Maura had lost any sense of time and realized it was well past noon now. The pub was fairly well filled for a midday Saturday—maybe everyone wanted to get out after a winter cooped up inside their homes. Or they were avoiding the cows frisking in the fields and the work that went with them.

“Everything all right?” Mick asked when she came around the back of the bar and stashed her bag.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ll have to explain later if I get anything figured out.”

“What about the death?”

“How do you know about that?”

“One of the lads from Skibbereen was talking about it while you were out.”

It kept surprising Maura how quickly news spread by word of mouth around here. “You know who it was?” When Mick nodded, she told him, “The gardaí have barely begun their investigation and didn’t share any information.”

“So yeh can’t talk about it, even to this lot?” Mick said, clearly seeing through her careful words.

“Got it in one. Particularly with this lot. But they really are just beginning—they only found the body a few hours ago—so we’ll have to wait and see.” Maura was relieved when a newcomer came in and asked for a pint.

She found some kind of autopilot setting in her head. She couldn’t think about what Helen had said and manage to fill a glass the right way and make small talk with her patrons, not all at once. She didn’t have the luxury of going home and wallowing in . . . what? What did she really feel? Shocked? Sure. Angry? Well, maybe. Hurt that it had been so easy for Helen to walk away from her and that she’d had the nerve to go on and make a good life for herself while Maura and her grandmother barely scraped by in Boston? Definitely.

“Maura, those pints are settled,” Mick said quietly in her ear.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She topped them off and slid them across to the waiting men, summoning up a smile from somewhere, and collected their coins.

“Do yeh need to take some time fer yerself?” Mick asked.

“That’s the last thing I need. Then I’d have to think. Right now I don’t want to think.”

“Are yeh in any sort of trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. I’ll explain later. Right now I just want to keep busy.”

The day passed. Her face was getting stiff from smiling without meaning it. She said the right things, kept the orders straight, and avoided talking to her staff. Jimmy didn’t notice, but Mick and Rose were keeping an anxious eye on her as she moved through her duties like a zombie.

There was a lull about four o’clock, and she dropped into the chair across from Billy’s by the fire. “Somethin’s not right wit’ yeh,” Billy said softly.

“You could say that, Billy.” Maura leaned back and shut her eyes.

“Is it bad news?”

“I don’t know. Not really, I guess. Just unexpected. Very unexpected. I don’t know what to think.”

“If there’s anything I can do fer yeh . . .”

“Thanks, Billy. It’s nice to know I’ve got friends here, friends like you, who want to help. I’ll be okay. I just need to wrap my head around this. Are you ready for another pint?”

“I’d be glad to see one,” he said, smiling.

By around nine, the early crowd had thinned, and the music followers were beginning to trickle in, so she gathered her staff around and said, “We’d talked about having a meeting tomorrow morning, but what with John Byrne’s death, that’s kind of off the table, at least for now. But I do want to get together sometime soon and go over how things are going here in general—what’s working, what isn’t, what we can do better. Just think about it, will you?”

“Yeh’ve had no further word about the dead man?” Jimmy asked predictably—he loved appearing like he had inside information.

“Who’s been talking now? Maybe the gardaí would like to know,” Maura said.

“A man come in, heard it from another man and wanted to share. You know how that goes,” Jimmy said. “So there’s no more news?”

“You’ll be the first to know. But that’s nothing to do with us, so don’t worry about it.”

“Maura, why don’t yeh go home?” Mick asked. “Yeh’ve had a long day, and we can cover here.”

Much as she hated to admit defeat, Maura was grateful that he had suggested it. “Thanks, Mick. I’ll be in for opening tomorrow. Enjoy the music.”

She gathered up her things and went out into the dark to her car. But once she got in, she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stand any more making nice to customers at the pub, but the truth was that she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone in her cottage either. She wasn’t the type to find another pub where nobody knew her and drink away her sorrows, and she didn’t have anything to drink back home either. Not that getting drunk would solve anything, except to numb her. No way was she going to try to contact Helen, not until she’d had time to settle down in her own mind. Maybe she was just hungry—was there anything edible in her refrigerator? Leftovers? Bread and cheese, probably, and always butter. Great, she could go home and make herself a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea. Which of course reminded her of Gran. She drove home with tears sliding down her cheeks.

Back at the cottage, she managed to keep busy with the sandwich: slice bread, slice cheese, get out the pan and let it heat. Boil some water for tea. Strong tea. Her gran’s remedy for almost anything. She brushed away more tears angrily. This was stupid. Nothing had changed. She’d always known she had a mother somewhere, one who didn’t give a shit about her. She just hadn’t been ready for that mother to show up in front of her without warning. After a few days, Helen would go back to wherever she’d come from, and that would be the end of it.

She was cleaning up her few dishes when there was a knock at her door. Odd—it was late for callers. But if it was someone who wanted to do her harm, he wouldn’t knock, would he? And she hadn’t told Helen where she lived, which was hard enough to find by day even if you knew where you were going. Open the door, you idiot, she told herself.

It was Mick.

“Hey, what’re you doing here? Is Bridget all right? Did the pub catch fire or something?”

“Are yeh goin’ to ask me in?”

“Sure, come on in. There’s still some tea in the pot if you want it. If Bridget and the pub are okay, what are you doing here?”

He walked in and shut the door behind him. “I was worried about yeh.” He prowled around the room like a cat, then pointed to the teapot.

“Mugs are on the shelf there,” Maura told him. “I’m fine.”

“Are yeh? You looked like you couldn’t remember yer own name after yeh got back from Skib.”

“Well, all right. I learned something I didn’t expect, and I guess I didn’t react well to it.”

“And you don’t think yeh can tell us?”

