by Deb Stover
"Not to us." Maggie grinned. "Wasn't Riley's reaction to your breakfast just perfect?"
Bridget nodded. She couldn't deny her sense of satisfaction at watching the way Riley had so thoroughly enjoyed his breakfast. He'd asked for black pudding, though, and she couldn't imagine eating pudding for breakfast.
"Uncle Riley likes to eat," Jacob mumbled around a mouthful of fish.
"So does his nephew, I'd say." Maggie laughed. "A growing lad should."
If only the uncle would accept his nephew.
Maggie looked over Bridget's shoulder and her eyes widened. "Here comes trouble," she whispered fiercely, assuming a bland expression a split-second later.
"Wha–"
"Maggie," a smooth voice said a moment before a heavy floral fragrance invaded their air space. The woman paused beside their table, her skirts perfect, her figure perfect.
Bridget's gaze traveled up past a red sweater with a broach on it, then rested on the long, slender column of the woman's perfectly white neck. Was there anything imperfect about this woman?
Though the woman's words were for Maggie, her penetrating glare was for Bridget. "I don't believe you've introduced me to your new... friends," the woman said.
Maggie took the perfect woman's hand and gave it a noticeable squeeze. "This is Bridget and Jacob."
"Oh?" The woman's voice and smile were falsely sweet. "Hello, Bridget and Jacob. I don't believe I caught your surnames."
I'm drowning in molasses. If I was a diabetic, I'd be in a coma. Bridget bit the inside of her cheek to silence her churning thoughts. "Mulligan," she said, balling up the napkin in her lap with her left hand and offering her right hand to the newcomer.
"Mulli—oh." The woman's eyes snapped and she pulled her hand back from what Granny would've called a wet noodle handshake. "You're her."
"Her?" Bridget directed a questioning look at her sister-in-law.
"Bridget, this is K–"
"I'm Katie Rearden," the woman said, swinging her glare back in Bridget's direction. "The wronged woman."
Chapter 6
Rain streamed down Riley's face and neck in rivulets that collected in his collar with icy efficiency. Today's chores would have to wait. If he'd started as early as planned this morning, perhaps he could have accomplished more.
Instead, he'd dined like a king with a cailleach.
Bridget's arrival had thrown him off his schedule. Well, then, that made this all her fault. Didn't it? After all, he'd lost yesterday picking her up at the airport, and today's weather would prevent him from making up for it.
With a frustrated sigh, he stowed the tractor and put his tools in the barn, pausing as he heard a friendly whinny. He stopped to stroke Oíche. Midnight. The name suited him. The black horse nuzzled Riley's shoulder. "Aye, there's nothing I'd like better than a good run today, lad, but it's soft the weather's gone on us."
He gave Oíche an extra ration of oats, then made his way back to the house. Mum probably had something in need of repair. All Riley knew was that he needed something to keep him busy. The restlessness plaguing him of late had grown almost unbearable, and the intruder's arrival had made matters even worse.
He shouldn't allow her that much importance. Wouldn't ignoring the woman be his best recourse? He ducked his head against the steady shower and wound his way around to the back door, trying not to remember the way Bridget had looked this morning in her nightgown, with her hair mussed, and her voice husky with sleep.
Aye, he'd like nothing better than to ignore Bridget-so-called-Mulligan, but he was a man, after all. She wasn't a woman easily ignored by anyone with a drop of testosterone in his veins. And from the way Riley constantly hardened at the sight of her, he must have more than his share.
"A curse, it is," he muttered, glancing up at the sky again and blinking against the slow but steady rain. "Another bloody damned curse."
He slipped through the back door and closed it firmly, then bent down to remove his boots.
"Mary Margaret, is that you, lass?" Mum called from the front room.
"No, it's Riley." He headed toward the stairs. "Just let me get some dry clothes, and I'll—"
"Never mind that," Mum said. "I need a word with you now."
"I'll be dripping all over the place." He paused a moment, waiting for her to change her mind about him fetching dry clothes. "Mum?"
"Bring yourself in here now, Riley Francis, or I'll be pushin' meself up the stairs after you."
