Brigid couldn’t breathe. She pulled her hand loose from Raider’s, and he let her. She shivered, and nausea tumbled around in her belly. It had been too long. Was her dad still mad at her? Their conversations through the last several years had been short but friendly. Well, not friendly, but not adversarial. Her father had never been much for talking on the phone. Or talking in general. Why did Raider have to be here for this?

He pulled the car to a stop, and she jumped out, striding up the stone path and wooden stairs, her gaze on her father. He’d aged. His hair was gray and still thick, his beard almost all gray, and his eyes the green of an Irish hill. He wore overalls with work boots, and at seeing her, he set the shotgun near the door. “Brigid.”

She moved to him, settling in for a hug. He awkwardly patted her back, smelling like hay, alfalfa, and cigar. The scent of home. Tears pricked her eyes, and she wanted to tell him everything. To blurt it out. But the necklace lay heavy on her chest, and she leaned back. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“You’re here now.” He’d always been a man of few words, and his gaze had already gone over her shoulder to Raider.

She almost reluctantly turned to see Raider striding toward them and barely kept her mouth from gaping open. His easy gait had turned into a strut, his intelligent eyes were somehow belligerent, and he had a sense of toughness about him that was usually veiled. In the worn leather jacket, boots, and torn jeans, he looked like her teenaged fantasies of a bad boy who could be tamed by the right girl. Now she knew better. Bad boys were never tamed, and this one, not a chance. It wasn’t all an act, either.

“Daddy?” She swallowed several times. “This is Raider Times, my, ah, fiancé.”

Her dad stiffened.

She winced. Yep. This was going to go just great. “Raider? This is my father, Sean Banaghan.”

Raider jumped up the steps and held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” His accent was all streets of New York.

Brigid blinked. How in the world did he do that? Was the guy a chameleon, or what?

Her father shook hands. “So. You’re engaged.” He didn’t sound happy and instead opened the door. “Why don’t we go inside and have a beer?” That was her father. If he had an emotion, it was carefully shoved down and hidden.