"Well, you've met Betty, then."

"Is that her name?" Jude hoped her grin wasn't as foolish as it felt on her face as the dog nuzzled her nose into her hand. "She's very friendly."

"Oh, she has a fondness for the ladies, particularly." Folding her arms on the open window, Brenna rested her chin there. She wondered why the woman seemed embarrassed to have been caught petting a dog. "So you're fond of dogs, are you?"

"Apparently."

"Whenever she wears out her welcome, you just shove her out the gate, and she'll head home. Our Betty knows a soft touch, and she doesn't mind taking advantage."

"She's wonderful company. But I suppose I'm keeping her from your mother."

"She's more on her mind than Betty's presence at the moment. Refrigerator's out again. I'm heading down to kick it for her. Haven't seen you at the pub this week."

"Oh. No, I've been working. I haven't really been out."

"But you're heading off today." She nodded her head toward Jude's purse.

"I thought I'd drive into Waterford, hunt up those gardening books."

"Oh, now there's no need to go all that way, unless you're set on it. Come down the house and talk to my mother while I'm banging on the icebox. She'd enjoy that, and it'd keep her from badgering me with questions."

"She wouldn't be expecting company. I wouldn't want to-"

"Door's always open." The woman was so interesting, Brenna thought. And hardly said more than one short string of words at a time unless you bumped and nudged at her. If anyone could pry bits and pieces out of her, to Brenna's mind, it was Mollie O'Toole.

"Come on, hop in," she added, then whistled for the dog.

Betty yapped once, cheerfully, then bounded to the truck and leaped neatly into the back.

Jude searched for a polite excuse, but everything that came to mind seemed stilted and rude. Smiling weakly, she latched the gate and walked around the truck to the passenger side. "You're sure I won't be in the way."

"Not a bit of it." Pleased, Brenna beamed at her, waited until she climbed in, then roared backward out of the drive.

"God!"

"What?" Brenna slammed on the brakes, forcing Jude to slap her hands on the dash before her face plowed into it. She hadn't had time to fasten her seat belt.

"You- ah." Regulating her breathing, Jude hastily dragged the belt around her. "You don't worry that a car might be coming?"

Brenna laughed, a rollicking sound, then gave Jude a friendly pat on the shoulder. "There wasn't, was there? Don't fret, I'll keep you in one piece. Those are lovely shoes," she added. Though Brenna didn't see how they'd be as comfortable as a stout pair of boots. "Darcy wagers you wear shoes made in Italy. Is that the truth?''

"Um-" With a vague frown, Jude stared down at her neat black flats. "Yes, actually."

"She's a keen eye for fashion, Darcy does. Loves looking through the magazines and such. Dreamed through them even when we were girls together."

"She's beautiful."

"Oh, she is, yes. The Gallaghers are a fine, handsome family."

"It's odd that such attractive people aren't involved with anyone. Particularly." Even as she said it, casually as she could, she cursed herself for prying.

"Darcy has no interest, never has, in the local lads. Above a bit of flirting, that is. Aidan-" She jerked a shoulder. "Seems married to the pub since he came back, else the man is very discreet. Shawn-"

A frown marred Brenna's brow as she whipped the truck into the drive at her house. "He doesn't look hard enough at what's in front of his face, if you're asking me."

The dog leaped out of the truck and raced around the back of the house.

The frown vanished as Brenna hopped out. "If you're of a mind to do some shopping in Waterford City, or Dublin, Darcy's your girl. Nothing she likes better than wandering the shops and trying on clothes and shoes and playing at the paints and powders. But if your stove's acting up, or you find a leak in your roof-" She winked as she led Jude to the front door. "You give me a call."

There were flowers here, snugged together in color and shape into a lovely blanket outside the door, trailing and tangling up a trellis, spilling happily out of pots of simple red clay.

They seemed to grow as they chose, yet there was a tidiness, an almost ruthless neatness, Jude thought, to the entrance of the house. The stoop was scrubbed 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 that was 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 in your 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 of brawls 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 her mother's cheek. "I'll see to your fridge, Ma, and have it working like new for you."

"Hasn't worked like new since Alice Mae was born, and she's fifteen this summer. Go on then before the milk sours. She's a good girl, my Brenna," Mollie went on when Brenna strolled out. "All my girls are. Will you have some biscuits with your tea, Miss Murray? I baked yesterday."

"Thank you. Please call me Jude."

"I will, then, and you call me Mollie. It's nice to have a neighbor in Faerie Hill Cottage again. Old Maude would be pleased you've come as she wouldn't want the house sitting lonely. No, none for you, you great lump." Mollie addressed this to the cat who leaped onto the arm of her chair. She nudged him off again, but not before scratching his ears.

"You have a wonderful house. I like looking at it when I'm walking."

"It's a hodgepodge, but it suits us." Mollie poured the tea into her good china cups, smiling as she set the pot down again. "My Mick was always one for adding a room here and a room there, and when Brenna was big enough to swing a hammer, why the two of them ganged up on me and did whatever they liked to the place."