Jewels of the Sun (20 page)

She circled the room, noting the comfortably faded
cushions and old wood, the clutter and the patterns of light through the windows. It could use some sprucing, without a doubt, she mused. But it was all here. Home, family, continuity.

Yes, this was the place for family, for children, the way her cottage was the place for solitude and contemplation.

She imagined the walls in this house held the echos of too many voices raised in temper, in joy, to ever be truly quiet.

The clatter on the stairs had her turning to see Darcy race down them, her hair billowing out. “Are you just going to laze around all day?” Darcy demanded. “Or are we off to Dublin?”

It was a much different trip to Dublin than it had been from. The car was full of chatter, leaving Jude barely any room for nerves. Darcy was full of village gossip. It seemed young Douglas O’Brian had gotten Maggie Brennan in trouble and there was to be a wedding the minute the banns were called. And James Brennan had been so outraged by the idea of his daughter sneaking out to wrestle with Douglas, he’d gotten drunk as three princes and spent the night sleeping in the dooryard, as his wife locked him out of the house.

“I heard that Mr. Brennan went hunting for young Douglas, and the lad hid out in his father’s hayloft—where the smart wagers are the deed was first done—until the crisis passed.” Brenna stretched out like a lazy cat in the backseat, with the bill of her cap over her eyes. “Maggie’s going to have second thoughts soon enough, when she finds her belly swelled and that feckless Douglas with his boots under the bed.”

“The pair of them not yet twenty,” Darcy added with a shake of her head. “It’s a sorry way to start a life.”

“Why do they have to get married?” Jude wanted to know. “They’re too young.”

Darcy just stared at her. “Well, they’re having a baby, so what else is to be done?”

Jude opened her mouth, shut it before she could logically point out the variety of alternatives. This, she reminded herself, was Ireland. Instead, she tried another route. “Is that what you’d do?” she asked Darcy. “If you found yourself pregnant?”

“First, I’d be careful not to have sex with someone I wasn’t prepared to live with should the need arise. And second,” she said after some thought, “I’m twenty-four and employed, and not afraid of village gossip so much that I wouldn’t raise the child on my own if I’d made a blunder.”

She turned her head then, lifted a brow at Jude. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No!” Jude nearly swerved off the road before she recovered. “No, of course not.”

“Why ‘of course not’ when you’ve been sleeping with Aidan every night for the past week? Protection’s all well and good, but it’s not infallible, is it?”

“No, but . . .”

“Ah, stop scaring her, Darcy. You know you’re just jealous because she’s having regular sex and you’re not.”

Darcy tossed a sneering look toward the backseat. “And neither are you, my girl.”

“And more’s the pity.” Brenna shifted, came forward to prop her arms on the back of the front seats. “So tell us poor deprived women about sex with Aidan. There’s a pal, Jude.”

“No.” She said it with a laugh.

“Oh, don’t be a prude.” Brenna poked her shoulder.
“Tell me, does he take his sweet time about it, or is he a member of the Irish Foreplay Club?”

“The Irish Foreplay Club?”

“Ah, you’ve not heard of it,” Brenna said soberly as Darcy snickered. “Their battle cry is ‘Brace yourself, Bridget.’ Then they’re in and out before their lager’s gone warm.”

Surprising herself, Jude all but screamed with laughter. “He doesn’t call me Bridget unless I call him Shamus.”

“She’s made a joke.” Darcy wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “Our Jude. What a proud moment this is.”

“And a fine one,” Brenna agreed. “But tell us, Jude, does he take his time with it, sort of sliding around and nibbling in the right places, or is it all hot and fast and over with before you can call out you’ve seen God?”

“I can’t talk about sex with Aidan with his sister in the car.”

“Well, then, let’s dump her out so you can tell me.”

“Why can’t you talk of it?” Darcy demanded, with barely a pause for a glare at Brenna. “I know he has sex. The bastard. But if it troubles you, don’t think of me as his sister for the moment, but as your friend.”

Exasperated, Jude blew out a breath. “All right, I’ll just say it’s the best I’ve ever had. Although with William it was like . . . a precise military march,” she decided, shocking herself again. “And before him there was only Charles.”

