Free Irish Rose by Nora Roberts

of Ireland that night, of the heady green hills and the soft scent of heather. She saw the dark mountains and the clouds that rushed across the sky ahead of the wind. And her farm, with its rich plowed earth and grazing cows. She dreamed of her mother, telling her goodbye with a smile even as a tear slid down her cheek. Of her father, holding her so tight her ribs had ached. She heard each of her brothers teasing her, one by one.
    She cried for Ireland that night, slow, quiet tears for a land she'd left behind and carried with her.
    But when she woke, her eyes were dry and her mind clear. She'd made her break, chosen her path, and she'd best be getting on with it.
    The plain gray dress she chose was made sturdily and fit well. Her mother's stitches were always true.
    Erin started to pin her hair up, then changed her mind and tamed it into a braid. She studied herself with what she hoped was a critical and objective eye. Suitable for work, Erin decided, then started downstairs.
    She heard the hoopla from the kitchen the moment she'd reached the first floor. At ease with confusion, she headed toward it.
    "You'll have plenty to tell your friends at school." Hannah was at the stove, lecturing Brendon as she scooped up scrambled eggs.
    "You've missed two weeks, my lad." At the kitchen table, Dee was fussing with a ribbon in Keeley's hair. "There's no reason in the world you shouldn't go back to school today."
    "I have jet lag." He made a hideous face at his sister, then attacked the eggs Hannah set in front of him.
    "Jet lag, is it?" With an effort, Dee kept a straight face. After kissing the top of Keeley's hair, she nudged her daughter toward her own breakfast. "Well, if that's the truth of it, I suppose we have to forget those flying lessons when you're sixteen. A jet pilot can't be having jet lag."
    "Maybe it's not jet lag," Brendon corrected without missing a beat. "It's probably some foreign disease I caught when we were in Ireland."
    "Bog fever," Erin said from the doorway. Clucking her tongue, she walked over to rest a hand on
    Brendon's brow. "Sure and that's the most horrible plague in Ireland."
    "Bog fever?" Dee made sure there was a tremor in her voice. "Oh, no, Erin, it couldn't be. Not my baby."
    "Young boys are the ones who catch it easiest, I'm afraid. There's only one cure, you know."
    Dee shuddered and closed her eyes. "Oh, not that. Poor darling, poor little lad. I don't think I could bear it."
    "If the boy has bog fever, it has to be done." Erin put a hand on his shoulder for comfort. "Nothing but raw spinach and turnip greens for ten days. It's the only hope for it."
    "Raw spinach?" Brendon felt his little stomach turn over. He wasn't sure precisely what turnip greens were, but they sounded disgusting. "I feel a lot better."
    "Are you sure?" Dee leaned over to check his brow herself. "He seems cool enough, but I don't know if we should take any chances."
    "I feel fine." To prove his point, he jumped up and grabbed his coat. "Come on, Keeley, we don't want to miss the bus."
    "Well, if you're sure…" Dee rose to kiss his cheek, then Keeley's. "Uncle Paddy's going to drive you to the end of the lane. It's cold, so stay in the car until the bus comes."
    Dee waited until the door slammed behind them before she lowered herself in the chair again and howled with laughter. "Bog fever? Where in the blue heaven did you dig that up?"
    "Ma always used it on Joe. It never failed."
    "You've a quick mind." Hannah chuckled as she turned around. "What can I fix you for breakfast?"
    "Oh, I don't—"
    "If you think Mrs. Malloy can cook, wait until you taste Hannah's muffins." Understanding her cousin's embarrassment, Dee took the cloth off a little wicker basket. "Why don't you have some eggs to go with it? I have the appetite of a hog when I'm carrying, and I hate to eat alone."
    "Coffee?" Hannah was by her shoulder with the pot.
    "Please. Thank you. Ah, is Travis not up yet?"
    "Up and gone," Dee said comfortably. "He's been