by Nora Roberts
"Oh, Gray," she said again.
"I walked across the fields one morning, and I saw the standing stones. They fascinated me, and I felt a tug, a power that didn't surprise me in the least."
Her hand tensed in his. "You mean that."
"I do. I could walk down the road there, or drive to the cliffs, through the village, wander around in ruins, cemeteries. I felt connected-and I'd never felt that connection with anything or anyone before. I didn't have visions, but I knew I'd been here before and was meant to come back."
"And that doesn't give you the creeps."
"It scared the shit out of me," he said cheerfully. "Just about as much as falling in love with Brianna did. What's scaring you more, pal?"
"I don't know. I have these dreams."
"So you said before. Are you going to tell me about them this time?"
"I have to tell somebody," she murmured. "Whenever I start to talk about it with Murphy I get... panicked. Like something's got a hold of me. I'm not the hysterical type, Gray, or the fanciful type. But I can't get past this."
She began slowly, telling him of the first dream, the details of it, the emotions of it. The words came easily now, without the hot ball in her throat that swelled each time she tried to discuss it with Murphy.
Still, she knew there was more, some piece, some final link that part of her was blocking out.
"He has the broach," she finished. "Murphy has the broach I saw in my dreams. He found it in the dance when he was a boy, and he says he started having the same dreams."
Fascinated, and with one part of his brain coolly filing away the facts and images for a story to be spun, he whistled. "That's pretty heavy stuff."
"Tell me about it. I feel like I've got the weight of a hundred-pound ax at the back of my neck."
He narrowed his eyes. "I said heavy, not scary. Certainly not threatening."
"Well, I am threatened. I don't like it, this having my unconscious intruded upon. And this nasty feeling that I'm supposed to fix whatever went wrong doesn't agree with me. Gray, when I see a magician vanish in a puff of smoke, I know it's a trick. I may enjoy it, be entertained if it's well done, but I'm fully aware there's a trapdoor and misdirection."
"Rock and a hard place again, pal. Logic against illogic. Reason against emotion. Have you considered relaxing and just seeing which side wins?"
"I've considered finding an analyst," she muttered. "And I'm telling myself the dreams will stop once I'm back in New York, back in the routine I'm used to." "And you're afraid they won't." "Yes, I'm afraid they won't. And I'm very afraid that Murphy won't understand why I have to go." "Do you understand?" Gray asked quietly. "Logically, yes. And still logically, I can understand my connection here. With Murphy, with all of you. I know I'll have to come back, that I'll never break the ties, or want to. And that the life I'm going back to will never be quite the same as the one I had before. But I can't fix dreams, Gray, and I can't stay and let my life drift. Not even for Murphy." "Want advice?"
She lifted her hands, then let them fall. "Hell, I'll take what I can get."
"Think through what you're going back to and what you're leaving behind. Make a list if it helps the logical side. And after you've weighed them, one against the other, see which side of the scale dips."
"Pretty standard advice," she mused. "But not bad. Thanks."
"Wait till you get my bill."
She laughed, tilted her head onto his shoulder. "I really love you."
Flustered, and pleased, he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Same goes."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Shannon couldn't have been more delighted with Worldwide Gallery, Clare. Its manor-house style was both striking and dignified. The gardens, Murphy told her as she stepped from the truck to admire them, were Brianna's design.
"She didn't plant them," he went on, "as there wasn't enough time for her to come out every day with her spade and her pots. But she drew up the placement of every last dahlia and rosebush."
"Another family affair."
"It is, yes. Rogan and Maggie worked with the architect on the design of the house, scrutinized every paint chip. There were some lively arguments there," he remembered, taking Shannon's hand as Gray pulled up nearby. "It's a labor of love for all of them."
Shannon scanned the cars already parked in the lot. "It appears it's working very well."
"The president of Ireland's been here." There was wonder in his voice as well as pride. "Twice, and bought one of Maggie's pieces, others as well. It's no small thing to take a dream and make it into a reality that stands strong."
"No." She understood what was beneath his words and was grateful when Brianna and the rest joined them.
"You'll keep your hands in your pockets, Liam Sweeney," Maggie warned. "Or I'll handcuff you." Not trusting the threat, she hoisted him up. "What do you think then, Shannon?"
"I think it's beautiful, and every bit as impressive as Dublin and New York."
"Here's a home," she said simply and carried Liam toward the entrance.
Shannon smelled the flowers, the roses, the drifting fragrance of peonies, the scent of the trimmed lawn that was thick as velvet. When she stepped inside, she saw that it was, indeed, a home, furnished with care, and with the welcoming grace of elegance.
There were paintings on the wall of the main hall, clever pencil portraits that celebrated the faces and moods of the people of Ireland. In the front parlor were dreamy watercolors that suited the curved settee and quiet tones of the room. There were sculptures, Maggie's incomparable glass, as well as a bust of a young woman carved in alabaster, and canny little elves depicted in glossy wood. A hand-hooked rug in bleeding blues graced the floor, and a thick throw was draped over the back of the sofa.
There were flowers, fresh that morning, in vases of brilliant glass and fired pottery.
It gave her a jolt to see her own painting on the wall. Stunned, she walked closer, staring at her watercolor of Brianna.
"I'm so proud to have it here," Brianna said from beside her. "Maggie told me that Rogan had displayed three, but she didn't tell me this was one of them."
"Three?" There was something spreading in Shannon's chest, making her heart beat too fast for comfort.
Maggie stepped up, struggling with a wriggling Liam. "At first he was only going to use the one, The Dance, but he decided to put up the other two for a few days only. He wants to tease the clientele a bit. Give them a glimpse or two of what's to come in your fall showing, and start a buzz. He's had an offer on The Dance already."
