The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  Thoughtfully, Mick rubbed his chin, measured his man. “I’ll take the whiskey.”

  Temper was still bubbling under his skin, but he followed Shawn to the back, waited while the bottle was taken from the cupboard and good Jameson’s poured into short glasses.

  “Will you sit, Mr. O’Toole?”

  “Well, you’ve manners, don’t you, at such a time.” Scowling, Mick sat, picked up his glass, and eyed Shawn over the top of it. “You’ve had your hands on my daughter.”

  “I have.”

  Mick set his teeth. His hand fisted again, braced and ready. “And what are your intentions toward my Mary Brenna?”

  “I love her, and I want to marry her.”

  Mick’s breath hissed out. He dragged one hand through his hair as he gulped down the whiskey, then held out the glass for more. “Well, why the devil didn’t you say so?”

  “Ah . . .” Gingerly, Shawn cupped his bruised jaw, moved it gently side to side. Not broken, he decided. Just battered. “It’s a bit of a dilemma.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “I haven’t brought the matter up to Brenna herself as yet. If I do, you see, she’ll determine to go the opposite way. I’ve been working at bringing the matter ’round so it seems her idea. That way, she’ll make my life hell till I agree to it.”

  Mick stared, then shaking his head, set his whiskey down. “Well, Jesus, you do know her, don’t you?”

  “I do. And I love her with all my heart. I want to spend my life with her. There’s nothing I want more. So . . .” Finished, and exhausted from it, Shawn knocked back his whiskey. “There you have it.”

  “You know how to take the wind out of a man’s sails.” Mick drank again. “I love my girls, Shawn. Each one of them’s a jewel to me. When I walked my Maureen down the aisle and gave her away, I was proud, and my heart was breaking. You’ll know how that is one day. I’ve to do the same with Patty soon. Both of them chose men I’m pleased to call son.”

  He held out his glass, waited while Shawn filled it again. “My Brenna has as good taste and sense as her sisters, if not better.”

  “Thank you for that.” Relieved, Shawn took a second glass himself. “I’m wishing she’d come ’round to that sooner rather than later, but she’s a bit of work, if you don’t mind me saying.”

  “I don’t. I’m proud of it.” Mick settled in, frowned a little. “This business that’s going on between you, I don’t approve of it.” He noted Shawn was man enough to meet his eye and wise enough to keep his thoughts to himself. By God, who’d have thought Brenna would meet her match in this one? “But she’s more than of age,” Mick continued, “and so are you. My approving or not isn’t going to stop you from . . . well, I don’t want to say any more on that particular thing.”

  They drank in cautious silence.

  “Mr. O’Toole.”

  “I think, as things are coming ’round, you should call me Mick.”

  “Mick, I’m sorry about Mary Kate. I swear to you, I never—”

  Mick waved a hand before Shawn could finish. “I can’t blame you on that score. Our Katie has fancies, and a young and tender heart. I don’t like knowing it’s bruised, but there’s no blame.”

  “Brenna’ll blame herself, and she’ll step back from me. If I didn’t love her, I could let her.”

  “Time.” Mick polished off the next whiskey and thought it was a fine morning to get a bit of a drunk on. “When you get older, you come to trust in time. Not that I’m meaning you sit idle and let it pass.”

  “I’m looking for land,” Shawn said abruptly. The whiskey was starting to work in his head, and he didn’t mind a bit.

  “What’s that?”

  “For land, to buy. For Brenna. She’ll want to build her house, don’t you think?”

  Tears of sentiment gathered in Mick’s eyes. “It’s been a dream of hers to do that.”

  “I know she’s a dream to have a hand in building something from the ground up, and I’m hoping she’ll have her chance with the theater.”

  “Aye, I’ve been giving her a hand in the drawing of that.”

  “Would you see that I get it, so I can pass it on? She may not feel as easy about giving it to me now.”

  “You’ll have it tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine, then. And the theater’s an important thing, for Brenna, for us, for Ardmore. But a home— that’s more important than a place of business.”

  “It is, and would be to her as well as to you.”

  “If you hear of something you think might suit, would you pass it on to me?”

