by Nora Roberts
What was a man like this doing traveling with her cousin’s family? Another relative? she wondered, and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t matter who he was. Erin checked the pins in her hair, found two loose, and shoved them into place. If he was some relation of Travis Grant’s, then that was fine.
But he didn’t look like kin of her cousin’s husband. The coloring might be similar, but any resemblance ended there. The stranger had a raw-boned, sharp-edged look to him. She remembered the picture books in catechism class, and the drawings of Satan.
“Better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven.”
Yes . . . For the first time, a smile moved on her lips. He looked like a man who’d have similar sentiments. Taking a deep breath, Erin moved forward to greet her family.
The boy Brendon came first, barreling through the doorway with one shoe untied and eyes alight with curiosity. The white-haired woman came in behind him, moving with surprising speed.
“Stand still, you scamp. I’m not going to lose track of you again.”
“I just want to see, Hannah.” There was a laugh in his voice and no contrition at all when she caught his hand in hers.
“You’ll see soon enough. No need to worry your mother to death. Keeley, you stay close now.”
“I will.” The little girl looked around as avidly as her brother, but seemed more content to stay in the same place. Then she spotted Erin. “There she is. That’s our cousin Erin. Just like the picture.” Without a hint of reserve, the girl crossed over and smiled. “You’re our cousin Erin, aren’t you? I’m Keeley. Momma said you’d be waiting for us.”
“Aye, I’m Erin.” Charmed, Erin bent down to catch the little girl’s chin in her hand. Nerves vanished into genuine pleasure. “And the last time I saw you, you were just a wee thing, all bundled in a blanket against the rain and bawling fit to wake the dead.”
Keeley’s eyes widened. “She talks just like Momma,” she announced. “Hannah, come see. She talks just like Momma.”
“Miss McKinnon.” Hannah kept one hand firmly on Brendon’s shoulder and offered the other. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Hannah Blakely, your cousin’s housekeeper.”
Housekeeper, Erin thought as she put her hand in Hannah’s weathered one. The Cunnanes she’d known might have been housekeepers, but they’d never had one. “Welcome to Ireland. And you’d be Brendon.”
“I’ve been to Ireland before,” he said importantly. “But this time I flew the plane.”
“Did you now?” She saw her cousin in him, the pixielike features and deep green eyes. He’d be a handful, she thought, as her mother claimed Adelia had always been. “Well, you’re all grown up since I saw you last.”
“I’m the oldest. Brady’s the baby now.”
“Erin?” She glanced over in time to see Adelia rush forward. Even heavy with child she moved lightly. And when she wound her arms around Erin, there was strength in them. The recognition came strongly—family to family, roots to roots. “Oh, Erin, it’s so good to be back, so good to see you. Let me look at you.”
She hadn’t changed a bit, Erin thought. Adelia would be nearly thirty now, but she looked years younger. Her complexion was smooth and flawless, glowing against the glossy mane of hair she still wore long and loose. The pleasure in her face was so real, so vital, that Erin felt it seeping through her own reserve.
“You look wonderful, Dee. America’s been good for you.”
“And the prettiest girl in Skibbereen’s become a beautiful woman. Oh, Erin.” She kissed both her cousin’s cheeks, laughed and kissed them again. “You look like home.” With Erin’s hand still held tightly in hers, she turned. “You remember Travis.”
“Of course. It’s good to see you again.”
“You’ve grown up in four years.” He kissed her cheek in turn. “You didn’t meet Brady the last time.”
“No, I didn’t.” The child kept an arm around his father’s neck and eyed Erin owlishly. “Faith, he’s the image of you. It’s a handsome boy you are, Cousin Brady.”
Brady smiled, then turned to bury his face in his father’s neck.
“And shy,” Adelia commented, stroking a hand down his hair. “Unlike his da. Erin, it’s so kind of you to offer to meet us and take us to the inn.”
