Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  She wanted him.

  Without warning, he bit off a curse and called her a witch again. She wasn't a witch. She was a woman who needed him more than her dignity. He withdrew his fingers and hovered over her. Torturing her.

  "Bronagh," he whispered.

  "What?" Her flesh turned icy as the ocean breeze swept over her nakedness. "What did you say?"

  He shuddered and stood, facing the sea. "Get dressed." He shoved his hands in his pockets and didn't look at her again. "Just... get dressed."

  The fire subsided and Bridget shivered. He'd used the word from her dream. Or was it a name? Trembling, she realized just how naked she was and shame washed over her. What if someone had seen them like this?

  "Oh, God," she muttered, squirming until her panties and jeans were righted. Her bra lay a few feet away, bathed in moonlight. She shook sand from it and put it on. "Where's my sweater?"

  He looked down at her without turning away from the sea. "Don't you remember?" His tone was mocking. "It must be inside."

  Confused, she looked toward Caisleán Dubh, where her flashlight still glowed from the base of the stone steps, aimed toward the high ceiling. Remembering what had happened when she'd touched the banister, she made a choking noise.

  "What... what did you do to me?" she asked, her voice quavering.

  He spun around and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet. Dizzy, she slammed into him, but quickly recovered her balance and maintained her distance—if not her dignity. Touching him was dangerous. "What did you do to me?" she repeated, aiming her thumb over her shoulder. "In there?"

  He stared at her with moonlight bathing his features. "Are you bloody daft?"

  "No, I'm confused." She shoved her hair back from her face. "I'm standing here without my clothes and I don't know what... happened to them." Her voice fell to a whisper as she spoke. She turned toward the castle. Her sweater was inside. She remembered now.

  And he'd called her "Bronagh."

  Oh, God. Was Riley her dream lover?

  "Have mercy!" She clutched at her throat as the enormity of it all pressed down on her. "It was you. All along, it was you. You said... you said 'Bronagh.' Just like him..."

  He looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, and at this moment she wasn't sure she hadn't. "Just like who?"

  "My dre—" She looked away. The last thing she wanted this man to know was that she'd been having erotic dreams starring him. Is it true? "Why did you say—call me—Bronagh? Is it a name? What does it mean?"

  "You're very good at trickery," he said, his voice low but fierce. "Poor Culley."

  Rage licked through Bridget. With a roar of anguish, she slapped Riley Mulligan's smug face, the loud crack echoing off the castle walls and out to sea.

  His head snapped to one side, but he quickly returned his gaze to her, unharmed. His ragged breathing and the wash of the tide against the rocks below were the only sounds. Even the whispers of Caisleán Dubh had fallen silent.

  "I..." She bit her lower lip and crossed her arms over her chest, remembering that only her bra covered her above the waist. "I'm sorry I hit you," she said. "I've told you before that the only thing I ever did to Culley was love him. I can't force you to believe me."

  "You would be right about that." Rubbing his cheek, he turned toward the sea again. "You and your son have made me break a lifelong vow today. Twice."

  "There is no curse." She brushed sand from her arms and off her back as far as she could reach. "We've been in there two times now and nothing's happened." Determined to find her clothes and cover herself, she spun around and marched toward her flashlight.

  What in tarnation had happened to her? How could she have stripped off her clothes inside and ended up rolling in the sand out here with Riley? And why had he called her Bronagh? The more Bridget thought about it, the more convinced she was that it was a name. A woman's name.

  The woman from her dreams? But that had been Bridget. Hadn't it? Otherwise, she wouldn't have felt it all so... so...

  "Don't go in there," Riley said just as she reached the opening. "I forbid it."

  Up yours. Granny would've been more proud of Bridget if she'd said it out loud, but thinking it would do for her now. She was too shaken, too confused, too aware of all the ways and places Riley Mulligan had touched her to be logical or brave.