With a sigh, Riley grabbed a clean rag and dried the worst of the drips from his head and neck, then went to the front room where Mum sat with her foot propped and her dear face wearing a worried frown.
"What is it?" he asked, stooping beside her chair. "What's wrong?"
"Maggie took Bridget and Jacob with her to the village this morn'."
Aye, he knew that, but the reminder made Riley's belly lurch and his heart slam against his ribs. The thought of Bridget parading herself around as Culley's widow was too much. "Maggie has gone too far."
Mum rolled her eyes. "I'll not be speakin' of your ridiculous mistrust of Bridget now." She drew a deep breath and exhaled very slowly. "'Tis worried, I am, about the weather turnin' soft and catchin' them in the wet."
Riley lifted a shoulder. "Mum, a bit of rain won't hurt them." Not as much as Bridget's lies could tarnish his brother's memory.
"The lad was wearin' cotton, Riley—not wool." She drew a deep breath, but the worry didn't leave her eyes. "Perhaps once they're used to our weather, but until then I don't want the lad takin' cold."
Naturally, Fiona Mulligan would worry about a child. The day she stopped worrying about children would be the day they lowered her into her grave. Jaysus forbid. "I'll bring the car 'round and fetch them myself."
"There's a good lad." Mum looked over her shoulder again at the droplets on the windowpane. "Be off with you. Hurry along now."
Riley grabbed his slicker near the back door and raked his fingers through his unruly mass of hair. He would fetch them all safely home all right, but he was considerably more curious about the villagers' reactions to the woman who claimed to be Culley's widow than he was about anyone getting a bit wet. Hadn't he and Culley been soaked through on a regular basis and still grown into men?
The thought of Bridget flaunting herself about Ballybronagh with Culley unable to deny her claims didn't set well at all with Riley. In fact, it made him furious. As he made his way around the house to the car, he kicked a clod of dirt, watching it disintegrate and blend with the mud.
Aye, that was precisely what he'd like to do with the intruder—make her vanish as quickly as she'd thrust herself into their lives. Culley's memory deserved better. All the Mulligans deserved better.
Mum had certainly taken to Bridget and her child. She'd never even questioned the woman's claim. Why? Fiona Mulligan was usually an uncanny judge of character. Why was this time different? Was Mum so eager to resurrect her dead son in any way possible, that her judgment was clouded? Aye, that had to be it. What else could it be? And was the same true of Maggie, then? No, more likely that Maggie simply wanted to annoy Riley.
"She's doing a bloody fine job of it, too," he muttered, swinging himself into the car and starting the engine. He'd rather drive the lorry, but there weren't enough seats in it. On the other hand, he could make Bridget ride in the open bed.
But even Riley wouldn't stoop to that. Besides—he drew a shaky breath—the rain would make her jumper cling to her breasts. The woman was already driving him insane with the constant craving without having her soaking wet before his hungry eyes.
Aye, he could picture her wet and shivering. The cold would make her nipples draw up and stiffen proudly. Tauntingly. Temptingly.
"Shite." He shook his head to rid himself of the image, but another took its place. His dream woman appeared in his mind's eye with her chemise clinging precariously to the tips of her taut nipples. "Bloody hell." Riley punched on the gas, making the car swerve as he rounded the curve
near Caisleán Dubh.
He scanned the countryside as best he could in the rain and mist, but saw no sign of his sister or her companions. Chances were they'd holed up at a friend's house or were shopping. Obviously they weren't walking home in the rain as Mum had feared.
And Bridget's jumper would be dry.
Riley snarled at no one in particular and a growl rumbled up from his chest. He had to put his mind around what needed doing, and not what a certain impudent part of his anatomy wanted to do to Bridget. No, what he needed to do was watch her until she made a serious mistake. Then he would prove her to be the liar he knew she was. Culley's memory would be cleared and all would be well again.
But even that couldn't bring Culley back.
Riley clenched his teeth, asking himself again why this mattered so much. "Because it's a bloody lie," he muttered, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as he swung the car into a parking spot on Ballybronagh's main street. All the shops and restaurants were within two blocks of where he'd parked. He would find Maggie and the others somewhere nearby.