“We don’t often get visitors. I’ve got the minibus. You know from the last time you came that renting a car is tricky, so I’ll be leaving it with you while you’re here.” While she spoke, Erin felt an itch at the base of her neck, a tingle, or a warning. Deliberately she turned and stared back at the lean-faced man she’d seen step off the plane.
“Erin, this is Burke.” Adelia placed a hand on her skirt at the stirrings within her womb. “Burke Logan, my cousin, Erin McKinnon.”
“Mr. Logan,” Erin said with a slight nod, determined not to flinch at her own reflection in his mirrored glasses.
“Miss McKinnon.” He smiled slowly, then clamped his cigar between his teeth again.
She still couldn’t see his eyes but had the uneasy feeling that the glasses were no barrier to what he saw. “I’m sure you’re tired,” she said to Adelia, but kept her gaze stubbornly on Burke’s. “The bus is right out front. I’ll take you out, then we’ll deal with the luggage.”
***
Burke kept himself just a little apart as they walked through the small terminal. He preferred it that way, the better to observe and figure angles. Just now, he was figuring Erin McKinnon.
A tidy little package, he mused, watching the way her long, athletic legs moved beneath her conservative skirt. Neat as a pin and nervous as a filly at the starting gate. Just what kind of race did she intend to run? he wondered.
He knew snatches of the background from conversations on the trip from the States and from Curragh to this little spot on the map. The McKinnons and Cunnanes weren’t first cousins. As near as could be figured, Adelia’s mother and the mother of the very interesting Erin McKinnon had been third cousins who had grown up on neighboring farms.
Burke smiled as Erin looked uneasily over her shoulder in his direction. If Adelia Cunnane Grant figured that made her and the McKinnons family, he wouldn’t argue. For himself, he spent more time avoiding family connections than searching them out.
If he didn’t stop staring at her like that, he was going to get a piece of her mind, Erin told herself as she slid the van into gear. The luggage was loaded, the children chattering, and she had to keep her wits about her to navigate out of the airport.
***
She could see him in the rearview mirror, legs spread out in the narrow aisle, one arm tossed over the worn seat—and his eyes on her. Try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on Adelia’s questions about her family.
As she wound the van onto the road, she listened with half an ear and gave her cousin the best answers she could. Everyone was fine. The farm was doing well enough. As she began to relax behind the wheel, she dug deep for bits and pieces of gossip. Still, he kept staring at her.
Let him, then, she decided. The man obviously had the manners of a plow mule and was no concern of hers. Stubbornly avoiding another glance in the rearview mirror, she jabbed another loose pin back in her hair.
She had questions of her own. Erin expertly avoided the worst of the bumps on the road and trained her eyes straight ahead. The first of them would be who the hell was this Burke Logan. Still, she smiled on cue and assured her cousin again that her family was fit and fine.
“So Cullen’s not married yet.”
“Cullen?” Despite her determination, Erin’s gaze had drifted back to the mirror and Burke. She cursed herself. “No. Much to my mother’s regret, he’s still single. He goes into Dublin now and again to sing his songs and play.” She hit a rough patch that sent the van vibrating. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
Turning her head, she studied Adelia with genuine concern. “Are you sure? I’m wondering if you should be traveling at all.”
“I’m healthy as one of Travis’s horses.” In a habitual gesture, Adelia put a hand on her rounded belly. “And I’ve months to go before they’re born.”
“They?”
“Twins this time.” The smile lit up her face. “I’ve been hoping.”
“Twins,” Erin repeated under her breath, not sure whether she should be amazed or amused.
Adelia shifted into a more comfortable position. Glancing back, she saw that her two youngest were dozing and that Brendon was putting up a courageous, if failing, battle to keep his eyes open. “I’ve always wanted a big family like yours.”
Erin grinned at her as the van putted into the village. “It looks like you’re going to match it. And may the sweet Lord have mercy on you.”
With a chuckle, Adelia shifted again to absorb the sights and sounds of the village she remembered from childhood.
