by Nora Roberts
prefer just punching something and being done with it.”
“Shawn must lead an interesting life.”
“He’s a darling man, and the love of my life, so I do my best to keep him from tedium.”
“Tedium,” Trevor muttered, “kills.”
She nodded. He didn’t look cool and reserved this morning, nor did his voice hold that faint tint of distance. She judged him to be a man that put all of that up as a barrier until the one he dealt with proved trustworthy.
She was glad to have passed the mark.
“I should tell you the lines from the new well and those from the septic are to be inspected this morning. All goes okay, we’ll be burying them by end of day.”
She headed over to show Trevor the progress. The ground was muddy from the night’s rain, which continued to fall steadily. It dripped off the brim of Brenna’s cap, glimmered on the little silver faerie she had pinned on it, as she hunkered down beside a trench.
The smell of mud and men and gasoline pleased her enormously.
“As you see, we’ve used the grade of material you specified, and a pretty job it is, too. Dad and I dealt with a busted septic line during the flood last winter, and it’s not an experience I’m after repeating any time in the near future.”
“This’ll hold.” He crouched where he was, scanned the area. He could see it perfectly, the long, low sweep of the theater, faced with stone to blend with the existing pub, the trim of dark, distressed wood. Charming and simple, but what it was built of, and built on, would be the best that modern technology offered.
That was the dream, after all. Taking what was here, respecting it, even showcasing it, while using the material and ingenuity man had devised along the way.
That’s why he was here, to put the Magee mark on the place they’d come from. It had nothing to do with old legends and lovely ghosts.
Tuning back to the present, he glanced back and saw Brenna patiently watching him. “Sorry, mind wandered.”
He looked perplexed and not a little angry. She hesitated. After all, they’d only known each other in the face-to-face manner for a handful of days. “If it’s something to do with the job that’s troubling you, I hope you’ll tell me so I can do what I can to smooth it out. That’s part of what you’re paying me for. If it’s a personal matter, I’ll be glad to listen if it’s something you feel the need to talk through.”
“I guess it’s a combination. I appreciate it, but I’ll mull a while.”
“I find I mull most successfully when my hands are busy.”
“Good point.” He straightened. “Let’s get to work.”
• • •
It was rough and messy work, and most wouldn’t find it pleasant. Trevor did. Large sheets of plywood were spread over the mud to give barrows and boots traction as material was transported. He hauled lumber for studs and joists, stood under the tarp where the plumbers worked and listened to rain patter on canvas. He drank a gallon of coffee and began to feel marginally human again. Brenna was right, he decided. Busy hands kept the mind occupied so what was troubling it could stew and turn in the corners. He would figure out what was happening and what to do about it while he dealt with the business at hand.
That, he thought, amused at himself, was a great deal more efficient than brooding.
Drenched and muddy and in a much happier frame of mind, he hefted another board. And nerves danced in his belly, up his spine, over the back of his neck. He was compelled, as he had been the night before, to look up.
Darcy stood in the window, watching him through the thin curtain of rain.
She didn’t smile, nor did he. In that meeting of eyes was an acute awareness that was primitive, sexual, erotic as the slide of naked flesh on naked flesh. There was nothing of the casual flirtation that had passed between them that first morning. Nothing of the clever, seductive game they’d played since.
The flash and burn. Yes, he understood that exactly as he stood in the chilly rain staring at a woman he barely knew.
Barely knew, he thought, but had to have. And he didn’t give a damn how quickly the fire died. Annoyed that he could be so easily manipulated by his own desires, he shifted the lumber on his shoulder and carried it to the team of carpenters.
When, unable to do otherwise, he looked back, she was gone.
She acted as if nothing had happened, as if that bolt of knowledge hadn’t flashed between them. When Trevor came in out of the wet for lunch, she sent him a casual glance and continued to take the orders at one of her stations without a single hitch of rhythm. It was admirable, and infuriating. He’d never had a woman stir both emotions in him so effortlessly.
The lunch crowd was thinner today. He supposed the weather kept some of the tourists within the confines of the hotel. Knowing it was perverse, he deliberately chose a table in Sinead’s section. It would be interesting to see what move Darcy made in this little chess match they appeared to be playing.
