"No, I have it. You'll have the pipe today."

"I've no doubt of that," Brenna murmured as he strode toward the kitchen door.

The kitchen was spotless. It was one of the things Trevor noticed, and demanded, when it came to any business he had a part in. He imagined the Gallaghers wouldn't think of him as having a part in their pub, but from his viewpoint their business was now very much his concern.

He dug his book out of his pocket. In New York his assistant would have located the number, made the call. She would have worked her way through the various steps until she'd reached the person in charge. Only then, if it was necessary, would the matter have passed into Trevor's hands.

He had to admit, though that saved time and frustration, he rather enjoyed wading in at the bottom and administering that good boot in the ass.

In the five minutes it took him to reach the top level, he spied the biscuit tin. In the few days he'd been in and around Gallagher's he'd come to know that when there were cookies, they were homemade. And they were spectacular.

He helped himself to a honey and oatmeal cookie as big as his fist as he annihilated the supply supervisor without ever raising his voice. He jotted down the name, in case retribution should become necessary, and was given a personal guarantee that the pipe in question would be delivered to the site by noon.

Satisfied with that, he broke the connection and was considering a second cookie when he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Selecting peanut butter this time, Trevor leaned back against the counter and prepared for his first real eyeful of Darcy Gallagher.

Like Shawn's cookies, she was spectacular.

She stopped at the base of the stairs, lifted one slim eyebrow. Her eyes were blue, like her brothers', a brilliant color against flawlessly white skin. She left her hair loose so that it waved beguilingly over her shoulders.

She was dressed with a tailored smartness that seemed more suited to Madison Avenue than Ardmore.

"Good morning to you. Having a tea break?"

"Phone call." He took a bite of the cookie as he watched her. The voice, Irish and smoky as a turf fire, was as straight-out sexy as the rest of her.

"Well I'm making some tea here, as I've run out upstairs and don't like to start my day without. Makes me cross." She skimmed her gaze over him as she moved to the stove. "Will you have a cup to wash down the biscuit? Or must you go straight back to work?"

"I can take a minute."

"You're fortunate your employer's not so strict. I've heard that Magee runs a very tight ship."

"So he does."

While the kettle heated, Darcy dealt with the pot. The man was better up close. She liked the sharp angles of his face, the little scar on his chin. It gave him a dangerous look, and she was so bloody weary of safe men. No wedding ring, she noted, though that didn't always tell the tale.

"You've come all the way from America," she continued, "to work on his theater?"

"That's right."

"A long way from home. I hope you were able to bring your family with you."

"If you mean wife, I'm not married." He broke the cookie in half, offered her a share.

Amused, she took it. "That leaves you free to travel for your work, doesn't it? And what is it you do?"

"Whatever's necessary."

Oh, yes, she thought and nibbled on the cookie. Just dangerous enough. "I'd say that makes you a handy man to have around and about."

"I'm going to be around and about here for some time yet." He waited while she lifted the sputtering kettle, poured the boiling water into the pot. "Would you like to have dinner?"

She sent him a long sidelong glance, added a hint of a smile. "Sure I like a good meal now and then, and interesting company with it. But I'm just back from my holiday and won't have time off for a bit. My brother Aidan's a hard man with a schedule."

"How about breakfast?"

She set the kettle down. "I might enjoy that. Perhaps you'll ask me again in a day or two, once I've settled back in."

"Perhaps I will."

She was vaguely surprised, and a little disappointed that he hadn't pursued the invitation then and there. She was used to men pleading a bit. But she turned, took out a thick mug for his tea. "What part of America are you from, then?"

"New York."

"New York City?" Her eyes sparkled as she turned back. "Oh, is it wonderful?"

"A lot of it is."

"It has to be the most exciting city in the world." She cupped the mug in both hands as she imagined it, as she'd imagined it countless times before. "Maybe not the most beautiful. I thought Paris so beautiful-female and sly and sexual. I think of New York as a man-demanding and reckless and so full of energy you have to run to keep up."

Amused at herself, she set down his mug. "It probably doesn't strike you that way since you're used to being there your whole life."

