by Nora Roberts
“Lady Gwen.”
“You saw her?” Shawn set the pint down with a click of glass on wood.
“As clear as I’m seeing you now. She was standing there, sort of smiling at me in a sad way, and . . .” She didn’t want to tell him what had been said, but felt obliged. It was one thing to tell a little lie and another to deceive.
“And what?”
The rare show of impatience from him had Brenna bristling. “I’m getting to it. And then she spoke to me.”
“She spoke to you?” He pushed back from the table, paced around the kitchen, so uncharacteristically agitated that Brenna found herself gawking at him.
“What’s crawled up your arse here, Shawn?”
“I’m the one who’s living there, aren’t I? Does she show herself to me? Speak to me? No, she doesn’t. She waits until you come along to fix the oven and fiddle with the flue, then there she is.”
“Well, it’s sorry I am to have been the one preferred by your ghost, but I didn’t ask for it, did I?” Brenna heaped her spoon with pudding and filled her mouth with it.
“All right, all right, don’t get testy on me.” Scowling, he dropped back into his chair. “What did she say to you?”
Keeping her face bland, Brenna stared through him while she ate her pudding. When Shawn rolled his eyes at her, she picked up her tea and took a dainty sip. “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me? Or is there someone else about that you’ve decided to snap at through no fault of her own?”
“I’m sorry.” He flashed her a smile because it almost always worked. “Will you tell me what she said?”
“I will, since you’ve decided to ask politely. She said to me, ‘His heart’s in his song.’ I thought perhaps she meant the faerie prince, but when I was telling Ma of it, she said it meant you.”
“If she did, I don’t know what she meant by it.”
“I don’t know any more than you, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind me coming by now and then.”
“You already do,” he pointed out and made her squirm a little.
“If you don’t want me there, you’ve only to say so.”
“That’s not what I said, or what I meant. I’m just saying you do come ’round.”
“I thought I could come ’round when you weren’t there as well. Like today. Just to see if she’d come back. I could do a few chores for you while I was there.”
“You don’t need to find work to come by. You’re always welcome.”
It softened her, not only that he said it, but that he meant it. “I know, but I like keeping busy. So I’ll slip in from time to time since you don’t mind.”
“And you’ll tell me if you see her again?”
“You’ll be the first.” She rose to carry her bowl and mug to the sink. “Do you think . . .” She trailed off, shook her head.
“What?”
“No, it’s nothing. Foolish.”
He came up behind her, gave her neck a quick squeeze with his clever fingers. She wanted to arch and purr like a cat, but knew better. “If you can’t be foolish with a friend, who else is there?”
“Well, I was wondering if love really lasts like that, through death and time.”
“It’s the only thing that really lasts.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Not so it took root, and if it doesn’t, I suppose it’s not love at all.”
She let out a sigh that surprised them both. “If it takes root in one and not the other, it has to be the worst thing in the world.”
He felt a quiver in his heart that he took for sympathy. “There, Brenna darling, have you gone and fallen in love on me?”
She jerked, whirled, gaped at him. He was watching her with such—such bloody affection, such patience and sympathy, she could have beaten him black and blue. Instead, she just shoved clear of him and snatched up her toolbox. “Shawn Gallagher, you are truly a great idiot of a man.”
With her nose in the air and her tools clanking, she stalked out.
He only shook his head, then went back to his cleaning up. With that little quiver around his heart again, he wondered who it was that O’Toole had set her sights on.
Whoever, Shawn thought, slamming a cupboard door just a little too forcefully, the man had better be worthy of her.
THREE
BRENNA WASN’T IN the best of moods when she clomped into the Gallagher house. She didn’t knock— didn’t think to. She’d been breezing in and out of the old house, just as Darcy breezed in and out of the O’Tooles’, for as long as either could remember. The house had changed here and there over the years. Hadn’t she and her father laid the new floor in the kitchen—as pretty a blue as a summer sky—not five winters back? And she herself had papered Darcy’s room with that lovely pattern of baby rosebuds the June before last.
But though there’d been a bit of fussing here and fussing there, the heart of the house remained the same. It was a welcoming place, and the walls seemed to ring with music even when no one was playing.
Now that Aidan and Jude lived there, fresh flowers were always tucked into vases and bowls and bottles, as Jude had a fondness for them. And Brenna knew Jude had plans to do more planting in the spring and had talked of having Brenna build her an arbor.
