Mulligan Stew

by Deb Stover

  "Yes." Bridget stifled a yawn, trying to pay attention to Fiona. "Someone has to tend the stock."

  "Aye." She took a few steps to the stove and stirred a pot, replacing the lid a moment later. "With your permission, lass, I'd like to take Jacob along to meet his great-mamó."

  Just Jacob? Bridget chewed her lower lip, wondering why she wasn't included in this invitation. She glanced out the window at Caisleán Dubh. The thought of traveling far from it just now didn't set well with her. She needed to be here. At least for now.

  "Yes, I think Jacob would enjoy it," she finally said.

  And she would be left here alone with Riley....

  A hot flush crept over her as Fiona prattled on about how pleased she was, and so forth.

  Alone with Riley...

  The subject of her fantasy walked in the back door and washed his hands at the sink. Riley had already been out doing his morning chores, and when he turned toward Bridget, his gaze locked with hers.

  Red rimmed both his eyes and dark circles smudged his high cheekbones. He wore a haunted look. A flame flared in the blue depths of his eyes and she amended that thought.

  He wore a hungry look.

  The passion she'd struggled so hard against flickered to life within her and a tremor trickled through her. He licked his lips and took a step toward her.

  She licked her lips and waited.

  "There you be, Riley," Fiona said, shattering the spell.

  Thank God.

  "Mornin', Mum." He visibly reined himself in and kissed his momma's cheek. "Something smells good."

  "Black puddin'."

  "Ah, that'll stick to a man's ribs."

  Bridget made a note to make Riley some kind of black pudding next time she cooked breakfast. She'd never heard of anyone eating chocolate pudding for breakfast before, but chocolate was chocolate, after all. Being black pudding, it would have to be very dark chocolate. Yum.

  Granny had always said that a good brownie was better than sex. Glancing sideways at Riley, Bridget doubted that.

  She was having naughty thoughts again. Riley fixed himself a cup of tea and lingered at the counter. She suspected he didn't want to be near her.

  Remembering how much he'd wanted to be near her the other night made her squirm in her chair. Her breasts swelled and her nipples hardened. She didn't need a dream lover to frustrate her. Riley Mulligan did a fine job of it on his own.

  Unless he is my dream lover....

  Her opinion of Riley had softened considerably since Maggie had told her the story of how Patrick Mulligan had died and been found. Plus, Riley adored Jacob. How could a woman not admire a man who was good with children and respectful and loving to his own momma?

  And handsome enough to be in one of those cigarette ads, but without the nasty old cigarette.... Bridget could just picture Riley and his long black hair in one of those ads. The wind would blow his hair and the sun would make him squint. Those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes would show.

  Her breath snagged in her throat and she coughed.

  "Are you all right, lass?" Fiona called over her shoulder. "Be a good lad and fetch her some water, Riley."

  Bridget tried to protest, but that just made her cough more. Jacob was out gathering eggs with Maggie, so he couldn't come to her rescue just now.

  Maybe that was just as well. As Riley set the glass of water on the table before her, his hand brushed against hers and their gazes met. Bridget's pulse leaped into the final round of "Jeopardy," and the rest of her was ready for "Let's Make A Deal."

  Who'd have ever thought that meek little Bridget would suffer from sexual anxiety? Or was it deprivation? What would Oprah or Rosie have called it? Granny had watched their shows loyally, and she surely would've been able to diagnose Bridget's condition.

  Imagining Granny doing such a thing made Bridget giggle. The old woman would've called it what it was. She would have said, "Bridget, go out and get yourself a husband who can scratch that itch of yours."

  "What's so funny?" Riley asked, his voice low and husky and close.

  Bridget choked and reached for the water. She glanced at him as she sipped, which made her gasp and cough yet again.

  "Give the lass a pat on the back, Riley," Fiona called.

  Bridget's eyes widened, as did his. "No, don't," she whispered. "I don't think I could stand it."

  Realization flared in his Mulligan blue eyes and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Knowing he knew made her want him all the more. Why were they pussyfooting around this? They were both adults. Unmarried.

