Mulligan Stew (10 page)

She sniffled, vowing to be strong. She didn't want Jacob coming down to catch his momma carrying on so. Hearing Riley's second "ow" did the trick, and Bridget soon found herself giggling along with Maggie.

When Maggie rose to fetch her soda, Bridget pondered the memory of how Riley had looked when she'd first walked into the kitchen this morning. She'd never seen such broad shoulders, or muscles so well defined. Heat suffused her all over again and her pulse did a square dance along her veins.

Mercy.
The only time Bridget could remember feeling so physically drawn to a man was when she'd first met Culley. Sex appeal obviously ran in the family, though she'd already had her quota of Mulligan men.

Still, a girl was allowed to admire the scenery. Wasn't she?

Warmth settled low in her belly and she squirmed, crossing her legs as if that would banish her sinful thoughts and urges. Of course, this was mild compared to that dream she'd had last night. Erotically frustrating. Wasn't that what one of those fancy women's magazines at Miss Daisy's Clip and Curl would've called it? She couldn't have chosen a worse moment to awaken from that dream than if she'd actually planned to torture herself.

Torture.

That pretty much described that dream
and
Riley Mulligan.

Forget Riley. Best forget the dream, too.

Dabbing her eyes dry with the edges of her sleeves, Bridget drew a deep, cleansing breath. "Thank you, Maggie," she said on a sigh, patting her sister-in-law's hand when she returned to the table.

"For saving you from that big brute?" Maggie directed a glower toward the stairs. "'Twas my pleasure."

Bridget smiled sadly. "No, I can handle the likes of him."

"Then why were you crying?" Maggie asked.

"Remembering Culley."

"Mum told me how you just learned about his accident." Maggie gave her hand a squeeze. "It must've been hard on you raising Jacob alone and not knowing."

Bridget nodded. "I believed the worst of my husband. That's what I regret most."

"Aye, but wouldn't Culley be first to forgive you?"

The tone of Maggie's voice gave Bridget pause. She met the younger woman's gaze and recognized the warmth of it in her own heart. "You're right. He would." And, as Granny would've insisted, that was all that really mattered. "Thank you."

"I didn't do anything." Maggie lifted a shoulder. "It's glad I am that you're here."

"I'm glad, too." Bridget rested the flat of her palms against the scarred old table. How many of these scratches had been committed by Culley as a boy? Dragging herself back to the present, she said, "I aim to earn my way, too."

"Nonsense, you're company." Maggie dismissed Bridget's words too easily.

"No." Bridget waited for Maggie to look at her again, then added, "I don't want to be just company. For Jacob's sake. And for his daddy's."

Maggie stared for several minutes. "I understand. You're family, and you should be treated as family. Both of you. Culley would've wanted it that way."

Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffled. "I aim to be worthy." She pushed away from the table. "And if I really am family, then I'll be doing my share of chores. Where should I start?"

Maggie's blue eyes widened and she leaned closer conspiratorially, looking toward the stairs. "Can you cook?"

Pride filled Bridget. "That's one thing I do pretty darn well, if I do say so myself." She glanced heavenward, adding, "Thanks to Granny."

"It's joyous I am to hear you say that." Maggie rolled her eyes. "With Mum laid up with the gout, I've been trying to do the cooking, but..." She grinned and shrugged. "Well, you tasted supper last night."

Bridget chewed her lower lip, forbidding herself from asking exactly
what
the main course had been. She'd eaten as much as humanly possible, and was relieved now to learn her mother-in-law had not been responsible.

"Ah, well, you needn't pretend, Bridget." Maggie laughed quietly. "I'm a terrible cook, and don't I know it? Riley reminds me often enough."

"Can
he
cook?"

Maggie's eyes widened and she made a choking sound. "Oh, now that would be something to behold." She released a long sigh. "Riley Mulligan?
Cook
?"

"Well, then I don't reckon he has business judging
your
cooking." Bridget flinched as the front door slammed.

