by Nora Roberts
He wanted her in his life altogether, and not just for snatches of time in his bed. He rose, and gauging his time, figured he had plenty of it to have a look at the land he’d gotten word was for sale.
NINETEEN
THE PRICE WAS as steep as the lay of the land, but Shawn liked the feel of it. As he stood in what was no more than a drizzle now, he could see the water from one direction, stone gray to mirror the sky, and calmer now.
The storm had died in the night, but the beach was littered with shells and kelp and debris that had been heaved out of the sea.
He imagined they would face the house that way, with at least one good-size window in the front room so they could watch the moods of the water.
In back there was the rise of distant mountains, shadowy bumps up into the cloudy sky. Then on either side was the fall of hills and fields, the deep, wet green shimmering through winding ribbons of mist.
He didn’t have the talent to build a house in his mind, sketch one on paper, or take materials and tools and make it a reality. Not as Brenna did. But he could, particularly when the interest was personal, conjure up a glimmer of it.
He wanted a music room—well, not just for music, he thought, as he walked away from the area that he thought most likely for planting a house. It would have to be comfortable and welcoming so others would feel easy about coming in and staying awhile. But a room, and not a tiny, cramped one, where he could have his piano, and his fiddle. He’d want a kind of cabinet— perhaps Brenna could build it—for his music. And a stand, or whatever could be devised for a good tape recorder.
He’d always meant to record his music, and it was time to begin. If he ever meant to get to the next step, which he did in his own time and way, and polish a few of his pieces, the recorder was essential. Then he’d see about choosing one and going about the business of peddling the tunes.
Because the thought of it stretched his nerves, he shook his head. But not quite yet, of course. Not quite yet. He had a great deal to do first, and more than enough time.
He and Brenna had to come to terms first, and the house had to be built. Then they’d want to settle into it, and into each other for a while. He would get to the other business by and by.
The road leading to the plot he was considering was a worse mess than the track that led from Ardmore to Faerie Hill, then down to the O’Tooles’ house. Still, it wouldn’t worry him overmuch, and if it troubled Brenna it could be leveled some or widened or whatever. That was a business he’d leave to her.
It wasn’t a big plot, but enough for a sturdy house and garden. Room enough, he calculated, for a cabin as well, as she’d want one for her tools and perhaps a workshop. She would need that just as he would his room for music. They’d do very well with their separate interests, he thought, and was grateful neither of them was the type who needed to be in each other’s pockets day and night.
They had mutual and opposing ground, and he thought it a nice mix.
There was a skinny stream in the far back, and a trio of tough-looking trees that put him in mind of the three crosses near Saint Declan’s Well.
The man who wanted to part ways with the land had said that there was a turf bog behind them and that no one had bothered to cut it for years. He himself hadn’t cut turf since he was a boy and went out with his grandfather on his mother’s side. The Fitzgeralds had been more people of the land and the Gallaghers people of the town.
Shawn thought he might enjoy it, if his life and comfort didn’t absolutely depend upon it.
He wandered back toward what was grandly called a road, where the hedgerows grew tall and had the first haze of spring on them. As he did three magpies darted by like bullets shot from the same gun in rapid succession.
Three for marriage, he thought, and decided it was more than sign enough for him.
When he drove away toward the village to work, he considered himself a landowner, as hands had been clasped and shaken on the deal.
Brenna worked at home the early part of the morning. The wind had torn a few shingles from the roof, and a couple of leaks had sprung with the rain that had been driven hard by the wind.
It was simple enough work, no more than a patch here and there, and it gave her a fine opportunity to sit in the wavering sunlight and look out at the water.
When she built a house, she thought, she’d choose higher ground so her view of the water would be from windows rather than a rooftop. It was good to look and see the boats out again and know that life was sliding back into its regular rhythm.
And maybe she’d have some sky windows as well, so she could look up and see the sun or the rain or the drift of stars. It was time for a home of her own, she knew, though she’d miss the sounds and scents of family.
But there was something inside her that told her the time was now for the next stage of what she was and where she was going. There’d been a different tone between her and Shawn the night before, and it had changed everything in her once and forever. Her mind and her heart were in one place now.
It was time to tell him, to ask him. To browbeat him if there was no choice. Whatever it took, the O’Tooles were going to be planning another wedding.
God help them all.
She scooted over to the ladder, climbed down. Leaving her toolbox by the back door, she went in to tell her mother the job was done and she’d be on her way.
When the phone rang, she picked it up without thinking, then guiltily tucked the receiver under her chin and wiped the shingle grime off her hands onto her jeans. “Hello.”
“Miss O’Toole?”
“This is one of them.”
“Miss Brenna O’Toole.”
“Aye, you’ve hit the target.” Automatically Brenna pulled open the refrigerator door and perused the contents. “What can I do for you?”
“Would you hold the line, please, for Mr. Magee?”
“Oh.” She shot up straight, bumping the door with her hip and slamming it on her own hand. She bit back a yelp. “Yes, I could do that. Goddamn it,” she added in a mutter when she heard the line click, and sucked at her sore fingers.