“Charles, was it? Brenna, our Jude has a past.”

“And who was Charles?” Brenna prompted.

“He was in finance.”

“So he was rich.” Darcy pounced eagerly on the magic word.

“His family was. We met during my last year of college. I suppose the physical relationship with him was . . . Well,
let’s say that when it was done all the figures added up, but it was a rather tedious process. Aidan’s romantic.”

Her companions made oohing noises that had her giggling helplessly. “Oh, stop. I’m not saying another word about it.”

“What a bitch to tease us that way.” Brenna tugged on Jude’s hair. “Sure you can give us just one little example of his romantic side as relates to good sex.”

“One?”

“Just one and we’ll be satisfied, won’t we, Darcy?”

“Why, of course. We wouldn’t pry into her personal life, would we?”

“All right. The first time, he picked me up right off the floor at the cottage and carried me upstairs. All the way upstairs to the bedroom.”

“Like Rhett carried Scarlett?” Darcy asked. “Or over the shoulder like you were a sack of potatoes?”

“Like Rhett and Scarlett.”

“That’s a good one.” Brenna pillowed her cheek on her arms. “He gets high marks for that.”

“He treats me like I’m special.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Darcy demanded.

“No one ever has. And, well, since we’re on the subject, and it’s not exactly a secret what’s going on, I don’t have anything . . . well, pretty, sexy. Lingerie and that kind of thing. I thought maybe you could help me pick some out.”

“I know just the place for it.” Darcy all but rubbed her hands together.

“I spent two thousand pounds on underwear.”

Dazed, Jude walked down bustling Grafton Street. There were people everywhere, swarming. Shoppers, tourists,
packs of teenagers, and every few feet, it seemed, musicians playing for coins. It was dazzling, the noise and colors and shapes. But nothing was more dazzling than what she’d just done.

“Two thousand. On underwear.”

“And worth every penny,” Darcy said briskly. “He’ll be a slave to you.”

They were loaded with shopping bags, and though Jude had gone into the foray determined to buy recklessly, her idea of reckless was Darcy’s notion of conservative. Somehow, within two hours she accumulated what seemed like an entire wardrobe, with accessories, all at Darcy’s ruthless instigation.

“I can’t carry anything else.”

“Here.” Stopping, Darcy snatched some of the bags from Jude and shoved them at Brenna.

“I didn’t buy anything.”

“So you have free hands, then, don’t you? Oh! Look at those shoes.” Darcy barreled through the crowd gathered around a trio of fiddlers, homing in on target. “They’re darling.”

“I want my tea,” Brenna muttered, then scowled at the strappy black shoes with four-inch heels that Darcy was drooling over. “You’d have blisters and calf cramps before you’d walked a kilometer in those things.”

“They’re not for walking, you idiot. I’m having them.” Darcy breezed through the door of the shop.

“I’ll never get my tea,” Brenna complained. “I’ll die of starvation and dehydration and the pair of you won’t even notice as I’ll be buried under a mountain of shopping sacks, in which, I’ll add, is not a single thing of my own.”

“We’ll have tea as soon as I try on the shoes. Here, Jude, these are for you.”

“I don’t need any more shoes.” But she was weak and collapsed in a chair and found herself studying the pretty bronze-toned pumps. “They’re lovely, but then I’d need a bag to go with them.”

“A bag. Jesus.” Brenna rolled her eyes back in her head and slid out of the chair in a heap.

She bought the shoes and a bag, then a wonderful jacket from the shop just down the street. Then there was a silly straw hat that she simply had to have for gardening. Because they were so overloaded, they took a vote and with Brenna the only nay hauled their purchases back to the car to lock them in the trunk before hunting up a place for a meal.

“Thank Mary and all the saints.” Brenna sprawled in a booth in a tiny Italian restaurant that smelled gloriously of garlic. “I’m faint with hunger. I’ll have a pint of Harp,” she ordered the second the waiter shuffled over, “and a pizza with everything on it but your kitchen sink.”