“It’s personal. It’s not about the pub.”

Mick concentrated on pouring tea into the mug he’d found, then adding sugar. As he stirred, eyes on the mug, he said carefully, “And where do yeh draw the line between the two? We work together every day, all of us. It’s like family, is it not?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a family apart from Gran.” Until now, today, when a missing piece from her past had walked in and upended her world. She turned her back on Mick, fighting tears. Damn, she never cried. Not alone, and certainly not in front of anyone else.

And then he was behind her, his arms around her shoulders. Just holding. Just warm human contact, something she didn’t get very much of. Not since Gran had died. Not since she’d gotten to Ireland and had to string together an entirely new life. She’d thought she was doing a pretty good job—until Helen showed up and the whole thing had crumbled.

Mick felt . . . something for her, but he hadn’t pushed it. And she hadn’t followed up. Well, the hell with that. She pivoted in the circle of his arms until she was facing him. Body to body. Warm. Real. “If you really want to know, I’m upset because Helen Jenkins turns out to be my mother.”

When he tried to draw back in surprise, Maura wouldn’t let him. “You said she was dead,” Mick protested.

“She might as well have been. She left before I was old enough to remember her. Gran and I never heard a word from her after that. She was just . . . gone. But we survived. Then Gran died.” Maura found she couldn’t talk because of the lump in her throat. She didn’t talk about things like this with anyone.

“Maura,” Mick whispered in her ear, “yeh’ve every right to feel . . . whatever it is yeh’re feelin’ right now. She was wrong to do what she did back then, whatever her reasons. Yeh don’t just walk away from yer family. Yeh don’t give up on them. And it wasn’t yer fault.”

“It sure as hell felt like it,” she said into his shirt. “I was the kid with the dead dad and the missing mother. But I didn’t want anybody’s pity. I worked hard; I didn’t get into drugs or drop out. Like I was trying to impress somebody who wasn’t even there—see what a good kid I am? But it didn’t matter. She never came back. Until now. She has no right . . .” She couldn’t go on.

Mick spoke in a low voice over her head. “But, Maura, look at what yeh’ve made of yerself. Yeh’re a strong, smart woman. Yeh’ve done it by yerself, for yerself. Don’t waste yer time being angry at her.”

Now she pulled back. “What, I can’t be angry?”

“Of course you can, but don’t let it shape yer life any more than it already has. Yeh’re yer own woman. Invite her into yer life, or show her the door. Yer choice.”

“You know, for a bartender, you’re pretty smart, Mick Nolan.”

She grabbed his head and pulled him closer, and this time he didn’t hold back. Neither did she. Hell, everything was already ass-backward in her world now—why not throw Mick into the mix? There’d been an attraction flickering between them for a while; what was she waiting for?

“Upstairs,” she said.

He hesitated only a moment. “Yeh’re sure?”

She grinned through the leftover tears. “I am. Besides, if it’s lousy, I can always fire you.”

* * *

Sunlight drifted through the window that she hadn’t bothered to get a curtain for. There were thoughts working their way to the surface, and she supposed she couldn’t just shove them back down. Let’s see: first, there was Mick beside her, snoring lightly. Last night had definitely not been lousy, at least based on her limited experience. Much better than lousy. But more important was the fact that he’d been there for her. He’d known she was hurting, and he’d cared enough to check on her. She couldn’t remember anybody doing that for her apart from Gran. Maybe that was her fault. Maybe she’d been so busy trying to act tough that she hadn’t let anybody in. But that had stopped working yesterday when Helen had made her big announcement.

Couldn’t Helen have done it a bit sooner? Like, maybe ten or fifteen years sooner? But that was the past. What was she supposed to do now? She had a mother—a living, breathing one—who had mysteriously shown up in this corner of Ireland. Coincidence? Maura doubted it, but the only alternative was that Helen had actually tracked her down, which wouldn’t have been easy. She’d left Boston behind with no forwarding address.

Did Helen really want to fix things at this late date? Did Maura want to let her? Mick had given her permission to turn Helen away, as if she needed it. But she had to admit that she was curious. What had Helen done with her life after she’d bailed out on Maura? And what did Helen want now? Good God, now she had a brother and a sister. And a stepfather, too. Did any of them know about Maura? Did it matter?

Mick’s breathing changed, and when she rolled over, she saw his eyes were open. “Regrets?” he asked.

“Hell, no. Thank you, Mick.”

“Fer what? This?”

He ran his hand along her side, and Maura realized she wasn’t wearing anything. “Well, that was nice enough,” she said, smiling, “but I meant for showing up and sticking around last night. I guess I didn’t want to admit that I was having trouble handling the whole mess. When you spend your entire life thinking of your mother as dead and suddenly she’s sitting in front of you, it’s hard to take. And I have no idea what she wants.”

“Maybe it’s as simple as wantin’ to get to know you.”

“Could be. I’m willing to hear her side of the story.” She sat up abruptly, clutching the sheet to her chest. “Oh, shoot, I’m supposed to have breakfast with her in Skib in about half an hour, so I’d better shower. And you’re supposed to be taking Bridget to church this morning.”

“Damn, yeh’re right. Is there room fer two in that shower of yers?”

“We can find out. And I think I’ve got an extra towel.”

There was, and she did. Fifteen minutes later, Maura was headed out the door. But before leaving, she turned back to Mick. “We’re not going to be all weird at the pub now, are we?”

“Will it be different?”

“How about we take things one day at a time? Oh, and let me tell the rest of the gang about my mother. Wow, saying that is going to take some getting used to.”

“Get on with yeh and go talk to her. Yeh’ve plenty of time.”

Maura stepped back in to kiss Mick good-bye. “Thanks again, Mick. For everything. See you later!”