Maggie sat at the table, knowing her sister preferred that she stay out of the way. “Are you all right, Brianna?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Will you be wanting sausage, too?”
“Doesn’t matter. Brie . . .” Maggie dragged a hand through her hair. “He was your first, wasn’t he?” When Brianna set her slicing knife aside and said nothing, Maggie pushed away from the table. “Did you think I wouldn’t know, just seeing you together? The way he looks at you.” She rubbed her hands absently over her weighted belly as she paced. “The way you look.”
“Have I a sign around my neck that says fallen woman?” Brianna said coolly.
“Damn it, you know that’s not my meaning.” Exasperated, Maggie stopped to face her. “Anyone with wit could see what was between you.” And their mother had wit, Maggie thought grimly. Maeve would be back in a matter of days. “I’m not trying to interfere, or to give advice if advice isn’t welcome. I just want to know . . . I need to know that you’re all right.”
Brianna smiled then and let her stiff shoulders relax. “I’m fine, Maggie. He was very good to me. Very kind and gentle. He’s a kind and gentle man.”
Maggie touched a hand to Brianna’s cheek, brushed at her hair. “You’re in love with him.”
“Yes.”
“And he?”
“He’s used to being on his own, to coming and going as he pleases, without ties.”
Maggie tilted her head. “And you’re after changing that?”
With a little hum in her throat, Brianna turned back to her cooking. “You don’t think I can?”
“I think he’s a fool if he doesn’t love you. But changing a man’s like walking through molasses. A lot of effort for little progress.”
“Well, it’s not so much changing him as letting him see what choices there are. I can make a home for him, Maggie, if he’ll let me.” Then she shook her head. “Oh, it’s too soon to be thinking so far. He’s made me happy. That’s enough for now.”
Maggie hoped that was true. “What will you do about Mother?”
“As far as Gray’s concerned, I won’t let her spoil it.” Brianna’s eyes frosted as she turned to add cubed potatoes to the pan. “As to the other, I haven’t decided. But I will handle it myself, Maggie. You understand me?”
“I do.” Giving in to eight months of pregnancy, she sat again. “We heard from the New York detective yesterday.”
“You did? Did he find her?”
“It’s a more complicated business than we might have thought. He found a brother—a retired policeman who still lives in New York.”
“Well, that’s a start then, isn’t it?” Eager for more, Brianna began to whip up batter for griddle cakes.
“More of a stop, I’m afraid. The man refused to admit he even had a sister at first. When the detective pressed—he had copies of Amanda’s birth certificate and such—this Dennis Dougherty said he hadn’t seen nor heard from Amanda in more than twenty-five years. That she was no sister to him and so forth as she’d gotten herself in trouble and run off. He didn’t know where, or care to know.”
“That’s sad for him, isn’t it?” Brianna murmured. “And her parents? Amanda’s parents?”
“Dead, both of them. The mother only last year. There’s a sister as well, married and living out in the West of the States. He’s talked to her as well, Rogan’s man, and though she seems softer of heart, she hasn’t been any real help.”
“But she must know,” Brianna protested. “Surely she’d know how to find her own sister.”
“That doesn’t seem to be true. It appears there was a family ruckus when Amanda announced she was pregnant, and she wouldn’t name the father.” Maggie paused, pressed her lips together. “I don’t know if she was protecting Da, or herself, or the child if it comes to it. But according to the sister, there were bitter words on all sides. They were lace-curtain Irish and saw a pregnant unwed daughter as a smear on the family name. They wanted her to go away, have the child, and give it up. It seems she refused and simply went away altogether. If she contacted her parents again, the brother isn’t saying, and the sister isn’t aware of it.”
“So we have nothing.”
“Next to it. He did find out—the detective—that she’d visited Ireland all those years ago with a woman friend. He’s working now on tracking her down.”
“Then we’ll be patient.” She brought a pot of tea to the table and frowned at her sister. “You look pale.”
“I’m just tired. Sleeping’s not as easy as it once was.”
“When do you see the doctor again?”
“This very afternoon.” Maggie drummed up a smile as she poured herself a cup.
“Then I’ll take you. You shouldn’t be driving.”
Maggie sighed. “You sound like Rogan. He’s coming all the way back from the gallery to take me himself.”
“Good. And you’re staying right here with me until he comes to get you." More concerned than pleased when she got no argument, Brianna went to call the men to breakfast.
She spent the day happily enough, fussing over Maggie, welcoming an American couple who had stayed at her inn two years earlier. Gray had gone off with Murphy to look for car parts. The sky stayed clear, the air warm. Once she had seen Maggie safely off with Rogan, Brianna settled down for an hour of gardening in her herb bed.
Freshly washed linens were billowing on the line, music was trilling out through the open windows, her guests were enjoying tea cakes in her parlor, and her dog was snoozing in a patch of sunlight beside her.
She couldn’t have been happier.
The dog’s ears pricked, and her own head came up when she heard the sound of cars. “That’s Murphy’s truck,” she said to Con, and indeed, the dog was already up, tail wagging. “The other I don’t recognize. Do you think we have another guest?”
Pleased with the prospect, Brianna rose, dusted the garden dirt from her apron and started around the house. Con raced ahead of her, already barking happily in greeting.
She spotted Gray and Murphy, both of them wearing silly grins as the dog welcomed them as if it had been days rather than hours since they’d parted. Her gaze skimmed over the neat, late-model blue sedan parked in front of Murphy’s truck.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Will you be wanting sausage, too?”
