by Nora Roberts
It seemed like a nice connection to the evening to have a handsome man cooking breakfast in her kitchen. That was one more thing that had never happened to her before.
It was amazing, she thought, just how quickly, and how completely, a life could change. Jude sipped carefully, found the brew more tolerable than expected. Drinking the rest, she put on the kettle.
“Jude, you’ve no sausage. You’ve no bacon.”
The quiet shock in his voice amused her. “No, I don’t really eat it.”
“Don’t eat it? How do you cook breakfast?”
Because the shock wasn’t so quiet now, she couldn’t resist fluttering at him. Imagine, she thought, flirting before breakfast. “Usually by putting a piece of whole wheat bread in the toaster and pressing down the little lever.”
“A single piece of toast?”
“And a half a grapefruit or a cup of whatever fresh fruit I have on hand. But now and then, I confess, I go wild and have an entire bagel with low-fat cream cheese.”
“And this is what a sensible person calls breakfast?”
“Yes, a healthy one.”
“Yanks,” Aidan shook his head, as he took out eggs. “Why is it you think you’ll live forever and why do you want to, I’d like to know, when you deny yourselves so many of the basic pleasures in life?”
“Somehow I manage to get through day after day without gnawing on greasy pig meat.”
“A little testy in the morning, are we? Well, you wouldn’t be if you’d eat a proper breakfast. But we’ll do what we can for you.”
She turned, prepared to snarl at him, but with the hand that wasn’t holding the eggs, he cupped the back of her neck and nudged her up against him, then nipped her bottom lip. Before she’d recovered from that, he was following up the quick bite with a long, soft kiss that drained what few thoughts were left in her head.
“Do you have to do that before breakfast?” Brenna complained.
“Aye.” Aidan ran that wonderful hand down Jude’s spine, then up again. “And after, if I have my way about it.”
“Bad enough you come in, stomping about and waking a body up.” Scowling, and wearing the robe she’d wrapped herself in the night before, Brenna headed straight for the jar and poured some Gallagher’s Fix into a glass. Gulping it down, she eyed Aidan narrowly. “Are you making breakfast then?”
“I’m about to. You’re looking a bit peaked this morning, Mary Brenna. Do you want a kiss as well?”
She sniffed, then grinned at him. “I wouldn’t mind it.”
He obliged her by putting the eggs aside and stepping up to lift her off the floor by her elbows. When she whooped, he planted a loud, smacking kiss on her lips. “There you have it, and some roses back in your cheeks as well.”
“That’s from two punches of a fix by Gallagher,” she said and made him laugh.
“We aim to please. Is my sister still on her feet?”
“She’s in the shower, and still cursing you. As I would be if you weren’t so free with your kisses.”
“If God didn’t want a woman’s lips to be kissed, he wouldn’t have made them so easy to reach. Are there potatoes in the larder, Jude?”
“I think—yes.”
Free with his kisses? She’d been warmly entertained watching the easy and affectionate byplay, but now she stood worrying about just what “free with his kisses” meant while Aidan scrubbed off some potatoes and put them in a pot to boil. Did that mean he just went around scooping up women with both hands? He certainly had the charm for it.
The skill for it.
The looks for it.
What did it matter? They didn’t have what anyone would call a relationship. She didn’t want a relationship. Not really.
She just wanted to know if she was one of a pack, or if—for once—she was something more special. Just once something special to someone.
“Where have you gone off dreaming?” Aidan asked her.
Jude jerked back, ordered herself not to flush. “Nowhere.” She busied herself with the coffee and tried not to feel odd when Brenna rummaged through the cupboards for plates and flatware.
She’d never had people make themselves so easily at home in her house. It surprised her to realize she liked it. It made her feel a part of something friendly and simple.
It didn’t matter if Brenna was efficient enough to intimidate a well-programmed robot. It didn’t matter if Darcy was so beautiful every other woman looked dull by comparison.
It didn’t even matter if Aidan kissed a hundred women before breakfast every day of the week.
Somehow within a few short weeks, they were her friends. And they didn’t appear to expect her to be anything but what she was.
It was a small but precious miracle.
“Why don’t I smell bacon cooking?” Darcy demanded as she strolled in.
“Jude didn’t have any,” Aidan told her.