Something old-fashioned was needed, to Brenna’s mind, to suit the look of the house with its old stone and sturdy wood and carelessly sprawling lines. She had something in her head she thought would suit, and would get to it by and by.
Even as she entered the house with a scowl, the sound of Darcy’s laugh tripping down the steps had her lips twitching. Females, she thought as she headed upstairs, were so much more comfortable than men.
Most men, most of the time.
She found them in what had been Shawn’s room, though there was little left of him there save the bed and his old dresser. He’d taken the shelves that he’d had crammed with music with him to Faerie Hill, and his fiddle and bodhran drum as well.
The rug was still there, a faded old maroon. She’d sat on it countless times, pretending to be bored while he’d played some tune.
The first time she’d fallen in love, it had been with Shawn Gallagher’s music. So long ago, she thought now, she couldn’t remember the song or the time. It was more an always sort of thing. Not that she’d ever let him know that. To her way of thinking you got a body moving quicker with pokes than with strokes. Though God knew, so far neither had inspired the man to move off his butt and do a blessed thing with his tunes.
She wanted it for him, the mule of a man. Wanted him to do what he’d been destined to do and take his music to the world.
But, she reminded herself, it wasn’t her problem, and gnawing over it again in her mind wasn’t why she’d come here today.
This, she thought, pursing her lips, was Jude’s problem.
The walls were a mess, Brenna decided with a quick scan. Outlines where Shawn had hung pictures and whatnot stood out against the sun-faded paint. Dozens of nail holes pocked the walls as well, proving the man didn’t have a way with a hammer.
But she could recall that whenever his mother had a whim to deal with his room, he’d just smiled and told her not to bother. He liked it just as it was.
Brenna leaned against the doorjamb, already visualizing how to turn the neglected male space into a cheery nursery. And thinking, she let her gaze rest on her friends, who stood by the window looking out.
Darcy with her gorgeous hair falling wild and free, Jude with her deep, rich brown hair bound neatly back. They were a contrast in styles, she supposed, with Darcy bright as the sun, and Jude subtle as a moonbeam. They were about the same height, about average for a woman, Brenna mused. Which put them both a good three inches over her. Their builds were similar as well, though Darcy had more in the curve department and didn’t trouble to hide it.
They were both easily, unmistakably female.
It wasn’t something Brenna envied—of course it wasn’t. But she did wish, just no
w and again, that she didn’t feel like such a fool whenever she put on a skirt and girl shoes.
Since it wasn’t something she cared to dwell on, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her baggy pants and cocked her head.
“How are you going to figure out what you want done in here if you stare out the window all day?”
Jude turned, grinned so that her pretty, serious face lit up. “We’re watching Aidan on the beach with Finn.”
“The man ran out like a rabbit,” Darcy put in as Brenna strolled over, “the minute we started talking paper and paint and fabrics. Said he had to exercise the dog.”
“Well, now.” Brenna peeked out the window herself, spotted Aidan and the young dog, Finn, sitting on the beach and watching the water. “That’s a fine sight, anyway. A broad-shouldered man and a handsome dog on a winter’s beach.”
“He’s thinking deep thoughts, I’ll wager, on impending fatherhood.” Darcy shot her brother a last look of affection, then turned, hands on hips. “And it’s up to us to deal with the practicalities of the matter while he sits and philosophizes.”
Brenna gave Jude’s flat belly a friendly pat. “How’s it all going, then?”
“Fine. The doctor says we’re both healthy.”
“I heard you’re still queasy of a morning.”
Jude rolled her sea-green eyes. “Aidan fusses. You’d think I was the first woman to conceive a child since Eve. It’s just a little morning sickness. It’ll pass.”
“If it were me,” Darcy announced and flopped onto her brother’s old bed, “I’d play it up for all it was worth. Pampering, Jude Frances, you should rake in all the fussing and pampering you can manage. For when the baby comes, you’ll be too busy to remember your name. Remember when Betsy Duffy had her first, Brenna? She fell asleep every Sunday at Mass for two months running. With the second, she’d just sit there, wild-eyed and dazed, and by the time she had the third . . .”
“All right.” Jude laughed and swatted at Darcy’s feet. “I get the picture. Right now, I’m just dealing with preparing for one. Brenna . . .” She lifted her hands. “These walls.”
“Aye, they’re a sight, aren’t they? We can fix them up for you. Clean them up, patch the holes . . .” She flicked a finger over one as big as a penny. “Paint them proper.”