Clever, was Darcy’s opinion when she noticed his strategy. Though it would cost him in speed of service, he’d made his point. It was her turn to take a step ahead or back. Then again, she pondered as she scooped up the tip from a table that had just cleared, there was always sideways.
“A bit wet out today, is it, Trevor?” She called across the room while she gathered dirty dishes.
“More than a bit.”
“Ah, well, it’s what makes us what we are. A day like this I imagine you’d rather be tucked into your fancy office in New York City.”
Enjoying himself, he propped a booted foot on his knee. “I like it fine where I am. How about you?”
“Oh, when I’m here I think about being there, and vice versa. I’m a fickle creature.” Pulling out her pad, she moved to the next table, beamed smiles. “And what is it I can get for you today?”
She took their orders, and those of another table besides, delivered them in to Shawn, and served drinks before Sinead managed to make her way to Trevor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Darcy smirk.
He kept it simple, a bowl of soup, and waited until Darcy was serving the next batch of meals. “I need to do some research in the area, and this seems like a good day for it. Why don’t you play guide for me?”
“It’s kind of you to think of me, but I wouldn’t have time to do it justice.”
“I can only spare a couple of hours myself. How about it, Aidan, can I borrow your sister between shifts?”
“Her time’s her own until five.”
“Borrow, is it?” Darcy let out a short laugh. “I think not. But if you’ve a mind to hire me for the service of guiding you here and about, we could negotiate a reasonable fee.”
“Five pounds an hour.”
Her eyes were sharp and somehow sweet. “I said reasonable. Ten, and I’ll spare you the time.”
“Greedy.”
“Piker,” she shot back and had several customers chuckling.
“Ten it is, and you’d better be good.”
“Darling”—she fluttered her lashes—“no man’s ever told me otherwise.”
She headed toward the kitchen, and Trevor dipped into the soup Sinead set in front of him. Both of them were completely satisfied with the arrangement.
She had to fuss a bit. It would have gone against both nature and habit for Darcy not to take time to put on fresh lipstick, dab on some perfume, rearrange her hair, debate about changing her clothes. In the end she decided the sage green shirt and black weskit and trousers were more than adequate for a daytime tour. Yanks, as far as she could tell, were mad keen on driving around Irish roads, rain or shine, as if they’d never seen a field of grass in their lives.
Mindful of the weather, she tied back her hair with a black ribbon and tossed on a jacket before meandering back downstairs.
She was used to men waiting for her.
Shawn was whistling over the last of the lunch shift cleanup. It surprised her that Trevor wasn’t, as she’d expected, cooling his heels in the kitchen and
drinking a cup of the coffee he seemed to live on.
“Trevor out in the pub, then?”
“Couldn’t say. I heard him mention to Brenna he had some calls to make. That was before you went upstairs to redo your war paint.”
Since that remark didn’t rate a response, she sailed out into the pub, only to find Aidan alone, and preparing to lock up.
“Did you kick the man out and make him wait in the car?”
“Hmm? Oh, Trevor? No, I think he said he had someone to ring up.”
Shock ran straight down to her pretty painted toenails. “He left?”
“I imagine he’ll be back directly. Since you’re waiting, I’ll leave you to lock up. And see that you’re back on time, Darcy.”
“But—” She could barely stutter out the single syllable, which didn’t matter in the least, as Aidan was already out the door.
She never did the waiting. It was just wrong somehow to be ready and not have the man pacing about and looking at his watch for the second or third time. It set the wrong tone entirely.
More baffled than annoyed she turned to go back up to her rooms and forget the entire arrangement. The door opened, letting in a damp chill and Trevor.
“Good, you’re ready to go. Sorry, I got hung up.” He stood, holding the door, smiling easily. The puzzled irritation on her face was very close to what he’d expected. He was certain that every man she’d ever dealt with had waited, panting, for her to finally make her entrance.
Your move, gorgeous, he thought.
“My time’s worth considerable, even if yours isn’t.” She strode past him, flashing him an annoyed look before she stepped outside.
“Time’s part of the problem.” He stood, shielding her from the worst of the wet as she locked the pub doors. “Everybody wants a piece of it. What I want is a couple of hours away from phones and demands for answers.”