He eased himself out of the car and stood there in the rain, looking up and down the sidewalk for any sign of his sister's red hair. A gust of wind made him shiver, and his breath created a cloud of vapor before his eyes.
The way this day was shaping up, he'd be the one to catch his death. But Mum, being Mum, was worried about Jacob. Regardless of Riley's feelings toward the lad's mother, he would honor Fiona Mulligan's wishes.
Culley would've done the same.
With that thought foremost, Riley tugged his collar closer and meandered in and out of three shops. He learned what time Maggie had left the market, and stood on the sidewalk beneath an awning to ponder the possibilities.
Where would he go to get out of the rain?
The answer came to him even as he made his way to the end of the block and his favorite establishment in Ballybronagh. Aye, that's it. And what healthy Irishman could disagree?
Riley pushed open the door of Gilhooley's and was greeted by the warmth and familiar scents of a good peat fire, hot Irish stew simmering in the kitchen, and the special tang of Guinness and Harp. He paused while his eyes adjusted to the dimness. His belly gave an audible growl and he had to chuckle. After all, he'd eaten enough breakfast for two men.
Kevin Gilhooley stood behind the bar, his apron already stained and his ever-present smile at the ready. "Afternoon to you, Riley."
"Afternoon." Riley leaned against the polished bar, his gaze sweeping the tables and booths. He really hoped Maggie hadn't brought Bridget here. Thanks to the weather and it being Saturday, the place was packed.
Besides the usual collection of old-timers and widowers who spent the bulk of their lives in front of Gilhooley's hearth, it appeared most of the village had dropped in for lunch. "Kevin, have you seen my ornery sister about?"
"Ornery, is it? Aye." The publican leaned across the bar, a mischievous smile on his too lean face as he nodded toward the group before the hearth. "And haven't the lads been placin' bets on which one of 'em will be left standin'?"
Riley's blood turned to ice. "What are you blatherin' on about?"
Kevin inclined his head toward the opposite end of the restaurant. "Maggie and the others took the booth 'round the end there."
Riley pushed away to make his way toward his sister, then remembered everything Kevin had said. He turned to face Gilhooley again. "What do you mean 'left standing?'"
Kevin sighed and shook his head. "Hasn't the whole village heard about Culley's widow and son by now?"
Riley clenched his teeth, reminding himself that Kevin Gilhooley was an old and trusted friend. He wanted to blurt out that the woman was a liar and imposter—that Culley couldn't possibly have married a total stranger while betrothed to another. Besides, the marriage hadn't even taken place in a proper church. Culley never would have...
"I have to say it's been quiet enough, though, since herself went that way."
Riley blinked, focusing on Kevin's words. He'd lost his own train of thought, not to mention Kevin's. "Quiet since who went that way? I've no time for riddles, man."
Kevin poured a shot of Jameson's and slid it toward Riley.
"Have you gone daft?" Riley asked his old friend. "You know I never drink so early in the day."
"I'm thinkin' you will today." Kevin leaned closer. "'Tis herself—Katie Rearden."
Riley downed the whiskey in one smooth gulp.
* * *
Granny had always said Bridget talked faster than a Baptist preacher after the devil when she was nervous. Well, she was nervous now, and the words just bubbled up from wherever words that didn't start in a person's brain were born.
"And the Larabees are taking care of General Lee while we're here, so—"
"What... are you talking about?" Katie Rearden asked, blinking.
Bridget drew a shaky breath and met Maggie's twinkling gaze. A smile of approval stretched across her young face.
Well. Bridget smiled at the "wronged woman" again and said, "Home. The Larabees are the family I worked for back in Reedville, and Brother Martin is the preacher who performed Granny's funeral service, and—"
"Oh, stop your blatherin', already." Miss Rearden glanced upward. "I don't care to hear about all those people." She leaned on the edge of the table, pinning Bridget with an unsettling gaze. "I do care about you flaunting yourself all over the county as Culley Mulligan's widow."
Bridget felt her son's hand fumbling for hers. She found his and gave it a squeeze, holding it steadily while she faced this woman. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.
