Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  As she started to call out again, she heard the unmistakable sounds of wretched illness from the adjoining bath. It didn't occur to her to hesitate; she simply hurried through to where Maggie was heaving over the toilet.

  "Get out, damn you." Maggie waved a limp hand and fought the next wave of nausea. "Can't a woman retch in private?"

  Saying nothing, Shannon walked to the sink and dampened a thick washcloth with cool water. Maggie was too busy heaving to resist when Shannon held the back of her head and pressed the cloth to her clammy brow.

  "Poor baby," Shannon murmured when Maggie sagged weakly. "Horrible way to start the morning. Just rest a minute, get your breath back." "I'm all right. Go away. I'm all right." "Sure you are. Can you handle some water?" Without waiting for an answer, Shannon walked over to fill a glass, then came back to crouch and ease it to Maggie's lips. "There you go, nice slow sips. It probably tastes like you swallowed a sewer."

  "This child best be a saint." Because it was there, Maggie leaned against Shannon's shoulder.

  "Have you seen your doctor?" To soothe, Shannon took the cloth and ran it gently over Maggie's face. "Isn't there something you can take?"

  "I've seen the doctor. Bloody swine. A couple more weeks, he says, and I'll be right as rain. Couple more weeks," she repeated, shutting her eyes. "I nearly murdered him on the spot."

  "No jury in the world-if they were women-would convict you. Here, come on, let's get you on your feet. The floor's cold."

  Too weak to argue, Maggie let herself be helped up and guided in toward the bed. "Not the bed. I don't need the bed. I just want to sit a minute."

  "All right." Shannon led her to a chair. "Want some tea?"

  "Oh." Desperately relieved the spell was over, Maggie let her head fall back and closed her eyes. "I would. If you could call on the phone there down to the kitchen and ask if they'd mind sending some up, and some toast.Dry. I'd be grateful."

  She sat still, while her system leveled off and the chill faded from her skin. "Well," she said when Shannon | replaced the receiver. "That was pleasant for both of us."

  "A lot worse for you." Not quite sure Maggie should be left alone yet, Shannon sat on the edge of the bed.

  "It was kind of you to help me through it. I appreciate it."

  "It didn't sound that way when you were swearing at me."

  A grin twisted Maggie's mouth. "I'll apologize for that. I hate being..." She gestured. "Out of control of things."

  "Me, too. You know, I've only been drunk once in my whole life."

  "Once?" The smile turned into a sneer. "And you, Irish as the Rings of Kerry."

  "Nevertheless, while it had its liberating aspects, I found, on hindsight, that it was debilitating. I couldn't quite hit the control button. And there was the added delight of being sick as a dog on the side of the road on the way home, and the wonder and glory of the morning after. So, I find it more practical to limit my intake."

  "One warms the soul, two warms the brain. Da always said that."

  "So he had his practical side as well."

  "A narrow one. You have his eyes." She watched Shannon lower them and struggled against her own sense of loss and impatience. "I'm sorry you mind hearing it."

  And so, Shannon discovered, was she. "Both my mother and father had blue eyes. I remember asking her once where she thought I'd gotten my green ones. She looked so sad, for just an instant, then she smiled and said an angel gave them to me."

  "He'd have liked that. And he'd have been glad and grateful that she found a man like your father must have been, to love both of you." She looked over as the tea was brought in. "There's two cups," she said when Shannon rose to go. "If you'd like to have one with me."

  "All right."

  "Would it bother you to tell me how they met-your parents?"

  "No." Shannon took her seat again and discovered it far from bothered her to tell the story. It warmed her. When Maggie burst into laughter at the idea of Colin knocking Amanda into the mud, Shannon joined her.

  "I'd like to have met them," Maggie said at length.

  "I think they would have liked meeting you." A little embarrassed by the sentiment, Shannon rose. "Listen, if you'd like to just kick back and rest, I can take a cab to the photographer."

  "I'm fine now. I'd like to go with you-and see Jack torture you the way he did me when Rogan put me through this last."

  "Thanks."

  "My pleasure. And..." She set the tray aside and rose. "I think I'd enjoy spending some time with you."

  "I think I'd enjoy that, too." Shannon smiled. "I'll wait for you downstairs."

