“Let me look.” Ryan extended his arm. “Here.” He found the detailed view, scrolled down, then stopped, staring at the information.
“What does it say?” Adam leaned forward.
Ryan read it again to be sure. “You’re related to Seamus Aiden O’Farredeigh.”
Rolling his eyes, Adam shook his head. “We already know that. He’s our however many greats grandfather. What I want to know is who is in Colorado?”
Not sure what to make of any of this, Ryan gave his brother back the phone, glanced at Nicole who looked even more curiousabout the answer than anyone else at the table, and repeated. “Seamus Aiden O’Farredeigh is alive and living in Colorado.”
The half-eaten slice of brisket forgotten, Nicole set her fork against the edge of her plate. A good portion of her teenage years had been spent hunched over microfilm and ledgers in dusty libraries, but her own family tree had been a series of spreadsheets as exciting as a tax audit. Her grandfather had been a career accountant who married a librarian; their most scandalous act had been a late fee on a book about bird watching.
“Let me get my laptop.” Ryan pushed back from the table. “The website’s easier to navigate than the phone app.”
He disappeared toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. Around the table, conversations erupted in overlapping speculation. Uncle Sean looked thoughtful, Aunt Eileen’s brow furrowed. Adam kept scrolling through his phone like the answer might materialize if he stared hard enough.
“Could be a mistake,” Meg suggested. “Database error or something.”
“With that exact name?” Quinn shook his head. “Spelled the old way?”
Ryan returned, laptop open, already typing as he settled back into his chair beside Nicole. She shifted closer without thinking, watching the screen as he logged into the DNA website.
“Okay, here’s the match.” Ryan clicked through menus. “Seamus Aiden O’Farredeigh, fourth cousin to Adam, living in—” He stopped.
“What?” Adam leaned across the table again.
“Says he’s only ten years old.”
Silence dropped like a stone.
“Ten?” Uncle Sean frowned. “What is a ten year old doing on an ancestry website? Is that even legal?”
“Look there.” Nicole pointed to the screen. “It says ‘Account managed by Seamus Patrick O’Farredeigh.’ Click that.”
Ryan clicked. The page shifted to a man in his early thirties, standing in front of what looked like a vintage train in a snowy landscape. He had the same high cheekbones and the same stubborn set to his chin that Nicole saw every time she looked at the men around this table.
“Seamus Patrick, occupation: Cattle.”
“Another Seamus?” Declan’s wife Becky chuckled. “You Irish really like your family names, don’t you?”
“Apparently.” Ryan’s smile faded, his voice softening. “Widower.”
A soft, collectiveAwwrippled through the women at the table.
“Oh, that’s so sad,” Meg spoke quietly. “A boy that young without his mother.”
“And the father raising him alone.” Valerie’s hand found Morgan’s.
Nicole watched Uncle Sean’s gaze meet Aunt Eileen’s across the table. Something passed between them—understanding, maybe. Shared grief. The original Farraday brothers all went quiet, their expressions sobering. She remembered Ryan mentioning Aunt Helen, how Eileen had helped Sean raise the kids after her sister died.
“Maybe you should reach out to him,” Aunt Eileen’s voice reflected her matriarchal strength. “If he’s family, he shouldn’t be sitting in a cold mountain town without knowing he’s got a whole pack of cousins down here.”
“Does it say how to contact them?” Adam squeezed his wife’s hand. “Usually there’s a messaging feature.”
Ryan started to navigate toward the inbox, but his hand stopped over the trackpad. A small icon in the corner was already flashing.
“Holy cow,” Ryan whispered.
“What?” Morgan and Quinn asked in unison.