"An offer?" Now whatever was stretching inside of Shannon was creeping into her throat. "Someone wants to buy it?"
"I think he said two thousand pounds. Or maybe it was three." She shrugged as Shannon stared at her. "Of course he wants twice that."
"Twice-" She choked, then certain she'd gotten the joke, shook her head. "You almost had me."
"He's greedy, is Rogan," Maggie said with a smile. "I'm forever telling him he asks outrageous prices, and he delights in forever proving me wrong by getting them. If he wants six thousand pounds for it, he'll get it, I promise you."
The logical part of Shannon's brain calculated the exchange into American dollars, and banked it. The artist in her was both flustered and grieving.
"All right, boy-o," Maggie said to the squirming Liam.
"It's your da's turn." She marched out with him, leaving Shannon staring at the painting.
"When I sold the yearling," Murphy began in a quiet voice, "it broke my heart. He was mine, you see." He smiled a little when Shannon turned to him. "I'd been there at the foaling and watched through until the first nursing. I trained him to the lead and worried when he bruised his knee. But I had to sell him, and knew that in my head. You can't be in the horse business without doing business. Still, it broke my heart."
"I've never sold anything I've painted. I've given it away as gifts, but that's not the same." She took a long breath. "I didn't know I could feel this way. Exci
ted, overwhelmed, and incredibly sad."
"It may help to know that Gray's already told Rogan he'll skin him if Rogan sells your Brianna to anyone but him."
"I'd have given it to them."
Murphy leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Say it soft, for Rogan's got good hearing."
That made her laugh, and she let him take her hand and lead her into the next room.
It took more than an hour before she could be persuaded from the first floor to the second. There was too much to see, and admire, and want. The first thing she spotted in the upstairs sitting room was a long sinuous flow of glass that hinted at the shape of a dragon. She could see the spread of wings, the iridescent sheen of them, the curve of the neck, the fierce turn of head and sweep of tail.
"I have to have it." Possessively she ran her fingers along the serpentine body. It was Maggie's work, of course. Shannon didn't have to see the carved M.M. under the base of the tail to know it.
"You'll let me buy it for you."
"No." She was firm as she turned to Murphy. "I've wanted a piece of hers for more than a year and know exactly what Rogan gets for her. I can afford it now. Barely. I mean it, Murphy."
"You took the earrings." And she was wearing them still, he saw with pleasure.
"I know, and it's sweet of you to offer. But this is important to me, to buy for myself something of my sister's."
The stubborn look that had come into his eyes faded. "Ah, so it's that way. I'm glad."
"So am I. Very glad." Her lips curved when his came to them.
"I beg your pardon," Rogan said from the doorway. "I'm interrupting."
"No." She went to him, hands extended. "I can't begin to tell you how I feel seeing my work here. It's something I never thought of. Something my mother always wanted. Thank you." She kept his hands in hers as she kissed him. "Thank you for making something she dreamed of come true."
"It's more than a pleasure. And I'm confident it will continue to be, for both of us, for years to come." He saw her hesitation and countered it. "Brianna's gone to the kitchen. You can't keep her out of one. Will you come have some tea?"
"I've just started on this floor, and actually, I'd like a minute of your time."
"Rogan, there you are." With a smug smile on her face, Maggie strode into the room. "I've dumped Liam on Gray. I told him it would be good practice for when Kayla gains her feet and never stops running on them." She hooked an arm through Rogan's. "Brianna has the tea ready, and bless her, she brought a tin of her sugar biscuits from home."
"I'll be right down." He gave her hand an absent pat. "Should we go into my office, Shannon?"
"No, it's not necessary. I want to discuss the dragon."
He didn't need for her to gesture toward the sculpture. "Maggie's Breath of Fire," he said with a nod. "Exceptional."
"Of course it is," Maggie retorted. "I worked my ass off on it. Started three different times before it came right."
"I want it." Shannon was an excellent negotiator, had bargained with the best of them in the diamond district, in the little galleries of Soho. But in this case her skills had no chance against sheer desire. "I'd like to arrange to buy it and have you ship it back to New York for me."
No one but Maggie noticed that Murphy went suddenly and absolutely still.
"I see." Considering, Rogan kept his eyes on Shannon's face. "It's one of her more unique works."
"No argument. I'll write you a check."
Maggie looked away from Murphy and squared her shoulders for battle. "Rogan, I'll not have you-"
It amused Shannon to see Maggie seethe into silence when Rogan raised a hand. "Artists tend to have an emotional attachment to their work," he said mildly while his wife glared at him. "Which is why they need a partner, someone with a head for business."
"Fathead," Maggie muttered. "Bloodsucker. Damn contracts. He makes me sign them still as if I hadn't borne him a child and didn't have another in the womb."
He only spared her a brief glance. "Finished?" he asked, then continued before she could swear at him. "As Maggie's partner, I'll speak for her and tell you that we'd like you to have it, as a gift."
Even as Shannon started to protest, Maggie was sputtering in shock. "Rogan Sweeney, never in my life did I expect to hear such a thing come out of your mouth." After a burst of delighted laughter, she grabbed his face in both her hands, then kissed him long and hard. "I love you." Still beaming, she turned back to Shannon. "Don't you dare argue," she ordered. "This is a moment of great pride and astonishment for me in the man I married. So shake hands on the deal before he comes back to his normal avaricious senses."
Trapped by kindness, Shannon did what she was told. "It's very generous. Thank you. I guess I'll have that tea now, and gloat, before I finish the tour."
"I'll take you down. Maggie, Murphy?"
