Mulligan Stew Read Online Free

received this letter the day after your grandmother died, and I wanted to wait until everything was settled."
    "What's there to settle?" Her throat turned drier than August dog days. "I've lost my home, my granny, and learned my husband died instead of abandoning me. Mercy, what a lucky break." Bitterness edged her voice and her hands trembled.
    "Don't you see, Bridget?"
    "See what?"
    "You and Jacob have family. In-laws." A shock of white hair fell across Mr. Larabee's forehead and he shoved it back with slender fingers. "And there's property."
    Swallowing the lump in her throat, she wiped her sweaty palms and reached for the letter. "Property? I don't understand."
    "Mrs. Mulligan believes you have a right to your share, especially since you weren't notified of your husband's death."
    Culley's momma...? "Is the property valuable? Can I sell it?"
    Mr. Larabee smiled. "Being unfamiliar with Irish real estate, I can't—"
    " Irish ? Of course, it's Irish. I wasn't thinking." Bridget leaned forward. "So Culley's property is in Ireland."
    "Yes. Culley Mulligan didn't own anything in the States."
    Except my heart. "I know." She shook her head. "If I had a brain..."
    "You have an excellent brain, and don't ever forget that." He placed both palms flat on the surface of his desk and leaned forward. "Your husband's family owns a farm in County Clare. That's on the west coast of Ireland."
    "What do I have to do?" Property for her son? But in Ireland ? Of course, once upon a time, she'd believed she would go home with Culley....
    "It's a fairly large farm by Irish standards, and it includes the original keep."
    "Keep?"
    One corner of Mr. Larabee's mouth turned upward. "A castle, Bridget."
    "A castle ?" Crazed laughter erupted from her throat. Here she'd been fretting the loss of an old trailer, only to learn her dead husband had owned a castle. After a moment, she wiped her eyes dry and cleared her throat.
    Culley had never mentioned the castle, though she remembered him talking about his family with love. He'd described his home so vividly, she'd laughingly accused him of painting pictures with words. Except for the castle...
    She really had loved the man. A shaky sigh escaped her parted lips. He's dead. She would have to visit his grave to convince herself of that fact.
    "The property—there has to be a catch," she said, bringing herself back to the present.
    "It's part of his family's estate." Mr. Larabee flipped through the papers on his desk and removed one. "This is a printout of the microfiche file from Dublin."
    With trembling fingers, Bridget took the document.
    "As you can see, the family has clear deed to the land, but it's an entailed estate. You can't take your share and sell it unless the rest of the family agrees. In writing."
    No sense getting greedy at this late date. "Right. His family." A family full of Irish folks she'd never met sounded like more trouble than General Lee that time Mrs. Baldwin's poodle went into heat.
    But Jacob would have a granny, an aunt, and an uncle. In fact, he might even have little Irish cousins near his own age. Children were what made a family a family. She'd never had brothers, sisters or cousins to play with. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how much she wanted that for her son.
    "What do you think about all this?" Mr. Larabee asked gently.
    "Not only is this written in legal mumbo-jumbo, but there are words here I'm pretty sure aren't even English. Do you know what it really says, Mr. Larabee? The bottom line, sir, if you please?"
    Mr. Larabee returned the document to the folder and removed another. "Read this letter from Fiona Mulligan instead. It might make more sense."
    She took the letter and removed it from its envelope. Neat handwriting on crisp white paper leapt out at her. It was brief but friendly. "She wants to meet me."
    Mr. Larabee nodded, his expression compassionate. "That makes perfect sense. Her son died and left a wife behind she's just now learned about."
    "Yes, I