Jude beamed as Darcy helped herself to coffee. “I’ll get some. For next time.”
• • •
The feeling stayed with her all day, the warmth and quiet joy of it. Over breakfast she made plans to drive to Dublin and shop with Darcy, to have Sunday dinner at the O’Tooles’, and she scheduled another storytelling session with Aidan.
She wasn’t asked to come down to the pub that evening. It was understood that she would. And that was so much better. When you were part of something, she reflected, you didn’t need to be asked.
The kitchen smelled of fried potatoes and coffee. The wind chime outside the door sang in the breeze. As she rose to get more coffee, she spotted Betty outside running wildly after a bounding rabbit over hills sprinkled with wildflowers.
Jude imprinted it all on her mind, promising herself she’d take the moment out again when she was feeling low or lonely.
Later, when she was alone and settling down to work, it seemed to her the house still held all that warmth and energy. So she wrote in her journal:
It’s odd that I never realized this is so much what I want. A home. A place where people I enjoy and who enjoy me will come when they like. Will feel comfortable and easy. Maybe it wasn’t solitude I was looking for after all when I so rashly flew to Ireland. It was what I’ve had over these last hours. Companionship, laughter, foolishness, and well, romance.
I suppose I didn’t realize it because I never let myself really wish for it. Now without even the wish, here it is.
That’s a kind of magic, isn’t it? Every bit as much as faeries and spells and winged horses. I’m accepted here, not for what I do, or where I come from, or where I went to school. I’m accepted for who I am. For who, more importantly, I’m finally letting myself become.
When I have dinner at the O’Tooles’ I won’t be shy or feel awkward. I’ll have fun. When I go shopping with Darcy I’m determined to buy something extravagant and useless. Because it’ll be fun.
And when next Aidan comes through my garden gate, I may take him as a lover. Because I want him. Because he makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. Outrageously and completely female.
And because, damn it, it’ll be fun.
With a satisfied nod she switched documents and settled back to review some of her work. Scanning the screen, sifting through written notes, she slid into the routine of research and analysis. She was deep into the study of a story on a crofter’s changeling when her phone rang.
With her mind circling the crofter’s dilemma, she picked up the receiver. “Yes? Hello.”
“Jude. I hope I’m not interrupting your work.”
Jude blinked at the screen and tuned in to her mother’s voice. “No, nothing important. Hello, Mother. How are you?”
“I’m very well.” Linda Murray’s voice was cultured and smooth, and just a little cool. “Your father and I are about to take advantage of the end of the semester. We’re going to New York for a few days to attend an exhibit at the Whitney and see a play.”
“That’s nice.” It made her smile, thinking how much her
parents enjoyed each other’s company. A perfect meeting of minds. “You’ll enjoy that.”
“Very much. You’re welcome to fly in and join us if you like, if you’ve had enough of country living.”
A perfect meeting of minds, Jude thought again. And she’d never quite been able to mesh with that lovely unity. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine. I really love it here.”
“Do you?” There was faint surprise in the tone. “You always took after your grandmother, who sends her love, by the way.”
“Send mine right back to her.”
“You’re not finding the cottage a bit too rustic?”
Jude thought of her initial reaction—no microwave, no electric can opener—and grinned to herself. “I have everything I need. There are flowers blooming outside the windows. And I’m starting to recognize some of the birds.”
“That’s nice. You do sound rested. I hope you’re planning on spending some time in Dublin while you’re there. They’re supposed to have marvelous galleries. And of course you’ll want to see Trinity College.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m going to Dublin for the day next week.”
“Good. Good. A little respite in the country is all well and good, but you don’t want your mind to stagnate.”
Jude opened her mouth, shut it again, then took a long breath. “I’m working on my paper now, as a matter of fact. I’m finding no end of material here. And I’m learning to garden.”
“Really? That’s a lovely hobby. You sound happy, Jude. I’m so glad to hear it. It’s been too long since you sounded happy.”
Jude closed her eyes and felt the burgeoning resentment fade away. “I know you’ve been worried about me, and I’m sorry. I really am happy. I suppose I just needed to get away for a while.”
“I’ll admit both your father and I were concerned. You seemed so listless and dissatisfied.”
“I suppose I was both.”