"I doubt you think of Ardmore, or this area, as magic." He saw her eyebrow arch up again at his words. "As a small and nearly perfect corner of the world where you can reach back or forward in time as suits you. And while there's energy here, it comes with patience so you don't have to run to keep up."

"It's interesting, isn't it, how people see what's the everyday to someone else?" She poured out his tea. "I'd think a man who can philosophize so easily over tea and biscuits might be wasting his talents hauling bricks."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the tea." He moved toward the door, passing close enough to appreciate that she smelled every bit as good as she looked. "I'll bring back the mug."

"Mind you do. Shawn knows his kitchen supplies down to the last spoon."

"Come to the window again sometime," he added as he opened the door. "I liked looking at you."

She smiled to herself when he left. "Well, now, that goes both ways, New York City."

Debating how she would answer him the next time he asked her out, she picked up the pot of tea to carry it upstairs. The back door flew open.

"You're back."

Brenna took one leap inside. Little pellets of drying cement flew.

"Keep your distance." Darcy held up the pot like a shield. "Christ Jesus, Brenna, you have as much of that muck on your person as you do on the brick."

"Block, and not by any means. Don't worry, I won't hug you."

"Damn right you won't."

"But I missed you."

Though she was touched, Darcy let out a snort. "You're too busy being a newlywed to have missed me."

"I can do both. Can you spare a cup of that? I've ten minutes coming."

"All right, then, but get some old newspaper to put on the chair before you sit down. I missed you too," Darcy admitted as she took out another mug.

"I knew you would. I still say it was adventurous of you to go off to Paris like that by yourself. Did you love it?" Brenna asked as she dutifully laid out newspaper. "Was it everything you wanted it to be?"

"It was, yes. Everything about it: the sounds and the scents, the buildings, the shops and cafes. I could've spent a month just looking. Now if they'd just learn to make a decent cup of tea." She sipped at her own. "But I made out fine with wine. Everyone dresses so smart, even when they aren't trying to. I got some marvelous clothes. The shopkeepers are very aloof and act as if they're doing you a great favor in taking your money. I found it added to the overall experience."

"I'm glad you had a good holiday. You look rested."

"Rested? I barely slept the whole week. I'm- energized," Darcy decided. "Of course, I'd planned to lay like a slug until I had to get up for work this morning, but that noise outside's enough to keep the dead alert."

"You'll have to get used to that. We're making fine progress."

"Not from my window. It looks like a rubble heap, with ditches."

"We'll have the foundation finished and the plumbing roughed in by the end of the week. It's a good crew, the ones from New York are well trained, and the ones from here Dad and I picked ourselves. Magee doesn't tolerate slackers. And he knows every step of putting a building up, so you'd better be on your toes."

"Which tells me you're enjoying yourself."

"Tremendously. And I'd best get back to it."

"Wait. I got you a present."

"I was counting on it."

"I'll go up and get it. I don't want you tracking through my rooms."

"I was counting on that, too," Brenna commented as Darcy hurried up the stairs.

"It's not boxed," Darcy called down. "It was easier to pack just keeping it in a bag. Jude was wise in telling me to take an extra suitcase as it was. But yours didn't take up much room."

She came back with a small shopping bag, then narrowed her eyes at Brenna's hand. "I'll take it out for you." She slid out a thin bundle wrapped in tissue, carefully uncovered it, then held it up.

Brenna's mouth fell open.

"Shawn's going to love it," Darcy decided.

It was a short, narrow-strapped nightgown in a shimmering green that was nearly transparent. "He'd have to be a complete dunderhead not to," Brenna agreed once she had her voice back. "I'm trying to imagine wearing that." Slowly wicked amusement brightened her eyes. "I think I'll love it, too. It's beautiful, Darcy."

"I'll keep it for you until you're cleaned up and ready to go home."

"Thanks." Brenna kissed Darcy on the cheek, mindful not to transfer any dirt. "I won't say I'll think of you when I'm wearing it, nor do I think you'd want me to."

"That I don't."

"Don't let Shawn see it," Brenna added as she started out. "I've a mind to surprise him."

It was almost too easy to fall back into routine. Though Shawn refused to bicker with her because she'd bought him a fancy French cookbook in Paris, everything else just slipped right into place. As if, she thought, she'd never been away.