“Doesn’t matter. Brie . . .” Maggie dragged a hand through her hair. “He was your first, wasn’t he?” When Brianna set her slicing knife aside and said nothing, Maggie pushed away from the table. “Did you think I wouldn’t know, just seeing you together? The way he looks at you.” She rubbed her hands absently over her weighted belly as she paced. “The way you look.”
“Have I a sign around my neck that says fallen woman?” Brianna said coolly.
“Damn it, you know that’s not my meaning.” Exasperated, Maggie stopped to face her. “Anyone with wit could see what was between you.” And their mother had wit, Maggie thought grimly. Maeve would be back in a matter of days. “I’m not trying to interfere, or to give advice if advice isn’t welcome. I just want to know . . . I need to know that you’re all right.”
Brianna smiled then and let her stiff shoulders relax. “I’m fine, Maggie. He was very good to me. Very kind and gentle. He’s a kind and gentle man.”
Maggie touched a hand to Brianna’s cheek, brushed at her hair. “You’re in love with him.”
“Yes.”
“And he?”
“He’s used to being on his own, to coming and going as he pleases, without ties.”
Maggie tilted her head. “And you’re after changing that?”
With a little hum in her throat, Brianna turned back to her cooking. “You don’t think I can?”
“I think he’s a fool if he doesn’t love you. But changing a man’s like walking through molasses. A lot of effort for little progress.”
“Well, it’s not so much changing him as letting him see what choices there are. I can make a home for him, Maggie, if he’ll let me.” Then she shook her head. “Oh, it’s too soon to be thinking so far. He’s made me happy. That’s enough for now.”
Maggie hoped that was true. “What will you do about Mother?”
“As far as Gray’s concerned, I won’t let her spoil it.” Brianna’s eyes frosted as she turned to add cubed potatoes to the pan. “As to the other, I haven’t decided. But I will handle it myself, Maggie. You understand me?”
“I do.” Giving in to eight months of pregnancy, she sat again. “We heard from the New York detective yesterday.”
“You did? Did he find her?”
“It’s a more complicated business than we might have thought. He found a brother—a retired policeman who still lives in New York.”
“Well, that’s a start then, isn’t it?” Eager for more, Brianna began to whip up batter for griddle cakes.
“More of a stop, I’m afraid. The man refused to admit he even had a sister at first. When the detective pressed—he had copies of Amanda’s birth certificate and such—this Dennis Dougherty said he hadn’t seen nor heard from Amanda in more than twenty-five years. That she was no sister to him and so forth as she’d gotten herself in trouble and run off. He didn’t know where, or care to know.”
“That’s sad for him, isn’t it?” Brianna murmured. “And her parents? Amanda’s parents?”
“Dead, both of them. The mother only last year. There’s a sister as well, married and living out in the West of the States. He’s talked to her as well, Rogan’s man, and though she seems softer of heart, she hasn’t been any real help.”
“But she must know,” Brianna protested. “Surely she’d know how to find her own sister.”
“That doesn’t seem to be true. It appears there was a family ruckus when Amanda announced she was pregnant, and she wouldn’t name the father.” Maggie paused, pressed her lips together. “I don’t know if she was protecting Da, or herself, or the child if it comes to it. But according to the sister, there were bitter words on all sides. They were lace-curtain Irish and saw a pregnant unwed daughter as a smear on the family name. They wanted her to go away, have the child, and give it up. It seems she refused and simply went away altogether. If she contacted her parents again, the brother isn’t saying, and the sister isn’t aware of it.”
“So we have nothing.”
“Next to it. He did find out—the detective—that she’d visited Ireland all those years ago with a woman friend. He’s working now on tracking her down.”
“Then we’ll be patient.” She brought a pot of tea to the table and frowned at her sister. “You look pale.”
“I’m just tired. Sleeping’s not as easy as it once was.”
“When do you see the doctor again?”
“This very afternoon.” Maggie drummed up a smile as she poured herself a cup.
“Then I’ll take you. You shouldn’t be driving.”
Maggie sighed. “You sound like Rogan. He’s coming all the way back from the gallery to take me himself.”
“Good. And you’re staying right here with me until he comes to get you." More concerned than pleased when she got no argument, Brianna went to call the men to breakfast.
She spent the day happily enough, fussing over Maggie, welcoming an American couple who had stayed at her inn two years earlier. Gray had gone off with Murphy to look for car parts. The sky stayed clear, the air warm. Once she had seen Maggie safely off with Rogan, Brianna settled down for an hour of gardening in her herb bed.
Freshly washed linens were billowing on the line, music was trilling out through the open windows, her guests were enjoying tea cakes in her parlor, and her dog was snoozing in a patch of sunlight beside her.
She couldn’t have been happier.
The dog’s ears pricked, and her own head came up when she heard the sound of cars. “That’s Murphy’s truck,” she said to Con, and indeed, the dog was already up, tail wagging. “The other I don’t recognize. Do you think we have another guest?”
Pleased with the prospect, Brianna rose, dusted the garden dirt from her apron and started around the house. Con raced ahead of her, already barking happily in greeting.
She spotted Gray and Murphy, both of them wearing silly grins as the dog welcomed them as if it had been days rather than hours since they’d parted. Her gaze skimmed over the neat, late-model blue sedan parked in front of Murphy’s truck.