"Himself, sneaking out the front door so we won't laugh at him again."

They both laughed anyway, though Bridget tried very hard to resist. Still, snickering at Riley with his sister was safer than dwelling on the crazy things he'd made her think and feel earlier.

"He'll be back for breakfast after he sees to the stock, and Mum should be down shortly." Maggie looked toward the stove. "I don't have school today. Will you teach me to fix a breakfast that won't give everyone indigestion?"

"We'll rustle up something that'll even put a smile on grouchy old Riley's face."

Maggie sighed, her expression solemn. "I'm afraid that will take more than good food."

"If you mean because he hates me, he's made that clear as spring water." She shook her head. "But he'll come around once he learns that Bridget Mulligan doesn't lie."

"It isn't just you." Maggie rose, staring past Bridget. "When Da died, so did the happy, carefree lad who was Riley Mulligan."

Shivering, Bridget followed her sister-in-law's gaze to the window and beyond. Morning sunlight shone above the ground-hugging fog outside, and a dark, intrusive spire jutted heavenward from the bowels of the smoke-like moisture.

Caisleán Dubh
.

* * *

Riley's belly button was making love to his backbone by the time he wiped his muddy boots and opened the back door. A plethora of heavenly scents drifted to his nostrils as he stepped into the kitchen's warmth and found Jacob sitting alone at the table.

No one else was there, though someone had definitely started cooking. Judging from the wonderful aroma, Mum must've been up and about this morning. Saints knew Maggie couldn't have prepared anything like this.

"Mornin', Uncle Riley," the lad said, looking up from his activity.

"Good morning." Riley didn't want to encourage Jacob's penchant for addressing him improperly, nor could he bring himself to correct the lad.
Sap.
With a sigh, he washed his hands at the sink and glanced over at the stove. All the kettles and frying pans were covered. Something wonderful was baking in the oven as well—definitely
not
Maggie's soda bread.

Praise the saints and the Almighty. Real food!
He discreetly crossed himself for good measure, and poured tea before joining Jacob at the table. He glanced down at the lad's doodling and bit back a curse.

"Like my picture?" Jacob asked, thrusting the paper under Riley's nose. "It's your castle."

My castle...
Resentment churned inside Riley, but he swallowed it. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, then forced himself to admire Jacob's drawing. "
Caisleán Dubh
," he said, keeping his tone light. The curse wasn't the lad's fault, nor was his mother's subterfuge. "You've a good eye for detail, Jacob."
Right down to the sinister look of the place.

The lad's smile dominated his too small face, and his green eyes practically glowed beneath that pitiful scrap of praise. "Thank you, Uncle Riley." Jacob fidgeted, pride and eagerness practically flying out of him.

If only there were some way to stop Jacob from calling him "Uncle." Each time Riley heard that title, it set his teeth on edge. Alas, he couldn't think of any way to stop the lad without hurting him. Another thought shot through Riley and he froze.

Bridget must have lied to the lad as well. Otherwise, how could an innocent play his role so convincingly? The woman's deceit knew no bounds. Riley clenched his fists in his lap and drew a deep breath. What sort of woman would stoop to lying to her own child?

His stomach churned and grumbled, jerking him back to more immediate, if less important, matters—his belly. He glanced back at the stove and sighed. Someone had turned all the flames to the lowest setting. "Where is everyone?"

"Gettin' dressed," Jacob said, not looking up from his artwork. "They said to tell you we'll eat soon, and not to touch anything."

Well, it couldn't be soon enough for Riley. A working man needed to keep up his strength, after all. He looked longingly at the stove again. "Don't touch anything, eh?" Aye, and didn't Mum know he'd be doing just that any minute now?

"Ah, there you be," Mum said, hobbling into the room with her cane.

Concern edged through Riley. He hated seeing Mum in pain. He hurried to her side and kissed her cheek, pulling out one chair for her and another for her foot. Her toe still appeared angry and swollen.

