The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

likely would have.”
    Jude made a noncommittal sound as someone in the front corner began to play a tune on a concertina.
    “I’ve cousins in Chicago.” This came from Tim, who continued to stand behind her, waiting patiently for his second pint. “The Dempseys, Mary and Jack. You wouldn’t happen to know them?”
    “No, I’m sorry.” Jude shifted on her stool, tipped her face up to his.
    “Chicago’s a big place. My cousin Jack and I were boys together, and he went over to America to work with hisuncle on his mother’s side, in a meat-packing plant. Been there ten years now and complains bitter about the wind and the winters, but makes no move to come back home.”
    He took the pint from Aidan with a thanks and slid the coins for it over the bar. “Aidan, you’ve been to Chicago, haven’t you?”
    “Passed through, mostly. The lake’s a sight, and seems big as the sea. The wind coming off it’s like knives through the skin and into the bone. But you can get a steak there, if memory serves, that will make you weep with gratitude that God created the cow.”
    He was working as he spoke, filling another order for his sister’s tray, keeping the taps going, opening a bottle of American beer for a boy who looked as if he should still be sucking on milk shakes.
    The music picked up, a livelier pace now. When Darcy lifted the tray from the bar this time, she was singing in a way that made Jude stare with admiration and envy.
    Not just at the voice, though it was stunning enough with its silver-bright clarity. But at the kind of ease of self that would allow someone to simply break into song in public. It was a tune about dying an old maid in a garret, which Jude concluded from the glances of the males in the room, ranging from the Clooney boy of about ten to an ancient skeleton of a man at the farthest end of the bar, was a fate Darcy Gallagher would never face.
    People joined in the chorus, and the taps began to flow more quickly.
    The first tune blended into a second, with barely a change of rhythm. Aidan picked up the lyrics, singing of the betrayal of the woman wearing the black velvet band so smoothly that Jude could only stare. He had a voice as rich as his sister’s and as carelessly beautiful.
    He pulled a pint of lager as he sang, then winked at heras he slid it down the bar. She felt heat rush into her face—the mortification of being caught openly staring—but she trusted the light was dim enough to mask it.
    She picked up her glass, hoping she looked casual, as if she often sat in bars where song broke out all around her and men who looked like works of art winked in her direction. And discovered her glass was full. She frowned at it, certain that she’d sipped away at least half the wine. But as Aidan was halfway down the bar and she didn’t want to interrupt his work or the song, she shrugged and enjoyed the full glass.
    The door of what she assumed was the kitchen swung open again. She could only be grateful that no one was paying attention to her, because she was sure she goggled. The man who came through it looked as though he’d stepped out of a movie set—some film about ancient Celtic knights saving kingdoms and damsels.
    He had a loose and lanky build that went well with the worn jeans and dark sweater. His hair was black as night and wove its way over the collar of the sweater. Eyes a dreamy lake blue sparkled with humor. His mouth was like Aidan’s, full and strong and sensual, and his nose was just crooked enough to spare him from the burden of perfection.
    She noted the nick on his right ear and assumed this was Shawn Gallagher, and that he hadn’t ducked quite quickly enough.
    He moved gracefully across the room to serve the food he carried on the tray. Then, in a lightning move that made Jude catch her breath and prepare for the battle, he grabbed his sister, yanked her to face him, then spun her into a complicated dance.
    What kind of people, Jude wondered, could swear at each other one minute, then dance around a pub together laughing the next?
    The patrons whistled and clapped. Feet pounded. The dance whirled close enough to Jude for her to feel the breeze of spinning bodies. Then when it stopped, Darcy and Shawn cozily embraced and grinned at each other like fools.
    After he’d kissed his sister smartly on the mouth, he turned his head and studied Jude in the friendliest of manners. “Well, who might this be, come out of the night and into