“No, you won’t.” Darcy flipped out her napkin and shot the waiter a smile that had him tumbling directly into love. “We’ll get a pizza and we each pick two of the toppings. I’ll have a Harps as well, but just a glass.”

“Well, then, I want mushrooms and sausage for my picks.”

“Fine.” Darcy nodded across the booth at Brenna. “And I’ll have black olives and green peppers. Jude?”

“Ah, mineral water and . . .” She caught Brenna’s eye, kept her face sober as her friend desperately mouthed pepperoni and capers. “Pepperoni and capers,” she ordered dutifully.

She sighed, sat back and took inventory. Her feet hurt miserably, she couldn’t remember half of what she’d just
bought, she had a vague headache from lack of food and presence of constant conversation, and she was joyously happy about all of it.

“It’s the first day I’ve spent in Dublin,” Jude began. “I haven’t been to one museum or gallery, or taken a single picture. I didn’t walk St. Stephen’s Green or go to Trinity College to see the library or the Book of Kells. It’s shameful.”

“Why? Dublin’s not going anywhere.” Darcy pulled herself away from her flirtation with the waiter. “You can come back and do all that whenever you like.”

“I suppose I can. It’s just that normally, that’s what I would have done. And I’d have planned it all out, pored over the guidebooks and made up an itinerary and a schedule, and while I would have figured in some shopping time for mementoes, that would have been at the bottom of the list.”

“So you just turned the list around, didn’t you?” Darcy offered the waiter another beaming smile when he served their drinks.

“Everything’s turned around. Wait.” She gripped Brenna’s wrist before she could lift her pint.

“Jude, my throat’s dry as an eighty-year-old virgin. Have pity.”

“I just want to say that I’ve never had friends like you.”

“Sure and there aren’t any the likes of us.” Brenna winked, then rolled her eyes as Jude held her wrist down.

“No, I mean . . . I’ve never had any really close women friends that I could have ridiculous conversations about sex with, or share pizza with, or who help me pick out black lace underwear.”

“Oh, God, don’t go misty now, there’s a good girl, Jude.” A little desperate, Brenna turned her hand over to
pat Jude’s. “I have sympathetic tear ducts, and no control over them.”

“Sorry.” But it was too late. Her eyes were already filled and shimmering. “I’m just so happy.”

“There now.” Sniffling herself, Darcy passed out paper napkins. “We’re happy, too. To friendship, then.”

“Yes, to friendship.” Jude let out an unsteady sigh as glasses clinked.
“Slainte.”

She saw some of Dublin after all as they walked off the pizza. Jude finally dug out her camera and delighted herself with shots of the graceful arch of bridges over the grand River Liffey, and the charm of the shady greens, the lush baskets of flowers decking the pubs.

She watched a street artist paint a sunrise over the sea, then on impulse bought it for Aidan.

She had Brenna and Darcy pose a dozen times and bribed them with eclairs from a sweet shop to explore just a bit longer.

Even when they trudged back to the car park, her energy level was high. She thought she could go on endlessly. When they drove away from Dublin the western sky was splashed with the colors of sunset that seemed to last forever in the long spring evening.

And the moon rose as they approached Ardmore, to sprinkle the fields with light and to spread white swords over the sea.

Even after she’d dropped her friends at home and helped Darcy cart in her packages, she wasn’t tired. She almost danced into her cottage and, hauling her own bags upstairs, called out cheerfully.

“I’m back, and I had a wonderful time.”

She wasn’t planning on having it end. Her toughest
decision, she thought, would be to choose just what to wear under her new silk blouse.

She was going to extend the evening with a visit to Gallagher’s before closing. To flirt openly and outrageously with Aidan.

H
E WAS SWAMPED
. There’d been a step-dance exhibition at the school that evening, and it seemed half the village had decided to drop into Gallagher’s afterward to hoist a pint. Several of the young girls had changed back into their dancing shoes to reprise the show for his customers.

It made for a happy sound, and a full pub.

He was pulling pints with both hands, holding three conversations at once and manning the till. He wanted to shoot himself for giving Darcy the day off.

