He'd been born the son of a publican and understood that the job was to provide comfort of all sorts to those who passed through. Over the years, Gallagher's had come to mean comfort, and it became known for its music-the seisiun, an informal pub gathering of traditional music-as well as the more structured sets provided by hired musicians from all over the country.

Shawn's love of music had come down to him through the pub, and so through the blood. It was as much a part of him as the blue of his eyes, or the shape of his smile.

There was little he liked better than working away in his kitchen and hearing a tune break out through the doors. It was true enough that he was often compelled to leave what he was doing and swing out to join in. But everyone got what they'd come for sooner or later, so where was the harm?

It was rare-not unheard of, but rare-for him to burn a pot or let a dish go cold, for he took a great measure of pride in his kitchen and what came out of it.

Now the steam began to rise and scent the air, and the broth thickened. He added bits of fresh basil and rosemary from plants he was babying. It was a new idea of his, these self-grown herbs, one he'd taken from Mollie O'Toole. He considered her the best cook in the parish.

He added marjoram as well, but that was from a jar. He intended to start his own plant of that, too, and get himself what Jude had told him was called a grow light. When the herbs were added to his satisfaction, he checked his other makings, then began to grate cabbage for the slaw he made by the gallons.

He heard the first footsteps overhead, then the music. British music today, Shawn thought, recognizing the clever and sophisticated tangle of notes. Pleased with Darcy's choice, he sang along with Annie Lennox until Aidan swung through the door.

Aidan wore a thick fisherman's sweater against the cold. He was broader of shoulder than his brother, tougher of build. His hair was the same dark, aged chestnut as their bar and showed hints of red in the sunlight. Though Shawn's face was leaner, his eyes a quieter blue, the Gallagher genes ran strong and true. No one taking a good look would doubt that they were brothers.

Aidan cocked a brow. "And what are you grinning at?"

"You," Shawn said easily. "You've the look of a contented and satisfied man."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Why, indeed." Shawn poured a mug from the pot of tea he'd already made. "And how is our Jude this morning?"

"Still a bit queasy for the first little while, but she doesn't seem to mind it." Aidan sipped and sighed. "I'm not ashamed to say it makes my own stomach roll seeing how she pales the minute she gets out of bed. After an hour or so, she's back to herself. But it's a long hour for me."

Shawn settled back against the counter with his own mug. "You couldn't pay me to be a woman. Do you want me to take her a bowl of stew later on? Or I've some chicken broth if she'd do better with something more bland."

"I think she'd handle the stew. She'd appreciate that, and so do I."

"It's not a problem. It's mulligan stew if you want to fix the daily, and I've a mind to make bread-and-butter pudding, so you can add that as well."

The phone began to ring out in the pub, and Aidan rolled his eyes. "That had best not be the distributor saying there's a problem again. We're lower on porter than I like to be."

And that, Shawn thought, as Aidan went out to answer, was just one of the many reasons he was glad to have the business end of things in his brother's keeping.

All that figuring and planning, Shawn mused, as he calculated how many pounds of fish he needed to get through the day. Then the dealing with people, the arguing and demanding and insisting. It wasn't all standing behind the bar pulling pints and listening to old Mr. Riley tell a story.

Then there were things like ledgers and overhead and maintenance and taxes. It was enough to give you a headache just thinking of it.

He checked his stew, gave the enormous pot of it a quick stir, then went to the bottom of the steps to shout up for Darcy to move her lazy ass. It was said out of habit rather than heat, and the curse she shouted back down at him was an answer in kind.

Satisfied altogether with the start of his day, Shawn wandered out to the pub to help Aidan take the chairs off the tables in preparation for the first shift.

But Aidan was standing behind the bar, frowning off into space.

"A problem with the distributor, then?"

"No, not at all." Aidan shifted his frown to Shawn.

"That was a call from New York City, a man named Magee."

"New York City? Why, it can't be five in the morning there as yet."

"I know it, but the man sounded awake and sober." Aidan scratched his head, then shook it and lifted his tea. "He has a mind to put a theater up in Ardmore."

"A theater." Shawn set the first chair down, then just leaned on it. "For films?"

