AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Well, thus far, it’s cracked no glass that I’m aware of.”
She considered heaving the bottle at him, but she wasn’t done with it. “I’m asking you a serious question, and you could do me the courtesy of answering in kind.”
Because her tone had been stiff rather than hot as expected, he lowered his knife and gave her his full attention. The broody look she was wearing he was well accustomed to, but not when there was real worry in her eyes.
“You’ve a beautiful voice, strong and true. You know that as well as I do.”
“No one hears themselves as others do.”
“I like hearing you sing my music.”
That, she thought, was the most simple and most perfect of answers. Her eyes warmed and rather than throw the bottle, she set it aside to hug him.
“What’s all this now?” He rubbed a hand over her back, patted when she sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.
“What does it feel like, Shawn, to have sold your music? To know people will hear it, people who don’t know you? Is it grand?”
“In part, aye, in part it’s the grandest thing. And it’s scary and befuddling all at the same time.”
“And still, deep down, it was what you always wanted.”
“It was. Keeping it deep down meant it didn’t have to be scary and befuddling.”
“I like singing, but not as my life’s ambition. It’s just what we do, when the mood strikes. The Gallagher way.” She drew back. “Tell me this, then, now that you are selling your music, does it take any of the joy out of it, or make it seem like no more than a job?”
“I thought it might, but no. When I sit down and there’s a tune in my head, it’s just the tune as it always was.” He stroked a finger under her chin. “What is it, darling? Tell me the trouble.”
“Trevor wants to record me. Like a contract. Like a career. He thinks my voice will sell.”
There were a dozen things he could say, jokes that any brother might spring to out of habit and that odd affection. Instead, because he sensed she needed it, he gave her the easy truth. “You’ll be wonderful, and send us all mad with pride.”
She let out a sound that ended in a shaky laugh. “But it wouldn’t be like a session or a ceili . It would be real.”
“You’ll travel, and get rich, which is what you’ve always wanted. And it’ll come from what’s inside you, which is the only way it’ll make you happy.”
She picked up the ginger ale again. “You’re awfully smart all of a sudden.”
“I’ve always been smart. You only admit it when I agree with you.”
“Hmm.” She sipped again, her mind working quickly now, picking its way through obstacles and traps. “You and Brenna are working together in a sort of way. I mean you write the music, but she pushes it. She’s the one who arranged for Trevor to hear it. She’s in a way of being your business agent, or partner, or whatever you might call it.”
Shawn’s answer was a grunt as he picked up his knife and began chopping again. “She can get on her bossy side about it, let me tell you.”
That had Darcy biting her lip. “Does it cause problems between you?”
“None that wouldn’t pass if she’d mind her own.” But when he glanced up again and saw Darcy’s face, he laughed. “Well, for heaven’s sake, why the worry? I’m just winding you up a bit. It’s true enough she pushes, and I can dig in when she shoves too fast and too hard. But I know it’s that she believes in me. It matters, nearly as much as it does that she loves me.”
The pang inside her heart came hard and unwelcome. “The believing in could be as important, as satisfying, to some. As a start, anyway. As a start,” she repeated in a murmur. “You can’t finish until you start.”
Determined to believe it, she took her apron off the hook and went into the pub, leaving Shawn frowning after her.
It was never hard to arrange for a session at Gallagher’s. A word here, a word there. What better way was there, after all, to spend a rainy spring evening than with music and drink, with strangers and friends? By eight, the pub was packed and pints were flowing. Brenna had already moved behind the bar to lend a hand, and Darcy felt she herself had served enough stew to make an ocean.
And Trevor Magee had yet to darken the door.
The devil take him, she decided, and had a table of tourists glancing around uneasily as she served their drinks with a smile that glittered sharp and bright as a blade.
If he couldn’t be bothered to accept her invitation for supper, music, and sex, what was the man made of? Stone? Ice? Steel? She slammed empties on the counter and had Aidan’s full attention.
“Mind the glassware, Darcy. We’ve hardly one to spare with the crowd we have tonight.”
“Bugger them,” she said under her breath. “Two pints Guinness, one Smitty’s, half of Harp, and two brandy and gingers.”
“Take a water to Jude, would you, while the Guinness is settling, and see if you can talk her into having some stew. Her appetite’s been off the last day or so.”