  She loved Dublin. She loved the waterways, the bridges, the buildings, the crowds. And oh, she loved the shops. Though she was impatient to do more, see more, Shannon held herself back and indulged Maggie in an enormous midday meal.

  Unlike her volatile sister, Shannon hadn't found the photography shoot anything but a pleasant, interesting experience. When she'd pointed that out, Maggie had simply shuddered.

  When they left the restaurant, Shannon calculated that they'd broken a record of being in each other's company without harsh words or snide remarks.

  She was soon to discover that she shared at least one trait with Maggie. The woman was a champion shopper -zipping from store to store, measuring, considering, and buying without all the wavering and wobbling that annoyed Shannon in many of her friends.

  "No." Maggie shook her head as Shannon held up a biscuit-colored sweater. "You need color, not neutrals."

  "I like it." Pouting a little, Shannon turned toward a mirror, spreading the sweater up to her neck. "The material's gorgeous."

  "It is, and the color makes you look like a week-old corpse."

  "Damn it." With a half laugh Shannon folded the sweater again. "It does."

  "You want this one." Maggie handed her one in mossy green. She stepped behind Shannon, narrowing her eyes at their reflections. "Definitely."

  "You're right. I hate when you're right." She draped the sweater over her arm and fingered the sleeve of the blouse Maggie had over hers. "Are you buying that?" "Why?"

  "Because I'm having it if you're not." "Well, I am." Smug, Maggie gathered up her bags and went to pay for it.

  "You'd probably have put it back if I hadn't said I wanted it," Shannon complained as they left the shop.

  "No, but it certainly adds to the satisfaction of the purchase. There's a cookery shop nearby. I want to pick up some things for Brie."

  "Fine." Still sulking over the blouse, Shannon fell into step. "What's that?"

  "A music store," Maggie said dryly when Shannon stopped to stare at a display window.

  "I know that. What's that?"

  "A dulcimer. Hammer dulcimer."

  "It looks more like a piece of art than an instrument."

  "It's both. That's a lovely one, too. Murphy made one a few years back just as fine. A beautiful tone it had. His sister Maureen fell in love with it, and he gave it to her."

  "That sounds just like him. Do you think he'd like it? One someone else made?"

  Maggie lifted her brow. "You could give him wind in a paper bag and he'd treasure it."

  But Shannon had already made her decision and was marching into the shop.

  Delighted, Shannon watched the clerk take the dulcimer out of the window, then listened as he gave her a skillful demonstration of the music it could make.

  "I can see him playing it, can't you?" Shannon asked Maggie. "With that half smile on his face."

  "I can." Maggie waited until the happy clerk went in the back to find the right box for transport. "So you're in love with him."

  Stalling, Shannon reached in her purse for her wallet. "A woman can buy a gift for a man without being in love with him."

  "Not with that look in her eyes she can't. What are you going to do about it?"

  "There's nothing I can do." Shannon caught herself, frowned, and selected her credit card. "I'm thinking it over."

  "He's not a man to take
love casually, or temporarily."

  The words, and the knowledge that they were fact, frightened her. "Don't push me on this, Maggie." Rather than the snap she'd hoped for, there was a plea in Shannon's voice. "It's complicated, and I'm doing the best I know how to do."

  Her eyes lifted in surprise when Maggie laid a hand on her cheek. "It's hard, isn't it, to fall where you've never been, and never really thought you'd be?"

  "Yes. It's terribly hard."

  Maggie let her hand slide down and rest on Shannon's shoulder. "Well," she said in a lighter tone, "He's going to trip over his tongue when you hand him this. Where's the bloody clerk? Rogan'll skin me if I don't have you there at three on the damn dot."

  "Yeah, you look like you're terrified of him."

  "Sometimes I let him think I am. It's a kiss on the ego, so to speak."

  Shannon toyed with a display of harmonicas on the counter. "You haven't asked me if I'm going to sign."

  "It's been pointed out that it's business not concerning me."

  Shannon gave a smile and her credit card to the clerk when he returned. "Is that a kiss on my ego, Margaret Mary?"

  "Be grateful it's not a boot to your ass."