  Already inside the castle, she found her sweater and shook the dust from it as best she could, then pulled it over her head. Her cardigan was in worse shape, so she shook it and draped it over her arm instead of wearing it. Besides, she wasn't a bit cold now.

  Not after... She stood a few feet away from the banister where her flashlight lay near the bottom step pointing toward the ceiling. The fluttering of wings overhead made Bridget shudder, but she reminded herself that bats would eat mice since there were no snakes.

  Definitely "tetched."

  She almost managed a breath, but she had to reach too near the banister to retrieve her flashlight to manage that. The urge to grab that banister again clawed through her and the whispering commenced again. "Stop it," she whispered. "Just stop. Not now."

  Amazingly, it did.

  All of it was too bizarre. She clutched the flashlight in a death grip and headed back toward the opening, where Riley's big body blocked all the light from outside.

  She stopped near the opening and shined the flashlight right in his eyes. "Move." She was too tired and confused to be polite now.

  He didn't budge, and his smirk really grated on her. "Won't y'all please move? Pretty please?" she asked with false sweetness. "Now?"

  He leaned against the edge of the exposed door frame as if he had no intention of ever moving from that spot. "I told you not to go in there again."

  "My clothes were in there, as you well know."

  "How would I know that, since I wasn't there when you removed them?"

  "I didn't—" She stopped, holding her breath. "I'm not sure how that happened." And that was the truth. Dang it. "But I'm dressed now and I just want to go to sleep. Move." Why couldn't they just use a door like normal people?

  He shifted to one side, remaining close enough that she had to brush against him as she exited the castle. Awareness spiked through her again, and she sucked in a breath. Her nipples perked up expectantly as she eased her way past his broad chest. Traitors. No matter how much her body wanted Riley Mulligan, she was determined to maintain her dignity.

  What was left of it.

  He placed his hand on her shoulder and the jolt that shot through her was almost as powerful as the one that had seized her when she'd touched that danged banister. His left shoulder was against the door frame, and her backside pressed against the castle wall. She wasn't pinned by him, but by the complete force of her own desire.

  "What are you doing to me?" she whispered, staring up at his face through the shadows.

  "Bronagh." His voice sounded strange and his grip on her shoulder tightened as he pulled her toward him. "Bronagh," he repeated.

  Bridget wanted nothing more than to lean into him, to seek his lips, his touch, his possession again and again. She forced herself to remember her son and their precarious situation. If she slept with Riley, she'd lose her self-respect. And if Fiona ever learned of it, she would surely lose her place in the family.

  And, worst of all, Riley would believe himself right about her and Culley.

  That thought gave her the strength to force herself through the opening and past him. The moment she emerged from the castle, she felt some control return. With the flashlight still clutched in her fist, she bent over at the waist and gulped the cool night air, bracing the heels of both hands against her knees.

  Strengthened, she straightened and turned to face Riley. Still leaning against the castle, he seemed to be in some kind of trance. He kept staring straight ahead and his breathing sounded labored.

  "Riley?" Cautiously, she walked toward him.

  "Bronagh," he whispered.

  "No, I'm not Bronagh." Whoever she i
s. Or was.

  He blinked and she aimed her flashlight in his face again. His scowl returned and he shoved himself away from the castle. "What the devil just happened?"

  "I asked you the same thing earlier," she reminded him. "I wish I knew. I don't believe there's a curse, but there is some kind of... power here."

  He nodded. "Would you mind not shining that bloody light in my eyes?"

  The real Riley Mulligan had returned.

  Grinning, she lowered the flashlight. With the half-moon rising higher, she didn't need it now and turned it off. Later, she would try to determine just what had happened here tonight.

  The castle's whispering encircled her again and she squeezed her eyes closed. She'd proven three things to herself this evening.

  First of all, Caisleán Dubh was safe—at least part of it was—and it could be restored. She didn't need an inspector to confirm it. She just knew.

  Secondly, the castle possessed some kind of power or magic. She'd never given supernatural things much thought before, but whatever force had seized control of her when she'd gripped that banister wasn't something to ignore.

