Jewels of the Sun

CHAPTER Five

Aidan didn't object to paperwork. He bloody well hated it.

But three days a week, rain or shine, he spent an hour or more at the desk in his upstairs rooms laboring over orders and overhead, payroll and profits.

It was a constant relief to him that there was a profit. He'd never concerned himself overmuch with money before Gallagher's had been passed into his hands. And he often wondered if that was part of the reason his parents had pushed it there. He'd had a fine time living from hand to mouth when he'd traveled. Scraping by, or just scraping. He hadn't saved a penny or felt the need to.

Responsibility hadn't precisely been his middle name.

After all, he'd grown up comfortable enough, and certainly he'd worked his share during his childhood and adolescence. But mopping up, serving pints, and singing a tune was a far cry from figuring how much lager to order, what percentage of breakage-thank you very much, sister

Darcy-the business could bear, the juggling of numbers into ledgers, and the calculation of taxes.

It gave him a headache every blessed time, and he had no more love for sitting inside with books than he had for having a tooth pulled, but he learned.

And as he learned, he realized the pub meant more to him because of it. Yes, parents were clever creatures, he decided. And his knew their son.

He spent time on the phone with distributors trying to wangle the best price. That he didn't mind so much, as it was a bit like horse trading. And something he discovered an aptitude for.

It pleased him that musicians from Dublin, from Waterford, from as far away as Clare and Galway were not only willing but pleased to do a turn at Gallagher's. He took pride in knowing that in his four years at the head of it, he'd helped polish the pub's reputation as a place for music.

And he expected the summer season, when the tourists flowed in, to be the best they'd had.

But that didn't make the adding and subtracting any less a chore.

He'd thought about a computer, but then he'd have to learn the goddamn thing. He could admit, without shame, that the very idea of it frightened him beyond speech. When he broached the idea to Darcy, that she could perhaps learn the ins and outs of it, she'd laughed at him until tears ran down her pretty cheeks.

He knew better than to ask Shawn, who wouldn't think to change a lightbulb if he was reading in the dark.

He wasn't about to hire the chore out, not when Gallagher's had managed its own since the doors had opened. So it was either continue to labor with pencil and adding machine or gather the courage to face technology.

He imagined Jude had knowledge of computers. He wouldn't mind having her teach him a thing or two. He'd certainly enjoy, he thought with a slow smile, returning the favor in a different area altogether.

He wanted his hands on her. He'd already wondered what he would find in taste, in texture, in that lovely wide mouth of hers. It had been some time since a woman had put this hum in his blood, and he was enjoying the anticipation of it, the wondering of it.

She put him in mind of a young mare not quite sure of her legs. One who shied at the approach of a man even as she hoped for a nice, gentle stroke. It was an appealing combination, that hesitant manner with the clever mind and educated voice.

He hoped she would come that evening, as he'd asked her.

He hoped she'd wear one of her neat outfits, with her hair tidied back so he could imagine the pleasure of mussing her up.

If Jude had had a clue where Aidan's thoughts were traveling, she would never have found the courage to leave the cottage. Even without that added complication, she'd changed her mind about going half a dozen times.

It would be impolite not to after she'd been asked.

It would look as if she expected his time and attention.

It was simply a nice way to spend a friendly evening.

She wasn't the type of woman who spent evenings in bars.

Her own vacillation irritated her so much she decided to go on principle for one hour.

She dressed in stone-gray slacks and jacket, jazzing them up with a vest with thin burgundy stripes. It was Saturday night after all, she thought, and added silver earrings that dangled cheerfully. There would be music, she remembered, as she toyed with going crazy and adding a pair of thin silver bangle bracelets.

She had a secret and passionate love affair with jewelry.

As she slipped the bangles on her wrist, she thought of the ring the man in the cemetery had worn. That flash of sapphire in deeply carved silver, so out of place in the quiet countryside.

He'd been so odd, she thought now, coming and going so quietly it was almost as if she'd dreamed him. But she remembered his face and voice very clearly, as clearly as that sudden burst of scent, the quick kick of wind and the dizziness.

