Once she was toddling around there was truly no stopping her. She’d practically potty-trained herself and by age two she was chasing after her older brothers, insisting they include her in their fun.
One evening, as the children caught fireflies on the front lawn, he and Maureen shared an Irish coffee, enjoying the sights and sounds of their children playing.
She sighed. “We could have another, you know.”
His gaze jerked to her and he scowled. “How much damn whiskey did you put in that coffee, woman? Seven is enough.”
Her lips pursed. “Fine.”
His mouth opened as he stared at her. She couldn’t be serious? Where the hell would they put another one? Of course, Kate was getting older—no. It was simply insane.
After twenty minutes of welcomed silence, he said, “If you truly have your heart set on another one, I suppose we could try.”
She snapped her tongue against the back of her teeth and rolled her eyes. “Oh, do you now? It took you twenty minutes to make up your mind? You know how I feel about indecisiveness.” She stood. “Kids! Time for bed! Go wash up and do not make a flood in my bathroom! Luke, wait for your sister!”
He grinned. “You’re better than the toughest drill sergeant. Look at your troops go.”
She smirked. “They’re not my troop, Frank. They’re my clan.”
“Aye.”
That night when they made love he was careless on purpose, knowing if they had an eighth child it would be a welcome blessing. But Sheilagh had been their last.
It seemed to happen too fast. Just yesterday, he’d been a twenty-five year old kid, rescuing a wide-eyed girl out from a bar during a brawl as Van Morrison crooned about a gypsy souled woman and slipping into the mystic. She was his gypsy.
He’d only meant to save her from trouble, never intended to fall in love. But when she looked at him with those bright green eyes and smiled up at him, he’d never felt such a pull. He’d held her fast and never let go.
It was as though she’d cast a spell on him, and he’d let her do it all over again. He’d never imagined life could be so full, so overflowing with experience and amusement that his sides hurt almost every day from laughing. His face—over time—had creased with deep-set smile lines, proof that life was indeed happy.
Long gone was the innocent lass he’d convinced to be his wife. Motherhood had changed her, matured her. Though her hair was not as fiery as it once had been, her spirit never dulled. She never did get those nails to grow. And with every passing day, as they grew a bit older together, he loved her more than the day before.
As he sat on his favorite chair, watching the game with four of his five teenage sons as his daughters helped Maureen with dinner, he grinned. Nothing about the life they had was easy, but it was worth every bit of effort.
Contentment such as theirs could not be bought. It could only be nurtured over time with a decent sense of humor, a ton of patience and limitless unconditional love. During quiet moments like this, that didn’t come so often in a house of nine, he appreciated all they’d created out of love.
The front door opened and Kelly slipped in, a guilty look on his face as he crept past the kitchen toward the stairs.
“Kelly, get in here,” Frank called. Did he think he was born yesterday? “What have you done?”
His son, a wise assed sixteen-year-old now, tried for an innocent expression and failed. “Nothin’, Dad. I swear.”
His brothers frowned, not buying into his bullshit any more than he was. “Do you want me to get your mother?”
Kelly’s eyes went wide. “No.”
“What happened to your arm?” Colin asked and Frank noticed the bandage.
Kelly’s hand tugged at his sleeve, but it was too late. “Did you cut yourself?”
“Not exactly.”
He frowned. “Well, what the hell did you do?”
His son sighed and slowly peeled back the gauze covering his forearm to reveal a large black cross.
Frank lost the ability to blink. Quietly, he rasped, “Tell me that washes off.”
“No.”
Glancing up at his son, seriously questioning his intelligence he whispered, “Of all the places to get a tattoo, you picked there, where all the world can see?”
He shrugged. “I see no need to hide it from the world—”
Frank snorted. “I’m not worried about the world. I’m worried about your mother. Sweet Jesus, Kelly, she gave you a perfectly good body and you’ve gone and marked it up. You don’t stand a chance. She’s gonna beat your arse when she sees what you’ve done and it’s your own damn fault.”
