Damn food Irishman. Belle was tempted to take a roll pin to his damned fool head to knock him out. Except he already had a concussion and that wouldn't help none. It might keep him in bed and he'd stop saying crazy things.
It was past lunchtime and Belle had waited until Cathair was actually asleep (and she'd checked, dammit), to go fix up something for both of them to eat. Since she was already fixing food for two, she might as well fix up something for everybody, even if it were a whole mess of sandwiches.
Maybe some egg salad. And jello. That wouldn't take real long. And it would help soothe her frayed nerves at all the crazy things the Irishman had been saying about Eden and Drina.
She'd made it all the way to diner when she noticed somebody she hadn't met before. He looked about as well as the Irishman did, which weren't saying much. What was it with men and not staying in when they felt like hell? Fools, the whole damned bunch of them.
Still, she weren't going to chew his ear off until she had the whole story. "Land's sake, darlin'," she drawled as she approached. "I hope the other fella looks worse."