Just a sugar crash, she decided. All those cakes she'd eaten had leaped into her system and then away, leaving her momentarily giddy.

She shrugged it off, leaning forward to the mirror to make sure she hadn't smeared her mascara. She would probably see him again, in the pub tonight or when she took flowers to Maude the next time.

With her bracelets jangling cheerfully and giving her confidence, she headed downstairs. She remembered her keys before she got all the way to the car this time, which she considered good progress. Just as she considered it a good sign that her palms didn't sweat while she negotiated the road in the dark.

Pleased with herself, anticipating a quiet and enjoyable evening, she parked at the curb just down from Gallagher's. Smoothing her hair as she went, she walked to the door, breathed in, pulled it open.

And was nearly knocked back again by the blast of music.

Pipes, fiddle, voices, then the wild roar of the crowd on the chorus of "Whiskey in the Jar." The rhythm was so fast, so reckless it was a blur of sound and that sound grabbed her, yanked her inside, then surrounded her.

This wasn't the dark, quiet pub she'd stepped into before. This one was crowded with people, spilling over at the low tables, jammed into the bar, milling about with glasses full and glasses empty.

The musicians-how could only three people make such a sound?-were shoehorned into the front booth, taking the space over in their workingmen's clothes and boots as they played like demon angels. The room smelled of smoke, yeast, and Saturday-night soap.

For a moment she wondered if she'd walked into the wrong place, but then spotted Darcy, her glorious cloud of dark hair tied back with a sassy red ribbon. She carried a tray loaded with empty glasses, bottles, overflowing ashtrays while she flirted skillfully with a young man whose face was as red as her ribbon with embarrassed delight and whose eyes were filled with desperate admiration.

Catching Jude's eye, Darcy winked, then gave the infatuated young man a pat on the cheek and nudged her way through the crowd. "Pub's lively tonight. Aidan said you'd be coming in and to keep an eye out for you."

"Oh- that was nice of him, of you. I wasn't expecting so- much."

"The musicians are favored around here, and they draw a good crowd."

"They're wonderful."

"They play a fine tune, yes." Darcy was more interested in Jude's earrings, and wondered where she'd bought them and what the price might have been. "Here now, just keep in my wake and I'll get you to the bar safe enough."

She did just that, winding and wending, nudging now and then with a laugh and a comment addressed to this one or that one by name. She headed for the far end of the bar, where she slipped her tray through bodies to the order station.

"Good evening, Mr. Riley, sir," Darcy said to the ancient man at the very last stool.

"Good evening to you as well, young Darcy." He spoke in a reedy voice, smiled at her out of eyes that looked half blind to Jude as he sipped his thick, dark Guinness. "If you marry me, darling, I'll make you a queen."

"Then marry we will Saturday next, for a queen I deserve to be." She gave him a pretty kiss on his papery cheek. "Will Riley, let the Yank here have your seat next to your grandda."

"Pleasure." The thin man hopped off the stool and beamed a smile at Jude. "You're the Yank, then. Sit down here, next to me grandda, and we'll buy you a pint."

"The lady prefers wine." Aidan, the glass already in his hand, stepped into her vision and offered it.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Well, then, put it on Will Riley's tab, Aidan, and we'll drink to all our cousins across the foam."

"That I'll do, Will." He spread that slow smile over Jude, said, "Stay awhile, won't you?" Then moved off to work.

She stayed awhile. Because it seemed polite, she drank toasts to people she'd never heard of. Because it required little effort on her part, she had a conversation with both Rileys about their relations in the States and their own visits there-though she knew she disappointed them both when she admitted she'd never been to Wyoming and seen an actual cowboy.

She listened to the music, because it was wonderful. Tunes both familiar and strange, both rousing and heartbreaking flowed through and over the crowd. She let herself hum when she recognized the song and smiled when old Mr. Riley piped out words in his thin voice.

