The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy Read Free

terrified to attempt backing up and maneuvering in the mud.
    The road climbed, and the ruts became second cousin to ditches. Her nerves were fraying, her teeth clicking audibly as she negotiated another bump, and she seriously considered just stopping where she was and waiting for someone to come along and tow her all the way back to Dublin.
    She groaned aloud with relief when she saw another break. She turned in with a coat of paint to spare, then simply laid her forehead against the wheel.
    She was lost, hungry, tired, and had to pee rather desperately. Now she was going to have to get out of the car in the pouring rain and knock on a stranger’s door. If she was told the cottage was more than three minutes away, she’d have to beg for the use of a bathroom.
    Well, the Irish were known for their hospitality, so she doubted that whoever answered the door would turn heraway to relieve herself in the hedgerows. Still, she didn’t want to appear wild-eyed and frantic.
    She tipped down the rearview mirror and saw that her eyes, usually a calm and quiet green, were indeed a bit wild. The humidity had frizzed her hair so that it looked as though she had some wild, bark-colored bush on her head. Her skin was dead pale, a combination of anxiety and fatigue, and she didn’t have the energy to dig out her makeup and try to repair the worst of it.
    She tried a friendly smile that did manage to convince the dimples to flutter in her cheeks. Her mouth was a little too wide, she thought, just as her eyes were a little too big, and the attempt was much closer to a grimace than a grin.
    But it was the best she could do.
    She grabbed her purse and shoved open the car door to meet the rain.
    As she did, she caught a movement in the second-story window. Just a flutter of curtain that had her glancing up. The woman wore white and had pale, pale hair that tumbled in lush waves over her shoulders and breasts. Through the gray curtain of rain, their eyes met briefly, no more than an instant, and Jude had the impression of great beauty and great sadness.
    Then the woman was gone, and there was only the rain.
    Jude shivered. The windy wet cut clean to the bone, and she sacrificed her dignity by loping to the pretty white gate that opened into a tiny yard made glorious by the rivers of flowers flowing on either side of a narrow white walk.
    There was no porch, only a stoop, but the second story of the cottage pitched over it and provided much welcome cover. She lifted a brass knocker in the shape of a Celtic knot and rapped it against a rough wooden door that looked thick as a brick and was charmingly arched.
    While she shivered and tried not to think of her bladder,she scanned what she could from under her shelter. It was like a doll’s house, she thought. All soft white with forest-green trim, the many-paned windows flanked by shutters that looked functional as well as decorative. The roof was thatched, a charming wonder to her. A wind chime made up of three columns of bells sang musically.
    She knocked again, more sharply now. Damn it, I know you’re in there, and tossing manners aside, she stepped out in the rain and tried to peer through the front window.
    Then she leaped back guiltily when she heard the friendly beep-beep of a horn.
    A rusty red pickup with an engine that purred like a contented cat pulled in behind her car. Jude dragged dripping hair out of her face and prepared to explain herself when the driver popped out.
    At first she took it to be a trim and tiny man with scarred, muddy boots, a filthy jacket, and worn work pants. But the face that beamed at her from under a dung-brown cap was definitely female.
    And very nearly gorgeous.
    Her eyes were as green as the wet hills surrounding them, her skin luminous. Jude saw tendrils of rich red hair tumbling out of the cap as the woman hurried forward, managing to be graceful despite the boots.
    “You’d be Miss Murray, then. That’s fine timing, isn’t it?”
    “It