The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

the surf, or fill their red plastic buckets with sand. Castles would be built today, then washed away by the sea.
    The hedgerows that lined the road were ripe with summer blossoms, and the grass beneath her feet was springy and sparkled with morning dew. To the north, the mountains hulked under the clouds that covered their peaks. And between them and Jude, it seemed the green, glorious hills rolled forever.
    She loved the look of them, the simple and sheer beauty of land, the tumble of old castles that had been swamped not by sea but by time and enemy. They made her think of knights and maidens, of kings both petty and grand, of merry servants and clever spies. And of course of magic and witchcraft and the songs of faeries.
    More tales to be told, she mused, of sacrifices for love and glory, of the triumph of the heart and of honor, of spells cast and broken.
    In a place like this, a storyteller could spend years collecting them, creating them, and passing them on. She could spend silvery mornings like this one roaming andimagining, rainy afternoons writing and compiling. Evenings would be for curling up after a satisfying day and finding pictures in the turf fire, or wandering into the pub for noise and company and music.
    It would be such a lovely life, full of interest and beauty and dreams.
    She stopped short, startled by the thought, more startled yet that the thought had been in her head at all. She could stay, not just for three more months but forever. She could write stories. The ones that were told to her and the ones that seemed always forming in her head.
    No, of course she couldn’t. What was she thinking of? She let out a laugh, but it was edgy and weak. She had to go back to Chicago as planned, to find work in some area of the field she knew to support her sensibly while she pursued the dream. To consider anything else was completely irresponsible.
    Why?
    She’d only taken two more steps when that question struck out.
    “Why?” She said it out loud, flustered. “Of course there’s a reason why. A dozen reasons why. I live in Chicago. I’ve always lived in Chicago.”
    There was no law that said she had to live in Chicago. She wouldn’t be chained in a dungeon for relocating.
    “Of course not, but . . . I have to work.”
    And what have you been doing these past three months?
    “That’s not work, not really.” Her stomach began to jitter, her heart to flutter toward her throat. “It’s more of an indulgence.”
    Why?
    She closed her eyes. “Because I love it. I love everything about it, so that must make it an indulgence. And that is incredibly stupid.”
    It might have been an odd place for an epiphany, on a shaggy hill in the middle of the morning. But she decided it was the perfect place for hers.
    “Why can’t I do something I love without putting restrictions on it? Why can’t I live somewhere that’s so much more home than anywhere else? Who’s in charge of my life,” she said on a baffled laugh, “if I’m not?”
    With her knees a little shaky, she began to walk again. She could do it; if she could dig down and find the courage. She could sell her condo. She could do what she’d been avoiding out of fear of failure and send a sample of her work to an agent.
    She could finally stick, win or lose, with something she wanted for herself.
    She would think about it, seriously, carefully. Walking faster, she ignored the voice in her head that urged her to act now, right away, before she could find excuses. It would be a big move, she reasoned, an enormous step. A sensible person thought through big moves and enormous steps.
    Jude was grateful when she saw the O’Toole cottage over the hill. She needed the distraction, something to take her mind off herself for a while.
    Clothes were already drying on the line, making her wonder if Mollie did laundry twenty-four hours a day. The gardens were in glorious bloom and the little shed as stuffed and jumbled as ever. Betty rose from her morning nap in the yard and gave a welcoming woof that sent Finn into devoted yips as he streaked down the hill toward her.
    Jude started after and had just reached the edge of the yard when the kitchen door opened.
    “Well, good morning to you, Jude.” Mollie sent her a wave. “You’re up and about early today.”
    “Not as early as you, from the looks of things.”
    “You have yourself a houseful of chattering girls and aman who likes his tea before his eyes are open, you don’t have much