“I’d thought of papering, but I decided paint’s better. Something sunny and simple. Then we can hang prints. Fairy-tale prints.”
“You ought to hang your own drawings,” Brenna told her.
“Oh, I don’t draw that well.”
“Well enough to sell a book with your stories and your drawings in it,” Brenna reminded her. “I think your pictures are lovely, and it would mean more, wouldn’t it, to the baby as it grew to have something its mother had done hanging here.”
“Really?” Jude tapped a finger on her lips, the pleasure of the idea obvious in her eyes. “I suppose I could have some framed, see how they looked.”
“Candy-colored frames,” Brenna told her. “Babes like bright colors, or so Ma always says.”
“All right.” Jude took a deep breath. “Now these floors. I don’t want to cover them, but they’ll need to be sanded and revarnished.”
“That’s not a problem. Some of this trim needs to be replaced too. I can make some up to match the rest of it.”
“Perfect. Now, here’s this idea I’ve been mulling over. It’s a large room, so I thought what if we made this corner here a kind of play area.” Gesturing, Jude crossed the room. “Shelves up this wall for toys, a little table and chair that would fit right under the window.”
“We can do that. But if you were to come ’round the corner with the shelves, you’d make better use of your space, and have it more like a separate spot, if you know what I mean. And I can make them adjustable so you can change the look of them as needs be.”
“Around the corner . . .” Jude narrowed her eyes and tried to picture it. “Yes. I like that. What do you think, Darcy?”
“I think the two of you know just what’s needed here, but it’s up to me to get you into Dublin for some smartlooking maternity clothes.”
Instinctively, Jude laid a hand on her stomach. “I’m not showing yet.”
“Why wait? You’ll need them long before the baby needs shelves, and you’re already thinking of those, aren’t you? We’ll go Thursday next, when I’ve the day off.” And the portion of her pay she allotted herself for fun in her pocket. “That suit you, Brenna?”
Brenna was already taking her measuring tape out of her toolbox. “Suits me for the pair of you. I’ve too much work just now to take a day being dragged around Dublin shops and waiting while you gasp over the next pair of shoes you can’t live without.”
“You could do with a new pair of boots yourself.” Darcy skimmed her gaze down. “Those look like you wore them to march over to the west counties and back again.”
“They do fine for me. Jude, tell Shawn to find a place for his junk here, and I’ll start on this room first of next week.”
“ ’Tisn’t junk,” Shawn said from the doorway. “I spent many a happy night in that bed where Darcy’s making herself at home just now.”
“Well, junk’s what it is now,” Brenna shot back with a little sniff. “And in the way. And how many times, I’d like to know, do you have to hit a nail to put holes this size in a wall?”
“You put pictures over them, and it doesn’t matter how big the holes are.”
“Since that’s your thinking on it, if you’ve a mind to put up anything in the cottage, call someone who knows one end of a hammer from the other. You’ll want to make him swear to that, Jude,” Brenna warned, “else the cottage’ll be rubble by spring.”
“I’ll fix the damn holes meself if it’ll shut you up.” His tone was pleasant, dangerously so. And that was just enough to give Brenna’s heart a little jerk and make her cover the reaction with sarcasm.
“Oh, to be sure, you’ll fix them. Like you fixed the sink at the pub the last time it plugged up so I had to wade through an inch of water on the floor to repair the damage.”
When Darcy snickered, Shawn sent her a cool and silent look. “I’ll have what’s left of mine out by tomorrow, Jude, if that’s all right with you.”
Recognizing scraped male pride, she started to step forward quickly. “There’s no hurry, Shawn. We were just . . .” She trailed off as the room took a sick, slow spin.
Before she could stagger, Shawn darted across the room at a speed that had Brenna’s mouth falling open and scooped his sister-in-law into his arms.
“It’s nothing.” Her head already clearing, Jude patted his shoulder. “I was just dizzy for a minute, that’s all. It happens now and then.”
“You’re for bed,” he said, already striding out. “Get Aidan.” He tossed the order to Darcy over his shoulder.
“No, no, I’m fine. Shawn, don’t—”
“Get Aidan,” he repeated, but Darcy was already up and running.
Brenna stood where she was for a moment, her measuring tape in her hand. As the oldest of five, she’d seen her mother stretch right out on the floor during a dizzy spell while pregnant, so she wasn’t particularly alarmed by Jude’s behavior. What she was, was stunned by the fluid strength she’d just witnessed. Why the man had plucked Jude up as if she’d been weightless.
