“I’ve an idea,” he said. “I’ll put five stout hooks along the dinin’ room wall and we’ll harness each one and hang the hooligans up where they can’t get into any trouble. Then you and I will go upstairs and you can show me how angry you are with me.”
He caught her smile as she turned her head away. “What about the babe?”
“She can come upstairs. She’s too little to grasp what’s goin’ to happen, or you can wrap her up like one of those papooses we see on all the westerns,” he offered. “She’s not a hooligan yet, but I’ve no doubt she will be.”
“Aye, you’re most likely right this one time,” Maeve agreed with a sigh.
“Let me go get my tools and some hooks,” he said, slipping off his suit jacket and hanging it on a kitchen chair.
“You are not goin’ to hang my children up like sacks of meal,” Maeve insisted crossly.
“Then what can I do to make you love me again, darlin’?” he sighed in pretend defeat. Maeve reached up and grabbed his tie, pulling him down to her level.
“You can kiss me, O’Malley,” she breathed against his lips.
And he did until they were both breathing heavily and Maeve’s knees felt weak.
“Go and see the children now, Sean,” she said easing out of his arms. “They’ve missed you.”
“Did you miss me, darlin’?” he asked.
“Not a bit,” she sassed, turning away to the stove and opening the oven door. Bending over to poke the chicken, Sean could suddenly see how short her shorts really were and the curve of her cheeks beneath the hem.
“I hope you haven’t been out of the house in those.”
“Not much,” she replied, straightening and closing the oven. “Only to the grocer and then I went to confession.”
Sean laughed, spun her back into his arms and kissed her again. Then he swatted her bottom.
“You’re setting a poor example for our girls, lass,” he stated a bit sternly.
“Aye, so are you,” Maeve replied, nodding at Rory standing in the doorway watching with interest.
“Let that be a lesson to you, son,” Sean began. “Never give your wife the upper hand and don’t be afraid to smack her sassy bottom when she needs it.”
“Da, whether you know it or not, it’s Ma who runs the house,” Rory replied coming into the room and passing the baby to his father. “She pooped,” he informed him. “Ma, can Mason and Nick stay to supper tonight? Their da’s not home again.”
“Aye, tell Maggie to set two extra places, although why I think those boy’s are extra I don’t know. Their father…well, never you mind what I think of him,” she said with a sniff.
Sean took the baby and left the kitchen whistling. It was good to be home.
* * *
After the children were in bed, Maeve sat on the swing with Sean watching the fireflies. His arm was around her shoulders and she rested her head.
“Don’t you think ’tis odd how different all our children are?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well Rory’s black Irish with his dark hair and eyes and he’s so serious all the time.”
“Must be because he was conceived in that horrible pink room,” Sean offered with a snort.
“No, I mean it. Look at Patrick. He’s got red hair and he’s good natured and even tempered.
“Margaret is prideful and stubborn, Colleen spoiled and willful, determined to get her way.
“As far as Bridget, I guess we’ll have to wait and see, but I’m not hopeful. She’s a sweet little bundle now, but I’ve a feelin’ she may cause more trouble than all the others put together.”