But they could hurt her son. And she wouldn't tolerate that from anybody.
She lifted her chin a notch, wishing she was standing so she could look Katie Rearden in the eye. "I am Culley Mulligan's widow," she said simply. "I married him almost seven years ago in Reedville, Tennessee, and I have the marriage certificate and license to prove it."
"If it's true, you tricked him, you did." The woman tossed her golden hair over one shoulder and struck a challenging pose with one hand on her hip. "He never would have willingly married you while he was engaged to me."
"But he did," Maggie said as she slid from the booth and stood facing Katie. "I know it, Mum knows it, and that's the way of it, Katie Rearden. Accept it and move on."
Fury radiated from Katie, who blocked the end of the booth and any possible escape. Not that Bridget would have left Maggie here to face this crazy person alone even if she had a choice. "What about Riley?" Katie's voice sweetened and she drew her words out in a slow drawl. "I didn't hear him named among those loyal to this... this doxie."
Bridget squeezed Jacob's hand again. "There will be no more of this now," she said. "Little pitchers have big ears, and none of this grown-up stuff is his doing. Understand?"
Katie glowered down at Bridget, then turned her accusing glare on Jacob.
That did it. The toe of Bridget's tennis shoe made contact with Katie's shin.
"Ow!" Katie reached down to rub her injury. "I'll ruin you," she warned, straightening. "Your so-called marriage to my betrothed was scandalous. How dare you shame us further by flaunting yourself a—"
"Culley's death was a tragedy to me—to us." Bridget glanced at her son, then pinned her gaze on Katie again. "You are perfectly welcome to try to 'ruin' me, as you wish. However, you'll not be taking your hurt feelings out on my son. On Culley's son."
"That's right." Maggie clenched her fists at her sides as she stared at Katie with potent rage in her Mulligan blue eyes. "You have to go through me to get to them."
"And you're thinking that might be a problem, Maggie Mulligan?" Katie gave a nasty laugh and tossed her head again. "You'd be mistaken."
Bridget felt his presence before she saw him. Riley filled the space in the aisle between a table and chairs and the corner of their booth. The expression in his eyes was one of bewilderment and fury. He appeared betrayed yet confused.
; "Uncle Riley," Jacob said, ducking under the table and hurrying to his uncle's side. "Make the bad woman stop bein' mean to my momma."
"He isn't going to make me stop." Katie Rearden's laughter sounded sick and vile. "Are you, Riley?"
Bridget felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of her as she turned her hopes and fears toward the man who'd rejected them every moment since their arrival. Let him continue to hate and resent her, but he had to accept Jacob. He just had to.
Now.
"My... my daddy would make the bad woman stop," Jacob said, tears streaming down his face.
Bridget's heart broke and she gave Katie a shove that sent her across the aisle and enabled Bridget to move to her son's side and gather him against her. But Jacob wiggled free and looked up at Riley, anger and heartbreaking trust flashing in his young eyes. "My daddy wouldn't let that bad woman be mean to my momma," Jacob repeated, blinking. "Would he?"
Riley drew a long, slow breath and Bridget watched his Adam's apple travel the length of his throat before he met her gaze. She pleaded with her eyes, praying he wouldn't break her son's heart again.
"No, lad. He wouldn't," Riley said, placing his hand on Jacob's shoulder. "Culley wouldn't have stood by and allowed anyone to speak to anyone that way."
Bridget lowered her gaze. Riley hadn't acknowledged Jacob as his nephew, but he had come to his defense. It was a step in the right direction. A very good one. She wouldn't push it now, but she had hope.
Thank you, Lord.
"I think we've had enough excitement for our first full day in Ireland," she said, her voice amazingly steady. "Jacob must be exhausted."
"Aye, it's time we all headed home," Riley said, obviously avoiding Bridget's gaze. "Mum sent me in the car to fetch you. Come along, Jacob."
Bridget felt Katie's cold stare, but she refused to meet it. Instead, she focused on the undeniable birth of hero worship in her son's eyes as he gazed up at Riley Mulligan. Without hesitation, Jacob slipped his small hand into his uncle's and released hers, then walked toward the pub entrance with him.