Where had that been hiding?
Shaking herself clear, she hurried into the master bedroom in time to see Shawn lay Jude gently on the bed and pull a throw over her.
“Shawn, this is ridiculous. I—”
“Lie down.” He jabbed a finger at her in a way that made Jude obey and Brenna goggle. “I’m calling the doctor.”
“She doesn’t need the doctor.” Brenna nearly flinched from the furious glare he aimed at her when he whirled around. But she also saw sheer male fear behind his eyes, and was touched by it. “It’s just a part of carrying, that’s all.” She moved to the bed to sit and pat Jude’s hand. “My mother used to lie right down on
the kitchen floor when she had a spell, especially with Alice Mae.”
“I feel fine.”
“Of course you do. But a little rest doesn’t hurt. Why don’t you fetch our Jude some water, Shawn?”
“I think she should have the doctor.”
“Aidan’s likely to make her.” Because Jude looked so unhappy at the thought, Brenna gave her a look of quiet sympathy. “Oh, don’t take on now. Ma says that Dad did the same with her when she carried me. By the time the others came along, he was used to it. A man’s got a right to panic, after all. He doesn’t know what’s going on inside you the way you do, does he? Shawn, let’s have that water now.”
“All right, I’ll fetch it. But don’t let her get up.”
“I’m fine, really.”
“Of course you are. Your color’s back, your eyes are clear.” Brenna gave Jude’s hand another squeeze. “Do you want me to go out and head Aidan off, try to calm him down?”
“If you think—” She broke off as she heard the front door slam like a gunshot, and then footsteps rushing up the stairs. “Too late.”
Brenna got up and made it halfway across the room before Aidan came flying in. “She’s fine. Just a little expectant-mother spell. She’s—” Then she only sighed as Aidan dashed right past her.
“Are you all right? Did you faint? Did someone call the doctor?”
“We’ll leave it to her to calm him down.” Giving Darcy a little wave, Brenna nudged her out of the room and shut the door.
“Are you sure she’s all right? She looked so pale for a minute.”
“She’s fine, I promise you. And Aidan’ll likely keep her in bed the rest of the day no matter how she argues.”
“Bad enough a woman has to get fat as a cow with a baby. But add to that the hanging over the toilet every morning and fainting without a moment’s notice.” Darcy blew out a breath and ordered herself to calm down. “It’s a sorry state of affairs what a woman goes through. And you—” She stabbed a finger at Shawn as he walked down the hallway with a glass of water. “All the lot of you have to do is have your pleasure, whistle away nine months, then pass out smelly cigars.”
“It just goes to proving God’s a man,” he said with a weak smile.
Darcy’s lips quirked at that, but she shook her head. “I’m going to make Jude some tea and toast.”
She sauntered away, leaving Shawn staring at the bedroom door.
“Let’s give them a bit of privacy.” Brenna took his arm and tugged him toward the stairs.
“Shouldn’t I take her the water?”
“You drink it.” Feeling kindly toward him, Brenna reached up and touched his cheek. “You’re white as a sheet.”
“Scared ten years off my life, she did.”
“I can see that. But you acted fast and did just the right thing.” She slipped into the next room, picked up her measuring tape again. “She’s got all those changes going on inside her, and likely isn’t resting as much as she might. She’s all caught up in her plans,” she added, taking a measurement, writing it down in her little book. “So much new in her life in so short a time.”
“I guess it’s easier for women to take such matters in stride.”
“I suppose.” Brenna continued to measure and take notes. “You must remember when your mother was carrying Darcy.”
“Some.” He sipped at the water, as his throat was still dry with nerves. Brenna was calm enough, he noted, moving gracefully around the room in those thick old boots, taking measurements, writing things down, making little pencil marks and noting numbers right on the wall.
Some of her hair was falling out of her cap. Just a few long, spiraling red curls, loosened, he supposed, by her dash into the bedroom.
“What do you remember best?”
“Hmm?” He’d lost the thread somewhere, and now shifted his gaze from the red curl that teased her shoulder back to her face.
“About when your mother was pregnant with Darcy? What do you remember best?”
“Laying my head against her belly, feeling all those kicks and movements. It was like Darcy was fretting to get outside and get on with things.”
“That’s a nice one.” Brenna put her tape and notebook away, lifted her toolbox. “I’m sorry I snapped and snarled at you before. I was in a bit of a mood today.”