"No, for music. Live music, and perhaps plays as well. He said he was calling me as he'd heard that Gallagher's was in the way of being the center of music here. He wanted my thoughts on the matter."

Considering, Shawn took down another chair. "And what were they?"

"Well, I didn't have any to speak of, being taken by surprise that way. I said if he wanted he could give me a day or two to think on it. He'll ring me back end of week."

"Now why would a man from New York City be thinking of building a musical theater here? Wouldn't you set your sights on Dublin, or out in Clare or Galway?"

"That was part of his point," Aidan answered. "He wasn't a fount of information, but he indicated he wanted this area in particular. So I said to him perhaps he wasn't aware we're a fishing village and little more. Sure, the tourists come for the beaches, and some to climb up to see Saint Declan's and take photographs and the like, but we're not what you'd call teeming with people."

With a shrug, Aidan came around to help Shawn set up. "He just laughed at that and said he knew that well enough, and he was thinking of something fairly small-scale and intimate."

"I can tell you what I think." When Aidan nodded, Shawn continued. "I think it's a grand notion. Whether it would work is a different matter, but it's a fine notion."

"I have to weigh the this and that of it first," Aidan murmured. "Likely as not, the man will reconsider and head for somewhere more lively in any case."

"And if he doesn't, I'd talk him 'round to building it back of the pub." As it was part of the routine, Shawn gathered up ashtrays and began to set them out on the tables. "We've that little bit of land there, and if his theater was in the way of being attached to Gallagher's, we'd be the ones to benefit most."

Aidan set down the last chair and smiled slowly. "That's a good notion altogether. You're a surprise to me, Shawn, working your mind around to the business of it."

"Oh, I've a thought in my head every once in a while."

Still, he didn't give it much of another thought once the doors were open and the customers rolling in. He had time for a quick and entertaining spat with Darcy, giving him the pleasure of seeing her flounce out of his kitchen vowing never to speak to him again until he was six years in his grave.

He doubted he'd have luck enough for that.

He scooped up stew, fried fish and chips, built sandwiches thick with grilled ham and cheese. The constant hum of voices through the door was company enough. And for the first hour of lunch shift, Darcy kept her word, glaring silently as she swung in and out for orders, and giving new ones by staring at the wall.

It amused him so much that when she came in to dump empties, he grabbed her and kissed her noisily on the mouth. "Speak to me, darling. You're breaking my heart."

She shoved at him, slapped his hands, then gave up and laughed. "I'll speak to you right enough, you bone-head. Turn me loose."

"Only after you promise not to brain me with something."

"Aidan'll take the breakage out of my pay, and I'm saving for a new dress." She tossed back her cloud of silky black hair and sniffed at him.

"Then I'm safe enough." He set her down and turned to flip over a hunk of sizzling whitefish.

"We've a couple of German tourists who want to try your stew, with brown bread and slaw. They're staying at the B and B," she went on as Shawn got thick bowls. "Heading toward Kerry tomorrow, then into Clare, so they say. If it were me, and I had holiday in January, I'd be spending it in sunny Spain or some tropical island where you didn't need anything but a bikini and a coating of sun oil."

She wandered the kitchen as she spoke, a woman with a stunning face, clear, creamy skin, and brilliant blue eyes. Her mouth was full, unapologetically sexual whether it was sulking or smiling. She'd painted it hot red that morning to keep herself cheerful on a chill and dreary day.

She had a figure that left no doubt she was female, and her love affair with fashion had her outfit it in bold colors and soft fabrics.

She had the Gallagher yen to travel, and the determination to do so in the style to which she longed to become accustomed. Lavish.

Since today wasn't the day for that, she picked up the order and started out just as Brenna came in. "What have you been into this time, then?" Darcy demanded. "You've black all over your face."

"Soot." Brenna sniffed and scrubbed the back of her hand over her nose. "Dad and I've been cleaning out a chimney, and a right mess it is. I got most of it off me."

"If you think so, you didn't look in a mirror." Giving her friend a wide berth, Darcy went out.

"She'd spend all her days looking in one if she had her choice," Shawn commented. "Are you wanting lunch, then?"