  "I'm signing," Shannon blurted out. "I don't know if I decided just this instant or the moment he asked, but I'm doing it." Swallowing hard, she pressed a shaky hand to her stomach. "Now I'm queasy."

  "I had a similar reaction under the same circumstances. You've just put your wheel in someone else's hands." Sympathetic, she slipped an arm around Shannon's waist. "He'll do right by you."

  "I know. I'm not sure if I'll do right by him." She watched the clerk box up the dulcimer. "It's a problem I seem to be having just lately with men I've come to care about."

  "I tell you how we're handling this one, Shannon. We're going to Rogan's fine, upstanding office and getting the business part over and done quick. That's the worst part of it, I can tell you."

  "Okay." She took the pen the clerk offered, mechanically signed her name to the credit slip.

  "Then we're going back home and cracking open a bottle of Sweeney's best champagne."

  "You can't drink. You're pregnant."

  "You're doing the drinking. A whole bottle of French bubbly just for you. 'Cause, darling, I'm of the opinion that you're going to get drunk for the second time in your life."

  Shannon blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. "You could be right."

  Maggie couldn't have been more right. A few hours later, Shannon found that all the doubts and worries and questions simply fizzed away with a bottle of Dom Perignon.

  Maggie was the over-indulger's friend, listening as Shannon rambled, making sympathetic noises as she complained, and laughing at the poorest of jokes.

  When Rogan arrived home, Shannon was sitting dreamy-eyed in the parlor contemplating the last glass that could be squeezed from the bottle.

  "What have you done to her, Margaret Mary?" "She's well fuddled." Satisfied, Maggie lifted her mouth for his kiss.

  He lifted a brow at the empty bottle. "Small wonder." "She needed to relax," Maggie said airily. "And to celebrate, though you'd never be able to tell her so. You're feeling fine, aren't you, Shannon?"

  "Fine and dandy." She smiled brilliantly. "Hello, Rogan, when did you get here? They warned me about you, y'know," she went on before he could answer. "Did they?"

  "They certainly did. Rogan Sweeney's slick as spit." She tipped the glass back again, swallowed hastily. "And you are."

  "Take it as a compliment, darling," Maggie advised. "That's how it's meant."

  "Oh, it is," Shannon agreed. "There's not one shark in New York who could outswim you. And you're so pretty, too." She hoisted herself up, chuckling when her head revolved. When he would have taken her arm to steady her, she simply leaned in and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. "I've got such cute brothers, don't I, Maggie? Just as cute as buttons."

  "Darling men." Maggie's grin was wide and wicked. "Both of them. Would you like a little nap now, Shannon?"

  "Nope." Beaming, Shannon snatched up her glass. "Look, there's more. I'll just take it with me while I make a call. I need to make a call. A private call, if you don't mind."

  "And who are you after calling?" Maggie asked.

  "I'm after calling Mr. Murphy Muldoon, in County Clare, Ireland."

  "I'll just come along," Maggie suggested, "and dial the number for you."

  "I'm perfectly capable. I have his number right in my trusty little electronic organizer. I never go anywhere without it." With the glass dangling dangerously from her hand, she looked around the room. "Where'd it go? No up and coming professional can survive without their organizer."

  "I'm sure it's about." With a wink for Rogan, Maggie took Shannon's arm and led her away. "But it happens I have the number right in my head."

  "You're so clever, Maggie. I noticed that about you right away-even when I wanted to punch you."

  "That's nice. You can sit right here in Rogan's big chair and talk to Murphy all you like."

  "He's got an incredible body. Murphy, I mean." Giggling, Shannon dropped into the chair behind Rogan's library desk. "Though I'm sure Rogan's is lovely, too."

  "I can promise you it is. Here, you talk into this end and listen in this one."

  "I know how to use a phone. I'm a professional. Murphy?"

  "I haven't finished calling yet. I'm an amateur."

  "That's all right. It's ringing now. There's Murphy. Hi, Murphy." She cradled the phone like a lover and didn't notice when Maggie slipped out. "Shannon? I'm glad you called. I was thinking of you."

  "I'm always thinking of you. It's the damnedest thing."

  "You sound a bit strange? Are you all right?"

