by Nora Roberts
father while I cry a little.”
“Well, you got her mind off the editorial on handguns.” Dennis Magee’s voice boomed over the wire. “How’s the job going?”
“On schedule, on budget.”
“Good to hear. Going to keep it there?”
“Close to there, anyway. You, Mom, Doro, and her family better keep a week next summer open. The Magees should all be here for the first show.”
“Back to Ardmore. I have to say, I never figured on it. From the reports, it hasn’t changed much.”
“It’s not meant to. I’ll send you a written update on the project, but that’s not why I called. Dad, did you ever visit Faerie Hill Cottage?”
There was a pause, a sigh. “Yes. I had some curiosity about the woman who’d been engaged to my uncle. Maybe because my father so rarely spoke of him.”
“What did you find out?”
“That John Magee died a hero before he ever had the chance to live.”
“And Grandfather resented that.”
“That’s a hard way to put it, Trev.”
“He was a hard man.”
“What he felt about his brother, his family, he kept to himself. I never tried to get through. What was the point? I knew I would never get through to him about what he felt about anything, much less what he’d left behind in Ireland.”
“Sorry.” He could hear it, that weariness, that vague tone of frustration in his father’s voice. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, that’s foolish. It would be on your mind. You’re there. I think—looking back, I think he was determined to be an American, to raise me as an American. Here is where he wanted to make his mark. In New York he could be his own man. He was his own man.”
A cold, hard man who paid more attention to his ledgers than his family. But Trevor saw no point in saying so when his father knew that better than anyone.
“What did you find, for yourself, when you came back here?” he asked instead.
“Charm, some sentiment, more of a link than I’d expected.”
“Yeah, exactly. That’s exactly it.”
“I meant to go back, but something else always seemed to come up. And truth is, I’m a city boy. A week in the country and I’m itchy. You and your mother never minded roughing it, but the Hamptons is about as rural as I can manage and stay sane. Don’t snicker, Carolyn,” Dennis said mildly. “It’s rude.”
Trevor scanned his view again. “It’s a long way from the Hamptons to here.”
“Absolutely. A couple of weeks in that cottage you’re renting and I’d be babbling. I don’t do quaint for long.”
“But you visited, saw Maude Fitzgerald.”
“Yes. Jesus, must be thirty-five years ago. She didn’t seem old to me, but I guess she was well into her seventies. I remember her being graceful, not creaky the way I, being callow, expected an old woman to be. She gave me tea and cake. Showed me an old photograph of my uncle. She kept it in a brown leather frame. I remember that because it reminded me of the song—what is it—‘Willie MacBride.’ Then she walked with me to his grave. He’s buried on the hill by the ruins and the round tower.”
“I haven’t been there yet. I’ll go by.”
“I don’t remember what we talked about exactly. It was all so long ago. But I do remember this because it seemed odd at the time. We were standing over his grave and she took my hand. She said what came from me would journey back and make a difference. I would be proud. I suppose she was talking about you. People said she had the sight, if you believe in such things.”
“You start to believe in all sorts of things once you’re here.”
“Can’t argue with that. One night while I was there I took a walk on the beach. I could swear I heard flutes playing and saw a man flying overhead on a white horse. Of course, I’d had a few pints at Gallagher’s Pub.”
Even as his father laughed, Trevor felt a chill skate down his spine. “What did he look like?”
“Gallagher?”
“No, the man on the horse.”
“A drunken delusion. Well, that set your mother off,” Dennis muttered, and through the line Trevor could hear his mother’s delighted laugh.
“I’ll let you get back to breakfast.”
“Take some time to enjoy yourself while you’re there. Get me the report when you can, Trev, and we’ll all keep next summer in mind. Stay in touch.”
“I will.”
He hung up, then continued to stare thoughtfully out the window. Delusions, illusions, reality. There didn’t seem to be very much space between them in Ardmore.
He finished up what business could be done before New York opened, then took a walk to John Magee’s grave.