"You shouldn't have been up and about cooking this morning," he scolded. "I could've done it myself."

She smiled up at him and patted his forearm. "Don't you be worryin' yourself about that now. Our Maggie and Bridget wouldn't let me lift a finger. Would they, Jacob?"

"Nope."

Maggie and Bridget hurried into the room before Riley had a chance to gripe about his sister's past culinary efforts. They went straight to the stove and cupboards. Bridget removed a pan from the oven, and placed food into serving bowls and plates while Maggie set the table. Within a few minutes, the table was filled with fragrant, steaming dishes. Riley stared, stunned to silence. His sister, the worst cook this side of Dublin, had done
this
? His mouth watered in anticipation. No, Maggie couldn't have prepared this food.

Mum bowed her head and gave the blessing. Jacob tried to cross himself, but did it backward. Bridget pinkened, but Mum simply showed the lad the correct way of doing things.

A moment later, Jacob dove for one of the scones. He split it open, then scooped up a ladle full of gravy, the likes of which Riley had never seen or smelled. In fact, everything looked unusual but tempting.

He shot Maggie a questioning look, but she merely grinned. He glanced at Bridget, who imitated her son's actions, as did Mum and Maggie. Riley took a scone, testing its weight in his hand.
 
Light as a feather. Imitating Jacob, Riley covered it with thick gravy, then took a rasher and placed it on his plate as well. He looked around the table for black pudding, but there was none. Still, to be spared another of Maggie's attempts was worth the sacrifice.

He speared the gravy-covered scone with his fork and took a bite. Pausing, he savored the flavor for several moments, then added two fried eggs to his plate, and tucked into the unexpectedly pleasant task of satisfying his hunger.

Jacob took another scone, but this time he spread jam on it. With a shrug, Riley decided that wasn't a bad idea and split open another steaming scone. The outside of it was golden brown, but the inside was light and fluffy.

Mum held one in her hand. "They're so light. What do you call these?" Mum asked.

"Bridget calls them biscuits," Maggie said, a worried frown creasing her brow. "I showed her our tin of biscuits in the cupboard, but she said those are what they call cookies back in Tennessee."

Bridget said, "At home I would've used buttermilk and sourdough. I hope they're all right."

"They're delicious, but like nothin' I've tasted before." Mum took another bite and chewed, nodding. "I like the lightness. Quite tasty."

"Thank you." Bridget fidgeted with pleasure, much like her son had done earlier.

Riley swallowed with difficulty. He looked around the table, and down at Jacob, who ate with the abandonment only a lad his age could muster.

Despite Riley's dislike and mistrust of the woman, hadn't he seen evidence of her love for the child? Satisfied that the food was safe—not to mention tasty—Riley resumed eating what Bridget called a biscuit.

Riley examined the scone again, then covered it with jam and took a bite.
Delicious, indeed.
He took another bite, then decided he preferred these odd biscuits with the gravy, rather than the jam, and prepared himself another serving.

"Men always go for the gravy," Bridget said, smiling. "Grandpa ate biscuits and gravy every mornin', and he was healthy as could be. Until he got shot, that is."

"Shot?" Maggie paused, fork in mid-air. "Someone shot your granddad?"

Bridget shook her head and sighed. "No, I'm afraid he shot himself."

Mum gasped and crossed herself. Maggie stared, eyes wide. Even Riley couldn't believe what the crazy woman had just said, especially in front of the lad.

Bridget looked around the gathering, seeming to recognize her blunder. Then she did the strangest thing. She started laughing.

"I see nothing amusing about suicide," Riley said, his voice hushed as he reached for his tea. "And it's unseemly to mention it." He captured Bridget's gaze and directed his own toward Jacob. Surely the foolish woman would see the error of her ways.

"Great-Grandpa didn't shoot hisself on purpose, silly," the lad said, chuckling along with his crazy mum.