The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

so clean it looked adequate as a table for major surgery. And Jude felt herself wince when Brenna carelessly left dirt from her boots over its surface.
    “Ma!” Brenna’s voice rang out, down the pretty hallway, up the angled staircase, as a fat gray cat slid out of a doorway to wind around her boots. “I’ve brought company.”
    The house smelled female, was Jude’s first thought. Not just the flowers, or the polish, but the underlying scent of women—perfume, lipstick, shampoo—the sort of candy-coated fragrance young women and girls often carried with them.
    She remembered it from college, and wondered if thatwas why her stomach clutched. She’d been so miserably awkward and out of place among all those recklessly confident females.
    “Mary Brenna O’Toole, I’ll let you know when my hearing’s gone, and then you can shout at me.” Mollie came down the hallway, tugging off a short pink apron.
    She was a sturdy-looking woman, no taller than her daughter but certainly wider. Her hair was only slightly less brilliant than Brenna’s but quite a bit tidier. She had a plump, pretty face with an easy smile and friendly green eyes that beamed welcome even before she held out her hand.
    “So you brought Miss Murray to see me. You’ve the look of your granny, a dear woman she is. I’m happy to meet you.”
    “Thank you.” The hand that clasped Jude’s was strong and hard from a lifetime of making a home. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
    “Not at all. If it’s not one thing than for sure it’s another around the O’Tooles’. Come in and sit in the parlor, won’t you? I’ll fix us some tea.”
    “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
    “Of course you’re not.” Mollie gave her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as she might to any of her girls if they felt out of place. “You’ll keep me company while the lass here is in the kitchen, banging and cursing. Brenna, I’m telling you just as I’ll tell your dad when I get hold of him. It’s time that refrigerator was hauled out of my house and another brought in.”
    “I can fix it.”
    “And so both of you say, time and time again.” She shook her head as she led Jude into the front parlor with its company chairs and fresh flowers. “It’s a cross to bear, Miss Murray, having those that are handy with things inyour life, for nothing ever gets tossed away. It’s always ‘I can fix it,’ or ‘I have a use for it.’ Make Miss Murray at home, Brenna, while I see to the tea. Then you can have at it.”
    “Well, I can fix it,” Brenna mumbled when her mother was out of earshot. “And if I can’t it’s good for parts, isn’t it?”
    “Parts of what?”
    Brenna glanced back, focused on Jude again and grinned. “Oh, for this and for that, or else for the other thing entirely. So I hear Jack Brennan came to beg your pardon with a fistful of posies Sunday last.”
    “Yes, he did.” Jude perched on her chair and looked with some envy at the way Brenna slouched comfortably in hers. “He was very sweet and embarrassed. Aidan shouldn’t have made him do it.”
    “It was one way to pay Jack back for the fat lip.” Twinkling now, she shifted in her chair, hooking one booted ankle over the other. “How did he manage it? It’s a rare thing for a fist slowed by whiskey to land on Aidan Gallagher.”
    “It was my fault, I suppose. I called out—” Screamed, Jude thought in self-disgust. “I must have distracted him and then he had a fist in his face, and his head was snapping back, his mouth bleeding. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    “Haven’t you?” Fascinated, Brenna pursed her lips. Even in a female household, she’d grown up with the stray fist flying. It would often be her own. “Don’t they have the occasionally donnybrook in Chicago?”
    It was a word that made Jude smile, and think for some reason of baseball. “Not in my neighborhood,” she murmured. “Does Aidan often have fistfights with his customers?”
    “No, indeed, though he started his own fair share ofbrawls once upon a time. These days if someone’s reached his limit and is feeling a bit frisky, Aidan talks them around it. Most don’t want to push him in any case. Gallaghers are known for their dark moods and black temper.”
    “Unlike the O’Tooles,” Mollie said dryly as she carted in a tea tray. “Who are of a sunny nature night and day.”
    “That’s the truth.” Brenna leaped up and planted a loud kiss on