“Then I won’t ask you any questions.”
He led her to the car, held her door until she was settled. And wondering how long she was going to steam, rounded the hood to the driver’s side.
“I thought we’d head north for a while. Maybe hook up with the coast road, then just . . . see.”
“You’ve the wheel, and the wallet.”
He pulled away from the curb. “Everyone says getting lost in Ireland is part of its charm.”
“I don’t imagine those with a destination in mind would find it charming.”
“Fortunately I don’t have one at the moment.”
Darcy shifted, settled comfortably. It was a fine vehicle, roomy and with an expensive smell to it, even if it was leased. It wasn’t such a hardship, she supposed, to ride around in a classy car with a handsome man. Who was, when it came down to it, paying for the privilege.
“I imagine you always have your destination firmly in mind before taking the first step.”
“The purpose,” he corrected. “That’s a different matter.”
“And your purpose today is to see the near area, to put a picture in your mind of what people might be coming to your theater, and how they’d go about getting there.”
“Yes, that’s one purpose. The other is to have some time with you.”
“So it’s clever you are to find a way to do both now. Traveling this way,” she continued, “you’ll go to Dungarvan. If you take the coast road, you’ll go to Waterford City; go north instead and you come to the mountains.”
“Which way would you like to go?”
“Oh, I’m just along for the ride, aren’t I? The tourists often enjoy a stop by An Rinn, between here and Dun-garvan. It’s a little fishing village where they still speak Gaelic. There’s nothing much otherwise, but a fine view of cliffs or the mountains, but the tourists often go there, finding it quaint to hear the old language spoken routinely.”
“Do you speak any Gaelic?”
“A bit, but not enough for any real conversation.”
“It’s a pity such things are lost.”
“You think so because you’ve a sentimental view of the matter. When the simple fact is, English is easier all around. When I was in Paris, I could always find someone who knew enough English so I could be understood. I wouldn’t have found anyone who’d’ve understood the Gaelic.”
“No sentiment about things Irish, Darcy?”
“Are you sentimental about things American?”
“No,” he said after a moment. “I take them for granted.”
“There you have it.” She watched the rain patter, and the shift of light that brought a pearly gleam to the edges of the gray. “It’s going to clear. You might spot a rainbow if you enjoy such things.”
“I do. Tell me, what do you enjoy best about Ardmore, about where you are? The place itself.”
“The place?” She couldn’t remember ever being asked such a question, and was surprised that the answer was right there. “The sea. The moods of it, and smell of it, the feel of it in the air. There’s a softness to it on a quiet morning, and a fury about it during a storm.”
“The sound of it,” Trevor murmured. “Like a heart beating.”
“That’s poetic. More something I’d expect Shawn to say than you.”
“The third stage of the legend. Jewels from the heart of the sea.”
“Ah, yes.” She liked it that he thought of the legend. She’d been giving it considerable thought herself just lately. “And she let them go to flowers, which wouldn’t buy her family supper. I’ve a great deal of respect for pride, but not when it’s so costly.”
“You’d trade your pride for pretty stones.”
“That I wouldn’t.” She sent him a sly and confident look. “I’d find a way to keep both.”
If anyone could, he thought, it would be Darcy. He wondered why that annoyed him.
Sunshine streamed through the clouds, sparkled off the still falling rain and turned the light into something found inside a polished seashell. Those luminous,,magical colors streaked across the sky in three distinct rainbows. It seemed to Trevor that the air simply bloomed, a simple and delicate flower unfurling petal by petal.
Enchanted, he stopped the car right in the middle of the road and watched those three arcs of color shimmer against the fragile blue canvas of the sky.
Darcy was more interested in watching him. It was like seeing a shield drop. And under it, hidden under that toughness, the sophistication, was a core of sweetness she’d never imagined. It touched her the way he could stare at those pretty tricks of light and wet, with the pure pleasure of it gleaming in his eyes.
When he turned his head and flashed a blinding grin in her direction, she gave in to impulse. Leaning toward him, she caught his face in her hands and kissed him quick and light and friendly, as his grin had been.