"I was sweet of heart on your cousin Maude," Mr. Riley told Jude. "But she was only for Johnny Magee, rest his soul." He sighed deep and sipped his Guinness in the same fashion. "And one day when I went to her door with my hat in my hand once again, she told me I'd marry a lass with fair hair and gray eyes before the year was out."

He paused, smiling to himself as if, Jude thought, looking backward. She leaned closer to hear him over the thunder of music. "And before a month had passed I met my Lizzie, with her fair hair and gray eyes. We were married in June and had nearly fifty years together before she passed on."

"That's lovely."

"Maude, she knew things." His faded eyes looked into Jude's. "The Good People often whispered in Maude's ear."

"Did they?" Jude said, amused now.

"Oh, aye, and you being her blood, they may come whispering in yours. See that you listen."

"I'll do that."

For a time they sipped companionably and listened to the music. Then tears filmed Jude's eyes when Darcy slipped her arm around the old man's bony shoulders and matched her glorious voice to his on a song of endless love and loss.

When she saw Brenna pouring whiskey and pulling the taps behind the bar, Jude smiled. For once the cap was missing, and Brenna's mass of red curls tumbled down as they chose.

"I didn't know you worked here."

"Oh, now and again, when there's need. What's your pleasure there, Jude?"

"Oh, this is Chardonnay, but I really shouldn't-"

But she was talking to Brenna's back and before she knew it the woman had turned around and filled her glass again. "Weekends can be busy at Gallagher's," Brenna went on. "And I'll lend a hand over the summer season as well. It's fine music tonight, isn't it?"

"It's wonderful."

"And how's it all going then, Mr. Riley, my darling?"

"It's going well, pretty Brenna O'Toole. And when are you going to be my bride and stop my heart from aching?''

"In the merry month of May." Smoothly, she replaced his empty pint with a full one. "Watch this rogue, mind you, Jude, or he'll be after toying with your affections."

"Take the other end, will you, Brenna?" Aidan slipped behind her, tugged on her bright hair. "I've a mind to work down here so I can flirt with Jude."

"Ah, there's another rogue for you. The place is full of them."

"She's a pretty one," Mr. Riley put in and Aidan winked at Jude.

"Which one of them, Mr. Riley, sir?"

"All of them." Mr. Riley wheezed out a laugh and slapped his thin hand on the bar. "Sure and I've never seen a female face that wasn't pretty enough for a pinch. The Yank here has witchy eyes. You mind your step, Aidan lad, or she'll put a spell on you."

"Maybe she has already." He cleared glasses, put them in the sink under the bar, got fresh ones for the tap. "Have you been out of a midnight, Jude Frances, picking moon-flowers and whispering my name?"

"I might," she heard herself say, "if I knew which were moonflowers."

This made Mr. Riley laugh so hard she feared he'd topple off his stool. Aidan only smiled, served his pints, took the coin. Then he leaned close, watched her eyes go wide and her lips tremble apart in surprise. "I'll point out the moonflowers for you, the next I come to call."

"Well. Hmmm." So much for snappy repartee, she decided, and gulped down some wine.

Either the wine, or the intimacy of the look he sent her, went straight to her head. She decided she would have to approach both with a bit more caution and respect. This time when Aidan lifted the bottle, she shook her head and put her hand over her glass.

"No, thanks. I'll just have water now."

"You want the fizzy sort?"

"Fizzy? Oh, yes, that would be nice."

He brought it to her in a short glass with no ice to speak of. She sipped it, watching as he set two more glasses under taps and began the methodical process of building a Guinness.

"It takes an awfully long time," she said more to herself than him, but he glanced over, one hand still maneuvering the taps.

"Only as long as it takes to make it right. One day, when you're in the mood for it, I'll build you a glass and you'll see what you're missing by sipping that French business there."

Darcy swung back to the bar, set down her tray. "A pint and a half, Smithwick, pint of Guinness and two glasses of Jameson's. And when you're done there, Aidan, Jack Brennan's come to his limit."

"I'll see to it. What time do you have, Jude Frances?"

"Time?" She stopped staring at his hands-they were so quick and clever-and glanced down at her watch. "Lord, it's after eleven. I had no idea." Her hour had stretched into nearly three. "I need to get back."

