by Nora Roberts
She hung up without another word, dragged out her suitcase, and began throwing clothes inside.
The trip back seemed hideously long. Darcy alternated between praying and listening to Trevor as he gathered more details about the accident.
“He was up on the scaffolding,” Trevor told her. “One of the crew tripped, as far as we can tell, and Mick was knocked off or slipped off. He was unconscious when the ambulance came for him.”
“But alive.” Her knuckles went white as she locked her hands together.
“Yes, Darcy.” He took her hands, soothing them apart. “They think concussion and a broken arm. They’ll have to check for internal injuries.”
“Internal injuries.” Her stomach rolled, then went to slippery knots. “That always sounds so dire, so mysterious.” When her voice broke, she shook her head. “No, I’m not going to fall apart on you. Don’t worry.”
“I didn’t realize you were so close.”
“He’s like family.” Tears rushed into her eyes and were viciously willed away. “The closest thing to my own father. Brenna . . . all of them, they must be frantic. I should be there.”
“You will be.”
“I want to go straight to the hospital. Can you arrange for a car to take me there?”
“We’ll both go straight there.”
“Oh, I thought you’d need to go to the job. All right.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes, took several breaths. “I’m scared. I’m so awfully scared.”
He put his arm around her and held her until they landed.
And he watched her gather herself, steady herself on the drive from the airport. Her eyes were dry and calm, her hands quiet in her lap. By the time they arrived and walked down the corridor where they were directed, she was completely composed.
“Mrs. O’Toole.”
Mollie looked over, rose from where she sat with all five of her daughters. “Oh, Darcy, there you are—and had to cut your lovely trip short.”
“Tell me how he is, won’t you?” She took Mollie’s hands, held fast and tried not to think that both Maureen and Mary Kate were crying.
“Well, now, he took a bump. They’re doing some tests on his head and so forth. You know the man has a mighty strong head, so we’re not going to worry about that.”
“Of course not.” She gave Mollie’s chilled hands a squeeze. “Why don’t I see about getting us all some fresh tea? You just sit down now, darling, while I organize that for you. Brenna, why don’t you give me a hand with it and we’ll get us all a nice hot cup.”
“Bless you, Darcy, that would be a godsend. Mr. Magee.” Mollie worked up a tremulous smile. “It’s so kind of you to be here.”
He met Brenna’s eyes as she rose, nodded, then took Mollie’s hand and led her back to a chair.
“Tell me what happened,” Darcy demanded the minute they were out of earshot. “And how bad it is.”
“I didn’t see it, exactly.” Because her voice felt rusty, Brenna cleared her throat. “It seems Bobby Fitzgerald lost his footing while he was hauling block up on the scaffold. Dad turned, I think, to steady him, but they were both off their balance and the floor of it was a little slick from a spot of rain. He just tumbled off. I’m thinking the brace of block Bobby was hauling up knocked him, and he went over the safety bar. God!”
She stopped, pressed her hands to her face. “I saw him fall. I heard a shout and turned round, and I saw him hit the ground. He just lay there. He just lay there, Darcy, with his head bleeding.”
She sniffled, rubbed her fingers over her eyes. “It wasn’t such a terrible long fall, really, but he landed so hard. They stopped me from moving him. I wasn’t thinking and just wanted to turn him over, but thank God, cooler heads were there in case there were spinal or neck injuries. Poor Bobby . . . Bobby’s beside himself. I just had Shawn take him out for a walk around outside.”
“It’s going to be all right.” She took Brenna’s shoulders. “We’ll make it be all right.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I can’t tell them how scared I am. Mary Kate’s prone to hysteria in any case, and Maureen’s pregnant, and Alice Mae’s so young. Patty can hold on, and God knows Ma can, but I can’t tell them how it was to see him hit the ground, and how scared I am he won’t wake up again.”
“Of course he will.” When Brenna broke, Darcy just gathered her in. “They’ll let you see him soon, I’ll wager, then you’ll feel better.”
