Page 8 of Beer & Broomsticks

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 Ruairícovertly 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 theálainn 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.

CHAPTER4

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