“Miss O’Toole, Trevor Magee.”
“Good day to you, Mr. Magee.” She recognized his deep, smooth voice from the time she’d waded through what had seemed like an army of assistants to speak with him. “Are you calling from New York City?”
“No, actually I’m on my way to London.”
“Oh.” Her initial disappointment in not taking a call from New York vanished in a fresh thrill. “Are you calling from an airplane, then?”
“That’s right.”
She wanted to shout for her mother to come quick, but thought it would sound just a little too countrified. “It’s kind of you to take time out of your busy schedule.”
“I always make time for what interests me.”
He sounded like he meant it and that the reverse was entirely true as well. “Then perhaps you’ve had time to look at the package Aidan Gallagher sent you.”
“A good look. You and your father are quite a team.”
Because her hand was throbbing, she pulled some ice out of the freezer. “We are. And I have to add, Mr. Magee, I know Ardmore and what suits it.”
“I can’t argue with that, Miss O’Toole.”
She thought she caught a hint of amusement in his tone and braced herself. “Perhaps you could tell me what your thoughts are on my design, then?”
“It interests me. I have to look at it more thoroughly, but it interests me. Gallagher didn’t mention where you had studied design.”
She narrowed her eyes, then decided if it was a trap it was best to fall into it now as opposed to later. “On the job, sir. My father has worked in the trade all his life, and I learned at his side. I would imagine you had some of the same sort of experience with your own father.”
“You could say that.”
“Then you know a lot can be learned by the doing of things. Between the two of us, my father and I, we handle m
ost of the building and repairing in Old Parish. And if we don’t, we know who does. As that, we’d be some considerable help to you with your project. You’ll find no better than the O’Tooles in Old Parish—or all of Waterford, for that matter. You’re planning to build in Ardmore, Mr. Magee, and it’s good business, I’m sure you’ll agree, to use local skill and labor when you’re able. We’ll be happy to send you references.”
“And I’ll be happy to see them. You build a strong case, Miss O’Toole.”
“I can assure you I build better with wood and brick than with words.”
“I’ll see that for myself, as I’m hoping to carve out a day or two to visit the site personally before too much longer.”
“If you let us know the particulars, my father and I will be happy to meet you at your convenience.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Ah . . . I don’t mean to worry you, Mr. Magee, but I’m wondering if you had a moment to look at the music I sent along to you.”
“Yes, I did. I’m not sure I understand. Are you representing Shawn Gallagher?”
“No, I’m not, no. It’s . . . a bit complicated.”
“Then he doesn’t have representation?”
“Ah, no. Not at the present time.” How the devil did this sort of thing work? “You could say I’m acting on his behalf in this particular instance on a personal level.”
“Hmm.”
She winced, thinking there was entirely too much knowledge in that small and casual sound. “Would you mind telling me what you thought of it yourself?”
“Enough to buy it if Gallagher’s selling, and to want a chance to negotiate for his other work. I assume he has other work.”
“He does, yes. Scads of it.” She forgot her throbbing hand, dropped her ice in the sink. While her feet danced, she fought to keep her voice cool and professional. “You’re saying you’d buy the tune. But for what purpose would that be?”
“For the purpose of recording, eventually.”
“But I was under the impression that you build things.”
“One of the things I’ve built is a record company. Celtic Records.” He paused, and sounded amused when he spoke again. “Do you want references, Miss O’Toole?”
“Well, now, could I be getting back to you on that? I’ll need to discuss this with Shawn.”
“Of course. My New York office knows how to reach me.”
“Thank you for your time and consideration, Mr. Magee. I hope to meet you in person before much longer. I . . .” She simply ran out of words. “Thank you.”
The minute she hung up the phone she let out a shout of triumph, then raced through the house to the front door. “Ma, I’ve got to go! I’ll be back when I can.”
“Go?” Mollie dashed out of the back bedroom to the top of the stairs in time to see her daughter’s lorry bullet into the road. “That girl. If it’s not the first thing it’s the second. Go where, I’d like to know, and is my roof finished or isn’t it? I’ll give her both sides of my tongue if I have to listen to water plopping into buckets one more night.”
Before she could go back to work, she saw Shawn’s car pull in. “All this coming and going around here,” she muttered and started down the steps. “It’s making my head spin.”
She pushed open the door and waited while Shawn made his way to her. “Good morning to you, Shawn. I’m afraid you’ve just missed Brenna. She went tearing out of here not a minute ago like her trousers were afire.”
“Ah, well.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t actually coming by to see Brenna.”
“Weren’t you now?” She gave him a considering look, but knew better than to wait for him to explain himself. That, she knew from experience, could take half the day, and she’d as soon be sitting down for part of it. “Well, then, I’m all that’s left. Come inside, why don’t you, and we’ll have a cup.”
“I’d be grateful.” He ducked inside behind her and trailed her into the kitchen. “I don’t want to take much of your time.”
“Lad, you’ve been in and out of this house since you could toddle. No one’s ever booted you out the door before, and I’m not after starting now.” She waved a hand toward the table and went about the business of making tea. “Brenna’s a heart and mind of her own. As I’m sure you know.”