Shawn slipped in and out of the kitchen as time allowed and lent a hand at the bar and with the serving. But he’d get caught up in the dancing and forget to come back as often as not.

“It’s not a bleeding party,” Aidan reminded him, again, when Shawn strolled back behind the bar.

“Sure it sounds like one to me. Everyone’s happy enough.” Shawn nodded to the crowd that circled three
dancers. “The Duffy girl’s the best of the lot, to my thinking. She’s got a way with her.”

“Leave off watching them, would you, and get down to the other end of the bar.”

The abrupt tone only made Shawn smile. “Missing your lady, are you? Can’t blame you for it. She’s a sweetheart.”

Aidan sighed and passed brimming glasses into eager hands. “I haven’t time to miss anything when I’m up to my ass in beer.”

“Well, then, that’s a pity, as she just walked in and looking fresh and pretty as a dewdrop despite the hour,” Shawn added when Aidan’s head whipped around.

He’d tried not to think of her. In fact, he’d made a concerted effort on it, mostly to see if he could manage it. He’d done fairly well, only finding himself distracted by thoughts of her a couple dozen times that day.

Now here she was, with her hair bound back and her smile all for him. By the time she’d squeezed her way to the bar, her smile was a laugh, and he’d forgotten about the Guinness he was building.

“What’s going on?” She had to lift her voice to a near shout and lean in close, so close that he caught her scent, the mystery of it that lingered on her skin.

“A bit of a party, it seems. I’ll get you some wine when I’ve got a free hand.” He’d rather have used that free hand, both hands, to snatch her up, haul her over the bar, and gather her in.

You’re well and truly hooked, Gallagher, he thought, and decided he rather enjoyed the sensation.

“Did you have a fine time in Dublin, then?”

“Yes, a wonderful time. I bought everything that wasn’t nailed down. And if I started to resist, Darcy talked me into it.”

“She’s good at spending money,” Aidan began, then caught himself. “Darcy? She’s back. Oh, thank the Lord. Another pair of hands might get us through the rest of the night without a riot.”

“You can have mine.”

“Hmm?”

“I can take orders.” The idea took root in her head and bloomed. “And serve.”

“Darling, I can’t ask you to do that.” He shifted as someone elbowed to the bar to order pints and glasses and fizzy water.

“You’re not asking. And I’d like it. If I bungle it, everyone will just think the Yank’s a bit slow, then you can call Darcy.”

“Have you ever waitressed before?” He gave her an indulgent smile that instantly put her back up.

“How hard can it be?” she snapped back and to prove her point, turned and muscled her way toward one of the little tables to get started.

“Didn’t take a pad or a tray.” Aidan looked at his customer for sympathy as he filled the order. “And if I was to call Darcy now, that one would have my head for breakfast.”

“Women,” he was told, “are dangerous creatures at the best of times.”

“True enough, true enough, but that one is normally of a calm nature. That’s five pounds eight. And,” he continued as he took the money and made change, “it’s the ones with the calm natures who can cut your throat the quickest when riled.”

“You’re a wise man, Aidan.”

“Aye.” Aidan took a breath in a moment’s lull. “Wise enough not to call Darcy and have two females bashing at me.”

Still, he figured it wouldn’t take Jude more than a quarter hour to realize she was over her head. She was a practical woman, after all. And later he could smooth her feathers by saying it was a rare night in the pub in any case, and how thoughtful it had been of her to offer to help, and so on and so forth until he got her naked and in bed.

Pleased with the image, Aidan served the next cheerfully. And he had a smile waiting for Jude as she wove her way back to the bar. “I’ll get you that wine now,” he began.

“I don’t drink on the job,” she said smartly. “I need two pints of Harp and a glass of Smithwick’s, two whiskeys, um, Paddy’s, two Cokes, and a Baileys.” She offered a smug smile. “And I could use one of those little aprons if you have one handy.”

He started the order, cleared his throat. “Ah, you don’t know the prices.”

“You have a list of them, don’t you? Put them in the apron. I can add, and quite well, too. If you have a tray, while you’re filling that order, I can clear off some of the empties before they end up broken on the floor.”