The small buildings were still neat, if a bit rough around the edges. Patches of grass were deep and green, shimmering against dark brown dirt. The sign on the village pub, the Shamrock, creaked and groaned in a breeze that tasted of rain from the sea.
She could almost smell it, and remembered it easily. Here the cliffs were sheer and towering, slicing down to a wild sea. She could remember the times she’d stood on the rock watching the fishing boats, seeing them come in with their day’s catch to dry their nets and cool dry throats at the pub.
The talk here was of fishing and farming, of babies and sweethearts.
It was home. Adelia rested a hand against the open window and looked out. It was home—a way of life, a place she’d never been able to close out of her heart. There was a wagon filled with hay, its color no brighter, its scent no sweeter than that of the hay in her own stables in America. But this was Ireland, and her heart had never stopped looking back here.
“It hasn’t changed.”
Erin eased the vehicle to a stop and glanced around. She knew every square inch of the village, and every farm for a hundred miles around. In truth, she’d never known anything else. “Did you expect it would? Nothing ever changes here.”
“There’s O’Donnelly’s, the dry goods.” Dee stepped out of the van. Foolishly she wanted to have her feet on the ground of her youth. She wanted to fill her lungs with the air of Skibbereen. “Is he still there?”
“The old goat will die behind the counter, still counting his last pence.”
With a laugh, Dee took Brady from Travis and cuddled him as he yawned and settled against her shoulder. “Aye, then he hasn’t changed, either. Travis, you see the church there. We’d come in every Sunday for mass. Old Father Finnegan would drone on and on. Does he still, Erin?”
Erin slipped the keys of the van in the pocket of her purse. “He died, Dee, better than a year ago.” Because the light went out of her cousin’s eyes, Erin lifted a hand to her cheek. “He was more than eighty, if you remember, and died quietly in his sleep.”
Life went on, she knew, and people passed out of it whether you wanted them to or not. Dee glanced back at the church. It would never seem exactly the same again. “He buried Mother and Da. I can’t forget how kind he was to me.”
“We’ve a young priest now,” Erin began briskly. “Sent from Cork. A hell-raiser he is, and not a soul sleeps through one of his sermons. Put the fear of God into Michael Ryan, so the man comes sober to mass every Sunday morning.” She turned to help with the luggage and slammed solidly into Burke. He put a hand on her shoulder as if to steady her, but it lingered too long.
“I beg your pardon.”
She couldn’t stop her chin from tilting forward or her eyes from spitting at him. He only smiled. “My fault.” Grabbing two hefty cases, he swung them out of the van. “Why don’t you take Dee and the kids in, Travis? I’ll deal with this.”
Normally Travis wouldn’t have left another with the bulk of the work, but he knew his wife’s strength was flagging. He also knew she was stubborn, and the only way to get her into bed for a nap was to put her there himself.
“Thanks. I’ll take care of checking in. Erin, we’ll see you and your family tonight?”
“They’ll be here.” On impulse, she kissed Dee’s cheek. “You’ll rest now. Otherwise Mother will fuss and drive you mad. That I can promise.”
“Do you have to go now? Couldn’t you come in?”
“I’ve some things to see to. Go on now, or your children will be asleep in the street. I’ll see you soon.”
Over Brandon’s protest, Hannah bundled them inside. Erin turned to grip another pair of cases by the handles and began unloading. It passed through her mind that expensive clothes must weigh more when she found herself facing Burke again.
“There’s just a few more,” she muttered, and deliberately breezed by him.
Inside, the inn was dim but far from quiet. The excitement of having visitors from America had kept the small staff on their toes all week. Wood had been polished, floors had been scrubbed. Even now old Mrs. Malloy was leading Dee up the stairs and keeping up a solid stream of reminiscence. The children were cooed over, and hot tea and soda bread were offered. Deciding she’d left her charges in good hands, Erin walked outside again.
