The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

concrete slid down the chute. She scrambled over sand and stone, used her shovel to rap the chute and alert the operator to stop, then waded into the muck with the other laborers to shovel and smooth.
    Brenna O’Toole, Trevor thought, and was glad he’d followed his instincts there. Hiring her and her father as foremen on the project had been the right course of action. Not just for their building skills, he decided— though they were impressive—but because they knew the village and the people in it, kept the job running smoothly and the men happy and productive.
    Public relations on this sort of project were just as vital as a sturdy foundation.
    Yes, indeed, they were working out well. His three days in Ardmore had shown him he’d made the right choice with O’Toole and O’Toole.
    When Brenna climbed out again, Trevor stepped over, extended a hand to give her a final boost.
    “Thanks.” She sliced her shovel into the ground, leaned on it, and despite her filthy boots and faded cap, looked like a pixie. Her skin was pure Irish cream, and a few curls of wild red escaped the cap.
    “Tim Riley says we won’t have rain for another day or two, and he has a way of being right about such things more than he’s wrong. I think we’ll have the slab set up for you before you have to worry about weather.”
    “You made considerable progress before I got here.”
    “Sure, and once you gave us the high sign there was no reason to wait. We’ll have you a good, solid foundation, Mr. Magee, and on schedule.”
    “Trev.”
    “Aye, Trev.” She tipped back her cap, then her head so she could meet his eyes. She figured him a good foot higher than her five-two, even wearing her boots. “The men you sent along from America, they’re a fine team.”
    “As I handpicked them, I agree.”
    She thought his voice faintly aloof, but not unfriendly. “And do you never pick females then?”
    He smiled slowly so it seemed that humor just moseyed over his face until it reached eyes the color of turf smoke. “I do indeed and as often as possible. Both on and off the job. I’ve put one of my best carpenters on this project. She’ll be here next week.”
    “It’s good to know my cousin Brian wasn’t wrong in that area. He said you hired by skill and not gender. It’s a good morning’s work here,” she added, nodding to the site. “That noisy bastard of a truck will be our constant companion for a while yet. Darcy’ll be back from her holiday tomorrow, and I can tell you she’ll bitch our ears off about the din.”
    “It’s a good noise. Building.”
    “I’ve always thought the same.”
    They stood a moment in perfect accord while the truck vomited out the last yard of concrete.
    “I’ll buy you lunch,” Trevor said.
    “I’ll let you.” Brenna gave a whistle to catch her father’s attention, then mimed spooning up food. Mick responded with a grin and a wave, then went back to work.
    “He’s in his heaven,” Brenna commented as they walked over to rinse off their boots. “Nothing makes Mick O’Toole happier than finding himself in the middle of a job site, the muckier the better.”
    Satisfied, Brenna gave her feet a couple of stomps, then headed around to the kitchen door. “I hope you’ll take some time to see the area while you’re here, instead of locking yourself into the job at hand.”
    “I plan to see what’s around.” He had reports, of course—detailed reports on tourist draws, road conditions, routes to and from major cities. But he intended to see for himself.
    Needed to see it, Trevor admitted to himself. Something had been pulling him toward Ireland, toward Ardmore, for more than a year. In dreams.
    “Ah, now there’s a fine-looking man doing what he does best,” Brenna said when she pushed open the kitchen door. “What have you for us today, Shawn?”
    He turned from the enormous old stove, a rangy man with shaggy black hair and eyes of misty blue. “For the special we’ve sea spinach soup and the beef sandwich. Good day to you, Trevor. Is this one working you harder than she should?”
    “She keeps things moving.”
    “And so I must, for the man in my life is slow. I wonder, Shawn, if you’ve selected another tune or two for Trevor’s consideration.”
    “I’ve been busy catering to my new wife. She’s a demanding creature.” So saying, he reached out to cradle Brenna’s face and kiss her. “Get out of my kitchen. It’s confusing enough around here without