  And that power had taken control of Riley, too. Why had he called her Bronagh? Why? Was he really her dream lover, or had he just been here at the right—or wrong—time? A tremor raced through her and she hoped the dreams would end now. Maybe now that she'd faced Caisleán Dubh and her ridiculous fear, they would.

  She watched Riley's profile as he gazed out to sea, as lost in thought as she. Was he asking himself the same questions? Did he realize he'd called her that name? And what did it all mean?

  With a sigh, she swallowed hard and admitted her third discovery. There was nothing magical about this one. Nothing supernatural. But it was every bit as dangerous and uncontrollable.

  She wanted Riley Mulligan. The mortal man. Not any dream lover. The flesh and blood, dangerously handsome, gentle and patient man. Though he'd shown her his ugly side, she'd seen his goodness in the way he treated his momma and sister. And especially Jacob.

  He was confusing—angry one minute and brooding the next. Then without any warning at all, he'd wax as charming as that used car salesman who'd lived in the trailer next door to Granny's.

  Bridget had to resist her attraction to the flesh and blood Riley, though she had no control over what happened in her dreams. Maybe someday, if the dreams didn't end now, she'd find satisfaction in her sleep.

  A hot flush crept over her and her heart did a flip.

  One thing at a time. First, she needed the inspection and the restaurant. Once she had an income, she might consider separate living quarters for her and Jacob, though she dearly loved being near Fiona and Maggie. Still, it might be for the best to put some distance between herself and Riley. Meanwhile, she had to keep her crazy libido under control.

  And remember never to touch that banister again....

  "Well, I'm heading back now," she said. "Do you want the flashlight?"

  He pinned her with his gaze. "Why did you have to come here and cause so much trouble?"

  She lifted her chin a notch. "I haven't done anything to cause trouble."

  He made a snorting sound and shook his head. "What do you call what happened—or almost happened—here this evening?"

  "Magic." Bridget looked back over her shoulder. "There's magic here."

  "There's a curse here."

  She stomped her foot and thought every dirty word she'd ever heard Granny utter. "I reckon we'll see what the inspector has to say."

  Riley sighed and lifted one shoulder. "I agreed to an inspection. Nothing more."

  Realization slammed into Bridget. Speechless, she stared at Riley for several moments. He'd never had any intention of letting them renovate and open a restaurant. He'd only agreed to the inspection because of Jacob.

  Instead of calling him all the names that exploded in her mind, or telling him just what she thought about his obstinance and that stupid old curse, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin a notch, and did what Granny would've done.

  She showed him her middle finger and walked away.

  Chapter 14

  Riley worked like the devil himself was on his tail. He plowed, mowed, raked, fed the cattle, birthed a calf, and sheared a few sheep. He was ready to drop. However, it was considerate of the calf to give him something to do. Busy hands...

  Jacob had helped him part of the morning, but had opted to help his mamó the rest of the day. Mum was putting in the later additions to her kitchen garden and insisted she needed Jacob's help.

  However, Riley suspected his mum had sensed his surly mood and intervened to give her son a bit of privacy, or to spare the lad from his uncle's temper.

  Wise woman, Mum.

  He straightened from the angry sheep and released the wild, woolly thing into the pasture. He was filthy. Dirt and wool had stuck to the sweat he'd worked up while mowing and raking.

  "Go on with you now, you little she-devil," he said, nudging the ewe away when she just stood there staring at him after her haircut. After the way she'd fought him, he'd expected her to run fast. "Silly sheep. Female, of course." He sorted the contaminated clumps of wool and bagged the good for Mum.

  He paused to take a long drink of water. Nothing—not even an unholy amount of hard labor—could make him forget last night. He stood staring toward Caisleán Dubh. Remembering.

  His throat contracted and he shoved his hair away from his face. He couldn't decide which part was worse—the memory of almost succumbing to Bridget's charms, or the crazed way that bloody castle had made him feel and act.