  Definitely willing.

  Shame oozed through her. There were a million reasons not to surrender to her desire for Riley. First and foremost, there was his momma. She looked over her shoulder and thought she saw Fiona wink at her. That must have been her imagination.

  Another reason was Culley's memory and the accusations Riley had made when Bridget had first arrived. That thought made her blink and meet his gaze again. Why had he stopped slinging insults and accusations? For that matter, when had he stopped?

  After that night at the castle....

  "Mercy," she said hoarsely, taking another sip of water and looking away from his smoldering eyes.

  "At least the sun decided to shine today," Fiona said, carrying plates to the table. She pulled out the chair beside Bridget and told Riley to sit.

  His usual place was across the table—not beside her. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder at the woman, who was humming to herself as she carried more platters and bowls to the table.

  Looking as confused as Bridget felt, Riley sat.

  Why did he have to be so danged big? His muscular thigh brushed against Bridget's and his shoulder was hot against hers. Mercy. She reached for the water glass again.

  "Fiona, let me help you with—"

  "No, you sit." Fiona set a plate in front of Bridget just as the back door swung open, admitting Maggie and Jacob.

  "Mornin', Momma." Jacob washed his hands, then bounced over to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  Her son's presence might save her. She started to rise to give him her place, but he'd already plopped into his usual chair on the other side of the table. Maggie took the one normally occupied by Riley.

  Just peachy.

  Fiona took her seat and said grace, then started passing the bowls. The one containing the black pudding came to Bridget and she stared down at it. She leaned closer and took a sniff. Definitely not chocolate.

  "It's good, Momma," Jacob said from across the table as he shoveled eggs and bacon and... whatever this stuff was into his mouth.

  "Aye, very good," Riley said, his deep voice rumbling through his shoulder and into Bridget's.

  "Not everybody likes black puddin', Jacob," Fiona said diplomatically.

  Remembering all the dishes Bridget had sprung on this family, she sighed and took a serving of the strange substance. Her instincts told her not to touch it.

  Her sense of fairness demanded it.

  Besides, concentrating on food instead of the man beside her might be her salvation.

  She tried not to think about the way Riley felt next to her, the way the muscles in his arm rippled when he moved even a little, the way her heart did the limbo with her windpipe when he looked at her from the corner of his eye with that "I want you for dessert" expression.

  Oh, God. She took another sip of soda pop and started on her eggs. She'd save the black stuff for last, since pudding was a dessert.

  Don't think about dessert.

  What she wanted for dessert would be rated PG-13—not for a family breakfast. As she chewed, she felt something rub her ankle and gulped. Again, something brushed its way around her ankle to the inside of her bare foot.

  Not wanting to alarm anyone, she glanced discreetly down at her foot, noticing Riley's big boot lying off to one side. His stockinged foot busied itself rubbing hers while his thigh pressed more intimately against her.

  The heat of desire wafte
d through her and Bridget tried not to fidget. How could she make him stop without causing a scene? She hazarded a glance at his profile and found him watching her from the corner of his eye again.

  All right, so what she wanted for breakfast would be rated R in American theaters. She pushed food around on her plate, trying to ignore the tingling sensations snaking their way up from her foot to the rest of her.

  Shamelessly, she lifted her foot just a bit and returned some of his torture. His breath came out on a hiss as she dragged her big toe sensuously along the cuff of his sock, and found his bare leg.

  Yes, skin. That was what she wanted. His skin. Her skin. Theirs. She wanted the full length of his nakedness against hers.

  She wanted to feel his sleek muscles rubbing against her softness. She wanted his hot, hot mouth to suckle at her breasts until she couldn't stand it anymore.

  She linked her big toe with his, mimicking what she wanted most—their ultimate joining, when he would fill her and make her his. It would be wonderful. Perfect.

  Satisfying.

  Oh, yes. Satisfaction was what she needed. The endless torture had to end. He slipped his toe between two of hers.

  Filling her.

