. “We’ll have plenty to last all the way until New Year’s.”
“That depends on whether you hide some of them. Paxton and Maverick each have a sweet tooth that never gets enough.” Iris laughed. “Maybe you could make one batch tonight and another in a week.”
“That’s the only way we’ll have them until after Christmas,” Maverick agreed.
“Well, gingerbread squares will surely remind me of my Christmases in Skibbereen,” Iris said. “Time goes by so fast when you look back on it. Just yesterday, Virgie and I were running over the green fields of Ireland. Leaving your grandmother to come to America was even tougher than telling my parents goodbye, but I loved my Texas cowboy so much that I was willing to do it.”
“Was Nana already married when you left?” Bridget stirred the liquid ingredients into the bowl, and added flour. “It’s time now to work more flour in with our hands. If you want to help, Maverick, then wash up.”
“We got married in a double ceremony. She and her sweet Johnny. Me and my wild Texan,” Iris answered. “And, honey, I’m having one of those as soon as they cool and you get the icing on them. They’ll be better after a week or two, but tonight they’ll take me back to my childhood days when Virgie’s mama would let us have one before she stored them away.”
“I’ve heard Nana’s story about how she and Grandpa grew up next door to each other, but how did you ever meet a Texan?” Bridget sucked air when Maverick put his big hands into the bowl with hers. His arm on her shoulder had been comforting, but the touch of his fingers when they got tangled with hers sent shivers of desire down to the pit of her stomach.
“He came to Ireland to look at my poppa’s cattle. The owner of the ranch where he was foreman sent him. Virgie and I went to a pub for a pint one evening.” Iris grinned. “It was not a good first meeting. He and Paddy O’Riley were bowed up at each other like a couple of little fightin’ roosters. Since Paddy was Virgie’s cousin, we got between them. No, ma’am, it was not love at first sight between me and Thomas Callahan.”
“But you worked it out, right?” Bridget said.
“Yes, we did.” Iris smiled at the memory. “Johnny—that would be your grandfather—and Thomas became friends. My mother liked him because he had an Irish name. He came from good Irish blood, but he was third-generation Texan, and she didn’t like that. She didn’t want me to leave Ireland, but I loved my sweet Thomas, even if he did have a lot a swagger.”
Bridget remembered the way that Maverick had strutted into the pub last year. He’d for sure had enough swagger for ten men. And to think if she hadn’t told him that little white lie about Denise McKay being married, he might have left the bar with her that night, and Bridget wouldn’t have ended up having the most amazing night of her life.
“I hate having to sit here and not be able to help.” Iris groaned.
“You might remember how much you hate it when you want to climb up in the top of a tree and trim it,” Bridget told her.
“Hey, now!” Iris pointed her finger at Bridget. “Don’t you and Maverick gang up on me. When I get this damned hip healed up, I’ll climb any tree I want to.”
Maverick caught Bridget’s eye and winked. “And we’ll be right here to take care of her when she’s moanin’ about breaking that other hip, won’t we?”
“Don’t be askin’ me a thing like that, Maverick,” Bridget answered. “After the way my past has gone, I don’t make plans past tomorrow.”
Chapter Three
Bridget was getting out the ingredients to make biscuits when Iris pushed her walker into the kitchen that morning. Laela was pushing around some Cheerios and singing to herself in a high chair Bridget had found out in the barn and cleaned up.
“Is our sweet baby girl rested and ready for some food?” Iris asked the baby.
“Good mornin’.” Maverick came in through the kitchen door. “Chores are all done, but, Granny, this place needs a ton of work. Why haven’t you called me and Paxton to come help get it done?”
“Well, I haven’t been out to check on things in a while,” Iris said. “And the last thing I’d want to do is hurt Buster’s feelings. He’s worked here a long time.”
“I’m glad he’s taking some time off. He deserves it. But he’s gonna need some help with tearing out fences and puttin’ up new, and it’s not safe for him gettin’ on the top of the barn to repair the leaks.” He went straight to the sink after he’d hung up his coat and hat, and started washing up for breakfast. “We wouldn’t want him to break his hip.” He flashed Iris a pointed look.
“Now, you stop sassin’ me, young man,” Iris snapped.
Maverick laughed, and the sound sent a zing straight through Bridget’s body. Just looking at him in those tight jeans, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and scuffed-up cowboy boots, took her breath away. And when he smiled on top of all that…Lord, have mercy! Living with him wasn’t going to be easy, but if she let her heart do the steering instead of her brain, leaving would be even harder.
“I’ll have breakfast on the table in just a little while,” Bridget said. “Can I pour you some coffee, Iris?”
“I’ll do it.” Maverick headed toward the coffeepot. “And I’ll make the bacon and eggs,” he offered. “You do know how to make biscuits, right?”
“Of course.” Bridget shot a look his way.
“I’ll watch the baby.” Iris eased down into a chair. “Don’t forget to put on some water for Laela’s oatmeal.”
Bridget had already figured out that biscuits were cousins to scones and had learned to make them from the recipe on the back side of the bag of flour. Iris said her first attempt was good and Laela liked small bites of them as well as scones, especially if she put a dot of strawberry jam on what she fed her.
What she hadn’t figured on was the two of them bumping into each other, brushing hips or elbows—every single touch sent a heat wave through her body. She hadn’t been out with a man in five months, not since Laela had come into her life.
“
So what are we doin’ after church today, ladies?” Maverick asked as he cracked eggs in a bowl.
Iris drew in a long breath. “I’ve been the Sunday school teacher for the six- to ten-year-old kids for years, but I don’t think I can do it until this hip heals, so I called the preacher last night and told him that y’all will take over my class until after New Year’s. And”—she got a wicked grin on her face—“you’ll also be in charge of the Christmas events this year.”
“Don’t you go to the Catholic church?” Bridget asked.
“Used to when I was a kid, but not anymore. No problems with the church. It’s just that my sweet husband wasn’t Catholic, and way I figure it is that God ain’t in the church. He’s in your heart. The church is for fellowship,” Iris said. “Now did you hear me about how y’all are in charge of the Christmas program?”
“Are you serious?” Maverick’s deep voice went all high and squeaky.
Bridget overflowed the measuring cup with milk. “I’ve never…” She realized what she’d done, grabbed a towel, and began to clean it up.
“Don’t matter if you’ve never done it before. You’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve taken care of it alone for years. And surely you two can manage to do what one old woman who doesn’t have enough sense to stay out of a pear tree can do alone.”
“You have notes, yes?” Bridget asked.
“Yes, I do. Today you’ll teach them the lesson from my book for the first half hour. The next half hour, you will practice the carols that they’ll be singing in the Christmas program,” Iris said.
That didn’t seem so terribly tough, Bridget thought. She could do that by herself. Maverick didn’t even need to help.
“Then on Friday and Saturday evening, y’all will work with Alana and her dad to get the props all cleaned up and ready to use,” Iris went on.
Maverick actually groaned.
“It won’t hurt you to stay out of the honky-tonk for one month,” Iris told him. “It won’t fall into bankruptcy without the dollars you spend there.”
Christmas with a Cowboy Page 3
