"I don't quite know. Yet, the power of Grace O'Malley never ceases to surprise me."
Turning, Fiona gestured to the objects she had placed on the table. A few rocks, a crystal, a stick, and a cup.
"First, I'd like to see how your power works. You're the first that I know of that can move inanimate objects. Can you do that for me?"
Morgan raised an eyebrow at her and then, reaching out with her mind, she visualized the cup rising into the air. The cup did as she asked, hovering two feet above the table, staying completely still in the air.
"Wow, just wow," Fiona murmured. "It doesn't even shake."
"I can hold it like this while I talk," Morgan said, not looking at the cup; instead her eyes followed the dogs across the fields.
"So you don't even have to watch it?"
"Nope." Morgan shrugged.
"Can you hold more than one thing at a time?"
Morgan smiled, and for the first time really enjoying showing off her power, she lifted every item on the table and circled them around Fiona.
Fiona's warm brandy eyes lit with delight as she watched the items dance around her. They swooped in a circle and then lined up in front of them both, hovering about four feet off of the grass.
Like a bullet, Ronan shot across the lawn and launched himself into the air, snagging the stick neatly from the line of objects in the air and landing adeptly, before racing across the grass again.
"Ronan!" Morgan shouted out a peal of laughter, as did Fiona, the objects dropping to the grass in front of them.
"I guess we shouldn't use a stick for this. That's my fault," Fiona laughed, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Though I could really add to his game of fetch." Morgan laughed and laughed, having fun with her powers for the first time in her life.
"Oh, he would just love that. Maybe when we are finished here you can play with him a bit."
"Yes, I will." Morgan smiled at Fiona.
"So, I noticed that when you were startled, the items dropped from the air. Why did that happen?"
Morgan thought about it. "I stopped visualizing them in the air, I guess."
"And yet, when you are distracted, like during a kiss, objects will levitate."
"Yes."
"So there is a correlation somewhere with focusing and not focusing. I'm not sure quite what it is yet, because it almost seems like the relationship is inverted, but I have been thinking about a way that you can visualize turning off your power during particular moments."
"I'm all ears," Morgan said, waving at Fiona to continue. She stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back against the table. The breeze tickled her face and carried the scent of sea with it.
"I think you should visualize it like an electrical current. You turn it on or off. So, for example, if Patrick leans in for a kiss, visualize a big switch in your head where you flip the power off. You'll need to practice this a bit, but I think the stronger you become at it, the more you'll be able to control the latent use of your ability."
Morgan pursed her lips, considering Fiona's words carefully. The image of a huge switch, the kind that had a handle that you pulled down to shut off the lights in a warehouse, formed in her mind.
"So, first, visualize the switch."
Morgan nodded and flicked a finger in the air, gesturing for her to go on.
"Now that you have the switch, imagine all of these currents of energy running through you that connect to the switch. Right now it is in the on position. I'd like you to turn it off."
Morgan leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling like a thousand volts of energy ran through her to the switch in her head. In her mind, she grabbed the switch and slammed it down, turning it off.
"Now raise that cup off the grass."
Morgan focused on the cup on the grass. Reaching out, she tried to raise it from the ground. It sat there, looking out of place in the grass, never moving an inch.
"I'll be damned, it worked," Morgan said in awe, turning to Fiona. "It really worked. I've never not been able to move something before."
Fiona smiled and patted her arm, instructing her to flip the switch back on.
Morgan imagined the switch again and in her mind, she flipped the switch to the on position. A current of energy pulsed through her and in seconds, the cup was hovering in front of their faces.
"Seems as though you're a quick learner," Fiona observed.
Morgan stared at the cup, her mouth hanging open, before happiness rushed through her. On a squeal, she wrapped her arms around Fiona, hugging the old woman with all her might.
"It worked! I can control it!" Morgan exclaimed, feeling happier than she had in years.
"So it seems that it is time to move on to the harder lesson then." Fiona sniffed and rose. "Let's test your mettle in the kitchen."
Morgan groaned and rose, knowing that cooking would truly be her hardest lesson of the day. Following Fiona, she did a little skip in the grass.
Finally, she was in control.
Chapter Sixteen
Later that day, Morgan climbed the steps to her apartment, armed with her new knowledge. She needed a shower, and she needed to get to the market. But first, she wanted to scan through her wardrobe to see if she had anything pretty to wear.
Her nerves hummed with energy as she flipped between her shirts, finally settling on a deep red V-neck top that complemented her skin and brought out her eyes. Snagging her skinny jeans, she tossed the clothes on the bed, and jumped in the shower, pushing the thought of what she was about to embark on out of her mind.
He probably had to work all night, Morgan thought as she scrubbed her body with a citrus scrub that Fiona had sent home with her. She inhaled the orangey scent, loving the way it seemed to wake her up and excite her senses. Making a mental note to tell Fiona that she'd like to package a few bottles and sell it at the cash register in the gallery, Morgan stepped from the shower and toweled off.
Eyeing herself in the mirror, she decided that tonight called for makeup. Morgan bent and pulled a brightly patterned makeup bag from beneath the sink. Leaning forward, she squinted as she tried to apply eyeliner.
