The next morning Bridget was scrambling eggs to serve the inn’s residents when Carrick’s wife, Roisin, strolled into the kitchen and stopped short with her hands on her hips.
“I told you I’d cook and serve this morning, Bridget. Do you not trust anyone else to do your chores?”
Bridget nodded to the full coffee pot. “Pour us both a cup, why don’t ya?”
“You didn’t answer me.”
“I trust you plenty. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Let me guess.” Roisin handed her a mug of black coffee, containing a single teaspoon of sugar. “Six feet of blond hair and brawny muscles who worked with you at the pub last night.”
After shooting Roisin a middle finger, Bridget dished up the eggs and handed them over. “Make yourself useful and set these on the table.”
“Throw a lid on them. You’ve got time to tell me what happened.”
“That fecking arse kissed me,” she mumbled and hid behind the act of drinking her coffee.
Roisin’s grin caused acid to churn in Bridget’s belly. Sure, and her family all wanted her to find a mate, to be as happy as they all were, and they’d be chuffed as could be if that man was Ruairí, whom they all liked and respected. But Bridget was reticent, and she couldn’t quite say why.
“What do you intend to do about it?”
Trust her best friend to go straight for the heart of the matter.
Bridget looked out the window toward his home. No lights burned this early, and she imagined he was fast asleep in his bed. A bed she wouldn’t mind occupying with him, taunted the little voice inside her head. The man had learned technique in the intervening years since they’d been a couple. It stood to reason that skill would spill over into lovemaking. Had he kissed her like that when they were younger, she’d probably have forgiven him a lot quicker or maybe eloped like he’d begged her to do.
With a firm shake of her head to dispel the torrid thoughts brewing, she retrieved the platter of eggs. “Nothing. I intend to do nothing.”
Bridget had to give Roisin credit for holding her comments. The compressed lips were a dead giveaway that she wanted to have a hearty go at changing Bridget’s mind. After another few minutes of working side by side to set the table, Roisin gave into the urge.
“Have you ever thought about moving away? Of going somewhere else where you might meet another man you could fall in love with instead of remaining here, tangled up in conflicting feelings for Ruairí?” she asked gently.
Bridget couldn’t take exception. Roisin was the sister of her heart and her sister-in-law by fact of marriage to Carrick. Their shared business interests kept them firmly entrenched in each other’s lives. Unable to answer right away, Bridget spent an extra minute or two straightening the cutlery next to the plates.
“You have,” Roisin guessed. “What’s stopping you? This place? Carrick and I could run it, and Cian can manage the pub with Piper’s help. Sure, and I bet Dubheasa would return if you asked her. She’d be able to work remotely for a while. You could take your share and go.”
Tears blurred Bridget’s vision, and she rapidly blinked. “I know, but it’s not as simple as all that, Ro.” Her friend’s compassionate look was too much to bear, and Bridget busied herself retrieving the remainder of the morning’s breakfast.
“As long as you live here, you’ll weigh every man you meet against Ruairí. They’ll come up wanting.”
“You think I should leave?” Fear of the future unfurled in her chest. The pub and inn were all she’d ever known. Her responsibilities had never allowed for her to escape this narrow world. Never allowed her to venture out other than the occasional coven meetings GiGi Thorne-Gillespie hosted eons ago. “I don’t know what I’d do,” Bridget confessed.
“Between all of us, we could come up with the money for you to start anew. Or we’d ask Eoin. You know he’d not say no. Look, you could go anywhere on Éire or in the world. Enjoy your life.”
The idea had merit, but Bridget loved her family, and she wouldn’t hide from Ruairí. Not then, and certainly not now. She shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but this is my home. He’ll not run me out of it.”
“Oh, Bridg, I just want you to be happy.”
“I’m not unhappy.” She shrugged and arranged the place settings on the table. They had five guests through the weekend, not counting the Buchanans, and they’d receive the best hospitality the Black Cat Inn had to offer. Bridget prided herself with how she managed her bed & breakfast. “Perhaps a fine man, one perfect for me, will sail through the door someday soon.” She forced a teasing grin.
Before Roisin could answer, the backdoor opened and Ruairí entered.
A shiver ran the length of Bridget’s spine. It was as if the Fates had anticipated her words and sent him in at that precise moment.
“What are you doin’ here?” she asked with a fierce scowl, irritated that the Fates were such fickle creatures. She noticed the duffel bag in his hand. “And what do you think you’re doing with that?”
“The pump’s gone out at my place, and I’ve no water.” Dropping the bag by the door, he approached her. “I need a place to stay, and I’ve decided to stay at the Black Cat.”
Ruairí O’Connor under the same roof as her? Not in this bleedin’ lifetime! She wasn’t functioning well as it was with him filling in at the pub. If he was constantly underfoot, she could kiss her sanity goodbye. “Forget it. Find another place or use your stolen magic to fix it, why don’t you.”
“Bridg…” His tone was wheedling, and damned if she wasn’t tempted to set aside her grievances.
“No! We’ll not be sharing a bed, and that’s final!”
Roisin gasped, and Ruairí grinned.
“I’d not said anything about a bed, mo ghrá. But now I know where your head’s at, and I have to say I like it.”
“My head is not in the bedroom,” she denied hotly, color flaming in her cheeks.
“Sure, and it’s okay if you tell everyone that. You and I know the truth.” The scut had the nerve to wink.
“I swear Ruairí O’Connor, I will gut you like a fish if you even think about setting one foot in my room. You’ll stay across the hall in your own room, and that’s final.”
Both he and Roisin laughed.
