The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

baby’s, Shawn wrapped the towel around his waist and tried for dignity. “Drowning me’s one thing, insulting me’s another. I ought to break your face for it.”
    Crisis passed, Aidan decided, then lifted a brow. “It appears someone tried to break yours. Did Brenna put that bruise on your chin?”
    “No. Her father did.”
    “Mick O’Toole?” Aidan paused in the act of drying his own chest. “Mick O’Toole popped you one?”
    “He did. But we’ve come to terms now.” Shawn stepped out of the shower, annoyed that the blissful cushion of whiskey had been washed away, so now he could hurt all over—face, hand, leg. And heart.
    “At a guess I’d say you got drunk together.”
    “That was part of the process.” He flipped down the lid of the toilet, sat, and as he dressed again he filled Aidan in on the morning.
    “You’ve had a busy day.” Aidan laid a hand on his shoulder. “I can ask Kathy Duffy to do the whole of the shift.”
    “No, I can work. It’ll keep my hands busy while I figure out what to do next.” He stood up. “I mean to have her, Aidan, however it has to be done.”
    “You gave me advice once, on matters of the heart. Now I’ll return the favor. Find the words, the right ones, and give them to her. I imagine there’s different ones for different women, but when it’s all cleared away, it means the same.”
    •    •    •
    Before he came down again, Shawn tidied himself up as best he could and did the same for Darcy’s bathroom. Nothing was worth the spitting lecture she’d spew over him if he left it as it was. Since he felt the beginnings of a filthy head coming on, he rooted out the makings of the hangover remedy his family called Gallagher’s Fix and downed a full glass of it.
    He couldn’t say he was feeling his best, but he thought he could get through the day now without making a bigger muck of things.
    From the look of sympathy that Kathy Duffy sent him when he entered the kitchen again, he imagined he wasn’t looking his best either.
    “There now, lad.” She clucked over him and had a strong cup of tea ready. “You just drink this and gather your wits. I’ve got things under control for now.”
    “I’m grateful to you. I know I left things turned ’round here.”
    “If a body can’t indulge himself foolishly now and again, what’s the point?” She bustled around as she talked, dealing with the fry pan and the pot she had simmering. “I’ve got the fish cakes doing and they’re selling brisk. You had fresh cockles, so I did up the soup, and it’s ready for serving now if any’s a taste for it. Now most are wanting chips, but I’ve done up some pan boxty as well.”
    “It’s a treasure you are, Mrs. Duffy.”
    She pinked and fluttered at that. “Oh, go on with you. It’s nothing your dear mother wouldn’t have done for one of mine if the need were there.” She flipped fish cakes onto plates, spooned up chips that had drained, and added bits of parsley and pickled beets.
    As if timed to a turn, Darcy came in to pick up the orders. “Well, the dead have arisen,” she said with a quick study of her brother. “Though you look like you need to be buried.”
    “Oh, he’s just a little shaky on his pins is all. Don’t poke at him, Darcy, there’s a good girl.”
    Shawn sent his sister a wide and sour grin behind Kathy’s back as she loaded her tray. “We’ll need two servings of your soup, Mrs. Duffy, and another of the fish cakes, with the boxty, and one further of fish and chips. And all would care for the green salad you were kind enough to make while my brother was indisposed.”
    “In two shakes, darling.”
    Darcy balanced her tray, and after shooting an evil look at Shawn, she headed out, singing “Whiskey for Breakfast.”
    “I’ll deal with the frying, Mrs. Duffy, if you wouldn’t mind seeing to the salads.”
    “Are you feeling up to it, lad?”
    “I am, yes, thanks.”
    “It’s best to keep busy, but mind your hand. Those are nasty scratches.” She gave him a little pat as they passed each other. “And when Brenna comes in later to work, the two of you will make it up, mark my words.”
    If she’d smacked him over the head with the rolling pin, he’d have been less staggered. “Brenna?”
    “I’m thinking the two of you had a bit of a spat,” Kathy went on, cheerfully scooping up salad. “Lovebirds don’t always sing pretty tunes.”
    Recovering, Shawn narrowed his eyes at the door. “Darcy.” He