Aidan gave her an absent nod, a great deal less than she'd hoped for, and filled his sister's order while Jude searched for the money to pay for her drinks.

"My grandson's paying." Mr. Riley laid a fragile hand on her shoulder. "He's a good lad. You put your money away, darling."

"Thank you." She offered a hand to shake, then found herself charmed when the old man lifted it to his lips. "I enjoyed meeting you." She slid off her stool, sent a smile to the younger Riley. "Both of you."

Without Darcy to clear the path, getting to the door was a little more problematic than getting to the bar had been. When she got there, her face was flushed from the heat of bodies, and her blood dancing to the hot lick of the fiddle.

She considered it one of the most entertaining evenings of her life.

Then she stepped outside into the cool night air. And saw Aidan just as he ducked under the violent swing of an arm the width of a tree trunk.

"Now, Jack," he said in reasonable tones as a giant of a man with shocking red hair bunched hamlike fists again. "You know you don't want to hit me."

"I'll do it! I'll break your interfering nose this time, by Jesus, Aidan Gallagher. Who are you to tell me I can't have a fucking drink in the fucking pub when I've a fucking mind to?"

"You're well and truly pissed, Jack, and you need to go home now and sleep it off."

"Let's see if you can sleep this off."

He charged, and while Aidan prepared to pivot and easily avoid the bull rush, Jude let out a short scream of alarm. It took only that to distract Aidan enough to have Jack's wild punch connect.

"Well, hell." Aidan wiggled his jaw, blew out a breath as Jack's lumbering charge sent the man sprawling facedown on the sidewalk.

"Are you all right?'' Terrified, Jude rushed over, skirting the sprawled form that was approximately the size of a capsized ocean liner. "Your mouth's bleeding. Does it hurt? This is awful." She fumbled in her bag for a tissue as she stuttered.

Aidan was irritated enough to tell her the blood was as much her fault for screaming as it was Jack's for throwing the punch. But she looked so pretty and distressed, and was already dabbing at his painfully cut lip with the tissue.

He started to smile, and as that hurt like twice the devil, he winced.

"Oh, what a bully! We need to call the police."

"For what?"

"To arrest him. He attacked you."

Sincerely shocked, Aidan gaped at her. "Now, why would I want to have one of my oldest friends arrested just for bloodying my lip?"

"Friend?"

"Sure. He's just nursing a broken heart with whiskey which is foolish but natural enough. The lass he thought he loved went off with a Dubliner, two weeks ago last Wednesday, so he's taken to drinking out his sorrows the past few days, then causing a ruckus. He doesn't mean anything by it."

"He hit you in the face." Perhaps if she said it slowly, clearly, the meaning would get through. "He said he was going to break your nose."

"That's only because he's tried to break it before and hasn't found success. He'll be sorry for it in the morning, nearly as sorry as he'll be because his aching head won't just roll off his shoulders and leave him in peace."

Aidan did smile now, but cautiously. "Were you worried for me, darling?"

"Apparently I shouldn't have been." She said it primly and balled up the bloody tissue. "As you appear to enjoy brawling in the street with your friends."

"Was a time I enjoyed brawling in the street with strangers, but with maturity I prefer my friends." He reached out, as he'd been wanting to, and toyed with the ends of her bound-back hair. "And I thank you for having concern for me."

He stepped forward. She stepped back.

And he sighed. "One day you won't have quite so much room to back away. And I won't have poor drunk Jack at me feet to deal with."

Philosophically he bent down and, to Jude's astonishment, picked up the enormous semiconscious man and swung him handily over his shoulder.

"Is that you, then, Aidan?"

"Aye, Jack."

"Did I break your nose?"

"No, you didn't, but you bloodied my lip a bit."

"Fucking Gallagher luck."

"There's a lady present, you knothead."

"Oh. Begging pardon."

"You're both ridiculous," Jude decided and turned away to march to her car.

