The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

that needed to be done.
    She’d persuade her grandmother to come back with her, to spend the rest of the summer. She would even try to convince her parents that they should come visit so they could see that she was settled and happy.
    Everything else was just practical. Selling her car, the furniture, shipping the few things she loved. It was surprising how little of what she’d collected in the past few years she really loved.
    Closing bank accounts, she mused as she set her carry-on beside the closet door. Finalizing paperwork. Arranging for a permanent change of address. A week, she calculated. Ten days at most, and it would be behind her.
    The sale of the condo could be completed by mail and by phone.
    It was all arranged, she thought. She’d take Finn and the keys to the cottage to Mollie in the morning, then drive to Dublin. Then she looked around and wondered what she would do with herself until morning.
    She would work in the garden for now, so she could leave it in absolutely perfect shape, without a single weed or faded bloom. Then she’d go visit Maude one more time just to let her know she was going away for a few days.
    Pleased with the idea, Jude gathered her gardening tools and gloves, slapped her hat on her head, and went out to work.
     
    Aidan hadn’t intended to walk by Maude’s grave; but he usually followed impulse. When his feet took him there, heloitered, hoping, he supposed, to find inspiration—or at least a bit of sympathy for his situation.
    He crouched down to trail his fingers over the flowers Jude had left there.
    “She comes to see you often. She has a warm heart, and a generous one. I have to hope it’s warm enough, generous enough, to spare a bit for me. She’s your blood,” he added. “And though I didn’t know you as a young woman, I’ve heard tales that tell me you had a quick temper and a hard head—begging your pardon. I’ve come to see she takes after you, and I have to admire her for it. I’m going to see her now, and ask her again.”
    “Then don’t make the same mistakes I did.”
    Aidan looked up, and into sharp green eyes. He straightened slowly. “So, you’re real as well.”
    “As real as the day,” Carrick assured him. “Twice she’s said no. If she says so again, you’re of no use to me, and I’ve wasted my time.”
    “I’m not asking her to be of use to you.”
    “Still and all, I’ve only one chance left. So have a care, Gallagher. I can’t weave a spell here. It’s forbidden, even to me. But I’ve a word of advice.”
    “I’ve had plenty of that today, thanks.”
    “Take this as well. Love, even when pledged, isn’t enough.”
    Annoyed, Aidan dragged a hand through his hair. “Then what the devil is?”
    Carrick smiled. “It’s a word that still sticks a bit in my throat. It’s called compromise. Go now while she’s being charmed by her own flowers. It might give you an edge.” The smile widened into a grin. “The way you’re looking right now, you’ll need all the help you can come by.”
    “Thanks very much,” Aidan muttered even as his visitor vanished in a silver shimmer of air.
    Shoulders hunched, he started toward the cottage. “My own brother calling me a brickhead. Sneering faeries insulting me. Women punching me in the face. How much more am I to swallow in one bloody day?”
    As he spoke, the sky darkened, and thunder rumbled ominously. “Oh, go ahead, then.” Aidan glanced up with a scowl. “Shake your fist. This is my life I’m dealing with here.”
    He jammed his hands in his pockets and tried to forget that his face ached like one huge bad tooth.
    He came around the back, had nearly knocked on the kitchen door when he remembered Carrick had said she was with her flowers. Since she wasn’t at the ones there, it meant she was in the front.
    Breathing slow to steady his nerves, he circled the house.
    She was singing. In all the time he’d known her, he’d never heard her sing. And though she’d claimed to do so only when nervous, he didn’t think that was what brought her voice out.
    She was singing to her flowers, and it stirred his heart. She had a sweet and a tentative voice that told him she didn’t trust it, not even when she thought no one could hear.
    It was a pretty sight she made, kneeling by her blossoms, singing quietly of being alone in a festive hall, with her foolish straw hat tipped over her face and the pup curled sleeping on the path behind her.
    She didn’t seem to notice the