  "Aye, crazed." He released a long sigh and took another sip. Problem was, he couldn't deny the painful truth.

  Even without the bloody curse, he would still want Bridget.

  Eejit. Aye, but truth was Riley's way. He couldn't even fib to himself. Pity, that. Wouldn't lying to himself ease his tortured brain, if nothing else? He glanced down at the fly of his jeans. Not even a well-turned fib would control that.

  Had he ever wanted a woman more? He drew a deep breath of salt-tinged air. No. Never.

  "Jaysus. I still want her," he whispered.

  I always will.

  He squeezed his eyes closed and swayed, remembering the way she'd felt in his arms. Tasted. Looked. And his foolish body responded to the memories with more enthusiasm than Riley could stand. He grabbed the rake leaning nearby and flung it halfway across the pasture. There was nothing in harm's way. At least he was still sane enough to know that. Unfortunately, it didn't help. Nothing would. Not now. Not ever.

  "Shite."

  "Who are you trying to kill?" a female voice asked from the rock wall several feet away.

  Riley looked over quickly, both relieved and disappointed to find Katie sitting on the wall instead of Bridget. "When did you take up spying on working men?"

  Hoping her gaze didn't wander below his belt, he walked toward her, acutely conscious of his appearance and, undoubtedly, his odor. A man didn't sweat this much without working up a good stink. Aye, but wouldn't he rather she smelled him than noticed his blatant erection?

  Working himself practically to death was supposed to eliminate those urges. Any other time, about any other woman, it might have. This time, there was only one cure....

  "My, but aren't we in a sour mood?" Katie shook her head and slid off the stone wall. "I suppose living under the same roof with... with her would make me surly, too."

  Riley had to chuckle at that. "And I wonder which one of you would be left among the living if that were true."

  Katie narrowed her gaze. "Don't wonder."

  The woman is vindictive. He'd never noticed that about Katie before. Of course, she'd been engaged to Culley—not Riley. He'd never really paid her much attention before Bridget's arrival. For that matter, Katie had spoken to him more in the last few weeks than in the last ten years.

  "What brings you out here so late in the day?" he asked, deciding it best to change the subject.

  "Gra
nddad." She sighed and pursed her perfectly painted lips. "He's annoying."

  "Brady?" Riley frowned. "I'm surprised. I always thought you were close."

  "Aye, when I was a wee lass." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Now he keeps nagging me about some old papers he left stored in my closet before he went to the States."

  "Papers?" Riley's stomach growled and he took a deep breath in hopes of silencing it. He'd worked like the devil and smelled worse. On top of that, he was half-starved. However, he forced himself to make polite conversation with the woman who should have been his sister-in-law. "What papers?"

  "Research papers. What else?" She rolled her eyes. "He's so determined to write his silly book that he came out here to get Fiona's blessing."

  Riley frowned and rubbed his chin. "I don't follow. What does Mum have to do with—"

  "The curse, Riley," she said dramatically. "Remember?"

  "Ah, that."

  "Aye, that."

  "And he wanted Mum's blessing for what purpose?" Riley still didn't understand the connection. "He can do research without asking her permission."

  "Aye, but he said it would be disrespectful to go through the parish records without her blessing."

  "Mulligan records?"

  "Aye."

  Riley lifted a shoulder. "Brady has always been fascinated with the history of Caisleán Dubh. There's no law against doing research." He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his gaze. "Why does that bother you?"

  "Well..." Her face flushed and she looked downward for several seconds, as if contemplating her next words. "Did Culley ever tell you why we had to get married?"

  "Had to?" Didn't the woman realize what that meant? "I'm thinking that's not exactly what you—"

  "Oh, no. Not... not that."

  Riley had always considered Katie somewhat cold. Unlike Bridget, who had passion and sexuality to spare. Don't think about that. He seriously doubted that Katie and Culley had ever been intimate, despite their engagement.