“That I do. I thought I should come ’round to see if . . . to make certain you . . .”
She had to take pity on him. “Are you afraid I don’t love you anymore, my handsome lad?” The worry in his eyes faded away as she reached over and scrubbed a hand over his hair, as she’d done as long as he could remember. “There’s no danger of that changing. Now if you’d taken up with my Katie, I’d have boxed your ears to the back of your head.”
“I never meant to give Mary Kate any . . .”
“ ‘ncouragement’ might be the word you’re after. Your tongue’s tied today, boy, and that’s not the usual case, for you’ve a slick one. Here now, I’ve a cinnamon bun left from breakfast. I’ll warm it for you and you’ll tell me what’s the matter.”
“You make me miss my mother, Mrs. O’Toole.”
“I’ll stand in her stead, as she would in mine.” She bustled around the kitchen, knowing it would put him at ease. “Is Brenna giving you headaches, then?”
“I’m used to that—I don’t mind it so much. I think I give them back to her in fair measure. I, ah, I’m thinking Mr. O’Toole told you of our discussion a couple weeks back.”
She sent him a look designed to wither a man. “If you’re meaning on the day he came home drunk, that he didn’t. I gathered well enough he’d got the whiskey from you, as he hasn’t a world of choices where he could walk off, drink his belly full, and walk back again in so short a time.”
“He didn’t speak to you of it.”
“Closed up like a clam.”
“Well, you see, he was angry, and rightfully so, until I told him how things were.”
“And how are things, Shawn?” Mollie set down the pot, waited.
“I’m in love with Brenna, Mrs. O’Toole, and I want to marry her.”
She stood still a moment, then laid her cheek on top of his head. “Of course you are, and of course you do. Don’t mind me. I’ve got to sniffle a bit.”
“I’ll be good to her.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind of that.” Dabbing at her eyes, she turned to get out the warmed bun. “You’ll be good for her, too, and she for you.”
“The other part of it is, I’ve been working her around, so to speak, so she’d come to the idea herself. You know how she is when she’s got her teeth into a notion.”
“Clamps down until she gets what she’s after or it isn’t worth having anymore. I always said you were a bright lad, Shawn.”
“Thousands wouldn’t,” he said easily. “I thought I could wait, you see. I’m not one who needs to hurry as a rule. But it seems I can’t wait for this. I bought land today.”
She wasn’t half as surprised as he thought she was, and nearly twice as pleased. “Goodness, boy, you can move fast enough when you’ve a mind to.”
“She’ll have her house as she wants it. I’m not fussy about such matters.”
Mollie opened her mouth, closed it again. Men, she knew very well, always said such things and believed them as well. Then they drove a woman to distraction picking at the details. But that was for Shawn and Brenna to find out for themselves. “She’s always had a mind to build her own,” she said at length.
“I know it, and why shouldn’t she? She’s a talent for such things, and a liking for the work. Myself, I’ve no driving urge to pick up a hammer or saw. But I make a good living, and I’ll have a better one yet when the theater goes in. There won’t be a worry about putting a roof overhead, or keeping one there.”
“Shawn, are you asking for my permission to ask Brenna to marry you?”
“For your blessing. It matters to me as much as it will to her.”
“I’ll give you my blessing.” S
he took his hands in hers. “And for all I love her, my sympathy as well. She’ll run you ragged.”
“I need a favor.” Brenna burst into the pub through the back just as Aidan was taking the chairs down. Timing was everything here, she thought as she fought to catch her breath. Shawn would be coming in any minute.
“Well, now, you look full of surprise and secrets.” He tucked a chair under a table. “What’s the favor?”
“First off, I can’t tell you the secret.” Automatically she began to tip down chairs herself. “I have to ask you to do the favor blind.”
He got a good look at her then—the flushed face, the wildly glowing eyes, the foolish smile. He recalled a very similar look on his wife’s face at a certain moment. “Oh, Lord, Brenna, never say you’re breeding.”
“Breeding?” The chair nearly slipped out of her hands. “No, no!” And though she laughed it off, she found it interesting to discover she wouldn’t have minded it. “It’s nothing like that. Aidan, is there any way you could arrange for Shawn to have the evening off?”
“The whole of it?”
She heard the pain in his tone, sympathized. “I know it’s a lot to be asking, and at the last instant as well. But it’s important. I’ll work this weekend for no pay to make up for it. I’ll go down and talk to Mrs. Duffy myself to see that she’ll fill in.”
“Why the devil doesn’t Shawn ask for time himself instead of sending you in to look at me with those big eyes?”
“He doesn’t know.” She moved closer, running a hand down his arm. “Another part of the favor is that you don’t tell him I asked. Could you just send him home somehow at the beginning of shift?”
“He’ll certainly wonder why, won’t he?”
“I haven’t had time to think it all out.” She whirled away, paced, but couldn’t clear her head. “Oh, you’ll think of something, Aidan. Please.”
“It’s a matter of the heart, I suppose. And you’re using mine against my good business sense.” He let out a windy sigh. “I’ll work it out for you.”