The gauze quickly covered the tattoo as his brothers chuckled at his expense.
“What’s that?” Sheilagh asked at from the hall as Kelly spun with an expression of sheer terror. She gasped. “Did you get a tattoo? Let me see.”
“Get out of here, Devil!” Kelly snapped.
Sheilagh shrugged. “Whatever. Dinner’s ready.” She turned and Frank winced. The boy really was an idjit. The moment Sheilagh skipped into the kitchen she said, “Mum, did you tell Kelly he could get a tattoo? Because he got one.”
“What! Kelly! Get your arse in here!”
Frank took pity on the boy. “Run.”
Kelly took off like a bat out of hell, or, more accurately, an ill-behaved son with a lunatic Irish mother on his arse and a wooden spoon as her weapon of choice. The rest of the family took great joy in watching Kelly get it from their mother. They’d all been there a time or two before.
It didn’t matter how many times she corrected them or smacked them in the back of the head for tracking mud over her honey stained floors. They all adored her. She was the glue that held their clan together, the heart and soul of their home. She was as wild as dandelions and stronger than steel when it came to matters of the heart.
He smiled softly as she marched back onto the porch, mumbling about what Kelly had done. “Can you believe what he’s done, Frank? A big stupid cross, right on his arm! I gave him that arm and I don’t bloody well remember giving him permission to go mark it up.” She turned and yelled toward the front door, “You hear me, all of you? No one is to be markin’ up the bodies that I gave you!”
She grabbed the door and he caught her arm, pulling her to his chest. She gasped and he kissed her, the anger noticeably fading as her body went soft against his, all the tension easing from her shoulders.
She hummed, her eyes remaining closed. “What was that for?”
He nestled her ear with his nose and bit at her neck. “For being a little bit crazy and a lot sexy. I love you, woman.”
She giggled. “Frank, the children.”
He grunted. “Have them clean up after dinner and you tell them we need to talk and we’re not to be disturbed. I want some time with my wife.”
“O-okay,” she breathed.
Brushing her hair behind her ear, she holstered the wooden spoon like a dagger into the tie of her apron. He smacked her arse and watched her go. Aye, she was a fine bonny lass indeed.
PART II
Now…
Chapter Ten
Shoving her way through the screen door of the kitchen, the tight spring snapped shut at Sheilagh’s heels and she let out an irritable growl.
“Did the sermon piss you off, lass?” Her father asked from where he knelt surrounded by tools, still trying to fix the forty-year-old oven.
“No. Mass was just fine. It’s mum who has my Irish up.”
He chuckled and continued to examine various hardware, determined to salvage the dated appliance. “Aye. Your mother can be frustrating.” He reached for a screwdriver and mumbled, “That’s why I don’t keep bullets in the house.”
Sheilagh scoffed. “You have no idea what she’s done now, Dad. The woman is totally out of her gourd.”
“Was she ever in it?” The screen door opened and snapped shut again. “How was church, love?”
Her mother plopped her oversized pocketbook on the co
unter. “Church was fine until your daughter rushed me out of there. I was talking with the ladies—”
“You were handing out porn!” Sheilagh snapped, her fists pinned to sides of her very thick waist.
Her mother gaped. “I beg your pardon, I certainly was not. Don’t listen to her Frank. And Sheilagh, you better sit down. Your ankles are starting to swell.”
She glanced toward her ankles, but couldn’t see past her protruding belly. Sighing, she wobbled and sat, trying her best not to upset her sciatica. “Don’t deny it. Everyone knows what that book’s about.”
“Literature,” her mother said slowly. “I was handing out literature, dear. Don’t be such a prude.”
“What book was it?” her father asked.
“You know the one they’re always talking about on the news,” Sheilagh said. Scowling at her mother, she repeated, “It’s porn and Mum was handing it out at church!”
His eyes went wide. “Maureen!”
