Jude started after and had just reached the edge of the yard when the kitchen door opened.

"Well, good morning to you, Jude." Mollie sent her a wave. "You're up and about early today."

"Not as early as you, from the looks of things."

"You have yourself a houseful of chattering girls and a man who likes his tea before his eyes are open, you don't have much chance to stay in bed. Come in, have some tea and visit with me while I make my bread."

"I brought your dishes back, and some of the sugar cookies I made yesterday. I think they're better than the last batch."

"We'll sample them with the tea and see."

She held the door open wide, and Jude walked into the warmth and the scents and the clatter of Brenna wielding tools under the kitchen sink.

"I've about got it now, Ma."

"So you'd better." Mollie moved to the stove. "I tell you, Jude, I'm the shoemaker's wife in this house. Off himself goes, as does this girl here, fixing and fiddling with everyone else's matter, while I live with drips and rattles day and night."

"Well, you don't pay a body a living wage, now do you?" Brenna said and earned a light kick from her mother.

"A living wage, is it? And who ate a mountain of eggs and a tower of toast and jam just this morning?"

"I only did so I'd have my mouth full and not tell Maureen to stop her harping on the wedding plans. The girl's driving us all batty, Jude, fussing and whining and bursting into tears for no reason at all."

"Getting married's plenty of reason for all of the above." Mollie set out the tea and cookies, nodded for Jude to sit, then plunged her hands back into the ball of dough she was kneading. "And when your time comes you'll be worse yet."

"Ha. If I was thinking of marriage, I'd haul the man before the priest, say the words and be done with it," Brenna declared. "All this fancy work-dresses and flowers and just which song needs to be played just when. Months in the making for one single day, for a dress that will never be worn again, flowers that will fade and wither, and songs you could sing any damn time."

She scooted out from under the sink and gestured with her wrench. "And the cost of it all is sinful."

"Ah, Brenna, you romantic fool." Mollie sprinkled more flour onto her dough and turned it. "That one single day is the start of a life, and worth every minute of time and every penny that goes into it." But she sighed a little. "Still, it does get wearying, dealing with her nerves."

"Exactly." Brenna put the wrench in her dented toolbox and rose to snatch one of the cookies. "Look at our Jude here. Calm as you please. You don't hear her blathering on about whether she'll have white roses or pink in her bouquet." Brenna bit into the cookie and dropped into a chair. "You're a sensible woman."

"Thank you. I try. But what are you talking about?"

"The difference between you and my flighty sister. The both of you have weddings coming up, but are you pacing around the room wringing your hands and changing your mind about the flavor of the cake every two minutes? Of course not."

"No," Jude said slowly. "I'm not, because I don't have a wedding coming up."

"Even if you and Aidan have a small ceremony-though how you'd pull that off when he knows every second soul for a hundred kilometers-it's still a wedding."

Jude had to take a breath, then another. "Where did you get the idea that I'm marrying Aidan?"

"From Darcy." Brenna leaned forward for another cookie. "She had it straight from the horse's mouth."

"The horse's ass is more apt."

At the snap of her tone, Brenna blinked and Mollie paused in her kneading. Before Brenna could speak, Mollie shot out a warning look. "Fill your mouth with that biscuit, lass, before you put the rest of your foot in it."

"But Darcy said-"

"Perhaps Darcy misunderstood."

"No, I don't imagine she did." Temper leaped into Jude's throat. When she couldn't choke it down again, she shoved away from the table and got to her feet. "Where does a man get that kind of nerve, that much arrogance?"

"Most are born with it," Brenna said, then ducked her head and winced at her mother's hiss.

"I have to say, Jude, that I myself thought that's where the two of you were heading, seeing the way you are with each other." Mollie kept her voice soothing, and her eyes keen on Jude's face. "When Brenna told us at dinner last night, not one of us was surprised, but we were pleased."

"Told you- at dinner." Jude stopped at the table, braced her palms on it and leaned into Brenna's face. "You told your whole family?"

"Well, I didn't see how-"

"Who else? How many people have you told this ridiculous story to?"

"I-" Brenna cleared her throat. Having a rare temper herself, she recognized the danger signs when they were stuck in her face. "I can't recall, precisely. Not many. A few. Hardly anyone at all. We were so pleased, you see, Darcy and myself. As we're so fond of you and Aidan, and knowing how Aidan can plod about before he gets to the center of things, hoped that the ceili might give him a bit of a boost."

