The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

cocked his head in question, Aidan merely continued to work his taps. “It’s a bit of a temper our sister has, and Shawn needs only to exist to provoke it.”
    “A shrew is it? I’ll give you a shrew, you slant-eyed, toothless toad.”
    There was an audible thud, a yelp, more cursing, then Darcy, face flushed, eyes lightning-hot, swung through the door with a large and loaded tray on her hip.
    “Brenna, I brained your husband with a stewpot— though why an intelligent woman such as yourself would choose to wed a baboon like that escapes me.”
    “I hope it wasn’t full, as he makes a fine stew.”
    “It was empty. You get a better ring that way.” She tossed her head, drew in a long breath, and let it out again with a satisfied huff. Shifting the tray, she turned toward the pass-through, and spotted Trevor.
    Temper vanished from her face like magic. Though her eyes remained hot, they took on an unmistakable sexual edge. “Well, now, look who’s come in out of the rainy evening.” Her tone went to purr as she sauntered to the end of the bar. “Would you mind flipping up the pass-through, darling? I’ve my hands a bit full at the moment.”
    She’d been balancing trays one-handed more than half her life, but she liked to see him move. The hum in her throat was a sound of pure appreciation when he slid off the stool and walked over to do as she’d asked.
    “It’s nice to be rescued by a strong, handsome man.”
    “Mind yourself, Trev, there’s a viper under that comely face.” This was Shawn’s opinion, and he gave it a bit testily as he came out to serve another pair of orders at the bar.
    “Pay no attention to the babblings of our pet monkey.” She sent one steely stare over her shoulder. “Our parents, being kindhearted, bought him from a traveler family—gypsies, you’d say. A waste of two pounds and ten, if you’re asking me.”
    With a twitch of hip she walked off to deliver her orders.
    “That was a good one,” Shawn murmured. “She must’ve been saving it up. Good evening to you, Trev. Are you looking for a meal?”
    “I guess I’ll try the stew. I’ve heard it’s good tonight.”
    “Aye.” With a rueful smile, Shawn rubbed the bump on his head. His gaze drifted to the side where the young boy teased out a livelier tune. “You’ve come on a good evening. Connor there can play like an angel or a demon, depending on the mood.”
    “I’ve yet to hear you play.” Trevor settled on his stool again. “I’m told that, like the stew, it’s good.”
    “Oh, I’ve a bit of a hand with it. We all do. Music’s part of the Gallagher way.”
    “Just a bit of advice, on your music. Get an agent.”
    “Oh, well.” Shawn looked back, met Trevor’s eyes. “You’re paying me a good price for the songs you’ve bought so far. I trust you to be fair. You’ve an honest face.”
    “A good agent would squeeze out more.”
    “I’ve no need for more.” He glanced over at Brenna. “I’ve everything already.”
    With a baffled shake of his head, Trevor picked up the beer Aidan set in front of him. “Finkle said you weren’t a business-minded man. But I have to say you’re not anywhere near as dim as he led me to believe. No offense.”
    “None taken.”
    Trevor watched Shawn over the rim of his mug. “ Finkle said you kept getting him confused with another investor, a restaurateur from London.”
    “Did he now?” Amusement twinkled in Shawn’s eyes.“Imagine that. Aidan, do we know anything about a restaurant man from London who’d have been interested in connecting to the pub here?”
    Aidan tucked his tongue in his cheek. “I seem to recall Mr. Finkle bringing that matter to my attention, though I assured him there was no such person at t’all. Fact is,” Aidan continued after a weighty pause, “we, all of us, went to great pains to assure him of it.”
    “That’s what I thought.” Impressed, Trevor took a deep gulp of Guinness. “Very slick.”
    Then he heard Darcy laugh, quick and bright, and turned to see her rub her hand over the boy Connor’s head. She left it there, her eyes sparkling on his as she began to sing.
    It was a fast tune, with lyrics tumbling into each other. He’d heard it before, in the pubs of New York or when his mother was in the mood to listen to Irish music, but he’d never heard it like this. Not in a voice that seemed soaked in rich wine with gold at the edges.
    He’d had the report from Finkle, and there had been mention of