A quarter hour, he thought again, and dug out a menu, an apron, laid them both on a tray and passed it over. “It’s kind it is of you to pitch in, Jude Frances.”

She lifted her brows. “You don’t think I can do it.” With this, she flounced away.

“Does it hurt?” Shawn asked from behind him.

“What?”

“Shoehorning your foot in your mouth that way. I bet it cracks the jaw something fierce.” He only snickered when Aidan jabbed him sharply, elbow into ribs. “She has a way with her, too,” he added, watching as Jude cleared off one of the low tables and chatted with the family who sat there. “I’d be happy to take her off your hands if . . .”

He trailed off, a little daunted by the vicious look Aidan
shot at him. “Just joking,” he muttered and slipped back to the other end of the bar.

Jude came back, began unloading the empties, loading the first order. “A pint and a glass of Guinness, two Or-angeens, and a cup of tea with whiskey.”

Before Aidan could speak, she’d hefted the tray, just un-steadily enough to make him hold his breath, and moved off to serve.

She was having the time of her life. She was in the middle of it all, part of it all. Music and movement and shouted conversation and laughter. People called her by name and asked how it was all going. No one seemed the least surprised that she was taking orders and emptying ashtrays.

She knew she didn’t have Darcy’s graceful efficiency and style, but she was handling it. And if she’d almost poured a pint of beer on Mr. Duffy, the operative word was “almost.” He’d caught it himself with a wink and grin and said he’d sooner have it in him than on him.

She managed the money, too, and didn’t think she made any important mistakes. In fact, one of her apron pockets was bulging with tips that had her glowing with pride.

When Shawn breezed by and swung her into a quick dance, she was too surprised to be embarrassed. “I don’t know how.”

“Sure you do. Will you come by and play my music again, Jude Frances?”

“I’d like that. But you have to let go. I’m running out of breath and stepping all over your feet.”

“If you were to give me a kiss, you’d have Aidan boiling with jealousy.”

“I would not. Really?” His grin was irresistible. “I’ll just kiss you because you’re so pretty.”

When he gaped in shock at that, she kissed his cheek.
“Now, I’m supposed to be working. The boss will dock my pay if I keep dancing with you.”

“Those Gallagher lads are shameless,” Kathy Duffy told her as Jude cleared more glasses. “Bless them for it. A pair of good women would settle them down, but not so much they wouldn’t be interesting.”

“Aidan’s married to the pub,” Kevin Duffy said as he lit a cigarette. “And Shawn to his music. It’ll be years yet before either of them’s taking on a wife.”

“Nothing to stop a clever lass from trying, is there?” And Kathy winked at Jude.

Jude managed a smile as she moved to another table. She managed to keep it in place as she took the orders. But her mind was whirling.

Is that what people thought? she wondered. That she was trying to wrangle Aidan into marriage? Why it had never crossed her mind. Not seriously. Hardly at all.

Did he think that was what she was aiming for?

She stole a glance at him, watched him nimbly pulling pints as he talked to two of the Riley sisters. No, of course he didn’t. They were both just enjoying themselves. Enjoying each other. If the thought of marriage had crossed her mind, it was natural enough. But she hadn’t dwelled on it.

The fact was, she didn’t want to. She’d been down that road and had been smeared on the pavement.

Fun was better. The lack of commitment and expectations was liberating. They had mutual affection and respect, and if she was in love with him, well . . . that just made it all the more romantic.

She wasn’t going to do anything to spoil it. In fact, she was going to do everything she could to enhance it, to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of the time she had.

“When you come back from your trip there, Jude, I’ll have another pint before closing.”

“Hmm?” Distracted, she looked down at the wide, patient face of Jack Brennan. “Oh, sorry.” She picked up his empty, then frowned at him.

“I’m not pissed,” he promised. “My heart’s all mended. Fact is, I don’t know why I got in such a state over a woman. But if you’re worried, you can ask Aidan if I can stand another pint.”