The wind was high and the graves were old. The shifting of ground had tipped and tilted many of the markers so they leaned and slanted toward the bumpy grass to cast their shadows over their dead. John Magee’s stood straight, like the soldier he’d been. The stone was simple, weathered by wind and time, but still the carving was deep and clear.
J OHN D ONALD M AGEE
1898–1916
Too young to die a soldier
“His mother had that carved in her grief,” Carrick said as he stepped up to stand beside Trevor. “In my estimation, one is always too young to die a soldier.”
“How would you know why she had it carved?”
“Oh, there’s little I don’t know and less I can’t find out. You mortals make your monuments to the dead. I find it an interesting habit. A peculiarly human one. Stones and flowers, symbols, aren’t they, of what lasts and what passes away? And why do you come here, Trevor Magee, to visit those you never knew in life?”
“Blood and bonds, I suppose. I don’t know.” Frustrated, he turned to face Carrick. “What the hell is this?”
“By that you’re meaning me. You’ve more of your mother in you than ever your grandfather, so you know by now the answer to that, even if your diluted Yank blood doesn’t accept what’s in front of your face. You’re a traveled man, aren’t you? You’ve been more places and seen more things than most who are your age. Have you never found magic on your journeys till now?”
He wanted to think he had more of his mother in him, much more than he had of his grandfather. But there was nothing in Carolyn Magee of the easy mark. “I’ve never had conversations with ghosts and faeries till now.”
“You talked with Gwen?” The amusement died out of Carrick’s eyes, turning the bright blue dark and with an edge. He gripped Trevor’s arm with a hand that transferred a jolt of heat and energy. “What did she say to you?”
“I thought you knew or could find out.”
Abruptly, Carrick released him and turned away. He began to pace through the grass, around the stones in quick, almost jerky movements. The air around him sizzled with a visible color and spark. “She’s the only thing that matters, and the only thing I can’t see clear. Can you know, Magee, what it is to want one person with all your heart, with all that you have in you, and for her to be just out of your reach?”
“No.”
“I blundered with her. Now that’s a deep score to the pride, make no mistake. Not that it was only my fault. She blundered as well. It hardly matters who holds the heaviest weight of the blame at this point.”
He stopped, turned back. The air grew still again. “Will you tell me what she said to you?”
“She spoke of you and regrets, of passions that flash and burn, and love that lasts. She misses you.”
Emotions swirled in Carrick’s eyes. “If she—should you speak with her again, would you tell her I’m waiting, and I’ve loved no other since last we met?”
For some reason it no longer seemed odd to be asked to deliver a message to a ghost. “I’ll tell her.”
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes, very.”
“A man can forget to look past beauty and into the heart. I did, and it’s cost me dear. You won’t make that mistake. It’s why yo
u’re here.”
“I’m here to build a theater, and to acquaint myself with my roots.”
His humor restored, Carrick strolled back to Trevor. “You’ll do both, and more. Your ancestor here was a fine young man, a bit of a dreamer, with a heart too soft for soldiering and what war makes men do to men. But he went out of duty and left his love behind.”
“You knew him?”
“Aye, both of them, though only Maude knew me. She gave him a charm before he marched off, for protection.”
He snapped his fingers and from them dangled a chain with a little silver disk. “I expect she’d want you to have it now.”
Too curious for caution, Trevor reached out and took the object. The silver was warm, as if it had been worn against flesh, and on it the carving was faint.
“What does it say?”
“It’s in old Irish, and says simply ‘Forever Love.’ She gave it to him, and he wore it faithful. But war was stronger than the charm in the end, if not stronger than the love. He wanted a simple life, unlike his brother, who went off to America. Your father’s father wanted something more, and he worked for it and brought it to be. That’s an admirable thing. What do you want, Trevor Magee?”
“To build.”
“That’s an admirable thing as well. What will you call your theater?”
“I haven’t thought of it. Why?”
“I have an idea you’ll choose correctly because you’re a man who chooses carefully. That’s why you’re still living alone.”
