The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

was humiliating.
    “Thanks.” He shoved the glass back at her.
    “You’re very welcome.” A little twist of temper snaked through her, but she cut it off, reminding herself he deserved a bit of patience and pampering.
    He’d brought her niece into the world, and for that she would owe him for a lifetime. He’d named his
theater from a word she’d given him. That was an honor she wouldn’t slight by snapping at him when he was laid low.
    So she sucked it in and prepared to spoil him a bit.
    “I’ll tell you what you need now, and that’s a good hot breakfast to set you right. And your coffee. So I’ll be your loving mother and see to it for you.”
    She started back toward the kitchen, stopped, shook her head. “For heaven’s sake, where’s my mind? Speaking of mothers, yours called to the pub last night.”
    “What? My mother?”
    “It was when you were outside, serenading the Duffys on their way home. Shawn spoke with her, and she said just to give you a message.”
    He’d gotten to his feet. “Nothing’s wrong?”
    “No, not at all. Shawn said she sounded very pleased and happy and added a congratulations for Ailish. In any case, she said to tell you yes, of course it’s supposed to, and that she couldn’t be more delighted. She asked that you call her back today so you can tell her all about it.”
    “Supposed to what? All about what?”
    “I couldn’t say.” She moved back into the kitchen, her voice carrying through the opening.
    “I don’t know what she’s—” He broke off, staggered, and braced himself with a hand to the back of a chair.
    I’m in love with her. Is it supposed to make me feel like an idiot?
    But he hadn’t sent that post. He’d been about to delete that part when the power had gone out, the laptop had died. He had never hit Send. It wasn’t possible for her to have gotten a message he’d never sent.
    Then he rubbed his hands over his face. Hadn’t he already learned the impossible was almost the ordinary here?
    Now what? His mother was delighted that he felt like an idiot. That was good, he decided, pacing restlessly now, because he was feeling more like one every minute.
    The woman in the next room was making him weak and senseless and stupid. And part of him was thrilled knowing he could be weakly and senselessly and stupidly in love. That worried him.
    He stopped to stare at the painting of the mermaid and felt his temper strain. And who was he in love with? Who the hell was she really? How much of her was the siren depicted here, and how much the affectionate woman fixing breakfast? Maybe it was all a spell, some sort of self-serving magic woven over him that had taken his own emotions out of his control to satisfy someone else’s—something else’s needs.
    Maybe she knew it.
    Duachais . The lore of a place, he thought grimly. Darcy knew the lore of this place. Gwen had been offered jewels, from the sun and moon and sea. And had refused them. What had Darcy said when he’d asked her if she would trade her pride for jewels?
    That she’d find a way to keep both.
    He’d lay odds on it.
    She had kept this painting, hadn’t she? Kept it, hung it on her wall long after she’d shown the artist the door.
    “I’ve no breakfast meats up here,” Darcy said as she came out. “So I’ll have to go down and pilfer from Shawn. Would you like bacon or sausage, or have you room for both?”
    “Did you sleep with him?” It was out, stinging the air, before he could stop it.
    “What?”
    “The artist, the one who painted this.” Trevor turned, faced his own senseless outrage. “Did you sleep with him?”
    She took a moment to try to think over the wild beat of blood in her head. “You’re trying my patience, Trevor, and I’m not known for it to begin with. So I’ll only say that’s none of your concern.”
    Of course it wasn’t. “The hell it isn’t. Was he in love with you? Did you enjoy that, being that fantasy for him, before you sent him on his way?”
    She wouldn’t let it hurt. It wouldn’t be permitted. So she concentrated on the bright fury in Trevor’s eyes and let her own rise to meet it. “That’s a fine opinion you have of me, and not so far from the mark. I’ve had men, and make no excuses for it. I’ve taken what suited me, and so what?”
    He jabbed his hands into his pockets. “And what suits you, Darcy?”
    “You did, for a time. But we seem to be at the end of that. Take yourself off, Trevor, before each of us says