thanked Aileen when she brought their plates to the table.
"What's that?" Jacob asked, staring at a platter filled with something breaded and fried to a perfect golden brown.
"Fish 'n chips," Maggie explained as Aileen walked away, still mumbling about how much Jacob favored his daddy.
"Looks like chicken," Jacob said, looking at Bridget. "Don't it?"
Bridget laughed quietly. "It's batter dipped like my catfish, Jacob."
His eyes widened. "I like that."
"I know."
Maggie showed Jacob how to dip his fish in the malt vinegar, smiling when his eyes lit up after his first bite.
Bridget pointed to the chips on his plate. "Those are like round french fries, Jacob."
"The lady said chips," he argued.
"They just call them chips here. Try one," Bridget said.
He took a bite and nodded, then turned his full attention to the food.
Maggie smiled. "You and Jacob are very close."
Bridget nodded. "Except for Granny, all we've had is each other since Grandpa died."
"I'm glad you've had that." Maggie took a bite of her sandwich.
Bridget tried the bowl of Irish stew she'd ordered and smiled. A bit of chopped celery would've livened up the broth some, but it was still tasty. She broke off a piece of the brown bread in the basket on the table and tasted it. "This is different," she said.
"Not to us." Maggie grinned. "Wasn't Riley's reaction to your breakfast just perfect?"
Bridget nodded. She couldn't deny her sense of satisfaction at watching the way Riley had so thoroughly enjoyed his breakfast. He'd asked for black pudding, though, and she couldn't imagine eating pudding for breakfast.
"Uncle Riley likes to eat," Jacob mumbled around a mouthful of fish.
"So does his nephew, I'd say." Maggie laughed. "A growing lad should."
If only the uncle would accept his nephew.
Maggie looked over Bridget's shoulder and her eyes widened. "Here comes trouble," she whispered fiercely, assuming a bland expression a split-second later.
"Wha–"
"Maggie," a smooth voice said a moment before a heavy floral fragrance invaded their air space. The woman paused beside their table, her skirts perfect, her figure perfect.
Bridget's gaze traveled up past a red sweater with a broach on it, then rested on the long, slender column of the woman's perfectly white neck. Was there anything im perfect about this woman?
Though the woman's words were for Maggie, her penetrating glare was for Bridget. "I don't believe you've introduced me to your new... friends," the woman said.
Maggie took the perfect woman's hand and gave it a noticeable squeeze. "This is Bridget and Jacob."
"Oh?" The woman's voice and smile were falsely sweet. "Hello, Bridget and Jacob. I don't believe I caught your surnames."
I'm drowning in molasses. If I was a diabetic, I'd be in a coma . Bridget bit the inside of her cheek to silence her churning thoughts. "Mulligan," she said, balling up the napkin in her lap with her left hand and offering her right hand to the newcomer.
"Mulli— oh ." The woman's eyes snapped and she pulled her hand back from what Granny would've called a wet noodle handshake. "You're her ."
"Her?" Bridget directed a questioning look at her sister-in-law.
"Bridget, this is K–"
"I'm Katie Rearden," the woman said, swinging her glare back in Bridget's direction. "The wronged woman."
Chapter 6
Rain streamed down Riley's face and neck in rivulets that collected in his collar with icy efficiency. Today's chores would have to wait. If he'd started as early as planned this morning, perhaps he could have accomplished more.
Instead, he'd dined like a king with a cailleach .
Bridget's arrival had thrown him off his schedule. Well, then, that made this all her fault. Didn't it? After all, he'd lost yesterday picking her up at the airport, and today's weather would prevent him from making up for it.
With a frustrated sigh, he stowed the tractor and put his tools in the barn, pausing as he heard a friendly whinny. He stopped to stroke Oíche.
"What's that?" Jacob asked, staring at a platter filled with something breaded and fried to a perfect golden brown.
"Fish 'n chips," Maggie explained as Aileen walked away, still mumbling about how much Jacob favored his daddy.
"Looks like chicken," Jacob said, looking at Bridget. "Don't it?"
Bridget laughed quietly. "It's batter dipped like my catfish, Jacob."
His eyes widened. "I like that."
"I know."
Maggie showed Jacob how to dip his fish in the malt vinegar, smiling when his eyes lit up after his first bite.
Bridget pointed to the chips on his plate. "Those are like round french fries, Jacob."
"The lady said chips," he argued.
"They just call them chips here. Try one," Bridget said.
He took a bite and nodded, then turned his full attention to the food.
Maggie smiled. "You and Jacob are very close."
Bridget nodded. "Except for Granny, all we've had is each other since Grandpa died."
"I'm glad you've had that." Maggie took a bite of her sandwich.
Bridget tried the bowl of Irish stew she'd ordered and smiled. A bit of chopped celery would've livened up the broth some, but it was still tasty. She broke off a piece of the brown bread in the basket on the table and tasted it. "This is different," she said.
"Not to us." Maggie grinned. "Wasn't Riley's reaction to your breakfast just perfect?"
Bridget nodded. She couldn't deny her sense of satisfaction at watching the way Riley had so thoroughly enjoyed his breakfast. He'd asked for black pudding, though, and she couldn't imagine eating pudding for breakfast.
"Uncle Riley likes to eat," Jacob mumbled around a mouthful of fish.
"So does his nephew, I'd say." Maggie laughed. "A growing lad should."
If only the uncle would accept his nephew.
Maggie looked over Bridget's shoulder and her eyes widened. "Here comes trouble," she whispered fiercely, assuming a bland expression a split-second later.
"Wha–"
"Maggie," a smooth voice said a moment before a heavy floral fragrance invaded their air space. The woman paused beside their table, her skirts perfect, her figure perfect.
Bridget's gaze traveled up past a red sweater with a broach on it, then rested on the long, slender column of the woman's perfectly white neck. Was there anything im perfect about this woman?
Though the woman's words were for Maggie, her penetrating glare was for Bridget. "I don't believe you've introduced me to your new... friends," the woman said.
Maggie took the perfect woman's hand and gave it a noticeable squeeze. "This is Bridget and Jacob."
"Oh?" The woman's voice and smile were falsely sweet. "Hello, Bridget and Jacob. I don't believe I caught your surnames."
I'm drowning in molasses. If I was a diabetic, I'd be in a coma . Bridget bit the inside of her cheek to silence her churning thoughts. "Mulligan," she said, balling up the napkin in her lap with her left hand and offering her right hand to the newcomer.
"Mulli— oh ." The woman's eyes snapped and she pulled her hand back from what Granny would've called a wet noodle handshake. "You're her ."
"Her?" Bridget directed a questioning look at her sister-in-law.
"Bridget, this is K–"
"I'm Katie Rearden," the woman said, swinging her glare back in Bridget's direction. "The wronged woman."
Chapter 6
Rain streamed down Riley's face and neck in rivulets that collected in his collar with icy efficiency. Today's chores would have to wait. If he'd started as early as planned this morning, perhaps he could have accomplished more.
Instead, he'd dined like a king with a cailleach .
Bridget's arrival had thrown him off his schedule. Well, then, that made this all her fault. Didn't it? After all, he'd lost yesterday picking her up at the airport, and today's weather would prevent him from making up for it.
With a frustrated sigh, he stowed the tractor and put his tools in the barn, pausing as he heard a friendly whinny. He stopped to stroke Oíche.
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