Trevor’s fingers curled around the disk. “I like living alone.”
“That may be, but it’s making mistakes you dislike most of all.”
“True enough. I have to go now. I have a meeting.”
“I’ll walk with you a ways. ’Tis a fine summer we have in store. You’ll hear the cuckoo call if you listen. It’s a good omen of things to come. I’m wishing you luck on your meeting, and with Darcy.”
“Thanks, but I know how to handle both.”
“Oh, well, now, I believe you do, or I wouldn’t be in so cheerful a mood. She’ll be handling you as well. It helps the last of this waiting, if you don’t mind me saying, to be entertained by the pair of you.”
“I’m not part of your plan.”
“It’s not a matter of planning. It’s a matter of what is, and what will be. You’ve more say in it than I, and you’ve little enough.”
Carrick stopped. He could see the cottage now, the creamy walls, the sunny thatched roof, the rainbow spread of flowers. “Once she would have come out to meet me, her heart pounding, her eyes bright. Fear and love so mixed together neither of us could untangle them. And me so sure I could dazzle her with gifts and promises that I never held out to her the single thing that mattered.”
“No second chance?”
A wry smile twisted Carrick’s lips. “There might have been, had I not waited so long to take it. I’ll go no farther than this, until the waiting’s done. Handle Darcy, Magee, before she handles you.”
“My life,” Trevor said briefly. “My business.” He strode down the slope toward the house and his car. But he couldn’t resist a glance back.
It barely surprised him that Carrick had vanished. All that was left was the green hill, and sweetly, brightly, the two-tone call of a bird.
The cuckoo, Trevor supposed. He couldn’t think of anything more apt.
Put it aside, he ordered himself and continued to walk. Tuck away the sentiment over long-dead relatives and their sweethearts, visits with faerie princes, and messages for beautiful ghosts.
He had business to attend to.
But he slipped the chain around his neck, and tucked the silver disk under his shirt, where it lay to warm against his heart.
EIGHT
THE HOME TEAM always had the edge. Trevor knew it going in, but didn’t see a way around it. Not only was the house Gallagher turf, but the village, the county, the whole damn country was theirs. Unless he found a way to shift the meeting to New York, he would just have to play it as underdog. Added to that, they outnumbered him. It couldn’t be helped.
Not that he minded working a deal when the odds were against him. The challenge of it only made the satisfaction of success sweeter.
He’d already worked out his approach. The questions, the doubts, the general unease of what he supposed would be termed his paranormal experiences would just have to wait until after business hours.
The minute he knocked on the door of the Gallagher house, he was representing Magee Enterprises. It was a responsibility, and a privilege, that he took very seriously.
Darcy opened the door, a sassy smile on her face, her head tilted at the perfect angle to display both arrogance and humor.
Jesus, he’d like to take her in one quick gulp and be done with it. Instead he greeted her with an easy grin. “Afternoon, Miss Gallagher.”
“And a good day to you, Mr. Magee.” Deliberately provocative, she stepped toward him rather than back. “Don’t you want to kiss me?”
He wanted to swallow her whole. “Later.” She gave her head a little toss that sent her clouds of dark hair tumbling back. “I might not be in the mood later.”
“You will be, if I kiss you.”
She shrugged, though she was faintly irritated, then moved back to let him in. “I like confidence in a man. Mostly. The rest of us are in the kitchen, awaiting your presence. Is this to do with your theater?”
“Partly.”
Irritation clicked up another level, but she spoke coolly as she led him toward the rear of the house. “And a mysterious man as well. Now I’m in love for certain.”
“How many times would this make?”
“Oh, I stopped counting years ago. I’ve such a fickle heart. How many is that for you?”
“Still batting zero here.”
“That’s a pity. Here’s himself come to call,” Darcy announced over what seemed to Trevor to be a heated conversation around the table.
“If I’m interrupting . . .”
