singers they sometimes heard on the radio. He squirmed inwardly, not wanting to like the woman or her son. Even so, there was nothing to do but shake the lad's hand, so he did.
Unfortunately, the woman seemed to have recovered from her initial shock and thrust her hand forward, too. "Seems my son's got better manners than his momma." Her smile made her entire face glow. "I'm Bridget Colleen Mulligan."
Hearing the Mulligan name leave her lips tensed every nerve in Riley's body, but he reluctantly shook her hand. He tried, and failed, not to notice how small and delicate hers felt in his callused farmer's paw. His face warmed and his throat tightened. Aye, Culley would've been attracted to this siren.
Could she be his brother's widow? Enough of this.
"We'd best be about finding your bags," he said, struggling to ignore the battling voices in his head. "Did they give you a pass in customs?"
"Yes, but not without stealing all my herbs."
"Herbs?" He blinked.
"Homegrown and now they're gone." She released a long sigh. "I packed enough to last for months, too."
The foolish woman had packed fresh herbs, and from the sound of it, enough to open her own market. Didn't she think they had food in Ireland?
"Your momma didn't come?" she asked.
"She's down with a bit of the gout." Guilt reared its ugly puss. Mum had asked him to pass along her regrets at not being able to come herself. He sighed and muttered, "'Tis sorry she is for not being able to fetch you and the lad herself." There, he'd done his duty and could now revert to his natural charm.
"Gout?" She made a tsking sound with her tongue and shook her head. "Grandpa used to get gout and the only thing that helped were cherries."
"Cherries?" Riley echoed, arching a brow in disbelief. "What'd he do? Stomp on them to make wine?"
She blinked and gave him such an innocent look, he decided then and there she had to be either the world's greatest actress or genuinely naive.
Finally she giggled. "Oh, a joke. I'm sorry." After a few moments, she shook her head. "No, he ate the cherries for the gout and they always fixed him right up." She tilted her head closer and whispered, "Kept him regular, too, which always improved his spirits."
Riley's first instinct was to throw his head back and roar with laughter, but he managed to save himself by summoning a scowl instead. The woman had perfected the art of playing the fool, but he didn't buy it for a minute. This was all part of her evil ruse, of course.
But he saw right through her. Life had thrown him plenty of hard knocks—enough to train him to recognize deceit on any level. A nasty smile spread across his face as he turned and started walking. After a moment, he glanced back and saw the pair of them struggling with their backpacks and carry-on items. Aye, charm, Mulligan. That's you.
Cursing under his breath, he swaggered back and hefted the largest bag onto his shoulder, inclining his head to indicate they should follow. Without another word, he started down the crowded corridor.
Finally, they were on the road home and would be lucky to reach it before dark. Mum would be worried, and as much as he resented Bridget and Jacob's presence, he would tolerate almost anything to avoid upsetting Mum.
Bridget chattered endlessly about every little thing as they drove west. Riley didn't need to talk—she kept the silence filled quite thoroughly. Not that he'd have minded a bit of silence about now.
Barely saving himself from growling aloud, he glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the lad had fallen asleep. With his eyes closed he looked even more like Culley.
By the time Riley turned onto the narrow lane that led to the cottage, Bridget had blathered on about cooking, gardening, her granny, grandpa, the Larabees, and someone named General Lee who'd killed her granny. And what was this "y'all" business anyway?
Confident he'd heard her entire family history, he breathed a sigh of relief when the whitewashed cottage came into