"He's right, of course." Tears, this time of gratitude, filled Darcy's throat. How had he known just the right things to say to people he barely knew?

Darcy got to her feet when Trevor came to the doorway and, leading only with her heart, walked to him. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, soft and warm on the lips. "Come sit with the family," she told him, and brought him in.

Even as she resigned herself to waiting, the doctor stepped in. "Mrs. O'Toole."

"Yes. My husband?" Mollie was on her feet, her hand clenching Alice Mae's, as it was closest.

"He's a tough one." With a reassuring smile, the doctor stepped over as Brenna raced up. "Let me tell you first, he'll be fine."

"Thank God." Mollie reached out to grip Brenna's shoulder. "Thank God for that."

"He has a concussion and a broken arm. The bone-" He demonstrated, putting his own hand on his forearm. "Snapped rather than shattered, and that's fortunate. Some of the lacerations were deep, and there's considerable bruising at the ribs, but no breaks there. We've run tests and haven't found any internal damage. We want to keep him for a day or two, of course."

"Is he awake?"

"He is, yes. And considerably alert. He asked for you-and a pint, though you came first."

Her voice broke in a laughing sob. "I damn well better. Then I can see him?"

"I'll take you into recovery, then the lot of you can have a minute with him once we've got him settled in a room. He looks a bit fierce with the bruises and the cuts, and I don't want you to be alarmed by it."

"You don't raise five children without seeing plenty of bruises and cuts."

"That you don't."

"You wait here now," she said, turning to her family, "while I go see your father. And when it's your turn, I don't want any weeping and wailing, so get it all out of your system now. And we'll all of us have a good cry if need be after we're home again."

Darcy waited until Mollie walked away with the doctor before she turned to Brenna. "All right, how do we go about sneaking him in a pint of Guinness?"

CHAPTER Twelve

"Darcy, there's my girl. You've come to spring me from this place, haven't you?"

Twenty-four hours after he'd taken a hard tumble and landed for the most part on his head, Mick O'Toole looked pink and alert, bruised and battered, and just a little desperate. Darcy leaned over the bed rail and kissed his forehead fondly.

"I have not. You've one more day to go, if all's as it should be in that rock you call a brain. So I've brought you flowers."

One of his eyes was blackened, there was a gouge in his cheek held together by a trio of butterfly bandages, and the forehead she'd kissed was a symphony of raw braises and rawer scrapes.

All in all it gave him the look, Darcy thought, of a brawler who'd come out on the wrong side of fists.

When his big, hopeful smile faded immediately into a long, put-upon sigh, she wanted to cuddle him.

"There's nothing wrong with me head or the rest of me, save this busted wing here, and that's hardly enough to keep a man chained in hospital, now is it?"

"The doctors think different. But I've brought you something to cheer you up."

"The flowers are very nice indeed." But he said it with a pout, very much like a twelve-year-old who hadn't gotten his way.

"They are, yeah, and right out of Jude's own garden. The rest of it's from somewhere else altogether." Slipping the flowers out of the bag she carried, Darcy set them aside and pulled out a plastic tumbler with a sealed lid. "It's Guinness-only a half pint, as that's all I could manage, but it'll have to do you."

"You're a princess."

"I am, and expect to be treated as such." After popping off the lid, she passed the contraband to him, then lowered the rail to sit on the side of the bed. "Do you feel as well as you look?"

"I'm fit and fine, I promise. My arm pains me a bit, but nothing to speak of." He took his first sip, then closed his eyes in pure pleasure. "It was sorry I was to hear you and Trev rushed all the way back from London. It was nothing but a false step and a bit of a tumble."

"You scared us all to pieces." Affectionately, she brushed at the hair on his brow. "And now I suppose you'll have all your ladies fussing over you."

His eyes twinkled. "It's hard to mind it, as I've such pretty ladies, though they've been in and out of here since I got my senses back. I'm ready to get back on the job, but Trev won't hear of it. A week, he's telling me, minimum, before I can so much as show me face, and then only with the doctor's say-so."

Mick's tone turned wheedling. "Maybe you could have a word with him, darling, tell him how much better off I'd be working than lying about. A man's bound to listen to a beautiful woman such as yourself."