Over Brenna’s head she watched Trevor come down the hall. He paused, laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see to the tea. Go sit with your family.”
“Thanks for that. Let’s go wash your face,” she said briskly to Brenna. “Then we’ll have some tea and wait for the doctor.”
“I’m all right.” Brenna scrubbed at her face as she drew back. “Go be with Ma. I’ll go wash up and be right along.”
Back in the little waiting room, Darcy sat on the arm of Mollie’s chair. “Tea will be right along.”
“That’s fine, then.” Mollie reached up to pat her knee, then left her hand there for her own comfort as well. “That’s a fine man, Trevor is. To break off his business and come back because my Mick’s hurt.”
“Of course he came back.”
Mollie only shook her head. “Not everyone would. That he did says something about what kind of person he is. And just now, he sat here and he told me I wasn’t to worry about anything but concentrating on helping Mick get better. He’ll see to all the hospital charges and doctors. He says Mick’ll get full pay even though he’s off the job for a while. He expects it’ll only be a bit of a while,” she continued, then stopped when her voice trembled. “He expects Mick to be back to work, as both O’Tooles are required to do the job right.”
“He’s right, of course.” Tears, this time of gratitude, filled Darcy’s throat. How had he known just the right things to say to people he barely knew?
Darcy got to her feet when Trevor came to the doorway and, leading only with her heart, walked to him. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, soft and warm on the lips. “Come sit with the family,” she told him, and brought him in.
Even as she resigned herself to waiting, the doctor stepped in. “Mrs. O’Toole.”
“Yes. My husband?” Mollie was on her feet, her hand clenching Alice Mae’s, as it was closest.
“He’s a tough one.” With a reassuring smile, the doctor stepped over as Brenna raced up. “Let me tell you first, he’ll be fine.”
“Thank God.” Mollie reached out to grip Brenna’s shoulder. “Thank God for that.”
“He has a concussion and a broken arm. The bone . . .” He demonstrated, putting his own hand on his forearm. “Snapped rather than shattered, and that’s fortunate. Some of the lacerations were deep, and there’s considerable bruising at the ribs, but no breaks there. We’ve run tests and haven’t found any internal damage. We want to keep him for a day or two, of course.”
“Is he awake?”
“He is, yes. And considerably alert. He asked for you—and a pint, though you came first.”
Her voice broke in a laughing sob. “I damn well better. Then I can see him?”
“I’ll take you into recovery, then the lot of you can have a minute with him once we’ve got him settled in a room. He looks a bit fierce with the bruises and the cuts, and I don’t want you to be alarmed by it.”
“You don’t raise five children without seeing plenty of bruises and cuts.”
“That you don’t.”
“You wait here now,” she said, turning to her family, “while I go see your father. And when it’s your turn, I don’t want any weeping and wailing, so get it all out of your system now. And we’ll all of us have a good cry if need be after we’re home again.”
Darcy waited until Mollie walked away with the doctor before she turned to Brenna. “All right, how do we go about sneaking him in a pint of Guinness?”
TWELVE
“DARCY, THERE’S MY girl. You’ve come to spring me fr
om this place, haven’t you?”
Twenty-four hours after he’d taken a hard tumble and landed for the most part on his head, Mick O’Toole looked pink and alert, bruised and battered, and just a little desperate. Darcy leaned over the bed rail and kissed his forehead fondly.
“I have not. You’ve one more day to go, if all’s as it should be in that rock you call a brain. So I’ve brought you flowers.”
One of his eyes was blackened, there was a gouge in his cheek held together by a trio of butterfly bandages, and the forehead she’d kissed was a symphony of raw bruises and rawer scrapes.
All in all it gave him the look, Darcy thought, of a brawler who’d come out on the wrong side of fists.
When his big, hopeful smile faded immediately into a long, put-upon sigh, she wanted to cuddle him.
“There’s nothing wrong with me head or the rest of me, ave this busted wing here, and that’s hardly enough to keep a man chained in hospital, now is it?”