The day was cool and clear. The early clouds had long since been blown away by the westerly wind so that the light, as it often was in Ireland, was luminescent and pearly. Erin took a moment to study the village that had so fascinated her cousin. It was ordinary, slow, quiet, filled with workingmen and women and often smelling of fish. From almost any point in town you could see the small harbor where the boats came in with their daily catch. The storefronts were kept neat. That was a matter of pride. The doors were left unlocked. That was a matter of custom.
There was no one there who didn’t know her, no one she didn’t know. Whatever secrets there were were never secrets for long, but were passed out like small treasures to be savored and sighed over.
God, she wanted to see something else before her life was done. She wanted to see big cities where life whirled by, fast and hot and anonymous. She wanted to walk down a street where no one knew who she was and no one cared. Just once, just once in her life, she wanted to do something wild and impulsive that wouldn’t echo back to her on the tongues of family and neighbors. Just once.
The van door slammed and jolted her back to reality. Again she found herself looking at Burke Logan. “They’re all settled, then?” she asked, struggling to be polite.
“Looks like.” He leaned back against the van. With his ankles crossed, he pulled out a lighter and lit his cigar. He never smoked around Adelia out of respect for her condition. His eyes never left Erin’s. “Not much family resemblance between you and Mrs. Grant, is there?”
It was the first time he’d spoken more than two words at a time. Erin noted that his accent wasn’t like Travis’s. His words came more slowly, as if he saw no reason to hurry them. “There’s the hair,” he continued when Erin didn’t speak. “But hers is more like Travis’s prize chestnut colt, and yours”—he took another puff as he deliberated—“yours is something like the mahogany stand in my bedroom.” He grinned, the cigar still clamped between his teeth. “I thought it was mighty pretty when I bought it.”
“That’s a lovely thought, Mr. Logan, but I’m not a horse or a table.” Reaching into her pocket, she held out the keys. “I’ll be leaving these with you, then.”
Instead of taking them, he simply closed his hand over hers, cradling the keys between them. His palm was hard and rough as the rocks in the cliffs that dropped toward the sea. He enjoyed the way she held her ground, the way she lifted her brow, more in disdain than offense.
“Is there something else you’re wanting, Mr. Logan?”
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said simply.
“It’s not necessary.” She clenched her teeth and nodded as two of the town’s busiest gossips passed behind her. The evening news would have Erin McKinnon holding hands with a stranger in the street, sure as faith. “I’ve only to ask for a ride home to get one.”
“You’ve got one already.” With his hand still on hers, he pushed away from the van. “I told Travis I’d see to it.” After releasing her hand, he gestured toward the door. “Don’t worry, I’ve nearly got the hang on driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“It’s you who drive on the wrong side.” After only a brief hesitation, Erin climbed in. The day was passing her by, and she’d have to make every minute count just to catch up.
Burke settled behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. “You’re losing your pins,” he said mildly.
Erin reached behind her and shoved them into place as he drove out of the village. “You’ll take the left fork when you come to it. After that it’s only four or five kilometers.” Erin folded her hands, deciding she’d granted him enough conversation.
“Pretty country,” Burke commented, glancing out at the green, windswept hills. There were blackthorns, bent a bit from the continual stream of the westerly breeze. Heather grew in a soft purple cloud, while in the distance the mountains rose dark and eerie in the light. “You’re close to the sea.”
“Close enough.”
“Don’t you like Americans?”
With her hands still folded primly, she turned to look at him. “I don’t like men who stare at me.”
Burke tapped his cigar ash out the window. “That would narrow the field considerably.”
“The men I know have manners, Mr. Logan.”
He liked the way she said his name, with just a hint of spit in it. “Too bad. I was taught to take a good long look at something that interested me.”
“I’m sure you consider that a compliment.”
“Just an observation. This the fork?”
“Aye.” She drew a long breath, knowing she had no reason to set her temper loose and every reason to hold it. “Do you work for Travis?”