"The ceili?"

"Aye, Midsummer's Eve and the moon and such. You remember, Ma?" She turned to Mollie with a desperate look in her eye. "Remember how you told us the way Dad proposed to you when you were dancing in the moonlight at a ceili? And at Old Maude's cottage, too."

"I do, yes." And she began to see. With a quiet smile, she patted her daughter's shoulder. "You meant well, didn't you?"

"Yes, we-ow!" Wincing, Brenna grabbed the nose her mother had just twisted.

"That's to remind you to keep that nose of yours out of other people's business however well meant."

"It's not her fault." Jude lifted her hands to her hair and barely resisted pulling it out. "It's Aidan's fault. What is he thinking of, telling his sister we're getting married? I said no, didn't I? Very plainly and several times."

"You said no," Brenna and Mollie said together, with mirror looks of shock.

"I see what he's doing, I see what he's up to." She whirled away to stalk around the room again. "He needs a wife and I'm available, so that's it. I'm just to fall in line because, after all, I obviously have no backbone. Well, he's wrong about that. I've got one. Maybe I haven't used it much, but it's there. I'm not marrying him or anyone. I'm never going to be told what to do again, or where to live or how to live or what to be. Not ever, ever again."

Mollie studied the flushed face, the fisted hands and nodded slowly. "Well, now, good for you. Why don't you take a bit of a breath now, darling, and sit down here, drink your tea and tell us, as we're all friends, exactly what happened."

"I'll tell you what happened. Then you," she added, jabbing a finger at Brenna. "You can go down to the village and tell everyone just what a brainless fool Aidan Gallagher is and that Jude Murray wouldn't have him on a platter."

"I can do that," Brenna agreed with a cautious smile.

"Fine." Jude took that breath, then sat down to tell the tale.

It helped a great deal to vent to friends. It took the sharpest edge off her temper, strengthened her resolve, and gave her the satisfaction of having two other women outraged at Aidan's behavior.

By the time she left, she'd been given pats and hugs and congratulations on her stand against a bully. Of course she had no way of knowing that the minute she left, mother and daughter dug out twenty pounds each to lay on Aidan.

It wasn't that they didn't sympathize with Jude, or believe she had sense enough to know what she wanted. It was simply that they believed in destiny-and a good wager.

With the stake in her pocket, Brenna drove into town to tell Darcy what a great boob her brother was-and to start the pool.

Fortunately ignorant of this, Jude walked back to her house feeling lighter of heart and stronger in the spine. She wasn't going to bother confronting Aidan. She told herself it wasn't worth the time or effort. She would be calm, she would remain firm, and this time he would be the one humiliated.

Pleased with herself, she went directly to the phone in her kitchen and took the next step without a moment's hesitation.

Thirty minutes later, she sat at the table and laid her head on her arms.

She'd done it. She'd actually done it.

Her condo was going on the market. As the couple Jude had rented to had already made inquiries about the possibility of buying it, the realtor was optimistic that it would sell quickly and with a minimum of fuss. She'd booked a flight for the end of the month so that she could go through her possessions, ship or store what she wanted to keep, and sell or give away the rest.

So much, she thought, for a life she'd built on other people's expectations. She stayed as she was, holding her breath to see what reaction would set in.

Panic? Regret? Depression?

But it was none of those. It was done, so easily, too, and there was a huge weight off her shoulders at the idea of it. Relief was what she felt. Relief, anticipation, and a wicked little thrill of accomplishment.

She no longer lived in Chicago. She lived in Faerie Hill Cottage, County Waterford, Ireland.

Her parents were going to faint.

At the thought of that, she sat up, pressed both hands to her mouth to hold back the wild laughter. They'd think she'd lost her mind. And would never, ever understand that what she'd done was found it. She'd found her mind, and her heart and her home.

And, she thought, a little dizzy herself, her purpose.

"Gran, I found me. I found Jude F. Murray in six months or less. How about that?"

The call to New York was harder. Because it was more important, Jude realized. Beyond the symbolism of the sale of the condo. That only meant money. The call to New York equaled her future, the future she was giving herself.