“Not at all.” Aidan rose and waved a hand toward Brenna and Shawn, who sat scowling at each other. “If these two don’t snap at each other six times a week, we’re worried enough to ring up the doctor.”
“You said you’d leave the details of the house to me,” Brenna reminded her husband.
“You’re talking about the materials and colors of the kitchen counters and such. Who does the bloody cooking?”
“The blue laminate’s pretty and sensible.”
“The granite’s subtle and strong. It’ll last two lifetimes.”
“Well, we’ve only this one to concern us at present, don’t we? Trevor—”
Even as she turned to him, Trevor held up a hand. “No, absolutely no. Don’t even think of asking me for an opinion. I have no opinion when it comes to arguments between husband and wife.”
“ ’Tisn’t an argument.” Sulking, Brenna sat back, folded her arms. “But a discussion. I can have the laminate done in a wink. Do you know how long it’ll take to do the damn business in granite?”
“When it’s right you wait.” Shawn leaned over, kissed her softly. “And then you treasure.”
“You think you’ll get around me that way?”
“I do, yes.”
She sucked in a breath, then let it out on a huff. “ Bastard,” she said, with great affection.
“Well, now that we’ve settled that vital and thorny matter . . .” Aidan gestured Trevor to a chair. “Can we get you a beer, then, or some tea?”
Their turf, Trevor reminded himself as he sat. “A beer’d be great, thanks.” He glanced at Jude. “How are you doing?”
“Good.” She didn’t think he’d want her to mention she felt as if she had a semi parked on her bladder. “Aidan said you didn’t stop in the pub for lunch today. Why don’t I fix you a sandwich?”
“I’m fine.” He reached over, laid his hand on hers. “Sit. I appreciate you all taking the time to meet with me on such short notice.”
“I have a good foreman.” He toasted Brenna, then sipped. “I think we’ll be ready by next May.”
“So long?” Darcy looked both shocked and horrified. “And will that noise be part of the whole for a year?”
“What noise?” he replied nonchalantly. When she sputtered, he simply rolled over her. “I hope to scatter in a few performances, primarily for the locals, by next spring. Warm things up. But I’m aiming for the third week in June for the grand opening.”
“Midsummer,” Darcy commented.
“The middle of summer is July.”
“Don’t you know your pagan calendar? Midsummer’s June twenty-second, and a fine choice. A night for celebrating. Jude had her first ceili on that night last year, and it turned out well, didn’t it, darling?”
“Eventually. Why the month delay?” Jude asked him.
“Basically to cover our asses, to build anticipation, to book acts, generate press. My plan is to have a small,intimate opening in May. Exclusive. Invited guests, which would include the village, family, and a select number of VIP’s.”
“That’s very clever,” Darcy murmured.
“It’s part of my job. It’ll generate interest, and publicity, in the official June opening. And give us time to tweak any details that need tweaking.”
“Like a dress rehearsal.”
He nodded at Darcy. “Exactly. I’d like your help with the guest list for the area.”
“That’s as easily done as said,” Aidan told him.
“And I’d like you to perform. The three of you.”
Aidan reached for his own beer. “In the pub.”
“Onstage,” Trevor corrected. “The main stage.”
“In the theater?” Aidan set his beer down again without drinking. “Why?”
“Because I’ve heard you, and you’re perfect.”
“Well, now, Trev, that’s flattering to be sure.” Thoughtfully, Shawn reached for one of the tea biscuits Jude had set out. “But all you’ve heard from us is a bit of fun. It’s not as if we’re a professional act or anything of that nature. The kind you’re looking to have in your theater.”
“You’re exactly what I’m looking for.” His gaze skimmed to Darcy, lingered a moment, then moved on. She’d yet to say a word. “Showcasing local talent is part of what this project is about. Mixing that, together with new and established acts. I can’t think of anything more appropriate than having the Gallaghers perform, and perform a selection of Shawn Gallagher’s music, at the first showing.”
“Mine.” Shawn went very pale. “At such a time? I don’t mean to tell you your