  Mick took out his handkerchief, blew his nose. And was pleased to see Shawn fill his glass without waiting to be asked. “That I’ll do.” Eyes narrowed and a bit bright from drink, Mick peered at Shawn’s jaw. “How’s the face, then?”

  “Aches like a bitch in heat.”

  Mick laughed heartily, tapped his glass to Shawn’s. “Well, that’s something, then.”

  While Mick and Shawn bonded over Jameson’s, Mollie had her hands full. It took nearly an hour of strokes and pats and sympathy before she could tuck Mary Kate in for a nap. Her own head was feeling achy, but she pressed her fingers to her eyes to relieve some of the pressure before crossing to Brenna’s room.

  She reminded herself she had wanted children, and a number of them besides. She’d been blessed. She was grateful.

  And Blessed Mary, she was tired.

  Brenna was curled on the bed, eyes shut. Sitting crosslegged beside her, Alice Mae stroked Brenna’s hair. At the foot of the bed, Patty sat dabbing at her eyes.

  It was a sweet sight, all in all. Patty was a romantic and would automatically throw her heart to Brenna on this. Alice Mae, bless her, couldn’t bear to see anything or anyone in pain.

  Mollie had only to gesture for Patty and Alice Mae to get up and take their leave. “I’ll speak to Brenna alone.” She shooed them out before questions could be asked and shut the door.

  As Mollie crossed to the bed, she saw Brenna tense. “I’m sorry.” Brenna kept her eyes closed, and her voice was rough and strained. “I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.”

  “Oh, what nonsense.” Using a brisker tone than she had with Mary Kate, Mollie sat, gave Brenna’s shoulder a little shake. “Why should I? Are you thinking I’m so old that I don’t understand what feelings churn around in a woman?”

  “No, no.” Miserable, Brenna curled herself tighter, shifting so she could rest her head on her mother’s lap. “Oh, Ma, it’s all my fault. I started it. I wanted Shawn, so I went right up to him and said so. I kept at him until . . . well, he’s a man, after all.”

  “Is that all there is between you, Brenna? Just the need and the act?”

  “Yes. No.” She pressed her face into the comforting give of her mother. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”

  “Nothing matters more.”

  “I can’t be with him. I won’t see him that way anymore. If you knew how she looked at us, at me. All the hurt on her face before the anger came into it. I never thought of her.” She rolled onto her back now, stared at the ceiling. “I only thought of me and what went on inside me when I was with him. Because of it I lied to you and to Dad. How can you trust me again after this?”

  “I’m not saying the lie was right, but I knew it was a lie when you told me.” She nearly smiled when Brenna’s gaze cut to hers. “Do you think I told my own mother that I was sneaking out of the house on a warm summer night to meet Michael O’Toole so he could make my head swim with kisses?” Her eyes warmed with humor and memory. “Twenty-six years we’ve been married, and five children we brought into the world, and to this day my mother believes I lay chaste in my bed every night before my wedding.”

  With a long sigh, Brenna sat up, and wrapping her arms around Mollie, laid her head on her shoulder. “I have a need for him, Ma, and it’s so big. I thought after a bit it would quiet down, fade back and away, then we’d both get back to how things
were before. But it isn’t quieting down at all. And I’ve ruined it because I didn’t say to Katie, ‘This one’s mine, so find another.’ Or whatever I could have said or done. Now I can’t go back to him.”

  “Answer me this, as honest as you can.” Mollie drew her back, studied her face. “Would Shawn have looked in Mary Kate’s direction if you hadn’t been standing between?”

  “But that’s not the—”

  “Just answer, Brenna.”

  “No.” She let out a painful breath. “But he’d never have hurt her if not for me.”

  “Mistakes were made, there’s no denying it. But Mary Kate’s as responsible for her heart and its bruising as anyone. Martyring yourself won’t change what was or what is. Have a rest,” she said, pressing her lips to Brenna’s forehead. “You’ll think clearer when you’re head’s not aching. Shall I bring you some tea and toast?”

  “No, but thanks. I love you so much.”

  “There, now, don’t start crying again. Any more tears today and I’ll need an oar. Let’s have off your boots and tuck you in.”