“The doctors think different. But I’ve brought you something to cheer you up.”
“The flowers are very nice indeed.” But he said it with a pout, very much like a twelve-year-old who hadn’t gotten his way.
“They are, yeah, and right out of Jude’s own garden. The rest of it’s from somewhere else altogether.” Slipping the flowers out of the bag she carried, Darcy set them aside and pulled out a plastic tumbler with a sealed lid. “It’s Guinness—only a half pint, as that’s all I could manage, but it’ll have to do you.”
“You’re a princess.”
“I am, and expect to be treated as such.” After popping off the lid, she passed the contraband to him, then lowered the rail to sit on the side of the bed. “Do you feel as well as you look?”
“I’m fit and fine, I promise. My arm pains me a bit, but nothing to speak of.” He took his first sip, then closed his eyes in pure pleasure. “It was sorry I was to hear you and Trev rushed all the way back from London. It was nothing but a false step and a bit of a tumble.”
“You scared us all to pieces.” Affectionately, she brushed at the hair on his brow. “And now I suppose you’ll have all your ladies fussing over you.”
His eyes twinkled. “It’s hard to mind it, as I’ve such pretty ladies, though they’ve been in and out of here since I got my senses back. I’m ready to get back on the job, but Trev won’t hear of it. A week, he’s telling me, minimum, before I can so much as show me face, and then only with the doctor’s say-so.”
Mick’s tone turned wheedling. “Maybe you could have a word with him, darling, tell him how much better off I’d be working than lying about. A man’s bound to listen to a beautiful woman such as yourself.”
“You won’t get ’round me, Mister Michael O’Toole. A week’s a short enough time. Now, you rest and stop fussing about work. The theater won’t be built before you’re back to it.”
“I don’t like taking a wage while I’m flat on my back.”
“It’s right he’s paying you, as you were hurt on his job, and he can well afford it. Doing so shows his character, just as fretting over it shows yours.”
“That may be, and I’ll admit it’s put Mollie’s mind at rest even if she doesn’t say so.” Still his fingers worried the edge of the sheet. “He’s a good man and a fair boss, but I need to know he’s got his money’s worth from me.”
“Since when haven’t you given full shot for the pound? The sooner you’re healed through, the sooner you’ll be working again. And I’ll tell you my plumbing needs another look.”
She’d made that one up, but saw it brightened him.
“I’ll take a look-see the minute they let me on my feet again. ’Course, if it’s urgent you can have Brenna see to it.”
“It’ll wait for you, and so will I.”
“That’s fine, then.” He settled back, and the sparkle on her wrist caught his eye. “Well, now, what’s this?” He took her hand, turned it so the bracelet shimmered. “That’s quite the little bauble, isn’t it?”
“It is. Trevor gave it to me.” And she watched Mick’s wicked smile.
“Did he now?”
“He did, and I shouldn’t have taken it, but I decided not to refuse such a generous gesture.”
“Why should you? He’s got his eye on you, and has since you first came into view. The man has fine taste if you’re asking me, and you, my girl, could hardly do better than with the likes of Trevor Magee.”
“It won’t do to get those sorts of notions, Mr. O’Toole. It’s no more than a bit of a frolic for both of us, with neither looking for seriousness.”
“Is it?” Mick questioned, then seeing Darcy set her chin, as he’d seen her set it all her life, he let it lie. “Well, sure and we’ll see about that, won’t we?”
And to Mick’s pleasure, it was barely more than an hour after Darcy left his bedside when Trevor came to it. He brought a pint of Guinness with him, and Mick appreciated his boldness in not troubling to hide it, just as he’d admired the neatness with which Darcy had delivered hers under cover.
“Now, that’s a man after me own heart.”
“Oh, did you want one too?” With an easy smile, Trevor passed the glass and sat. “I figured you’d be feeling restless by now.”
“That I am. If you’d get me some pants I’d walk out of here with you.”
“Tomorrow. I’ve just had a word with your doctor, and he says they’ll release you in the morning.”
