“Should you be eating those?” Patrick asked.
“Probably not, which is why I’m eating them in your kitchen and not mine. Bro code, right? You don’t tell Mom about this, and I won’t tell her about that.” Ian waved a hand toward the cluttered counter.
“Deal. Want some coffee? I was just about to make some.”
“You read my mind. While it brews, you can show me what you guys have been doing to the place.”
“Well, we replaced the door and the frame, as you probably noticed when you were able to open it without dislocating a shoulder,” Patrick said dryly as he got the coffee going.
“I did, in fact, notice.”
“The roof is the biggest thing, I guess. No more leaks, which Wade is happy about since he claimed the third floor. Got most of the electrical up to code, too. Garrett’s got us focusing on the plumbing now.” He shrugged. “It’s a work in progress.”
“Old houses usually are.”
They moved through the downstairs, room by room, Patrick updating Ian on future plans as much as current ones. As someone who had worked on renovating the centuries old pub for years, Ian understood the value of good craftsmanship and the wisdom of doing a project right.
“You know,” Ian said after they completed the tour and re-entered the kitchen, your mother and I would be glad to float you a loan?—”
“I know,” Patrick said, holding up his hand in a stop gesture. It wasn’t the first time his father had offered. “But we want to do this ourselves.”
“Got it. Had to put that out there, though.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. Now, if you want to come by next weekend and help us tear down and rebuild that rotted section of porch, the extra set of hands would be welcome.”
“I think I can handle that.”
Drawn by the scents of coffee and Maggie’s decadent bear claws warming up in the oven, Ian and Patrick were soon joined by Declan, Garrett, Wade, and Bruno, who never missed a chance to scarf down Maggie’s baked goods.
“You know, these bear claws could give my mom’s cinnamon rolls a run for their money,” Declan said around a mouthful of sweet dough.
“Your mom’s cinnamon rolls are legendary,” Garrett agreed. “We should bring some back with us next time we visit Daideo.”
“You absolutely should,” Patrick agreed.
They talked over coffee and pastries. About the house, about their jobs, about the HD4K system they wanted to install in the old parlor, which Ian was especially interested in. Eventually, the guys left to go to their jobs, except for Declan, who went upstairs to finish replastering the wall in his bedroom.
“So,” Patrick said when it was just him and Ian again, “why don’t we talk about why you really came over this morning.”
Ian smiled, but his eyes held concern. “All right. What’s your interest in Morgan Sullivan?”
That was a question Patrick was asking himself these days. Their paths had been crossing since she arrived in town, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since he’d bumped into her—literally—at the café. He knew what his father would say about that, though. Patrick had grown up with the stories of Callaghan men and the hand of fate when it came tocroies—the one woman who was their perfect soulmate.
Patrick didn’t know if Morgan was his, but he wasn’t about to discount the possibility. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. He felt different every time he was around her.
“We both agree that there’s something sketchy about the situation at the campground,” knowing that his father and his uncles were probably well versed in the case. Nothing happened in or around Pine Ridge without them knowing about it.
“As Frank Sullivan’s granddaughter and an MDI from Philly on a forced LOA, she has both a personal and a professional interest in the case,” Ian added.
Patrick sat up straighter. “Dad, did you run a background check on her?”
Ian’s eyes met his unapologetically. “I run a background check on anyone who suddenly appears under questionable circumstances, especially when dead bodies are involved.”
“You can’t possibly believe she had anything to do with that.”
“I don’t have enough information to believe anything yet,” Ian said carefully, “including how she wound up on your radar. Did she approach you?”
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Patrick couldn’t stop his lips from twitching at the memory. “In a manner of speaking. She dumped coffee on me at the café in town. Random accident. A few days later, I was walking the scene at thecampground and found an ME’s pocket notebook. I traced it back to her and returned it to her at Frank’s.”