Bridget replayed the conversation in her head and groaned aloud. He’d neatly tricked her into saying he could stay, that silver-tongued devil.
Leaning in, he placed his lips close to her ear. “I’m more than willing to sleep in your room with you, mo ghrá, just say the word.”
Because she wanted just that, she placed her palm over his face and shoved him away. “Get away with ya.” She took three steps then turned back. “I suppose you’ll be wanting breakfast?”
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
She shot a thumb over her shoulder at the table. “Have a seat, and let’s say a prayer the Black Cat doesn’t fall down around our ears. Goddess knows my ancestors will be rolling over in their graves at having a feckin’ O’Connor set foot in our home.”
As Ruairí covertly watched Bridget tidy up the kitchen from his seat, he mentally patted himself on the back for getting the best of her for once. He’d shamelessly made up the excuse about his home needing repairs, knowing she was a soft touch under her grumbly exterior.
Just this morning, he’d gotten word from his cousin Ronan that his uncle Loman had escaped the Witches’ Council stronghold. The members of the high table had sent out a team on a worldwide manhunt, but wily ol’ Uncle Loman was in the wind.
Ruairí wasn’t taking any chances with the O’Malleys’ safety, especially not Bridget’s. As it was, she haunted him in his waking and sleeping hours. If anything happened to her as a result of their stupid family feud, he’d die a thousand deaths.
Also, he wasn’t comfortable with someone who looked like Quentin Buchanan living in such close proximity. With a guy like him around, Bridget might get ideas she could do much better than Ruairí. It wasn’t to say she couldn’t, but he figured he should keep a watch on things, all the same.
Roisin caught his eye behind Bridget’s turned back and winked.
He couldn’t prevent an answering grin. Roisin had always been perceptive. She saw through most people down to their heart. And according to Ronan, she’d been fierce when she’d attacked his cousin Seamus after the man had attempted to murder her son. Luckily, little Aeden had survived, but alas, Seamus did not. None of them would lose sleep over his demise, though. His cousins had made their beds, and now they’d be forced to sleep in them.
“How’s Aeden?” Ruairí asked her.
“Better every day. His nightmares still plague him, but he’s physically back to normal, and he’s found his appetite again. He acts like he’s eating for four.”
He laughed. “He’s a growing boyo. No doubt you’ll need to take out a loan to feed him until he’s off to university.”
Roisin snorted. “Aye. I’ve told Carrick to get to writing. He’ll need an epic fantasy series like those Harry Potter novels to keep us out of debtor’s prison, he will.”
Bridget placed a hand on Ruairí’s shoulder, then leaned in front of him to set another bowl of eggs on the table. It was all he could do not to pull her into his lap. “Mind you don’t eat all of these,” she scolded him. “The rest of the—”
Before the words left her mouth, Quentin stepped into the kitchen and gave an appreciative sniff of the air. “Ah, Bridget O’Malley, if I wasn’t married—”
“But you are, you tool,” his petite wife said with affection and an exaggerated eye roll as she followed him into the room. “And stop acting like you never get a well-prepared meal at home. I swear, it’s from being adopted. You act like you’re always starving to death.” Holly handed off the baby to Ruairí like she’d known him all her life and sat beside him. “Next time I see your father, babe, the two of us are going to have words.”
With a grin wide enough to split his face, Quentin leaned down, drew the hair from Holly’s neck aside, and gave her a love bite. “No need to be salty, my prickly pear. I still appreciate your special skills. Can’t blame me for starving after last night’s—”
She clamped a hand over his mouth, blushing a fiery red. “Shut it!”
Ruairí looked at the toddler in his arms. He had quite a few family and friends who had children, and he’d changed a nappy or two in his time. But the second he gazed down at Frankie’s enchanting face, he was a goner. She stared up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes that seemed far too trusting of a stranger. With a sudden grin, she slapped her hands together with his face between them, and gave his nose an open-mouth kiss. He did his best to remove the little suckerfish from his person, wincing when one sharp little tooth scraped his skin.
Bridget’s laughter brought his head up. His heart went into high gear hearing it again and seeing it was directed at him. She wasn’t laughing in derision as she once would’ve, but in genuine amusement, and it gladdened his heart to see it. Holding her arms out, she lifted Frankie away as the girl began gnawing on his chin and drooling.
“None of that now, love. Ruairí already has enough trouble being mauled by all the álainn cailíns.” Bridget lifted the child high in the air, flaring her eyes wide and grinning as she brought the girl down until their noses touched. She laughed again as Frankie squealed her delight.
His heart stuttered, and he wished for nothing more than for it to be their child Bridget was playing with. Roisin kicked him under the table. As warning to close his gaping jaw, he was sure. But when Bridget’s sparkling gaze locked with his over the top of Frankie’s dark head, he couldn’t look away, and all the love he felt was there for her to see.
A long moment passed, and neither looked away, but a flash of something—sadness?—crossed her face, and with a smile down at the child, she kissed Frankie’s rosy cheek. “And what is it you’ll be wanting to eat, my darlin’ girl?” Bridget propped the toddler on her hip and walked to the counter filled with everything from fruit to scones. “We’ll not tell your mam and da if you’d prefer sweets, yeah?”
Holly arched a brow. “Just remember, sugared-up children stay with the person who provided the sweets. No take-backs.”
As Ruairí watched Bridget craic on with the Buchanans and a few of the other boarders over breakfast, it occurred to him that he’d be happy to be part of this routine every morning. To sit beside Bridget after helping prepare the meal, and laugh with visitors of the Black Cat Inn suddenly seemed like the perfect dream.
But the reality was Loman and Moira needed to be stopped first.