“The divorce was hard on you. I understand that, better I think, than you knew. It was so sudden and so final, and it took all of us by surprise.”
“It certainly took me by surprise,” Jude said dryly. “It shouldn’t have. Wouldn’t have if I’d been paying attention.”
“Perhaps not,” Linda said, and Jude winced at her mother’s easy agreement. “But that doesn’t change the fact that William wasn’t the man any of us thought he was. And that’s one of the reasons I called, Jude. I felt it would be better if you heard this from me rather than through the gossip mill or some letter from an acquaintance.”
“What is it?” Something inside her belly clenched. “Is it about William? Is he ill?”
“No, quite the contrary. He appears to be thriving.”
Jude gaped at the sudden and undisguised bitterness in her mother’s voice. “Well, that’s fine.”
“You have a more forgiving nature than I do,” Linda snapped back. “I’d prefer it if he’d contract some rare debilitating disease or at least go bald and develop a facial twitch.”
Stunned as much by the uncharacteristic violence in her mother’s voice as by the sentiment, Jude burst out laughing. “That’s terrible! I love it! But I had no idea you felt that way about him.”
“Your father and I did our best to maintain a polite front, to make things easier for you. It couldn’t have been comfortable for you, facing your mutual friends and colleagues. You remained dignified. We were proud of you.”
Dignity, Jude mused. Yes, they’d always found pride in her dignity. So how could she have disappointed them by going into wild rages or having public snits? “I appreciate that.”
“I think it showed enormous strength, the way you held your head up. And I can only imagine how much it cost you to do so. I suppose leaving your position at the university and going away like this was necessary. To rebuild.”
“I didn’t think you understood.”
“Of course we did, Jude. He hurt you.”
As simple as that, Jude realized and felt her eyes sting. Why hadn’t she trusted her family to stand behind her? “I thought you blamed me.”
“Why in the world would we blame you? Honestly, your father actually threatened to strike William. It’s so rare for that Irish blood to surface, and it took quite some doing to calm him down again.”
Jude tried to imagine her dignified father plowing into the dignified William. But it would not compute. “I can’t tell you how much better that makes me feel.”
“I never said anything because you seemed so determined to keep it all civilized. And I hope this doesn’t upset you, but I don’t want you to hear it from some other source.”
Jude’s belly seized up again. “What is it?”
“William and his new wife are taking advantage of semester’s end as well. They’re going to the West Indies for a couple of weeks. Of all places. William is cheerfully telling anyone who’ll listen that they want this exotic holiday before they have to settle in. Jude, they’re expecting a baby in October.”
Whatever had clutched in her belly sank, dropped through clean to her toes. “I see.”
“The man’s acting like a fool about it. He actually has a copy of the sonogram and is showing it off like a family photo. He bought her this gaudy emerald ring to celebrate. He’s behaving as if she’s the first woman to conceive.”
“I’m sure he’s just very happy.”
“I’m glad you can take it well. For myself, I’m infuriated. We have several mutual friends and this, well, glee of his, is very awkward in social situations. You’d think he would show more tact.”
Linda paused, obviously to get her temper under control. When she spoke again, it was gently. “He wasn’t worth a moment of your time, Jude. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that before you married him.”
“So am I,” she murmured. “Please don’t worry about it, Mother. It’s history. I’m just sorry it’s embarrassing for you.”
“Oh, I can manage. As I said, I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. I can see now I needn’t have been concerned that you’d be upset or hurt again. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you were completely over him. I’m relieved you’re so sensible. As always.”
“Yes, sensible Jude,” she said, even as something hot lodged in her throat. “Absolutely. In fact, be sure to give him my best wishes the next time you see him.”
“I’ll do that. I really am glad you’re happy, Jude. Your father or I will be in touch once we’re back from New York.”
“Good. Have a wonderful time. Give Father my love.”
“I will.”
When she hung up, Jude felt paralyzed. Frozen. Her skin was chilled, her blood frigid. All the warmth and pleasure, the simple delight that had carried over from the morning iced up in what she assumed was despair.
William flying off to some charming island in the West Indies with his pretty new wife. Sliding into sparkling blue water, strolling along sugar-white sand under a full moon with hands clasped and eyes dreamy.