"You won't get 'round me, Mister Michael O'Toole. A week's a short enough time. Now, you rest and stop fussing about work. The theater won't be built before you're back to it."

"I don't like taking a wage while I'm flat on my back."

"It's right he's paying you, as you were hurt on his job, and he can well afford it. Doing so shows his character, just as fretting over it shows yours."

"That may be, and I'll admit it's put Mollie's mind at rest even if she doesn't say so." Still his fingers worried the edge of the sheet. "He's a good man and a fair boss, but I need to know he's got his money's worth from me."

"Since when haven't you given full shot for the pound? The sooner you're healed through, the sooner you'll be working again. And I'll tell you my plumbing needs another look."

She'd made that one up, but saw it brightened him.

"I'll take a look-see the minute they let me on my feet again. 'Course, if it's urgent you can have Brenna see to it."

"It'll wait for you, and so will I."

"That's fine, then." He settled back, and the sparkle on her wrist caught his eye. "Well, now, what's this?"

He took her hand, turned it so the bracelet shimmered. "That's quite the little bauble, isn't it?"

"It is. Trevor gave it to me." And she watched Mick's wicked smile.

"Did he now?"

"He did, and I shouldn't have taken it, but I decided not to refuse such a generous gesture."

"Why should you? He's got his eye on you, and has since you first came into view. The man has fine taste if you're asking me, and you, my girl, could hardly do better than with the likes of Trevor Magee."

"It won't do to get those sorts of notions, Mr. O'Toole. It's no more than a bit of a frolic for both of us, with neither looking for seriousness."

"Is it?" Mick questioned, then seeing Darcy set her chin, as he'd seen her set it all her life, he let it lie. "Well, sure and we'll see about that, won't we?"

And to Mick's pleasure, it was barely more than an hour after Darcy left his bedside when Trevor came to it. He brought a pint of Guinness with him, and Mick appreciated his boldness in not troubling to hide it, just as he'd admired the neatness with which Darcy had delivered hers under cover.

"Now, that's a man after me own heart."

"Oh, did you want one too?" With an easy smile, Trevor passed the glass and sat. "I figured you'd be feeling restless by now."

"That I am. If you'd get me some pants I'd walk out of here with you."

"Tomorrow. I've just had a word with your doctor, and he says they'll release you in the morning."

"Well, that's better than a jab in the eye with a sharp stick. I was thinking, I could be on the job straightaway, in a kind of supervisory capacity. No lifting." He hurried on as Trevor merely stared blandly. "No actual labor, just what you'd call keeping an eye on things."

"In a week."

"Bloody hell, man, I'll go mad in a week. Do you know what it is to be laid low this way and have a brood of hens clucking about you?"

"Only in my cherished fantasies."

Mick gave a short laugh and settled into his pint. "Darcy left hardly an hour ago."

"She loves you."

"That feeling's very mutual between us. I happened to notice the trinket you gave her, the wrist bauble."

"It suits her."

"It does indeed, being bright and rich and shiny. Some see the girl and think, now that's a flighty one only looking for fun and the easy way. They'd be wrong."

"I wouldn't disagree with you."

"As her father, and my good friend, Patrick Gallagher is across the pond, I'm taking it upon myself to say this to you in plain speech. Don't toy with that girl, Trevor. She's not a bauble like that pretty bracelet you picked out of a glass case somewhere. She's a big and seeking heart in her, even if she doesn't like to let it show. And for all she may tell you, and herself for that matter, that it's all fun and games, she'll bruise like any other woman with rough handling."

"I don't intend to handle her roughly." His voice was cool now, just a step away from aloof.

Not the sort of man who's accustomed to being given orders, Mick thought, or advice, or even warnings about his behavior. "Maybe the word I should use is 'careless.' And a man can be careless with a woman even without intending it, especially if the woman expects it."

"I'll make a point of being careful, whatever she expects."

Mick nodded, and again let it lie. But he wondered just what Trevor himself expected.

Mick was right about one thing. Trevor wasn't a man who particularly cared for advice, and certainly not when it pertained to a woman. He knew what he was doing with Darcy. They were both clear-sighted adults, adults who had a very elemental attraction to each other. Mixed with it was simple affection and respect. What more could anyone want from a relationship, and a temporary one at that?