“For luck,” she said when she sat back again. “There must be something about rainbows and kisses and luck.”
“If there isn’t, there should be. Let’s see where they take us—the rainbows,” he said when her eyebrow lifted. “I like to think I know where the kisses are leading, and my luck’s been pretty good lately.”
He turned down a narrow, poorly marked road. Away from the coast, and still distant from the mountains, the land rolled wet and green. Lines of gray from stone walls, deeper green from rough trees, ran through the fields and turned function into charm. He spotted a cottage, much like the one on Faerie Hill, with its creamy walls and thatched roof. A scatter of sheep, little white blobs wandering over the postcard.
And above it all, those three smears of color on a pale sky.
He opened the sunroof, chuckling when Darcy cursed as the water that had pooled on the glass showered in. It smelled fresh, gloriously clean, and added something elemental to the scent of her skin.
Then, as the road climbed, he saw it. Dull and gray and forbidding against the seashell sky. Only three walls of the structure were standing, the fourth long fallen into a tumble of stones. But what was left was defiant,spearing up out of the quiet country field as a monument t
o blood, to power, to vision.
He swung off the road, stopped the car. “Let’s go see it.”
“See what? Trevor, it’s only a ruin. You can find one by doing hardly more than turning a corner in Ireland. There are far better ones than this if such things interest
you. You’ve the oratory or the cathedral in Ardmore, for that matter.”
“This one’s here, and so are we.” He reached across her to open her door. “This is just the sort of thing that draws people to an area.”
“Those who haven’t the sense to take holiday where there’s a nice pool and a collection of five-star restaurants.” Grumbling a bit, she climbed out, then sighed and followed after him. “Just one of the many ruined castles or forts, probably sacked by the Cromwellians— they seemed to like nothing so much as sacking and burning.”
The grass was damp, which made her glad she’d thought to wear boots. Knowing just what sheep and cows did in fields, she watched her step.
“No sign, no marker, nothing. It just stands here.”
Darcy cocked her head, deciding it was more productive to be amused than annoyed. “And what do you think it should do but stand here?”
He only laid a hand on the stone and looked up. “How many men, I wonder, did it take to build this? How long? Who ordered it built here, and why? Shelter and defense.”
He stepped inside and, humoring him, Darcy followed.
Grass had grown up, wild and tough, through fallen stones. The walls, open to the elements, dripped with wet from the recent storms. His builder’s eyes could make out where the separate stories had been, and he marveled at the sheer size of the broken wooden beams.
“It would’ve been drafty, smelly as well,” Darcy commented.
The light was shifting again, growing, and he could still see the rainbows overhead. “Where’s your romance?”
“Ha. I doubt many of the women who had to cook and clean between having their babies thought it was very romantic. Survival would have been the point.”
“Then they made their point. This survived. The people survived. The country survived. That’s the magic that draws people here, the magic you miss because it’s all around you.”
“It’s history, not magic.”
“It’s both. That’s what I’m building here, that’s why I came.”
“That’s a large ambition.”
“Why have small ones?”
“Now that’s a sentiment I can agree with. And as that ambition includes Gallagher’s, I’ll do my best to help you realize it.”
“That’s something else I want to talk to you about. Another time.”
“What’s wrong with now?”
“Because now I need a little more luck.”
He took her hands, threading his fingers through hers. This time instead of drawing her toward him, he stepped to her. “In an ancient castle, under a trio of rainbows, I think this ought to be worth big pots of luck.”
“You’ve your myths confused. The pot’s at the end of the rainbow.”
“I’ll take my chances right here.” He touched his lips to hers, light and friendly, as she had to his. He liked the glint of amusement it brought to her eyes and did it again, a little firmer this time, a little warmer.
“I’ve also heard it said, third time’s the charm,” he murmured, and took her mouth again. Fast and deep and hot. The change deliberately abrupt to test both of them.
She answered as if she’d known, as if she’d only waited. Her lips parted for his. No surrender, but demand. Equal to equal, hunger to hunger. Together their fingers curled until they formed taut fists, held as if it was understood that if either let go they’d rush blindly to the next step.
Her heart leaped against his, a quick kick of excitement that sent his own racing.