  As she had with Mary Kate, Mollie fussed and stroked and settled Brenna under the covers. She sat a little while, and when Brenna was quiet, she rose to let sleep do a bit of healing.

  As she passed the window, she stopped, stepped back, stared down at the sight of her husband weaving and stumbling his way home.

  “Saints in heaven, the man’s drunk and it’s not yet noon.” She pushed at her hair. “What a family this is.”

  SIXTEEN

  GETTING READY TO go to work was quite an undertaking. He was dressed already, which was a fortunate thing. Shaving was out of the question. Even if he’d wanted to deal with scraping a razor over his tender jaw, he was just sober enough to fear cutting his face to ribbons in the process.

  So he left it as it was, and stumbling over his shoes, he thought it might be a fine idea to put them on.

  Bub, being the perverse creature that he was, took the opportunity to crawl all over him, then laid stinging furrows over the back of Shawn’s hand when he tried to push him aside.

  “Vicious bastard.” He and the cat eyed each other with mutual dislike and from a respectful distance. “I might have to take a swipe from Mick O’Toole, but I don’t have to take one from you, you black-hearted spawn of Satan.” He lunged, missed as the cat streaked away, and ended up rapping his already sore jaw on the floor. “Fuck me, that’s about enough.”

  With his ears ringing, he managed to get to his hands and knees. The fiend of a cat was in for dire consequences. Later. He’d let the fiend believe he’d won the war, then seek revenge at an unexpected moment.

  Still sulking over it, Shawn nursed his hand as he headed out of the house. As a matter of habit, he turned toward his car, then paused, balancing himself on the garden gate.

  He was certain he could drive. He was a man who could hold his drink, wasn’t he? For Christ’s sake, his name was Gallagher. But the way things were going, he’d likely run off the road and smash his teeth out on the steering wheel.

  Much better to walk, he decided. Clear his head, settle his thoughts. He started down the road, mindful of the ruts and bumps, singing to entertain himself on the journey.

  He stumbled a time or two, but fell only the one time. Of course, the one time was enough to have his knee find the single sharp rock in the bloody road. He was picking himself up from that, not far from the village proper, when Betsy Clooney, with her car full of her children, stopped beside him.

  “Shawn, what’s happened? You’ve had an accident?”

  He smiled at her. She had a pretty brood of children, all of them fair of hair and blue of eye. The two in the back were squabbling, but the youngest, secured in her car seat, watched Shawn like a little owl as she sucked on a red lollipop.

  “Well, hello, Betsy. How’s it all going, then?”

  “Did you have a car crash?” She pushed open her door to hurry around to him, grinning as he was at her baby and weaving like a man who’d gone a hard round with the champ.

  “I didn’t, no. I’ve been walking.”

  “Your hand’s bleeding, and you’re bruised on the face. Your trousers are ripped at the knee.”

  “Are they?” He glanced down, saw the mud and the tear. “Shit, look at that, will you? Begging pardon,” he said quickly, remembering the children.

  But she was close enough now to see, and to smell, just what the matter was. “Shawn Gallagher, you’re drunk.”

  “I am, I suppose, a little.” They’d gone to school together, so he patted her shoulder in a friendly manner. “You’ve darling children, Betsy, but your oldest girl there is trying to throttle her brother, and doing a damn fine job of it.”

  Betsy merely glanced back and barked out one sharp warning. The children broke apart.

  “My mother could do the same.” Sheer admiration shone on Shawn’s face. “Half the time it only took a look to curdle the blood in your veins. Well, I must be going.”

  “Get in the back of the car, for heaven’s sake, and I’ll take you home.”

  “Thanks, but I’m for work.”

  She rolled her eyes, jerked open the car door. “Get in all the same, and I’ll drive you the rest of the way.” And let the Gallaghers deal with their own, she thought.

  “That’s kind of you. Thanks, Betsy.”

  The children were so entertained by drunk Mr. Gallagher that they behaved themselves until their mother dropped him off behind the pub.

  He waved cheerfully, then opened the door, tripped over the threshold, and as his balance was already impaired, nearly went facedown on the floor for the second time that day. He caught himself, hung on to the side of the counter, and waited for the pub kitchen to stop revolving.