"Damn it," Morgan cursed as she drew a sloppy line across her eye. Blowing out a breath, she grabbed a tissue and wiped it off. No eyeliner then.
Instead, she began to shadow her eyes, deepening the crease above them, and making their slant more exaggerated. They almost looked like cat eyes, she decided. Brushing the tips of her eyelashes with a coat of mascara, she finished up with a slick of lip gloss. Tilting her head in the mirror, she eyed her long mane of hair. Rarely did Morgan do anything with her hair as it hung so straight. Thinking about it, she pulled some strands from the temple area and created a braid on both sides, pulling them both back and securing them at the back of her head. It almost looked a bit like a crown, she thought as she tucked a loose strand in. A hippie, wildflower type crown maybe. Shaking her head at herself, she went to her dresser drawer, eyeing her underwear choices. Morgan sighed.
"Could you be any more uninteresting?" she wondered out loud as she looked down at her drawer of white cotton underwear and white bras. Pulling out the set with the lace edging, she made another mental note to go shopping with her next paycheck. It was time to grow up.
Morgan tried to imagine herself as some daring woman of the world, wearing all black, and brilliantly colored sexy underwear, leaving a trail of broken hearts and heavy perfume in her wake. She laughed.
"That is so not going to happen."
She finished getting dressed, deliberately ignoring her nerves and every part of her that wanted to curl up on the couch with a book and not leave her apartment. Looking down at the scar on her hand, Morgan reminded herself that it was important to take chances.
"Here we go," she said as she grabbed her shopping tote.
Twenty minutes later, she found herself outside of Gallagher's pub with a tote bag full of groceries. It was now or never.
The doors were thrown open to encourage the warm sea b
reezes to come inside. Voices and laughter spilled from the pub and had Morgan pausing. If she went in there now, the whole village would know that she was asking Patrick to dinner. Her fingers ran across the scar on her palm again. Emboldened, she stepped through the entrance, scanning the cozy room until her eyes landed on Patrick. He was standing with Cait at the entrance to the kitchen.
Cait's eyes immediately found her and a wide smile crossed her face.
"Come over here! I haven't seen you in ages," Cait called and everyone turned to see who she was talking to.
Morgan nodded at all the regulars bellied up to the bar and hurried over to where Patrick stood. Her heart dropped as he nodded at her and then turned back to Cait.
"You were saying?"
Cait glared at him and turned, her arms open, to hug Morgan. Morgan smiled and returned the hug awkwardly, Cait's large belly pressing against her and getting in the way. A part of her wanted to scan Cait's womb and see what she was carrying.
"Don't you dare," Cait whispered into her ear and Morgan laughed.
"Sorry."
"Sorry about what?" Patrick said stiffly, having not been able to hear their conversation.
"Nothing, um, so I wanted to stop and see you," Morgan rushed out before she could talk herself out of saying anything.
"What for?" Patrick said stiffly and Morgan saw Cait's face go thunderous.
"I just, uh, wanted to see if you wanted to come over for dinner."
"That sounds like a date. I think it's best that we just be friends. Sorry, Morgan," Patrick said, his words clipped, as he turned his back and went into the storeroom.
A wave of shame washed over Morgan, and all of the lessons that she had learned in the past few days flew out the window.
"That ignorant idiot," Cait seethed, turning immediately to run her hands down Morgan's arms.
"No, no, it's fine, really," Morgan said, stepping back from Cait. Cait held her arm, keeping her there.
"No, it is not fine. Just because his pride is hurt doesn't mean he shouldn't give you another chance. Stupid man," Cait bit out, so angry she could barely speak.
"No, I should have expected this. People never stay with me once they realize how difficult I am. It's fine." Morgan ripped her arm from Cait's hand and hurried from the pub, keeping her gaze on the floor, desperately wishing that she had just stuck with her instinct about curling up on her couch with a good book.
She refused to cry.
Not over him, at least. It wasn't worth it. They'd barely established a relationship as it was.
And it just proved her point.
Relationships were complicated, full of minefields and messy emotions. It was best that she continued on alone.
Chapter Seventeen
That woman, Patrick thought. That woman was insane if she thought that he was going to fall into her trap again. All she did was lure him in and then push him away when he got too close. He was done getting his head chewed off for doing nothing wrong. Patrick paced, trying to cool the anger that burned in him, scanning the shelves, looking for something to organize.
The door flew open with a bang.
Patrick turned and pointed a finger at Cait. "Don’t you dare start with me. This is none of your business."
"It happens in my pub, then it's my business," Cait said, raising her chin at him.
"Fine, then I quit," Patrick said, furious with her, furious with the lot of them. He made to push past her, but Cait wouldn't move.
Patrick couldn't very well push his pregnant boss, so he stepped back and crossed his arms, looking up at the ceiling.
"You most certainly will not quit, Patrick, what with me about to be giving birth any day now. What kind of man are you?"
Her words stung with the truth, and he hung his head, knowing she was right.
"Fine, I don't quit. But stay out of my business."
"I will not. What in the heck is wrong with you?" Cait yelled at him and Patrick whipped his head up, staring at her in surprise. Cait's cheeks were flushed and her eyes snapped in anger.
