Free Mulligan Stew by Deb Stover Page A

Wasn't that what one of those fancy women's magazines at Miss Daisy's Clip and Curl would've called it? She couldn't have chosen a worse moment to awaken from that dream than if she'd actually planned to torture herself.
    Torture.
    That pretty much described that dream and Riley Mulligan.
    Forget Riley. Best forget the dream, too.
    Dabbing her eyes dry with the edges of her sleeves, Bridget drew a deep, cleansing breath. "Thank you, Maggie," she said on a sigh, patting her sister-in-law's hand when she returned to the table.
    "For saving you from that big brute?" Maggie directed a glower toward the stairs. "'Twas my pleasure."
    Bridget smiled sadly. "No, I can handle the likes of him."
    "Then why were you crying?" Maggie asked.
    "Remembering Culley."
    "Mum told me how you just learned about his accident." Maggie gave her hand a squeeze. "It must've been hard on you raising Jacob alone and not knowing."
    Bridget nodded. "I believed the worst of my husband. That's what I regret most."
    "Aye, but wouldn't Culley be first to forgive you?"
    The tone of Maggie's voice gave Bridget pause. She met the younger woman's gaze and recognized the warmth of it in her own heart. "You're right. He would." And, as Granny would've insisted, that was all that really mattered. "Thank you."
    "I didn't do anything." Maggie lifted a shoulder. "It's glad I am that you're here."
    "I'm glad, too." Bridget rested the flat of her palms against the scarred old table. How many of these scratches had been committed by Culley as a boy? Dragging herself back to the present, she said, "I aim to earn my way, too."
    "Nonsense, you're company." Maggie dismissed Bridget's words too easily.
    "No." Bridget waited for Maggie to look at her again, then added, "I don't want to be just company. For Jacob's sake. And for his daddy's."
    Maggie stared for several minutes. "I understand. You're family, and you should be treated as family. Both of you. Culley would've wanted it that way."
    Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffled. "I aim to be worthy." She pushed away from the table. "And if I really am family, then I'll be doing my share of chores. Where should I start?"
    Maggie's blue eyes widened and she leaned closer conspiratorially, looking toward the stairs. "Can you cook?"
    Pride filled Bridget. "That's one thing I do pretty darn well, if I do say so myself." She glanced heavenward, adding, "Thanks to Granny."
    "It's joyous I am to hear you say that." Maggie rolled her eyes. "With Mum laid up with the gout, I've been trying to do the cooking, but..." She grinned and shrugged. "Well, you tasted supper last night."
    Bridget chewed her lower lip, forbidding herself from asking exactly what the main course had been. She'd eaten as much as humanly possible, and was relieved now to learn her mother-in-law had not been responsible.
    "Ah, well, you needn't pretend, Bridget." Maggie laughed quietly. "I'm a terrible cook, and don't I know it? Riley reminds me often enough."
    "Can he cook?"
    Maggie's eyes widened and she made a choking sound. "Oh, now that would be something to behold." She released a long sigh. "Riley Mulligan? Cook ?"
    "Well, then I don't reckon he has business judging your cooking." Bridget flinched as the front door slammed.
    "Himself, sneaking out the front door so we won't laugh at him again."
    They both laughed anyway, though Bridget tried very hard to resist. Still, snickering at Riley with his sister was safer than dwelling on the crazy things he'd made her think and feel earlier.
    "He'll be back for breakfast after he sees to the stock, and Mum should be down shortly." Maggie looked toward the stove. "I don't have school today. Will you teach me to fix a breakfast that won't give everyone indigestion?"
    "We'll rustle up something that'll even put a smile on grouchy old Riley's face."
    Maggie sighed, her expression solemn. "I'm afraid that will take more than good food."
    "If you mean because he hates me, he's made that clear as spring