Mulligan Stew (15 page)

"Mum usually does it, but I'll just ask Riley." Maggie grinned and sashayed into the front room, then returned a moment later. "He's bored to tears, so we should have one fresh chicken very shortly. We've an old cock Mum's been threatening to stew since he pecked her leg bloody last month."

Bridget's stomach lurched. "Will he... kill it?"

Maggie laughed. "Of course, silly, but we'll need to scald and pluck it."

"Scald and... and pluck it?" Bridget echoed, leaning against the refrigerator door for support. "I can buy chickens at the Piggly Wiggly, I can fry one, stew one, stuff one, filet one, bake one, and even barbecue one, so I reckon I can... pluck one." She drew a shaky breath and managed a lopsided grin.

"Some hillbilly you are." Maggie grinned and gave Bridget a hug. "From watching those videos on the piped telly at Gilhooley's, I—"

"'Piped telly?'"

"Gilhooley's has a satellite dish."

"Like cable?"

"Aye." Maggie lifted a shoulder and her expression turned sheepish. "The country music videos and song lyrics made me think everybody with an accent like yours is from the country."

Bridget smiled. "There are cities and towns in Tennessee. Reedville is a lot bigger than your Ballybronagh."

"So you aren't a country lass." Maggie nodded. "A word I learned in school is 'stereotype.' I made a vow to the Virgin that I wouldn't be guilty of doing that to people, but I did it to you and Jacob. 'Tis sorry I am for it, too."

Bridget hugged Maggie again, then glanced at her son, who was occupied with the coloring books Mrs. Larabee had bought him for the trip. After their return to the farm, Riley had gone off to go over ledgers or something, leaving Jacob with the womenfolk again. The boy looked up at the archway between the kitchen and front room every few minutes, his expression filled with longing.

The weather will clear and Riley will accept Jacob.

That would be her mantra. Bridget drew a deep breath and willed it so.

"My people
were
country folk, but not since World War Two," she said, turning her attention back to Maggie. "My granny was born in the hills of eastern Tennessee, and that's where she learned to fix such fine comfort food. I reckon that means my cooking is country cooking."

"What should we do while we wait for the chicken?"

"We'll need onion, garlic, and celery for the broth." Bridget tapped her chin and considered the ingredients carefully. "Salt, pepper, parsley, basil, and the biggest pot you have."

Maggie gathered everything except the celery, which they didn't have. "What else?"

"I use sourdough for my dumplings, but I don't have a starter." She fumbled through the cupboard and found a packet of yeast. "Do you have a crock or jar that isn't needed for anything, and a piece of cheesecloth?"

A short time later, Bridget had the basic ingredients for sourdough starter resting in a small gray crock, with the cheesecloth covering it. "We need to keep this where it won't be disturbed."

"On the top shelf of the pantry, I think." Maggie moved a tin of what the Irish called biscuits and Bridget called cookies, then placed the crock on the top shelf. "No one should bother it there. What will happen to it?"

"The yeast and sugar will ferment and sour."

"Eeeeeeeeew." Maggie wrinkled her nose. "On purpose?"

Nodding, Bridget laughed. "Yes, on purpose, and in a few weeks you'll see why I've been missing it so."

"Can we still make dumplings without it?"

Maggie looked very young to Bridget just now, with her eyes wide and eager for knowledge, and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. "Yes, but they won't be as good without the sourdough. We'll need flour, salt, baking powder, and lard, but we won't start until the chicken's ready to bone."

"Bone?"

Bridget smiled to herself. "To take off the bone."

"Oh, aye, I've helped Mum do that."

I was beginning to wonder....

The back door opened a few minutes later and Riley entered, wiping his feet on the mat. Bridget averted her gaze from the limp bird in his hand. At least it wasn't headless, but she didn't want to know how he'd done the deed.

"Here's your chicken, Maggie," he said. "How burned will it be?"

Maggie smacked her brother's shoulder and took the chicken to the large utility sink near the back door and started working on it.

Bridget kept her distance, occupying her eyes with the sight of Riley Mulligan instead of the dead chicken that would become supper. His dark hair curled stubbornly around his face, softening his rugged features just a bit. He
needed
softening, for she'd never seen a harder looking man in all her days.

Culley had been tall and strong like his brother, but also much younger. His hair had been neatly trimmed to graze his collar in back, and Bridget had fallen immediately and madly in love.

She blinked away the brief memories of Culley before they made the tears come again. She'd done more than her share of sniffling lately. Besides, Jacob was in the room.

She stole a glance at her son and found him staring at his uncle with that naked need shining in his young eyes. She caught her breath and held it, searching her mind for some way to urge her son and uncle together. If Riley spent more time with Jacob, he couldn't help but love the boy. Surely he would accept him as Culley's son—his own flesh and blood.

Something warm washed over her, much like it had during their walk to the village, and she jerked her gaze back to Riley, who stood staring at her as if trying to memorize every detail. The realization both chilled and thrilled her. What thoughts went through his mind while he stared at her? She was a woman, though not a very experienced one, but she still recognized lust when she saw it. There was no denying that Riley Mulligan found her attractive.

She patted her hair into place and smoothed her sweater as he continued to stare, and hated herself for doing it.
Pride goeth before a fall.
Dropping her hands to her sides again, she tried to ignore the heavy thud of her heart, the thickening of her blood, the longing warmth settling low in her belly.

