'From Darcy.' Brenna leaned forward for another cookie. 'She had it straight from the horse's mouth.'
'The horse's ass is more apt.'
At the snap of her tone, Brenna blinked and Mollie paused in her kneading. Before Brenna could speak, Mollie shot out a warning look. 'Fill your mouth with that biscuit, lass, before you put the rest of your foot in it.'
'But Darcy said-'
'Perhaps Darcy misunderstood.'
'No, I don't imagine she did.' Temper leaped into Jude's throat. When she couldn't choke it down again, she shoved away from the table and got to her feet. 'Where does a man get that kind of nerve, that much arrogance?'
'Most are born with it,' Brenna said, then ducked her head and winced at her mother's hiss.
'I have to say, Jude, that I myself thought that's where the two of you were heading, seeing the way you are with each other.' Mollie kept her voice soothing, and her eyes keen on Jude's face. 'When Brenna told us at dinner last night, not one of us was surprised, but we were pleased.'
'Told you- at dinner.' Jude stopped at the table, braced her palms on it and leaned into Brenna's face. 'You told your whole family?'
'Well, I didn't see how-'
'Who else? How many people have you told this ridiculous story to?'
'I-' Brenna cleared her throat. Having a rare temper herself, she recognized the danger signs when they were stuck in her face. 'I can't recall, precisely. Not many. A few. Hardly anyone at all. We were so pleased, you see, Darcy and myself. As we're so fond of you and Aidan, and knowing how Aidan can plod about before he gets to the center of things, hoped that the ceili might give him a bit of a boost.'
'The ceili?'
'Aye, Midsummer's Eve and the moon and such. You remember, Ma?' She turned to Mollie with a desperate look in her eye. 'Remember how you told us the way Dad proposed to you when you were dancing in the moonlight at a ceili? And at Old Maude's cottage, too.'
'I do, yes.' And she began to see. With a quiet smile, she patted her daughter's shoulder. 'You meant well, didn't you?'
'Yes, we-ow!' Wincing, Brenna grabbed the nose her mother had just twisted.
'That's to remind you to keep that nose of yours out of other people's business however well meant.'
'It's not her fault.' Jude lifted her hands to her hair and barely resisted pulling it out. 'It's Aidan's fault. What is he thinking of, telling his sister we're getting married? I said no, didn't I? Very plainly and several times.'
'You said no,' Brenna and Mollie said together, with mirror looks of shock.
'I see what he's doing, I see what he's up to.' She whirled away to stalk around the room again. 'He needs a wife and I'm available, so that's it. I'm just to fall in line because, after all, I obviously have no backbone. Well, he's wrong about that. I've got one. Maybe I haven't used it much, but it's there. I'm not marrying him or anyone. I'm never going to be told what to do again, or where to live or how to live or what to be. Not ever, ever again.'
Mollie studied the flushed face, the fisted hands and nodded slowly. 'Well, now, good for you. Why don't you take a bit of a breath now, darling, and sit down here, drink your tea and tell us, as we're all friends, exactly what happened.'
'I'll tell you what happened. Then you,' she added, jabbing a finger at Brenna. 'You can go down to the village and tell everyone just what a brainless fool Aidan Gallagher is and that Jude Murray wouldn't have him on a platter.'
'I can do that,' Brenna agreed with a cautious smile.
'Fine.' Jude took that breath, then sat down to tell the tale.
It helped a great deal to vent to friends. It took the sharpest edge off her temper, strengthened her resolve, and gave her the satisfaction of having two other women outraged at Aidan's behavior.
By the time she left, she'd been given pats and hugs and congratulations on her stand against a bully. Of course she had no way of knowing that the minute she left, mother and daughter dug out twenty pounds each to lay on Aidan.
It wasn't that they didn't sympathize with Jude, or believe she had sense enough to know what she wanted. It was simply that they believed in destiny-and a good wager.
With the stake in her pocket, Brenna drove into town to tell Darcy what a great boob her brother was-and to start the pool.
Fortunately ignorant of this, Jude walked back to her house feeling lighter of heart and stronger in the spine. She wasn't going to bother confronting Aidan. She told herself it wasn't worth the time or effort. She would be calm, she would remain firm, and this time he would be the one humiliated.
Pleased with herself, she went directly to the phone in her kitchen and took the next step without a moment's hesitation.
Thirty minutes later, she sat at the table and laid her head on her arms.
She'd done it. She'd actually done it.
Her condo was going on the market. As the couple Jude had rented to had already made inquiries about the possibility of buying it, the realtor was optimistic that it would sell quickly and with a minimum of fuss. She'd booked a flight for the end of the month so that she could go through her possessions, ship or store what she wanted to keep, and sell or give away the rest.
So much, she thought, for a life she'd built on other people's expectations. She stayed as she was, holding her breath to see what reaction would set in.
Panic? Regret? Depression?
But it was none of those. It was done, so easily, too, and there was a huge weight off her shoulders at the idea of it. Relief was what she felt. Relief, anticipation, and a wicked little thrill of accomplishment.
She no longer lived in Chicago. She lived in Faerie Hill Cottage, County Waterford, Ireland.
Her parents were going to faint.
At the thought of that, she sat up, pressed both hands to her mouth to hold back the wild laughter. They'd think she'd lost her mind. And would never, ever understand that what she'd done was found it. She'd found her mind, and her heart and her home.
And, she thought, a little dizzy herself, her purpose.
'Gran, I found me. I found Jude F. Murray in six months or less. How about that?'
The call to New York was harder. Because it was more important, Jude realized. Beyond the symbolism of the sale of the condo. That only meant money. The call to New York equaled her future, the future she was giving herself.
She wasn't certain whether her acquaintance from college had remembered her or had simply pretended to out of politeness. But she'd taken the call, and she'd listened. Jude couldn't quite remember what she'd said, or what Holly had said back. Except that Holly Carter Fry, literary agent, told Jude F. Murray she very much liked the sound of her book and instructed Jude to send a sample of her work in progress.
Because the thought of doing so made her stomach pitch crazily, Jude made herself get up, walk up the stairs. Her fingers might have trembled as she sat down to type the cover letter. But she clicked her mind over to logical and wrote what she thought was both polite and professional.
She only had to stop to put her head between her knees once.
She gathered the first three stories, and the prologue, words she'd labored over, poured her heart into. She could feel herself getting weepy as she slid the drawings into a folder, packaged everything in a padded envelope.
She was sending her heart across the ocean, risking having it shattered. Easier not to, she thought, stepping away to rub her chilled arms and stare out the window. Easier to just go on pretending she meant to, one day. Easier still to go back to convincing herself it was just an indulgence, an experiment she had no real stake in.
Because once she mailed that envelope, there was no going back, no more pretending, no more safety net.
That was it, had been it all along, she realized. It was easier to tell herself she wasn't very good at something. Safer to believe she wasn't clever or quick. Because if you had confidence enough to try something, you had to have courage enough to fail.
She'd failed with her marriage, and ultimately with her teaching-two things she'd been certain she was suited