"Jude, my darling?" Aidan grinned, hissed as his lip split again. "I'll see you tomorrow, say at half-one." He only chuckled when she continued to walk, heels clicking briskly, then turned to give him a fulminating look as she got into her car.

"Is she gone now?" Jack wanted to know.

"She's going. But not far," Aidan murmured as she drove decorously down the street. "No, she won't go far."

Men were baboons. Obviously. Jude shook her head, tapped her finger on the wheel in a disapproving manner as she drove home. Drunken brawls on the street were not amusing pastimes, and anyone who thought they were was in dire need of therapy.

God, he'd made her feel like an idiot. Standing there grinning at her while she dabbed at the blood on his mouth and babbled. An indulgent grin, she thought now, from the big, strong man to the foolish, fluttery female.

Worse, she had been foolish and fluttery. When Aidan had tossed that enormous man over his shoulder as if he was a bag of feathers, her stomach had definitely fluttered. If she hadn't tightened up that very instant and stalked away, she might well have whimpered in admiration.

Mortifying.

And had he been the least bit embarrassed at getting a fist planted in his face in front of her? No, indeed. Had he blushed to introduce the drunken fool at his feet as an old and close friend? No, he had not.

He was very likely behind the bar again right this minute, entertaining his customers with the story, making them laugh over her scream of alarm and trembling hands.

Bastard.

She sniffed once, and felt better for it.

By the time she pulled in the drive she'd convinced herself that she'd behaved in a scrupulously dignified and reasonable manner. It was Aidan Gallagher who'd been the fool.

Moonflowers, indeed. She slammed the door of her car sharply enough to send the echo ringing down to the valley.

After huffing out another breath and smoothing down her hair, she headed for the gate. And when her gaze was drawn up, she saw the woman in the window.

"Oh, God."

The blood drained out of her head. She felt each individual drop of it flow out. Moonlight shimmered gently on the pale fall of hair, on the white cheeks, against the deep green eyes.

She was smiling, a beautiful, heart-wrenching smile that hooked Jude's soul and all but ripped it out.

Gathering courage, she shoved the gate back and ran for the door. When she yanked it open it occurred to her that she'd neglected to lock it. Someone had gone in while she'd been in the pub, she told herself. That was all.

Her knees trembled as she dashed up the stairs.

The bedroom was empty, as was every other room when she hurried through the house. All that was left was the faint sighing scent of woman.

Uneasy, she locked the doors. And when she was in her bedroom again, she locked that as well from the inside.

After she undressed and huddled in bed, she left the light burning. It was a long time before she slept. And dreamed of jewels bursting out of the sun and tumbling through the sky to be caught in a silver bag by a man riding a winged horse white as snowfall.

They swooped out of the sky, over the fields and mountains, the lakes and rivers, the bogs and the moors that were Ireland. Across the battlements of castles and the humble thatched roofs of cottages, with the white wings of the horse singing against the wind.

They came to a flashing stop, hooves striking ground at the front of the cottage on the hill with its white walls and deep-green shutters and flowers spilling from the door.

She came out to him, her hair the palest of golds around her shoulders, her eyes green as the fields. And the man, with hair as dark as hers was light, wearing a silver ring centered with a stone no less brilliant than his eyes, leaped from the horse.

He walked to her and spilled the flood of jewels at her feet. Diamonds blazed in the grass.

"These are my passion for you," he told her. "Take them and me, for I would give you all I have and more."

"Passion isn't enough, nor are your diamonds." Her voice was quiet, contained, and her hands stayed folded at her waist. "I'm promised to another."

"I'll give you all. I'll give you forever. Come away with me, Gwen, and a hundred lifetimes I'll give you."

"'Tisn't fine jewels and lifetimes I want." A single tear slipped down her cheek, as bright as the diamonds in the grass. "I can't leave my home. Won't change my world for yours. Not for all your diamonds, for all your lifetimes."

Without a word, he turned from her and mounted his horse. And as they rose up into the sky, she walked away into the cottage, leaving the diamonds on the ground as if they were no more than flowers.

And so they became flowers and covered the ground with fragrance, humble and sweet.