Lust worked two ways sometimes. That certainty settled in her mind—and other places—and she licked her lips, allowing her gaze a leisurely journey down the length of the man and back to his handsome face.
Oh, yes.
He was one fine hunk of man. She couldn't deny that.

Maggie continued to chatter away as she did whatever needed doing to the poor, dead chicken. Bridget didn't really hear or begin to understand anything the girl said now. She was too lost in the self-discovery of feelings she'd thought long dead.

She licked her lips again, catching herself when she noticed the darkening of Riley's gaze as he followed her movement. Wave after wave of heat washed over her, consuming the distance between them and making her painfully aware of every breath, every beat of her heart, every throb of something
much
lower than her heart.

Enough of that.
But it wasn't enough. She swallowed again and drew a shaky breath, shocked by her sudden and undeniable lust for this man.

Her husband's brother.

Chapter 7

Riley spent what remained of the day in the barn sharpening tools that didn't really need it. His mood was ugly, as Mum would say, and he was of no mind to share it with anyone. Not even the woman who'd caused it.

The rain had stopped, but the air hung heavy with the threat of more. He stepped outside and watched the mist curl up from the base of
Caisleán Dubh
to twine about the tower like a snake. Aye, it seemed appropriate for a serpent to wrap itself around that particular tower, real or not.

Thanks to a serpent, Eve had tempted Adam. Bridget tempted Riley without any such assistance.

Riley clenched his fists at his sides, remembering the expression on Katie's face when she'd turned to him at Gilhooley's, expecting him to agree with her. Hadn't he asked her not to approach Bridget or the child? In time, Riley would have exposed the ruse and set things right again. Bridget would be packing her bags and returning to the States where she belonged.

Today's events had been a step in the wrong direction. He closed his eyes for a moment, recalling the pleading look in the lad's eyes when he'd asked him to intervene. He'd called him "Uncle Riley" again—right there in Gilhooley's in front of almost half the village.

My... my daddy would make the bad woman stop,
the lad had said, tears and snot streaming down his young face. And he'd looked to Riley to fill Culley's shoes.

Worse, he'd looked at Riley with Culley's eyes.

Jaysus.
Could it be true? Was the lad Culley's son? The more Riley gazed upon the child, the harder it was to deny. Aye, it was possible that Culley had been seduced by Bridget, and anytime a man sowed his seed, the possibility of it bearing fruit existed.

But that didn't mean Culley had turned his back on his fiancée, or that he had married a woman he barely knew. Culley had only been in the States ten days when he'd allegedly married Bridget. She couldn't possibly have had time to conceive his child
and
realize it within that time.

Riley didn't know much about the ways of a woman's body, but he knew that. If Culley had believed Bridget carried his child, he certainly would have married her, but that couldn't have been the case.

"So I'm right." Why didn't that knowledge ease his mind? Riley's breath puffed into the air in white clouds. He swallowed hard, his gut burning and churning from the confusion and anger roiling within him.

He didn't feel better, because he didn't want to lose Jacob.
Admit it, Mulligan.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Nor could he deny it.

Shite.
He had to do right by Culley. If Jacob was truly his brother's son...
Jaysus.

Riley glanced up at the darkening sky and drew a slow breath. "I wish you'd talk to me, brother. Tell me what it is you're wanting me to do. I need the
truth.
"

Only silence answered him. Riley shoved his fists into his pockets and scowled at the castle. The bloody thing should've been torn down decades ago, before Da ever—

"No, not now." Riley raked his fingers through his hair and closed the barn door,
and
the one protecting his memories. "Not ever."

Some things were best left buried. Forever.

Squaring his shoulders, he strode toward the house, his boots sinking in the turf and making a sucking sound with each step. He would keep the memories buried, and he would learn the truth about Bridget.

And Jacob?

Riley's heart skipped a beat and he paused just short of the back door. Squeezing his eyes shut, he remembered Jacob's expression again as he'd pleaded with him at Gilhooley's. And he remembered Bridget's when she'd asked him without words not to deny her son.

So he hadn't. Instead, he'd betrayed Katie—the woman his brother would have married—an old family friend.

There were blood tests these days that could prove or disprove a child's paternity.

He remembered those eyes again.

Culley's eyes.

Riley didn't want to believe it—couldn't believe it. Not yet. But he would do his best to treat the lad fairly and with the respect his brother's son deserved. For now.

As for Bridget... Riley's mouth went dry as he pictured her. The woman was a temptress of the worst kind. Aye, more and more, Riley understood how Culley could have been unable to resist the urge to bury himself in the woman.

An urge Riley understood too bloody well.

Another Mulligan curse?

Shaking himself, Riley stepped through the back door, determined to keep himself under control. He needed time and information. More than that, he needed to distance his thoughts from the entire notion of that bit of skirt.

Good intentions firmly in place, Riley removed his muddy boots and washed his hands at the utility sink near the back door. The aromas filling the kitchen set his mouth to watering and his belly to churning before he'd even rinsed off the soap.

He drew a deep, appreciative sniff and glanced at the table, where various serving bowls sat steaming. Everyone looked up at him as he moved toward his empty chair.