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.