“What?” She shook her head and tsked. “It’s not pornography. I’ve seen pornography. In pornos they spit and the men are not as sexy—”
“Church, Mum! You were in church!”
She waved a hand. “And now those ladies have something worth repenting for. I’m recruiting, is what I’m doing.”
The door again snapped open as Colin stepped in, his face an angry shade of red. Sheilagh sighed with relief, knowing he’d get through to her. “Have you lost your bloody mind, Mum?” He held up three copies of the book he’d confiscated. “You can’t hand this out at church! She’s out of control, Dad.”
Her father stood and brushed off his knees. Taking a copy of the book from Colin, he fanned through the pages. A dark brow lifted.
“Colin, don’t be ridiculous. I’d never hand that out during church. Mass was over and we were outside. Sit down and I’ll make you some eggs. Where are Sammy and the kids?”
“They had a play date and that’s not the point. Everyone knows what that book is about and now people will talk.”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Let them. I’m a good Christian and my morals will not be questioned because of my choice in literature. I’ve never stepped out on my marriage and I bore seven children. I’ll have you know I’m familiar with sex. You think that author’s the first to talk about a little slap and tickle? Pish. Your father could teach her a thing or two, but I won’t let him because he’s mine, not hers. He’s only allowed to tickle me.”
Sheilagh tossed the cookie she was eating back on the plate. “Ew.”
Colin looked ready to vomit. “Mum!” He turned to their father. “Dad, you have to do something about this.”
Their dad shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a stud.”
“I’m gonna throw up.” Sheilagh pushed up from the table. “I’m going home.”
“Well, come back in a bit for breakfast. Tell the boys I said to start that casserole now. Frank, when’s my oven going to be fixed? I’m down to two burners and I have a village to feed.”
She walked to the door and Colin placed a gentle hand on her belly and smiled. “Tell Alec I have the papers he wanted.”
“You got it.”
The late April wind cut through her clothing, but the sun’s heat burned into her shoulders balancing out the chill. Waddling across the field, she grinned at her beautiful home. Stone facing gave the house an aged look and Braydon had done a magnificent job making the structure look authentic, like it had always been there. Luke and Tristan’s barn was an appropriate backdrop for such a farm style home.
Pushing through the split farm door, she called for her husband. “Alec?”
“In the study.”
He was always in there. Most people had a den, but not her man. He had a study filled with antique books and valuable literary works of art. She found him hunched over a thick tome with his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose. “How was church?”
She groaned. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Arching a brow, he faced her. “Did something happen?”
“Suffice it to say, my mother’s a lunatic.”
“So just an ordinary Sunday?”
“Ha. Ha. Colin’s at the big house. He says he has those papers you wanted.” Being that they were all working together to plan her parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary, Alec had taken it upon himself to research their honeymoon spot. He’d narrowed it to Ireland, but was trying to find the perfect town.
“Is Maureen making breakfast? I’ll get them from him when we go back over there.”
“Yeah. Oh, crap. I forgot to tell Tristan to start the casserole.” She sighed. Eventually she’d need a crane to get up and down. As it was, she already had to be selective about the seats she chose. Once she spent an entire afternoon stuck in a beanbag chair while playing with her nephew Hunter. “Can you help me up?”
Always a gentleman, he came to her rescue. Hoisting her slowly out of the chair, she shut her eyes and rested her forehead on his chest. “Thank you.”
His lips pressed to the top of her hair. “That’s what I’m here for, love.” His hands swept down her sides and rested on the round curve of her belly. “How’s our boy?”
She smiled and hummed, soft, subtle joy blanketing her the way it always did when she acknowledged the miracle of her condition. But it wasn’t a boy. All signs pointed to girl. “She’s good. Hungry.”
He chuckled and kissed her head again. “I’m telling you, it’s a boy. I have a sense.”
“And I’m telling you it’s a girl. I should know. It’s my uterus she’s living in.”