"Me? Me!" Patrick said, his hands on his hips as he towered over his boss.
"Yes, you! She finally works up the courage to ask you for dinner and you said no! What were you thinking?"
"Maybe I'm sick of being attacked every time I try to make a move with her. She's warm, then cold, warm, then cold. It makes no sense. Everything I try, I get slapped back for," Patrick said.
"Have you ever thought about the fact it is because of her past?"
Patrick threw up his hands and began to pace the room.
"Seeing as how nobody will tell me her past, I can't rightly know that now, can I?"
"You know she's an orphan," Cait said.
"So what's that got to do with it?"
Cait let out a high screech, like a tea kettle emitting steam and Patrick stopped, staring at her.
"Just think outside of yourself for once, would you? Orphans. They've never had love. They don't have a lot of relationships. They've never had anyone stand for them…or stay by their side. Her coming here was a huge risk on her part and you did exactly what every single person in her life has done – pushed her away. Nice job," Cait said scathingly.
Patrick's heart plummeted and he stared at Cait as thoughts whirled through his mind.
"So, my rejection of her just proved what she's always known? That people don't stick?"
"Pretty much," Cait said, her face tense.
"Shit, shit, shit," Patrick swore and paced.
"Well, what are you doing? Go get her," Cait ordered and Patrick straightened.
"You think?"
Cait turned as Shane came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her belly. She leaned back into him and closed her eyes a little with a small smile.
"Shane, where does Morgan live?"
Shane recited the address and then looked down at Cait and back to Patrick.
"Why?"
"I have to go to her," Patrick said.
Cait straightened and snagged a bottle of wine from the shelf next to her.
"Here. Take this. On the house. Now, don't screw it up," Cait called over her shoulder as Patrick pushed past her.
"I'm off the rest of the night," Patrick called back.
"I figured as much," Cait grumbled and then turned, her hands on her hips to survey her husband.
"Looks like you're pouring pints," she said with a smile. He leaned down and brushed his lips over hers.
"Yes, ma'am."
Chapter Eighteen
Morgan cursed herself the entire walk, well run, home. As she huffed up the hill to her apartment she glared at anyone who dared to smile at her. What had she been thinking? Morgan had been on a high after her time with Fiona, thinking with hope for her future for once.
The cold slap of rejection was enough to bring her head out of the clouds. She should have expected this. Never in her life had someone stuck by her side. It was the reason she refused to get into relationships, Morgan reminded herself as she pounded up the worn wooden steps of her building. It would be best if she just kept her head down, worked hard, and didn't socialize much. Eventually she'd save enough money for her to move on to the next town.
Morgan slammed the bag of food on the counter and trailed her hand over the smooth countertop. Turning, she looked around at her little space. Damn it, she thought. It would be hard to leave this. Battling back the sadness that threatened to overtake her, Morgan systematically put the food away, refusing to waste anything even in her sorrow. She could eat on these groceries for the rest of the week.
The rest of the week, Morgan thought. Straightening, she crossed her arms and paced across her apartment. That would be how she would take it then. One week at a time. She'd grow her savings and in a few months, pick a new place and keep moving. Which was stupid, Morgan thought, because she'd finally put down roots.
A loud buzz caused her to shriek and she turned, one hand over her heart and the other over her mouth. The buzz contin
ued incessantly and Morgan's eyes tracked the apartment, trying to find the cause of it.
"An intercom?" she said, rushing to a small box by the door that she had never seen before. It appeared she needed to pay more attention to her surroundings, she thought.
The buzz continued, grating against her ears, so she ran to the door, and leaned her cheek against it, pressing her ear to hear anything on the outside. She pressed the button once.
The buzzing stopped.
Morgan waiting, straining to hear anything.
The buzz made her jump again and she stepped back, realizing that there was another button on the intercom. She pressed it down, and spoke hesitantly into it.
"Hello?"
Morgan heard the door slam below and the pounding of steps on the stairs. She jumped back and smoothed her hair, realizing that she had inadvertently pressed the button to release the lock on the door in the lobby of the building.
Morgan struggled through a breath as she waited, knowing it was Patrick, and not knowing what to do. She'd never had a man in her space before, let alone a large, angry, testosterone-filled man.
A knock at the door made her jump. Morgan stood there, considering her choices.
"If you don't open this door I swear to God, I will kick it in," Patrick cursed outside the door and Morgan fumbled with the latch, pulling the door in.
Her eyes tracked to Patrick's face, and she was immediately lost. He looked wonderful, she thought in surprise. His eyes were bright with anger, his cheeks flushed, and his hair was mussed in a way that made her want to run her hands through it. Nervous, she licked her bottom lip as she watched him, unsure what to say.
"I brought wine," Patrick said, and Morgan looked down at his hand, a bottle clutched there.
"Um," Morgan said, and then wanted to kick herself for not having something suave or cool to say. It crossed her mind that she should send him packing for the way he had treated her at the pub.
"Aw, the hell with this," Patrick said. He pushed past Morgan and placed the bottle on the counter. Turning, he kicked the door closed and grabbed Morgan around the waist.
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