The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

there. He’d had a fine time living from hand to mouth when he’d traveled. Scraping by, or just scraping. He hadn’t saved a penny or felt the need to.
    Responsibility hadn’t precisely been his middle name.
    After all, he’d grown up comfortable enough, and certainly he’d worked his share during his childhood and adolescence. But mopping up, serving pints, and singing a tune was a far cry from figuring how much lager to order, what percentage of breakage—thank you very much, sisterDarcy—the business could bear, the juggling of numbers into ledgers, and the calculation of taxes.
    It gave him a headache every blessed time, and he had no more love for sitting inside with books than he had for having a tooth pulled, but he learned.
    And as he learned, he realized the pub meant more to him because of it. Yes, parents were clever creatures, he decided. And his knew their son.
    He spent time on the phone with distributors trying to wangle the best price. That he didn’t mind so much, as it was a bit like horse trading. And something he discovered an aptitude for.
    It pleased him that musicians from Dublin, from Waterford, from as far away as Clare and Galway were not only willing but pleased to do a turn at Gallagher’s. He took pride in knowing that in his four years at the head of it, he’d helped polish the pub’s reputation as a place for music.
    And he expected the summer season, when the tourists flowed in, to be the best they’d had.
    But that didn’t make the adding and subtracting any less a chore.
    He’d thought about a computer, but then he’d have to learn the goddamn thing. He could admit, without shame, that the very idea of it frightened him beyond speech. When he broached the idea to Darcy, that she could perhaps learn the ins and outs of it, she’d laughed at him until tears ran down her pretty cheeks.
    He knew better than to ask Shawn, who wouldn’t think to change a lightbulb if he was reading in the dark.
    He wasn’t about to hire the chore out, not when Gallagher’s had managed its own since the doors had opened. So it was either continue to labor with pencil and adding machine or gather the courage to face technology.
    He imagined Jude had knowledge of computers. Hewouldn’t mind having her teach him a thing or two. He’d certainly enjoy, he thought with a slow smile, returning the favor in a different area altogether.
    He wanted his hands on her. He’d already wondered what he would find in taste, in texture, in that lovely wide mouth of hers. It had been some time since a woman had put this hum in his blood, and he was enjoying the anticipation of it, the wondering of it.
    She put him in mind of a young mare not quite sure of her legs. One who shied at the approach of a man even as she hoped for a nice, gentle stroke. It was an appealing combination, that hesitant manner with the clever mind and educated voice.
    He hoped she would come that evening, as he’d asked her.
    He hoped she’d wear one of her neat outfits, with her hair tidied back so he could imagine the pleasure of mussing her up.
     
    If Jude had had a clue where Aidan’s thoughts were traveling, she would never have found the courage to leave the cottage. Even without that added complication, she’d changed her mind about going half a dozen times.
    It would be impolite not to after she’d been asked.
    It would look as if she expected his time and attention.
    It was simply a nice way to spend a friendly evening.
    She wasn’t the type of woman who spent evenings in bars.
    Her own vacillation irritated her so much she decided to go on principle for one hour.
    She dressed in stone-gray slacks and jacket, jazzing them up with a vest with thin burgundy stripes. It was Saturday night after all, she thought, and added silver earrings that dangled cheerfully. There would be music, sheremembered, as she toyed with going crazy and adding a pair of thin silver bangle bracelets.
    She had a secret and passionate love affair with jewelry.
    As she slipped the bangles on her wrist, she thought of the ring the man in the cemetery had worn. That flash of sapphire in deeply carved silver, so out of place in the quiet countryside.
    He’d been so odd, she thought now, coming and going so quietly it was almost as if she’d dreamed him. But she remembered his face and voice very clearly, as clearly as that sudden burst of scent, the quick kick of wind and the dizziness.
    Just a sugar crash, she decided. All those cakes