  "I'm wonderful. I love you, Murphy."

  "What?" His voice rose half an octave. "What?"

  "I'm so buzzed."

  "You're what? Shannon, go back two steps and start again."

  "The last time I was a freshman in college and it was Homecoming and there was all this wine. Oceans of it. I got so awful sick, too. But I don't feel sick at all this time. I just feel..." She sent the chair spinning and nearly strangled herself with the phone cord. "Alive."

  "Christ, what has Maggie done to you?" he muttered. "Are you drunk?"

  "I think so." To test she held up two fingers in front of her face. "Pretty sure. I wish you were here, Murphy, right here so I could crawl in your lap and nibble you all over."

  There was a moment of pained silence. "That would be memorable," he said in a voice tight with strain. "Shannon, you said you loved me."

  "You know I do. It's all mixed up with white horses and copper broaches and thunderstorms and making love in the dance and cursing at the moon." She let her head fall back in the chair as the visions flowed and circled in her head. "Casting spells," she murmured. "Winning battles. I don't know what to do. I can't think about it."

  "We'll talk it through when you get back. Shannon, have you called me from across the entire country, drunk on-what are you drunk on?"

  "Champagne. Rogan's finest French champagne."

  "Figures. Drunk on champagne," he repeated, "to tell me for the first time that you love me?"

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time. You have a wonderful voice." She kept her heavy eyes closed. "I could listen to it forever. I bought you a present." "That's nice. Tell me again." "I bought you a present." At his frustrated snarl, she

  opened her eyes and laughed. "Oh, I get it. I'm not stupid. Suma cum laude, you know. I love you, Murphy, and it really messes things up all around, but I love you. Good night."

  "Shannon-"

  But she was aiming for the phone, with one eye closed. Through more luck than skill, she managed to jiggle the receiver in place. Then she leaned back, yawned once, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  "And the next morning, not a stagger, not a wince." While she sipped tea in Brianna's kitchen, Maggie shot Shannon an admiring glance. "I couldn't have been more proud." />
  "You have an odd sense of pride." But Shannon felt an odd flare of it herself. Through luck or God's pity, she'd escaped the punishment of a hangover after her romance with Dom Perignon.

  Twenty-four hours after the affair had ended, she was safely back in Clare and enjoying the questionable distinction of having a hard head.

  "You shouldn't have let her overdo." Brianna began to swirl a rich and smooth marshmallow frosting over chocolate cake.

  "She's a woman grown," Maggie objected.

  "And the youngest."

  "Oh, really." Shannon rolled her eyes at Brianna's back. "I hardly think that's an issue. You and I were born in the same year, so..." She trailed off as the full impact of what she'd said struck. Her brows knit, and she stared down at a spot on the table. Well, she thought. This is awkward.

  "Busy year for Da," Maggie said after a long silence.

  Shocked, Shannon looked up quickly and met Maggie's bland eyes. The sound of her own muffled snort of laughter surprised her nearly as much as Maggie's lightning grin. Brianna continued to frost her cake.

  "An entire bottle, Maggie," Brianna went on in a quiet, lecturing tone. "You should have had more care."

  "Well, I looked after her, didn't I? After she'd passed out in the library-"

  "I didn't pass out," Shannon corrected primly. "I was resting."

  "Unconscious." Maggie reached over to pick up her niece when Kayla began to fuss in her carrier. "And poor Murphy ringing back like a man possessed. Who talked him out of hopping in his lorry and driving all the way to Dublin if it wasn't me?" she asked Kayla. "And didn't I take her upstairs and see that she ate a bowl of soup before she slept the rest of it off?"

  Her ears pricked up. "There's Liam awake." She passed the baby to Shannon, then went through to Brianna's bedroom, where she'd laid him down for a nap.

  Brianna stepped back to judge the frosting job before she turned. "Other than last evening, did you enjoy your trip to Dublin?"

  "Yes. It's a lovely city. And the gallery there-it's a religious experience."

  "I've thought so myself. You've yet to see the one here in Clare. I was hoping we could all go, a kind of outing. Soon."

  "I'd like that. Brianna..." She wasn't sure she was ready to ask. Far less sure she was ready for the consequences.