He was so sweet, she thought, and holding back on an urge to pat his head as she might that of a big, shaggy dog. “No urge to break his nose?”

“Well, now, I’ll admit I’ve always half wanted to just because it’s never been managed. And he broke mine some time back.”

“Aidan broke your nose?” It was appalling. It was fascinating.

“Not on actual purpose,” Jack qualified. “We were fifteen and playing football and one thing led to another. Aidan’s never been much of a one for bloodying his mates unless . . .”

“One thing leads to another?”

“Aye.” Jack beamed at her. “And I don’t think he’s had himself a good mix-up in months. Due for one most like, but he’s too busy courting you to find time for a scuffle.”

“He isn’t courting me.”

Jack pursed his lips on an expression caught between concern and puzzlement. “Aren’t you sweet on him, then?”

“I—” How did she answer that? “I like him very much. I’d better get you that pint. It’s nearly closing time.”

“You’ve been run off your feet,” Aidan said when he closed the door behind the last straggler. “Sit down now, Jude, and I’ll get you a glass of wine.”

“I wouldn’t mind it.” She had to admit it had been work.
Delightful but exhausting. Her arms ached from carting heavy trays. It was no wonder, she decided, that Darcy’s arms were so beautifully toned.

And her feet, it didn’t bear thinking about how much her feet were throbbing.

She sank onto a stool, rolled her shoulders.

In the kitchen Shawn was cleaning up and singing about a wild colonial boy. The air was blue with smoke, and ripe still with the smells of beer and whiskey.

She found it all very homey.

“If you decide to give up psychology,” Aidan said as he set a glass in front of her. “I’m hiring.”

Nothing he said could have pleased her more. “I did all right, didn’t I?”

“You did brilliantly.” He took her hand, kissed it. “Thanks.”

“I liked it. I haven’t given that many parties. They make me so nervous. The planning keeps me in a constant state of anxiety. Then the hostessing, making sure everything’s running smoothly. This was like giving a party without all the nerves. And . . .” She jingled the coins in her apron pocket. “I got paid.”

“Now you can sit and tell me about your day in Dublin while I clean up here.”

“I’ll tell you about it while I help you clean up.”

He decided not to risk her good mood by arguing again, but intended to have her do nothing more complex than clearing empties and setting them on the bar. But she was quicker than he’d thought and had her sleeves rolled up while he was still dealing with behind-the-bar work and the till.

With a pail and a rag she’d gotten from Shawn, she began to mop down the tables.

He listened to her, the way her voice flowed up and down
as she described what she’d seen and what she’d done that day. The words weren’t so important, Aidan thought. It was just so soothing to listen to her.

She seemed to bring such blessed quiet with her wherever she went.

He started on the floors, working around and with her. It was amazing, he mused, how smoothly she slid into his rhythm. Or was he sliding into hers? He couldn’t tell. But it seemed so natural, the way she clicked into his place, his world. His life, for that matter.

He’d never pictured her carting trays or making change. Of course it wasn’t what she was meant for, but she’d done it well. A lark for her, he supposed. She certainly wasn’t fashioned to be wiping up spilled beer every night. But she did so with such practical ease he had an urge to cuddle her.

When he followed it, wrapping his arms around her waist and drawing her back against him, she settled right in.

“This is nice,” she murmured.

“It is, yes. Though I’m keeping you up late doing dirty work.”

“I like it. Now that everything’s quiet, and everyone’s gone home to bed, I can think about what Kathy Duffy said to me, or the joke Douglas O’Brian told, and listen to Shawn singing in the kitchen. In Chicago I’d be sleeping by now, after finishing papers and reading a chapter of a good book that received bright literary reviews.”

She closed her hands over his, relaxed. “This is much better.”

“And when you go back . . .” He laid his cheek on the top of her head. “Will you find a neighborhood pub and spend an evening or two there instead?”

The thought of it brought a dark, thick wall shuttering down on her future. “I have lots of time before that’s an
issue. I’m enjoying learning to go day by day.”

“And night by night.” He turned her, glided her into a waltz that followed the tune Shawn was singing.

“Night by night. I’m a terrible dancer.”