William giddy over the prospect of fatherhood, bragging about his pretty pregnant wife, poring through baby books with Allyson, compiling lists of names. Pampering the mother-to-be with emerald rings and flowers and lazy Sunday mornings in bed with freshly squeezed orange juice and croissants.
She could visualize it perfectly, a curse of her well-honed imagination. The characteristically buttoned-down William, gleefully nuzzling the lovely Madonna as they lounged on the beach. The usually reserved William telling perfect strangers about the upcoming blessed event.
The notoriously frugal William shelling out the price of an emerald ring. A gaudy one.
The bastard.
She snapped the pencil she held in two, heaved both parts at the wall. It wasn’t until she’d leaped out of her chair, knocking it to the floor with a resounding crash, that she realized it wasn’t despair she felt. It was fury. Blazing, blistering fury.
Her breath came in pants, her fists were clenched. There was nothing to pound on, nothing to beat senseless. The rage buildi
ng inside her was so black, so fierce, she looked around wildly for somewhere to put it before it exploded out of her chest.
She had to get out, to move, to breathe, before the force of anger came out in a scream that shattered every window in the cottage. Blindly she whirled toward the door and raced out, down the stairs, out of the house.
She ran over the hills until she couldn’t catch her breath, until her sides stung and her legs trembled. A soft rain began to fall through the sunshine, sparkling the air and dewing the grass. The wind came up strong and sounded like a woman weeping. Through it, like a whisper, was the music of pipes.
Finding herself on the path to Ardmore, Jude continued to walk.
ELEVEN
A RAINY EVENING at the pub had people snuggled into their chairs and doing as much dreaming as talking. Young Connor Dempsey played wistful tunes on the squeeze-box while his father sipped his Smithwick’s and discussed the state of the world with his good friend Jack Brennan.
Since Jack’s heart was mending now, he paid as much attention to the conversation as he did his own beer.
From behind the bar, Aidan kept an eye on him nonetheless. Jack and Connor Dempsey Senior often disagreed on the state of the world and occasionally felt the need to use their fists to bring the point home.
Aidan understood the need well enough, but he didn’t care to have the debate rage in his place.
He checked the progress of the football game on the bar set now and then. Clare was outscoring Mayo and he gave them a quick mental cheer, as he had a small wager on the outcome.
He anticipated a quiet night and wondered if he could call upon Brenna to cover for him. He had an urge to see if Jude would like another meal with him. In a restaurant this time, with flowers and candles on the table and a nice straw-colored wine in pretty glasses.
It would be the sort of thing she was more accustomed to, he imagined, than scrambled eggs and fried potatoes dished up in her own kitchen.
Shy and sweet she might be, but she was a sophisticated woman. City-bred and upper class. The men she was used to would take her to the theater and fancy restaurants. They would wear ties and well-cut suits and talk of literature and cinema in weighty tones.
Well, he wasn’t exactly ignorant, was he? He read books and enjoyed films. He’d traveled more than most and had seen great art and architecture firsthand. He could hold his own against any Chicago dandy in conversation.
When he caught himself scowling, he shook his head. What was he doing, for Christ’s sake, setting himself up in competition with some imaginary man? It was pathetic the way he couldn’t seem to hold three thoughts in his head unless one of them centered on Jude Murray.
It was likely just sexual frustration, he decided. He hadn’t slid his hands over a woman’s body in a considerable amount of time. Every time he imagined doing so, it was Jude’s body under his hands. And thanks to that morning, he had a much clearer picture of just what that body of hers included.
All that soft white skin that tended to show a rosy flush so easily. Long, slim legs, and a tiny, sexy mole just at the rise of her left breast. She had such pretty shoulders, shoulders that just seemed to cry out for the trail of a man’s lips.
The way she shied, then melted when he touched her. Was it any wonder he was fixated on her? A man would have to be dead a decade not to be stirred.
A part of him—one that he wasn’t particularly proud of—wished he could just charm her into bed and be done with it. Release and relief and a pleasure for both of them. Another part admitted, just a bit uneasily, that he was just as fascinated by her mind and her manner as he was by the package wrapped around it.
Quiet and shy, tidy and polite. She just made a man want to keep rubbing away at the sheen of composure until he found everything that lay hidden beneath.
The door opened. Aidan glanced over casually, then he looked again, eyes widening in something close to shock.
