Music of flutes and fiddles streamed out of the parlor where some were already dancing. Plates of food were piled high, balanced on knees while feet enthusiastically stomped the time. Glasses were lifted or being pressed into waiting hands.

Still more people crowded into the kitchen, where platters and bowls were jammed end to end along the counters and the center table. Brianna was there, already empty handed as the baby was passed around and cooed over.

“Ah, here’s Shannon.” Brianna beamed as she began to unload the dishes from Shannon’s arms. “She’s not been to a ceili before. We’d have the music in the kitchen traditionally, but there’s no room for it. But we can hear it just the same. You know Diedre O’Malley.”

“Yes, hello.”

“Get yourself a plate, lass,” Diedre ordered. “Before the horde leaves you nothing but crumbs. Let’s have those, Grayson.”

“I’ll trade you for a beer.”

“I can do that for you.” She chuckled as she took platters. “There’s plenty to be had out on the stoop there.”

“Shannon?”

“Sure.” She smiled as Gray stepped out the door to fetch bottles. “It doesn’t look like there’ll be much business at the pub tonight, Mrs. O’Malley.”

“No, indeed. We’ve closed. A ceili at Murphy’s empties the village. Ah, Alice, I was just talking of your boy.”

With the bottle Gray had given her halfway to her lips, Shannon turned to see a slim woman with softly waved brown hair come in the kitchen. She had Murphy’s eyes, and his quick smile.

“They’ve shoved a fiddle in his hands, so he’ll not get past the parlor for a time.” Her voice was mellow, with a laugh on the edge of it. “I thought I’d fix him up a plate, Dee, in case he finds a moment to eat.”

She reached for one, then her smile brightened. “Brie, I didn’t see you there. Where’s that angel of yours?”

“Right here, Mrs. Brennan.” With a cocky grin, Gray stepped forward to kiss her.

“Go on with you. Devil is more like. Where’s that baby?”

“Nancy Feeney and young Mary Kate absconded with her,” Deidre said, uncovering the dishes Brianna had brought. “You’ll have to find them, then fight them for her.”

“And so I will. Ah, listen to that lad play.” Pride beamed into her eyes. “He’s God’s gift in his hands.”

“I’m pleased you could come from Cork, Mrs. Brennan,” Brianna began. “You haven’t met Shannon. My . . . friend from America.”

“I haven’t, no.” The shining pride shifted to caution and curiosity. Her voice didn’t cool precisely, but took on a hint of formality. “I’m pleased to meet you, Shannon Bodine.” She offered her hand.

Shannon caught herself wiping her palm on her slacks before accepting the greeting. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Brennan.” What now? “Murphy favors you.”

“Thank you. He’s a handsome lad for certain. And you live in New York City and draw for a living?”

“Yes.” Miserably uncomfortable, she took a swig from her beer. When Maggie came noisily through the back door, Shannon could have kissed her feet.