Three women appeared in the doorway, all smiling, all looking effortlessly at home in jeans and boots.
“Nicole, this is Valerie, Morgan’s wife.” Aunt Eileen gestured to a striking brunette. “Nora, married to Neil. And Eloise, who somehow agreed to put up with Quinn.”
“Hey!” Quinn protested from behind them. “I’m a catch.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Eloise shot back, but her eyes sparkled with love as she turned to Nicole. “Welcome to Farraday country.”
Another woman still in the kitchen, sporting an old fashioned apron embroidered withFood, Family, and Fun, turned, waving bright red lobster oven mitts on each hand. “I’m Meg. Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving, actually.” Nicole realized she hadn’t eaten since that morning’s rushed breakfast.
Nicole followed the crowd into the kitchen. Both men and women were moving back and forth from the kitchen to the adjacent dining room. A room with the biggest dining table Nicole had ever seen.
“Custom.” Aunt Eileen followed her gaze. “We need every inch of it.”
“Tonight’s actually a small crowd.” Valerie handed a stack of dishes to her husband.
Small.Nicole glanced around. If this was small, she’d hate to see when the entire clan was gathered together.
“Find a seat,” Aunt Eileen instructed.
Chairs scraped. Conversations overlapped. Ryan slipped into a spot across from her. Heads bowed, food was blessed. Someone passed mashed potatoes. Someone else passed brisket. Nicole barely had time to process it all before her plate was full. She glanced around at the noise, the easy teasing, the warmth that didn’t feel forced. Laughter erupted over some story involving a broken fence and an escaped calf, and she found herself smiling though she didn’t have a clue about calves, fences, or ranching.
And across the table, Ryan caught her eye. For a second their gazes locked and heat warmed her cheeks. Then someone asked for the biscuits and the moment passed like it hadn’t happened at all. What the heck had she gotten herself into?
Over the years, Gray had met many a stranger crossing the Farraday threshold. The dog was friendly, loyal, and had an uncanny knack for showing up exactly when needed. But watching his fascination with and downright adoration of Nicole was something else entirely. The sweet dog had not moved from her side. Even now, rather than sit at his Uncle Sean’s feet, the dog was happily by Nicole. Ryan had to ask himself, what did the dog see?
Across the table, Quinn caught his eye and smirked. Ryan ignored him.
“Pass the green beans.” Owen stretched his arm out from down the table.
“Oh, this is delicious.” Nicole’s eyes flashed bright. “I’ve always liked brisket, but this is great.”
“No lean meats in this house.” Sean Farraday smiled. “The fat has all the flavors.”
“This one sure has flavor.” Nicole reached for another slice from a nearby platter.
“Dad makes the best brisket this side of the Rio Grande.” Adam accepted the platter from his wife. “He’s got the magic touch. All of us have tried, but it’s never as good as Dad’s.”
A twinkle sparkled in Uncle Sean’s eyes to match his smile.
“The Irish touch.” Aunt Eileen smiled at him.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Meg patted her husband’s hand. “We got the DNA results.”
“DNA results?” Uncle Sean frowned. “For what?”
“Here we go again,” Aunt Eileen muttered with a stifled smile.
“Dad,” Declan groaned, “you can’t have forgotten the heritage debate that lasted over two Sunday suppers?”
Uncle Sean continued to frown, thinking, not speaking.
“With a name like Margaret Colleen O’Brien, you can’t get any more Irish.”
“Yes, you can.” Adam flashed a toothy grin. “Adam Patrick Farraday.”
Uncle Sean heaved a sigh and bobbed his head. “It’s coming back to me.”