  Bridget stiffened, imagining another type of fulfillment. More. So much more. She would scream if she—

  "Momma, aren't you gonna taste your puddin'?"

  Earth to Bridget. She drew a shaky breath and blinked several times, focusing on her son's sweet face.

  Mercy. She'd almost had an orgasm at the breakfast table. A real one—not fake like the noisy one Meg Ryan had performed in When Harry Met Sally. Granny had loved that movie, and especially that scene.

  Bridget was mortified. At least she was quieter than Meg Ryan. She cleared her throat and withdrew her foot from harm's way.

  Oh, Lord. My dessert wish is X-rated, and I'm a bad, bad girl.

  Properly chastised, she nodded and took a big bite of the odd pudding.

  And froze.

  "What. Is. This?" she asked around the glob on her tongue.

  "Black pudding," Fiona said, confused. "What did you think it was, lass?"

  Bridget forced herself to swallow it and drained her glass to wash it down. "I don't know, but pudding is supposed to be sweet. This is..."

  "Sweet, is it?" Maggie laughed. "I haven't been able to eat black pudding since I learned what it really is."

  Bridget met her sister-in-law's gaze. "And what is it?"

  "Black pudding is..." Maggie wrinkled her nose. "You don't want to know. Just don't eat it."

  Fiona chuckled and Jacob looked around the table with a look of confusion. "Is it somethin' bad?" he asked.

  "No, lad." Fiona gave Maggie a stern look. "'Tis not bad. Your Uncle Riley ate all of his. Look."

  "Aye," Riley said, his voice rumbling through Bridget again.

  Mercilessly.

  He rested his toes near hers and said, "Black pudding will make a man tall, strong, handsome, and... virile."

  Perfect. Bridget tried to edge away from the man with the talented toes, but he rested his hand on her thigh.

  Have mercy. She held her breath.

  "What's in it?" Jacob asked again.

  "Blood," Riley said.

  Bridget bolted for the bathroom.

  Chapter 16

  Riley worked near the stable, watching for the inspector and his crew.

  What the devil had come over him this morning?

  And why had Mum manipulated him into sitting beside Bridget? He'd seen the twinkle in Fiona Mulligan's eyes. Mum was obviously bent on matchmaking, and that realization left Riley even more confused.

  So Mum had noticed the attraction between Riley and Bridget. Had Maggie? Jacob was too young to pay attention to such things. At least, Riley hoped so.

  He cleaned tack and rearranged it twice while he contemplated the most unusual—and deliciously stimulating—breakfast he'd ever experienced. A wicked smile tugged at his mouth.

  Aye, he'd been near to bursting sitting there beside Bridget. Knowing she wanted him as much as he wanted her had made him lose every bit of sense. The look in her green eyes, the softness of her mouth as she'd licked her lips...

  He groaned and leaned his head against a saddle. "Get yourself under control, Mulligan," he muttered. This was a big day. The inspection.

  Aye, he would concentrate on that. Stepping outside, he gazed toward Caisleán Dubh and drew a deep breath. Since his meeting with Brady, he had resigned himself to this. The Mulligans had allowed this wretched curse or spell to rule for far too long.

  This Mulligan would end it—God help him.

  He didn't know how yet, but he sensed it was his duty. His destiny? Aye, even that. There had to be a reason Bridget could hear the whispering. A reason Culley had. A reason Riley could now.

  Whatever it was, whatever it would bring, the time had come for the Clan Mulligan to reclaim Caisleán Dubh.

  He watched the truck stop near the castle, while a small car continued on toward the cottage. "Well, then. 'Tis time." He put away his tools and tried to ignore the whispering that greeted him as he started across the meadow toward Caisleán Dubh. Toward fate.

  Let's not be getting dramatic about it now.

  He kept a steady pace, suspecting Bridget would ride out to the castle with the inspector. Oh, Da. He sighed, but his step never faltered. Tell me I'm doing the right thing. Tell me this isn't the biggest mistake of my life.