  With the careful steps of the drunk, he walked over to the cupboard to get out a pan for frying, a pot for boiling.

  He was weaving in front of the refrigerator, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with what was inside it, when Darcy marched in. Fire in her eyes.

  “You’re near to an hour late, and while you’re lazing in bed, we’ve got two bloody buses coming in full of tourists and nothing to put in their bellies but beer nuts and crisps.”

  “Sure I’ll be dealing with that directly.”

  “And what, I’d like to know, are we to put on the daily while you—” She broke off, took a good look at him. His eyes, she noted, were all but wheeling around in his head. “Look at the sight of you. Dirty and torn up and bleeding. You’ve been drinking.”

  “I have.” He turned, gave her the sweet, harmless smile of the very drunk. “Considerably.”

  “Well, you knothead, sit down before you fall down.”

  “I can stand. I’m going to make fish cakes, I’m thinking.”

  “I’ll bet you are.” Amused, she pulled him to the table and shoved him into a chair. She took a look at his hand, decided she’d seen worse. “Stay where you’re put,” she ordered and went out to get Aidan.

  “What d’you mean, drunk?” Aidan said after Darcy hissed in his ear.

  “I think you’re familiar with the term, but if you need refreshing on it, you’ve only to go into the kitchen and have a look at our brother.”

  “Christ, I don’t have time for this.” The pub had only a scatter of customers, as the doors had barely opened, but within thirty minutes, there would be sixty piling in, hungry from the bus trip down from Waterford City.

  “Mind the bar, then,” he told her.

  “Oh, no, not for a million pounds would I miss this.” So saying, she followed him into the kitchen.

  Shawn was singing in his break-your-heart voice, about the cold nature of Peggy Gordon. And with one eye closed, his body swaying gently, he dripped lemon juice into a bowl.

  “Oh, fuck me, Shawn, you are half pissed.”

  “More of three-quarters if the truth be known.” He lost track of the juice and added a bit more to be safe. “And how are you today, Aidan, darling?”

&nb
sp; “Get away from there before you poison someone.”

  Insulted, Shawn swiveled around and had to brace a hand on the counter to stay upright. “I’m drunk, not a murderer. I can make a goddamn fish cake in me sleep. This is my kitchen, I’ll thank you to remember, and I give the orders here.”

  He poked himself in the chest with his thumb on the claim and nearly knocked himself on his ass.

  Gathering dignity, he lifted his chin. “So go on with you while I go about my work.”

  “What have you done to yourself?”

  “The devil cat caught me hand.” Forgetting his work, Shawn lifted a hand to scowl at the red gashes. “Oh, but I’ve plans for him, you can be sure of that.”

  “At the moment, I’d lay odds on the cat. Do you know anything about putting fish cakes together?” Aidan asked Darcy.

  “Not a bloody thing,” she said cheerfully.

  “Then go and call Kathy Duffy, would you, and ask if she can spare us an hour or so, as we have an emergency.”

  “An emergency?” Shawn looked glassily around. “Where?”

  “Come with me, boy-o.”

  “Where?” Shawn asked again, and Aidan hooked an arm around his waist.

  “To pay the piper.”

  “If you’re taking him upstairs,” Darcy called out as she reached for the phone, “I’ll thank you to clean up whatever mess is made during the sobering.”

  “Just call Kathy Duffy and mind the bar.” Aidan took Shawn’s weight and dragged him upstairs.

  “I can cook, drunk or sober,” Shawn insisted. “I don’t know what you’re in such a taking over. It’s just fucking fish cakes.” And he pressed a noisy kiss to Aidan’s cheek.

  “You always were a cheerful drunk.”

  “And why not?” Shawn hooked an arm around Aidan’s shoulder, stumbled. “My life’s in the toilet, and it looks better through the whiskey.”

  Making sympathetic noises, Aidan half carried him into Darcy’s tidy little bathroom. “You had words with Brenna, did you?”

  “No, but with everyone else in God’s creation. I spent the night making love to the woman I want to marry. I tell you, Aidan, it’s a different matter altogether being inside a woman when you love her. Who knew?”