The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy Read Free Page A

is?”
    “Well, I’m running a bit behind today, as Mrs. Duffy’s grandson Tommy stuffed half his building blocks down the loo again, then flushed away. It was a hell of a mess altogether.”
    “Hmmm,” was all Jude could think to say as she wondered why she was standing in the rain talking to a stranger about blocked toilets.
    “Can’t you find your key?”
    “My key?”
    “To the front door. Well, I’ve mine, so we’ll get you in and out of the wet.”
    That sounded like a wonderful idea. “Thank you,” Jude began as she followed the woman back to the door. “But who are you?”
    “Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m Brenna O’Toole.” Brenna shot out a hand, gripped Jude’s and shook briskly. “Your granny told you, didn’t she, that I’d have the cottage ready for you?”
    “My gran—the cottage?” Jude huddled under the overhang. “My cottage? This is my cottage?”
    “It is, yes, if you’re Jude Murray from Chicago.” Brenna smiled kindly, though her left brow had arched. “You’ll be more than a bit tired by now, I’ll wager, after your trip.”
    “Yes.” Jude rubbed her hands over her face as Brenna unlocked the door. “And I thought I was lost.”
    “Appears you’re found. Ceade mile failte, ” she said and stepped back so Jude could enter first.
    A thousand welcomes, Jude thought. She knew that much Gaelic. And it felt like a thousand when she stepped into the warmth.
    The foyer, hardly wider than the outside stoop, was flanked on one side by stairs polished by time and traffic. An arched doorway to the right led to the little living area, pretty as a picture with its walls the color of fresh biscuits, honey-toned trim, and lace curtains warmly yellowed with age so that everything in the room looked washed by the sun.
    The furniture was worn and faded, but cheerful with its blue and white stripes and deep cushions. The gleaning tables were crowded with treasures—bits of crystal, carvedfigures, miniature bottles. Rugs were scattered colorfully over the wide-planked floor, and the stone fireplace was already laid with what Jude thought must be hunks of peat.
    It smelled earthy, and of something else faint and floral.
    “It’s charming, isn’t it?” Jude pushed at her hair again as she turned a circle. “Like a playhouse.”
    “Old Maude, she liked pretty things.”
    Something in the tone had Jude stopping her circle, to look back at Brenna’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know her. You were fond of her.”
    “Sure, everyone loved Old Maude. She was a grand lady. She’ll be pleased you’re here, looking after the place. She wouldn’t want it standing alone and empty. Should I show you about, then? So you have your bearings.”
    “I’d appreciate it, but first I’m desperate for the bathroom.”
    Brenna let out a quick laugh. “A long ride from Dublin. There’s a little powder room right off the kitchen. My dad and I put it in for her out of a closet only three years back. Straight that way it is.”
    Jude didn’t waste any time exploring. “Little” was exactly the word for the half bath. She could have rapped her elbows on the side walls by crooking her arms and lifting them. But the walls were done in a pale, pretty rose, the white porcelain gleamed from fresh scrubbing, and there were sweetly embroidered fingertip towels hung neatly on the rack.
    One glance in the oval mirror over the sink told Jude that yes, she looked every bit as bad as she’d feared. And though she was of average height and build, beside the fairylike Brenna she felt like a galumphing Amazon.
    Annoyed with herself for the comparison, she blew her frizzed bangs off her brow and went back out.
    “Oh, I would have gotten those.”
    Already the efficient Brenna had unloaded her luggage and hauled it into the foyer. “You’ve got to be ready to drop after your travels. I’ll get your things upstairs. I imagine you’ll want Old Maude’s room, it’s pleasant, then we’ll put the kettle on so