His face went pink, then white. “I’m not talking to you about sex, Mary Brenna, so get that idea right out of your head. I’m not having a conversation with my daughter about such a matter.”

“Why? I know you’ve had it, or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“Be that as it may,” he said and closed his lips.

“If I were a son instead of a daughter, we could discuss it?”

“You’re not, so we aren’t, and that’s the end of it.” Now he folded his arms as well.

Sitting as he was, he made Brenna think of an annoyed leprechaun, and she wondered if Jude had used him as a model for one of her sketches.

“And how am I to get my mind around something if it can’t be discussed?”

Since Mick didn’t give a hang about the logic of that at the moment, he simply scowled off into the distance. “If you must talk of such things, speak with your mother.”

“All right, all right, never mind, then.” She’d go at this from a different angle. Hadn’t he been the very one to teach her there was always more than one way to approach a job of work? “Tell me something else.”

“On another topic entirely?”

“You could say that.” She smiled at him, patting his leg. “I’m wondering, if there was something you wanted, had wanted for some time, what would you do about it?”

“If I’ve wanted it, why don’t I have it?”

“Because you haven’t made any real effort to get it as yet.”

“And why haven’t I?” He arched his sandy brows. “Am I slow or just stupid?”

Brenna thought it over, decided he couldn’t know he’d just insulted his firstborn. Then she nodded slowly. “Maybe a bit of both in this particular case.”

Relieved to have the conversation turn to a safe area, he gave her a fierce grin. “Then I’d stop being slow and I’d stop being stupid and I’d take good aim at what I wanted and not dawdle about. Because when an O’Toole takes aim, by Jesus, he hits his mark.”

That, she knew, was true enough. And was certainly expected. “But maybe you’re a bit nervous and not quite sure of your skill in this area.”

“Girl, if you don’t go after what you want, you’ll never have it. If you don’t ask, the answer’s always no. If you don’t step forward, you’re always in the same place.”

“You’re right.” She took his shoulders, transferring a little grease from her hands to his shirt as she kissed him soundly. “You’re always right, Dad, and that’s just what I needed to hear.”

“Well, that’s what a father’s for, after all.”

“Would you mind finishing up this business here?” She jerked a thumb under the car. “I don’t like to leave it half done, but there’s something I have to see to.”

“That’s not a problem.” He wiggled under the car and, delighted he’d put his daughter’s mind at ease, whistled while he worked.