“Well, that’s better than a jab in the eye with a sharp stick. I was thinking, I could be on the job straightaway, in a kind of supervisory capacity. No lifting.” He hurried on as Trevor merely stared blandly. “No actual labor, just what you’d call keeping an eye on things.”
“In a week.”
“Bloody hell, man, I’ll go mad in a week. Do you know what it is to be laid low this way and have a brood of hens clucking about you?”
“Only in my cherished fantasies.”
Mick gave a short laugh and settled into his pint. “Darcy left hardly an hour ago.”
“She loves you.”
“That feeling’s very mutual between us. I happened to notice the trinket you gave her, the wrist bauble.”
“It suits her.”
“It does indeed, being bright and rich and shiny. Some see the girl and think, now that’s a flighty one only looking for fun and the easy way. They’d be wrong.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with you.”
“As her father, and my good friend, Patrick Gallagher is across the pond, I’m taking it upon myself to say this to you in plain speech. Don’t toy with that girl, Trevor. She’s not a bauble like that pretty bracelet you picked out of a glass case somewhere. She’s a big and seeking heart in her, even if she doesn’t like to let it show. And for all she may tell you, and herself for that matter, that it’s all fun and games, she’ll bruise like any other woman with rough handling.”
“I don’t intend to handle her roughly.” His voice was cool now, just a step away from aloof.
Not the sort of man who’s accustomed to being given orders, Mick thought, or advice, or even warnings about his behavior. “Maybe the word I should use is ‘careless.’ And a man can be careless with a woman even without intending it, especially if the woman expects it.”
“I’ll make a point of being careful, whatever she expects.”
Mick nodded, and again let it lie. But he wondered just what Trevor himself expected.
Mick was right about one thing. Trevor wasn’t a man who particularly cared for advice, and certainly not when it pertained to a woman. He knew what he was doing with Darcy. They were both clear-sighted adults, adults who had a very elemental attraction to each other. Mixed with it was simple affection and respect. What more could anyone want from a relationship, and a temporary one at that?
But Mick’s words troubled him, and followed him on the drive back to Ardmore. Rather than head back to the job as he’d intended, he turned up Tower Hill. He’d yet to return to his ancestor’s grave
site, or even to explore the ruins. He could spare another half hour.
The round tower loomed over the village and could be seen from below from almost every vantage point. He passed it often enough on his way to and from the cottage, but had never followed the urge to take real time to study it. This time he pulled to the shoulder of the narrow road and stepped out of the car. And into the wind.
When he walked through the little gate, he saw a scatter of tourists climbing over the hilly ground between the old stones and crosses, over toward the roofless stone building that had been the church built in the name of the saint. His first reaction surprised him, as it was mild resentment that anyone should be there, with their cameras and backpacks and guidebooks.
Stupid, he thought. These were just the people he hoped to appeal to with his theater. These, and more who would come for the beaches when the summer spread warmth along the coast.
So he joined them, picking his way down the slope to the church, taking the time he’d yet to allow himself to study the Roman arcading, the carving going weak from time and wind.
Inside with the rubble and graves, two ogham stones had been placed for safekeeping. And how, he wondered, had those lines dug into stone been read as words? A kind of Morse code, he imagined, devised by ancients and left at crossroads for a traveler.
He heard a woman call out for her children in the flat accent that said States to him, East Coast, North. And seemed so out of place here. Did his voice have that same slightly-out-of-tune sound to it? Here voices should lilt and flow and have old music under each word.
He stepped out again, looking up now at the tower. The old defense had its conical roof still attached and seemed even now as if it could withstand any attack.
What had they come for, all the invaders? Romans, Vikings, Saxons, Normans, Britons. What fascination did this simple little island hold for them that they would war and die to take it?
And turning, he looked out and away, and thought he saw part of the answer.
The village below was neat and pretty as a painting, with the broad beach a sweep of sand glittering golden in the fitful sunlight. The sea spread, blue as summer, shimmering in that same restless light, foaming white at the edges.
