The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

course.
    Married or not, she decided, there was no harm in a bit of a flirt, since she intended to have no more than that with a man who likely lived from one payday to the next.
    So she smiled at him. Slowly, warmly, deliberately. Then, touching a finger to her lips, she blew him a saucy kiss. She watched his teeth flash in appreciation, then eased out of sight.
    It was always best, in Darcy’s opinion, to leave a man not only wanting more, but wondering.
     
     
    Now there was a woman who packed a punch, Trevor thought. And he still felt the impact. If that was Darcy Gallagher, and he assumed it was, he had a good idea why the characteristically dour Finkle had become tongue-tied and bright-eyed whenever her name had come up.
    She was a stunner, all right, and he was going to appreciate a closer look. What she’d left him with now was the impression of sleepy beauty, of dark and tumbled hair, white skin, and delicate features. No false modesty there, he decided. She’d met his open stare equally, had taken his measure even as he took hers. The carelessly blown kiss had definitely scored a point.
    He thought Darcy Gallagher would be a very interesting pastime while he was in Ardmore.
    Casually he hefted some blocks, transferring them to Brenna’s work area. “The mix suit you?” he asked, nodding toward the trough that held fresh mortar.
    “It does, yes. Good consistency. We’re going through it fairly quickly, but I think we’ve enough to do us.”
    “If you see us running low, order what you think we need. I think your friend’s back from her vacation.”
    “Hmm.” Distracted, she knocked loose mortar from her trowel, glanced up. “Darcy?” Pleased, Brenna looked toward the window.
    “Lots of black hair, wicked smile. Gorgeous.”
    “That would be Darcy.”
    “I . . . caught a glimpse of her in the window there. If you want to go in and see her, you can take a break.”
    “Well, I would.” But she scooped up more mortar. “Except that she’d take one look at me as I am at the moment and bolt the door. Darcy’s very particular about her living quarters. She wouldn’t appreciate me trailing in dirt. I’ll see her midday.”
    Brenna spread her mortar with the quick efficiency of the experienced and hauled up the next block. “I can tell you this, Trevor, your men are about to have their hearts broken. It’s a rare one who brushes up near our Darcy and walks away unaffected.”
    “As long as we stay on schedule, the crew’s hearts are their own concern.”
    “Oh, I’ll keep them on schedule for you, and Darcy will give them happy, if impossible, dreams. Speaking of schedules, I’m thinking we could have the plumbing roughed in on this section by end of week. The pipe didn’t arrive this morning as expected. Do you want me or Dad to check on it when we’re done here?”
    “No, I’ll deal with it now.”
    “Then I hope you give them a good boot in the ass. You can use the phone in the pub’s kitchen. I unlocked the back when I got here this morning. I’ve the number in my book.”
    “No, I have it. You’ll have the pipe today.”
    “I’ve no doubt of that,” Brenna murmured as he strode toward the kitchen door.
    The kitchen was spotless. It was one of the things Trevor noticed, and demanded, when it came to any business he had a part in. He imagined the Gallaghers wouldn’t think of him as having a part in their pub, but from his viewpoint their business was now very much his concern.
    He dug his book out of his pocket. In New York his assistant would have located the number, made the call. She would have worked her way through the various steps until she’d reached the person in charge. Only then, if it was necessary, would the matter have passed into Trevor’s hands.
    He had to admit, though that saved time and frustration, he rather enjoyed wading in at the bottom and administering that good boot in the ass.
    In the five minutes it took him to reach the top level, he spied the biscuit tin. In the few days he’d been in and around Gallagher’s he’d come to know that when there were cookies, they were homemade. And they were spectacular.
    He helped himself to a honey and oatmeal cookie as big as his fist as he annihilated the supply supervisor without ever raising his voice. He jotted down the name, in case retribution should become necessary, and was given a personal guarantee that the pipe in question would be delivered to the site by noon.
    Satisfied with that, he