  A gentle breeze wafted in off the ocean and a dove came with it, sailing over Riley, then back toward Caisleán Dubh. A sign? Did Riley believe in such nonsense?

  At this point, he'd believe almost anything. After all, he'd spent all his life believing in a curse, only to learn it could be a spell instead. Either way, it would end. He would see to it.

  Brady was in Kilmurray looking for duplicates of missing parish records. At one time, the only priest in the area had been in Kilmurray. Brady was confident of finding at least some of the missing pieces of this very bizarre puzzle he'd uncovered. Once Riley had all the facts, he would share them with his family. Eventually.

  First, he had to come to terms with his raging desire for Bridget. At least he'd stopped denying it to himself. Even more significant was the fact that he no longer believed his craving for Bridget was all curse-induced. No, his ache for her was about flesh and blood—man and woman. All right, so he had to allow there could be more to it, but still... it was Bridget he wanted.

  Would he have wanted her if she'd come home on Culley's arm as his bride?

  Now there was a question Riley didn't want to answer—not now or ever. Nor did it matter, since Culley was gone. "Boyo, you had good taste in women. Except for Katie," he added, shaking his head.

  Enough about that. Riley lengthened his stride as he heard the small car returning from the cottage. After greeting the architects and inspectors milling about the massive doors waiting for their boss, he turned to watch the small, blue car roll to a stop beside the castle.

  Bridget climbed out of the passenger side, but there was no sign of Mum. He was glad of that. Caisleán Dubh always upset her. Mum must have kept Jacob at home. For that, Riley was doubly glad.

  Bridget approached him with a tentative step and a nervous expression. Since he'd practically seduced her at breakfast, he could easily imagine why she was tentative. He'd been a boor, then a brute, and now...

  What, Mulligan? What do you want to be?

  Lover. Aye, her lover.

  He wanted to spread her out like a fine delicacy and savor every inch—

  "Mr. Mulligan, I'm Brian Kelley from the Irish Trust."

  The tall, thin man with a head full of wild red curls thrust his hand out and Riley shook it, struggling to control his lust for Bridget.

  "Thank you for coming so soon," Bridget said.

  "Caisleán Dubh is a site we've longed to explore. This is a treat." Smiling, he turned to face the tower. "My crew is ready when you are. Are you both very sure you want to be present
during the inspection? It could be dangerous, depending on what we find."

  Bridget's breath came out in a whoosh, and she said, "Yes, please." She looked at Riley and waited for him to say something. Anything.

  Finally, he grunted and gave a curt nod. "Let's do it," he said, holding her gaze. "Then... we'll see." *****

  * * *

  Was that promise Bridget saw in his eyes? What had changed?

  Everything.

  They had silently acknowledged their mutual attraction—right or wrong—and now they were going together with the inspection team.

  You're a glutton for punishment. That was what Granny would've said. Not that the time Bridget had spent in Riley's arms was punishment. On the contrary—those brief moments had been breathtaking. Unforgettable. Her cheeks warmed.

  She looked up at him, reminding herself of what it must have been like to have been the ten-year-old boy who'd found his daddy inside this castle. Her knees felt like uncooked sausage that would collapse at any moment. She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

  This is what you wanted, Bridget. The inspection.

  But be careful what you wish for.

  For once, she wished she could silence her memories of Granny's endless clichés—wise or not. Right and wrong didn't matter when faced with destiny.

  Yes, destiny. Crazy or not, Bridget knew she was facing just that with Caisleán Dubh.

  And Riley.

  After his game of footsie at breakfast, she could barely face him. What had come over the man? Don't think about that now. Think about the inspection. About the castle. About Mulligan Stew.

  She faced the doors, relishing the wash of welcoming whispers that sighed over her. Yes, this was right.

  Was she more nervous about being near Riley inside the castle again, or about the inspection itself? One thing was for danged certain—she would not touch that banister again. Remembering her crazed reaction to it, she wondered how she could avoid ever touching it again after she opened Mulligan Stew and worked there every day.

  "Mr. Mulligan, why don't you and your wife wait over here until we get the doors open?"