He had the rawboned face of the Celts, with the wild good looks that the fine genes of his parents had blended, with a long, straight nose, a mouth full and shamelessly sensual, a tough, take-a-punch chin with just a hint of a cleft.

He was built like a brawler-wide of shoulder, long of arm, and narrow of hip. And indeed, he had spent a good portion of his youth planting his fists in faces or taking them in his own. As much, he wasn't shamed to admit, for the fun of it as for temper.

It was a matter of pride that unlike his brother, Shawn, Aidan had never had his nose broken in battle.

Still, he'd stopped looking for trouble as he'd grown from boy to man. He was just looking, and trusted that he'd know what it was when he found it.

When Jude walked in, he noticed-first as a publican, and second as a man. She looked so tidy, with her trim jacket and bound-back hair, so lost with her big eyes scanning the room as a doe might consider a new path in the forest.

A pretty thing, he thought, as most men do when they see an attractive female face and form. And being one who saw many faces in his career, he noted the nerves as well that kept her rooted to the spot just inside the door as if she might turn and flee at any moment.

The look of her, the manner of her, captured his interest and a low and pleasant hum warmed his blood.

She squared her shoulders, a deliberate move that amused him, and walked to the bar.

"Good evening to you," he said as he slid his rag down the bar to wipe up spills. "What's your pleasure?"

She started to speak, to ask politely for a glass of white wine. Then her smiled, a slow, lazy curving of lips that inexplicably set her insides a fluttering and turned her mind into a buzzing mess of static.

Yes, she thought dimly, everyone was gorgeous here.

He seemed in no particular hurry for her answer, only leaned comfortably on the bar, bringing that truly wonderful face closer to hers, cocking his head and his brow at the same time.

"Are you lost, then, darling?"

She imagined herself melting, just sliding onto the floor in a puddle of hormones and liquid lust. The sheer embarrassment of the image snapped her back to herself. "No, I'm not lost. Could I have a glass of white wine? Chardonnay if it's available."

"I can help you with that." But he made no move to, just then. "You're a Yank, then. Would you be Old Maude's young American cousin come to stay in her cottage awhile?"

"Yes. I'm Jude, Jude Murray." Automatically she offered her hand and a careful smile that allowed her dimples a brief appearance in her cheeks.

Aidan had always had a soft spot for dimples in a pretty face.

He took her hand, but didn't shake it. He only held it as he continued to stare at her until-she swore she felt it-her bones began to sizzle. "Welcome to Ardmore, Miss Murray, and to Gallagher's. I'm Aidan, and this is my place. Tim, give the lady your seat. Where are your manners?"

"Oh, no, that's-"

But Tim, a burly man with a mass of hair the color and texture of steel wool, slid off his stool. "Beg your pardon." He shifted his gaze from the sports event on the television over the end of the bar and gave her a quick, charming wink.

"Unless you'd rather a table," Aidan added as she continued to stand and look mildly distressed.

"No, no, this is fine. Thank you." She climbed onto the stool, trying not to tense up as she became the center of attention. It was what troubled her most about teaching, all those faces turned to hers, expecting her to be profound and brilliant.

He finally released her hand, just as she expected it to dissolve in his, and took the pint glass from under the tap, to slide it into welcoming hands. "And how are you finding Ireland?" he asked her as he turned to take a bottle of wine from the mirrored shelf.

"It's lovely."

"Well, there's no one here will disagree with you on that." He poured her wine, looking at her rather than the glass. "And how's your granny?"

"Oh." Jude was amazed that he'd filled the glass perfectly without so much as a glance at it, then set it precisely in front of her. "She's very well. Do you know her?"

"I do, yes. My mother was a Fitzgerald and a cousin to your granny-third or fourth removed, I'm thinking. So, that makes us cousins as well." He tapped a finger on her glass. "Slainte, cousin Jude."

"Oh, well- thank you." She lifted her glass just as the shouting started from the back. A woman's voice, clear as church bells, accused someone of being a bloody, blundering knothead with no more brains than a turnip. This was answered, in irritated male tones, that he'd rather be a bleeding turnip than dumb as the dirt it grew in.

No one seemed particularly shocked by the shouts and curses that followed, nor by the sudden crash that had Jude jolting and spilling a few drops of wine on the back of her hand.

