The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

mother, and you won’t use language like that about your sister.”
    “Let her deny it.”
    “Mary Kate.” Brenna’s voice was little more than a whisper, and more plea than warning.
    Though Mary Kate’s lips trembled, she couldn’t fight off the rage. “Let her deny she spent the night in Shawn Gallagher’s bed.”
    The teacup cracked as Mick fumbled and knocked it on the edge of the counter. All Brenna could do was close her eyes as shame and sorrow washed through her.
    “I won’t deny it. I won’t deny I’ve been there before, and that every time I have, I went freely. I’m sorry that it hurt you.” She got shakily to her feet. “But it doesn’t make me a whore to care for him. And you know if you make me choose between you, I’ll let him go.”
    It took all the courage she had left to turn and face her parents. The understanding in her mother’s eyes might have been a balm if not for the shock in her father’s. “I’m sorry for this, all of this. I’m sorry I haven’t been honest with you. I can’t talk about it anymore now. I just can’t.”
    She hurried out, would have rushed right past her sisters, but Patty reached out. “It’s all right, darling.” She murmured it, giving Brenna a hard hug.
    That broke her, set free the tears that were burning in her throat and the back of her eyes. Blinded by them, she rushed upstairs.
    In the kitchen, Mollie kept her eyes on her younger daughter. Her heart was aching for both her girls, but comfort and discipline would have to be meted out separately.
    The only sound now was Mary Kate’s ragged breathing. Holding the silence a moment longer, Mollie slipped into the chair Brenna had deserted.
    No one noticed when Mick walked out the back door.
    “I know what it is to have feelings for someone,” Mollie began quietly. “To see them as the brightest light, as the one who’ll answer all the questions and fill all the holes, whether you’re twenty or forty. I’m not doubting what you have in your heart, Katie.”
    “I love him.” Defiance, still her only shield, edged her voice, but a single tear spilled over and slid down her cheek. “She knew.”
    “It’s a hard thing to have those feelings for someone who doesn’t have them for you.”
    “He might have, but she threw herself at him.”
    “Katie, darling.”
    There were many things she could have said. The man’s too old for you, this was infatuation and would pass, you’ll fall in love half a dozen times before it matters and takes a firm hold inside you. Instead, she took Mary Kate’s hand.
    “Shawn looked at Brenna,” she said gently. “And has looked for a long time. And she at him. Neither of them is the careless sort who looks to hurt another. You know that.”
    “They didn’t care about me.”
    “They had their eyes on each other, and for a time they didn’t see you.”
    It was worse, a hundred times worse, to be looked at with sympathy and still be made to feel like a fool. “You make it sound like it’s all right, them having at each other that way.”
    Oh, a fine and shaky line, Mollie thought. “I’m not speaking of that, as that’s between Brenna and her conscience and her heart. It’s not for you to judge her, Mary Kate, nor for me. We cast no stones in this house.”
    Tears came faster now, and with them resentment. “You’re taking her side in this, then.”
    “You’re wrong, as I have two daughters hurt now and I love each in equal measure. If there’s sides to be taken, Brenna’s just taken yours. You’ve no way of knowing what her feelings are for Shawn or how deep they run, but she’ll turn away from him for you. Is that what you want, Mary Kate? Would that soothe your heart and your pride?”
    The turmoil inside her swallowed her up. Laying her head on the table, she wept like a child.
     
     
    There was no choice for a man, for a father, but to deal with such matters. Mick would have preferred having his fingers broken one at a time rather than using them to knock on the door of Faerie Hill Cottage.
    But there was nothing else to be done.
    His daughter had given herself to a man, been taken by one, and that had shattered his comfortable illusions about his firstborn. He wasn’t a stupid man. He knew that women, young ones and old ones and those in between, had certain needs. But when it was a matter of his pride and joy, he didn’t care to have those needs shoved in his face.
    And he knew, as well as any, about the needs of a man. He