Still sulking over it, Shawn nursed his hand as he headed out of the house. As a matter of habit, he turned toward his car, then paused, balancing himself on the garden gate.

He was certain he could drive. He was a man who could hold his drink, wasn’t he? For Christ’s sake, his name was Gallagher. But the way things were going, he’d likely run off the road and smash his teeth out on the steering wheel.

Much better to walk, he decided. Clear his head, settle his thoughts. He started down the road, mindful of the ruts and bumps, singing to entertain himself on the journey.

He stumbled a time or two, but fell only the one time. Of course, the one time was enough to have his knee find the single sharp rock in the bloody road. He was picking himself up from that, not far from the village proper, when Betsy Clooney, with her car full of her children, stopped beside him.

“Shawn, what’s happened? You’ve had an accident?”

He smiled at her. She had a pretty brood of children, all of them fair of hair and blue of eye. The two in the back were squabbling, but the youngest, secured in her car seat, watched Shawn like a little owl as she sucked on a red lollipop.

“Well, hello, Betsy. How’s it all going, then?”

“Did you have a car crash?” She pushed open her door to hurry around to him, grinning as he was at her baby and weaving like a man who’d gone a hard round with the champ.

“I didn’t, no. I’ve been walking.”

“Your hand’s bleeding, and you’re bruised on the face. Your trousers are ripped at the knee.”

“Are they?” He glanced down, saw the mud and the tear. “Shit, look at that, will you? Begging pardon,” he said quickly, remembering the children.

But she was close enough now to see, and to smell, just what the matter was. “Shawn Gallagher, you’re drunk.”

“I am, I suppose, a little.” They’d gone to school together, so he patted her shoulder in a friendly manner. “You’ve darling children, Betsy, but your oldest girl there is trying to throttle her brother, and doing a damn fine job of it.”

Betsy merely glanced back and barked out one sharp warning. The children broke apart.

“My mother could do the same.” Sheer admiration shone on Shawn’s face. “Half the time it only took a look to curdle the blood in your veins. Well, I must be going.”

“Get in the back of the car, for heaven’s sake, and I’ll take you home.”

“Thanks, but I’m for work.”

She rolled her eyes, jerked open the car door. “Get in all the same, and I’ll drive you the rest of the way.” And let the Gallaghers deal with their own, she thought.

“That’s kind of you. Thanks, Betsy.”

The children were so entertained by drunk Mr. Gallagher that they behaved themselves until their mother dropped him off behind the pub.