“Why don’t you grab a piece of fruit on your way over to your brothers? That should hold you over until breakfast.”
“Okay.” He always took such good care of her. “Give me a shove so I can start moving.”
Chuckling, he turned her and lightly swatted her ass. “Go on.”
Waddling through their home, down the long hallway, and into the grand kitchen, she snatched a banana. Hidden between the breakfast nook and cabinets was a door that led to the en-suite sitting room/nursery that linked their home with Luke and Tristan’s. Though some might consider their situation strange, to the four of them it was a blessing.
With her and Tristan’s DNA, their child would surely be as dashing as he or she would be loved. With four parents to dote over their son or daughter, a grandmother as overzealous as her mother, and countless aunts and uncles, they didn’t need anyone else’s approval. They had everything they needed right there, including three nurseries—one in each house and an en-suite one in the middle.
She knocked on the door leading to the guy’s barn, a common understanding that though their homes were connected, they were still private residences. The door opened and Luke smiled. “Hey, Devil.”
She bit her banana. “Hey. Mum said start the casserole.”
“Already done,” Tristan yelled from the kitchen. “It should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
She entered the house and sat on Luke’s recliner, winded.
“You look tired. You feelin’ all right?” her brother asked.
She shut her eyes. “It’s getting harder to sleep at night now that I can’t lie on my belly. I never wake up fully rested.”
He took the banana peel out of her hand and she heard him toss it in the trash. “Well, relax for a little bit. See if you can take a nap. We’ll wake you up when we head to Mum and Dad’s.”
Already dozing, she mumbled. “’Kay.”
After breakfast, Sheilagh was planning a food-induced coma for the rest of the day, but she couldn’t find the energy to get back to her own couch.
“I remember feeling like that,” Mallory laughed as she sat beside her on their parents’ couch. “It gets better.”
Sheilagh cracked an eyelid. “Really?” She thought it would only get worse as she got bigger.
“Yup. You’re what, six? Seven months? Soon you’ll be too horny to nap.”
“What?”
Mall
ory laughed. “I’m telling you. During my seventh month I drove your poor brother nuts—not that he complained. But every second the twins were down for a nap I was going down on him.”
“Oh. My. God. Please stop.”
She laughed. “Sorry. I forget you’re his sister.”
Shaking her head she tried to get the image of Finn and Mallory out of her head. “Talk about something else.”
“You won’t have to do the river dance in your condition.”
Her eyes popped open. “The what?”
Her sister-in-law chuckled. “Finn wants all of us kids to do a river dance to a Dropkick Murphy’s song as a tribute to your mom and dad.”
She sat up. “Are you serious? The little kids?”
Mallory snorted. “No, us kids, your siblings and their spouses.”
“That’s awesome! I wanna do it!”
She laughed. “There’s no way Alec, Tristan, or Luke are going to let you go jumping around in your condition.”
“That’s bullshit. I’m doing it.” She struggled to get off the couch and failed. “Damn it. Help me up.” Mallory gave her a shove and she made it to her feet. Waddling into the kitchen, she found her brothers. “How come no one told me about the dance?”
Luke did a quick scan for their mother. “Lower your voice, it’s a surprise.”
Cupping her hand over her mouth, she whispered, “I want to do it.”
“Shei, you’ll be nine months pregnant or postpartum. There’s no way you’d be able to keep up,” Luke said. “Sorry.”
She pouted. “That’s so unfair. I’m the only one that actually took Irish dance as a kid. You jackasses are going to look like a bunch of unsophisticated clowns up there.”
“She has a point,” Kelly agreed. “Which is why I’m still against doing it at all.”
“You’re doing it,” Finn said. “If one of us does it we all do it.”
“That’s a dumb rule,” Kelly argued. “Especially if Devil can’t be a part of it.”
Mallory, observing from the doorway, stepped into the kitchen. “Since Sheilagh actually took lessons as a kid, why doesn’t she choreograph the whole thing? That way she can be a part of it.”