The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

hair.
    “His students call him Dour Powers. That’s his name, William Powers. Of course, being a modern professional woman, I kept my own name, so I didn’t have all that fuss with the divorce. Anyway . . . what was I saying?”
    “How civilized Dour Powers is.”
    “Oh, yes. William decided that we’d wait five to seven years. Then, if circumstances were acceptable, we would discuss having a child again. If we decided to go ahead with it, we would research and choose the proper day care, preschool facilities, and once we knew the sex of the child, we’d determine which educational plan to put into action straight up to college.”
    “College?” Darcy turned. “Before the baby’s born?”
    “William was very forward-thinking.”
    “For a man with his head up his bum.”
    “He’s probably not as bad as I’m making him out to be.” Jude frowned into her wine. “Probably. He’s muchhappier with Allyson.” To her shock, tears sprang to her eyes. “He just wasn’t happy married to me.”
    “The bastard.” Swamped with sympathy, Darcy abandoned the closet and sat on the bed to wrap an arm around Jude’s shoulders. “He didn’t deserve you.”
    “Not for a bloody minute,” Brenna agreed, patting Jude’s knee. “Stuffy, stub-nosed, philandering bastard. You’re a hundred times better than any Allyson.”
    “She’s blond,” Jude said with a sniffle. “And has legs up to her ears.”
    “Blond from a bottle, I’ll wager,” Darcy said staunchly. “And you have wonderful legs. Gorgeous legs. I can’t keep me eyes off them.”
    “Really?” Jude swiped a hand under her nose.
    “They’re fabulous.” Brenna gave Jude’s calf a bolstering stroke. “He’s probably going to bed each night steeped in regret for losing you.”
    “Oh, hell.” Jude exploded. “He was a boring son of a bitch. Allyson’s welcome to him.”
    “He probably can’t even get her off,” said Darcy, and Jude snorted with glee.
    “Well, I certainly never heard the angels sing. This is great.” She rubbed the heels of her hands over her face to dry it. “I never had friends to come over and get drunk and toss my clothes around before.”
    “You can count on us.” Darcy gave her a hard squeeze.
     
    Sometime during the third bottle of wine, Jude told them about what she’d seen—thought she’d seen—in the old cemetery.
    “It comes down through the blood,” Darcy said with a knowing nod. “Old Maude had the sight, and it’s often she talked to the Good People.”
    “Oh, come on.”
    Darcy only lifted one elegant brow at Jude’s comment. “And this from the woman who’s just described two meetings with a faerie prince.”
    “I never said that. I said I met this odd man twice. Or thought I did. I’m afraid I have a brain tumor.”
    Brenna grimaced at the very idea. “Nonsense. You’re healthy as a horse.”
    “If not that, if there’s no physical cause, then I’m just crazy. I’m a psychologist,” she reminded them. “Well, I was one, a mediocre one, but still, I have enough training to recognize the symptoms of a serious mental disfunc-tion.”
    “Why should that be?” Brenna demanded. “As far as I can tell, you’re the most sensible of women. My ma thinks because of that, and your ladylike manner, you’ll be good for me.” Cheerfully, Brenna gave Jude a light punch on the shoulder. “And despite that I like you anyway.”
    “You really do, don’t you?”
    “Of course I do, and so does Darcy, and not just for your fine clothes.”
    “Of course I don’t just like our Jude for her clothes.” Darcy’s tone radiated insult at the very idea. “I like her for her baubles, too.” With that, she collapsed in laughter. “I’m joking. Sure we like you, Jude. You’re fun to be with and a wonderful puzzle to listen to half the time.”
    “That’s so nice.” Her eyes welled up again. “It’s so nice to have friends, especially when you’re either dying of brain cancer or acting like a raving lunatic.”
    “You’re neither. You saw Carrick of the faeries,” Brenna announced. “Wandering the hills above his raft until Lady Gwen joins him.”
    “Do you really believe that?” It seemed possible now, in a way it hadn’t—a way she hadn’t let it—only a few hours before. “Believe in faerie forts and ghosts and spellsthat last centuries? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
    “I’m not, no.” Wrapped in Jude’s thick robe, Brenna dipped into