The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

God, who’d have thought Brenna would meet her match in this one? “But she’s more than of age,” Mick continued, “and so are you. My approving or not isn’t going to stop you from . . . well, I don’t want to say any more on that particular thing.”
    They drank in cautious silence.
    “Mr. O’Toole.”
    “I think, as things are coming ’round, you should call me Mick.”
    “Mick, I’m sorry about Mary Kate. I swear to you, I never—”
    Mick waved a hand before Shawn could finish. “I can’t blame you on that score. Our Katie has fancies, and a young and tender heart. I don’t like knowing it’s bruised, but there’s no blame.”
    “Brenna’ll blame herself, and she’ll step back from me. If I didn’t love her, I could let her.”
    “Time.” Mick polished off the next whiskey and thought it was a fine morning to get a bit of a drunk on. “When you get older, you come to trust in time. Not that I’m meaning you sit idle and let it pass.”
    “I’m looking for land,” Shawn said abruptly. The whiskey was starting to work in his head, and he didn’t mind a bit.
    “What’s that?”
    “For land, to buy. For Brenna. She’ll want to build her house, don’t you think?”
    Tears of sentiment gathered in Mick’s eyes. “It’s been a dream of hers to do that.”
    “I know she’s a dream to have a hand in building something from the ground up, and I’m hoping she’ll have her chance with the theater.”
    “Aye, I’ve been giving her a hand in the drawing of that.”
    “Would you see that I get it, so I can pass it on? She may not feel as easy about giving it to me now.”
    “You’ll have it tomorrow.”
    “That’s fine, then. And the theater’s an important thing, for Brenna, for us, for Ardmore. But a home— that’s more important than a place of business.”
    “It is, and would be to her as well as to you.”
    “If you hear of something you think might suit, would you pass it on to me?”
    Mick took out his handkerchief, blew his nose. And was pleased to see Shawn fill his glass without waiting to be asked. “That I’ll do.” Eyes narrowed and a bit bright from drink, Mick peered at Shawn’s jaw. “How’s the face, then?”
    “Aches like a bitch in heat.”
    Mick laughed heartily, tapped his glass to Shawn’s. “Well, that’s something, then.”
     
     
    While Mick and Shawn bonded over Jameson’s, Mollie had her hands full. It took nearly an hour of strokes and pats and sympathy before she could tuck Mary Kate in for a nap. Her own head was feeling achy, but she pressed her fingers to her eyes to relieve some of the pressure before crossing to Brenna’s room.
    She reminded herself she had wanted children, and a number of them besides. She’d been blessed. She was grateful.
    And Blessed Mary, she was tired.
    Brenna was curled on the bed, eyes shut. Sitting crosslegged beside her, Alice Mae stroked Brenna’s hair. At the foot of the bed, Patty sat dabbing at her eyes.
    It was a sweet sight, all in all. Patty was a romantic and would automatically throw her heart to Brenna on this. Alice Mae, bless her, couldn’t bear to see anything or anyone in pain.
    Mollie had only to gesture for Patty and Alice Mae to get up and take their leave. “I’ll speak to Brenna alone.” She shooed them out before questions could be asked and shut the door.
    As Mollie crossed to the bed, she saw Brenna tense. “I’m sorry.” Brenna kept her eyes closed, and her voice was rough and strained. “I don’t know what else to say but I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.”
    “Oh, what nonsense.” Using a brisker tone than she had with Mary Kate, Mollie sat, gave Brenna’s shoulder a little shake. “Why should I? Are you thinking I’m so old that I don’t understand what feelings churn around in a woman?”
    “No, no.” Miserable, Brenna curled herself tighter, shifting so she could rest her head on her mother’s lap. “Oh, Ma, it’s all my fault. I started it. I wanted Shawn, so I went right up to him and said so. I kept at him until . . . well, he’s a man, after all.”
    “Is that all there is between you, Brenna? Just the need and the act?”
    “Yes. No.” She pressed her face into the comforting give of her mother. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.”
    “Nothing matters more.”
    “I can’t be with him. I won’t see him that way anymore. If you knew how she looked at us, at me. All the hurt on her face before the anger came into it. I never thought of