"That would be two more of your cousins," Aidan explained as he took Jude's hand yet again and efficiently dried it. "My sister, Darcy, and my brother, Shawn."

"Oh. Well, shouldn't someone see what's the matter?"

"The matter with what?"

She only goggled as the voices in the back rose.

"You throw that plate at my head, you viper, and I swear to you, I'll-"

The threat ended on a vicious curse as something crashed against the wall. Seconds later, a woman swung out of the door behind the bar, carrying a tray of food and looking flushed and satisfied.

"Did you nail him, Darcy?" someone wanted to know.

"No, he ducked." She tossed her head, sending a cloud of raven-black hair flying. Temper suited her. Her Kerry blue eyes snapped with it, her generous mouth pouted. She carried the tray with a sassy twitch of hip to a family of five crowded at a low table. And when she served, bending down to catch whatever the woman at the table murmured to her, she threw back her head and laughed.

The laughter suited her just as well as the temper, Jude noted.

"I'll be taking the price of the plate out of your pay," Aidan informed her when she strolled over to the bar.

"That's fine, then. Worth every penny, more if I'd hit the mark. The Clooneys are needing two more Cokes, a ginger ale and two Harps-a pint and a glass."

Aidan began to fill the order. "Darcy, this is Jude Murray from America, come to stay in Old Maude's cottage."

"Pleased to meet you." The temper was quickly replaced by a lively interest in Darcy's eyes. The pout gave way to a quick and dazzling smile. "Are you settling in well?"

"Yes, thank you."

"It's Chicago, isn't it, where you're from? Do you love it there?"

"It's a beautiful city."

"And loaded with fine shops and restaurants and the like. What do you do in Chicago, for your living?"

"I teach psychology." Taught, Jude thought, but that was too hard to explain, especially since attention had once again focused on her.

"Do you, now? Well, and that's very handy." Darcy's beautiful eyes gleamed with humor, and just a touch of malice. "Perhaps you could examine my brother Shawn's head when you've time. There's been something wrong with it since birth."

She picked up the tray of drinks Aidan nudged toward her, then grinned at him. "And it was two plates. I missed both times, but I nearly caught him at the ear the second round."

She sauntered off to serve drinks and take orders from the tables.

Aidan exchanged glasses for pounds, set another two under the taps for building, then lifted a brow at Jude. "Is the wine not to your taste?"

"What?" She glanced down, noting that she'd barely sipped at it. "No, it's nice." She drank to be polite, then smiled so her dimples fluttered shyly to life again. "Lovely, actually. I was distracted."

"You needn't worry about Darcy and Shawn. Shawn's fast on his feet, true enough, but our sister's an arm like a bullet. If she'd meant to hit him, she likely would have."

Jude made a noncommittal sound as someone in the front corner began to play a tune on a concertina.

"I've cousins in Chicago." This came from Tim, who continued to stand behind her, waiting patiently for his second pint. "The Dempseys, Mary and Jack. You wouldn't happen to know them?"

"No, I'm sorry." Jude shifted on her stool, tipped her face up to his.

"Chicago's a big place. My cousin Jack and I were boys together, and he went over to America to work with his uncle on his mother's side, in a meat-packing plant. Been there ten years now and complains bitter about the wind and the winters, but makes no move to come back home."

He took the pint from Aidan with a thanks and slid the coins for it over the bar. "Aidan, you've been to Chicago, haven't you?"

"Passed through, mostly. The lake's a sight, and seems big as the sea. The wind coming off it's like knives through the skin and into the bone. But you can get a steak there, if memory serves, that will make you weep with gratitude that God created the cow."

He was working as he spoke, filling another order for his sister's tray, keeping the taps going, opening a bottle of American beer for a boy who looked as if he should still be sucking on milk shakes.

The music picked up, a livelier pace now. When Darcy lifted the tray from the bar this time, she was singing in a way that made Jude stare with admiration and envy.

Not just at the voice, though it was stunning enough with its silver-bright clarity. But at the kind of ease of self that would allow someone to simply break into song in public. It was a tune about dying an old maid in a garret, which Jude concluded from the glances of the males in the room, ranging from the Clooney boy of about ten to an ancient skeleton of a man at the farthest end of the bar, was a fate Darcy Gallagher would never face.