She wanted to snap, just on principle, but it wasn’t possible to take a bite out of a man who looked so concerned over his wife. Instead she simply went back to the kitchen herself, ladled out stew, added a basket of bread and butter. She carried them, with water and a glass of ice, to Jude’s table.
“Now, you’re to eat,” Darcy said as she set down the food. “Else Aidan’ll be worried, Shawn insulted, and I’ll just be mad.”
“But I—”
“I mean it, Jude Frances. You’ve my niece or nephew to take care of, and I won’t have him or her, as the case may be, going hungry.”
“It’s just that . . .” She glanced around, motioned Darcy to lean down. “The last couple of days, about five or so, I’ve had this terrible craving. I can’t do anything about it, can’t seem to stop myself. Ice cream,” she whispered. “Chocolate ice cream. I swear I’ve eaten two gallons of it this week, bought the market out of it.”
Darcy snorted out a laugh. “Well, what’s wrong with that? You’re entitled.”
“It’s so cliche ´d. I’m not eating pickles with it or anything-ridiculous, but just the same. I feel so stupid about it, I haven’t been able to tell Aidan.”
“Do the crime, pay the consequences.” Darcy nudged the bowl closer. “Besides, that’s no way to feed a baby. You have a bit of Shawn’s stew, and for being such a sport and saving this seat for that cad Magee, I’ll buy your ice cream tomorrow.”
Struggling not to pout, Jude picked up her spoon. “Chocolate. And the cad just walked in.”
“Did he?” Pride, and not a little slice of temper, made her refuse to turn around. “It’s about bloody time. What’s he doing?” Casually, she picked up Jude’s bottle of water and poured it.
“He’s scoping, the way men do. Hunting for you, I’d say. Ah, bull’s-eye. God, the way he looks at you. It’s wonderful, hot and proprietary with a little edge of aloofness. He’s got a man with him, very polished and urban and attractive, who looks amused and out of place.”
Without thinking, Jude ate a spoonful of stew. “They look like friends,” she went on. “The one laid a hand on Trev’s shoulder, buddy-like, gestured toward the bar. But Trev’s shaking his head, giving it a nod in this direction. His friend’s just got a load of you now, and his eyebrows went straight up, almost to hairline. I’m surprised his tongue didn’t fall out.”
Impressed, Darcy angled her head. “You’re awfully good at this sort of business, aren’t you?”
“Psychologist, writer. They both observe. I’m just much better, thank God, at writing about people than analyzing them. So, I’m looking forward to hearing the music tonight,” she went on, raising her voice enough to signal Darcy she could and wanted to be heard. “I’m glad I got a table before we were overrun.”
“We’d just plant you in a chair behind the bar. Eat your stew now, before it goes cold.”
“I really don’t—well, hello, Trevor.”
Prepared now
, Darcy did turn, offered a friendly smile. “Aren’t you the lucky one. Jude’s got a table here I’m sure she’d be glad to share with you. We’re jammed tonight.” Then she shifted that same smile to the man beside Trevor and had the pleasure of seeing pure male appreciation in his eyes. “And good evening to you.”
“Darcy Gallagher, Jude Gallagher, Nigel Kelsey. A friend of mine.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Trevor didn’t tell me I’d be bombarded by beauties.” He took Jude’s hand first, kissed it smoothly, then repeated the gesture with Darcy.
“You’ve brought us a charmer, Trevor. Have a seat here, and tell me what’s your pleasure to drink. I’ve got to pick up an order at the bar that’s overdue.”
“G and T for me,” Nigel ordered.
“Ice and lemon?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Pint of Harp,” Trevor told her.
“Right away, then. And the stew’s good tonight, if you’re in the mood for it.”
“Or if you’re not,” Jude muttered as Darcy moved off.
“So, you’re the American writer who married the publican.” Nigel, in his urban black sweater, jacket, and slacks took a stool.
And looked, Jude thought, like a bohemian at a barn dance.
“I came over as an American, found out I was a writer. You’re from England?” she asked, tagging his accent.
“London, born and bred. Trev was right about this place,” he added with a glance around. “It’s authentic, a movie set. Damn near perfect.”
“We like to think so.”
“Nigel doesn’t mean to be patronizing.” Trevor took the seat beside Jude in the narrow booth. “He’s just an ass.”
“I meant it as a compliment. English pubs, certainly in the city, tend to be a bit more reserved than those you find in Ireland. And rarely have barmaids with faces like film stars.”
