She stopped to watch, to listen, wishing she'd brought her sketch pad. She'd have to come back with it. It had been too long since she'd had the opportunity to do a real landscape.
Odd, she thought as she began to walk again. She hadn't realized she wanted to. Yet anyone with even rudimentary skills would find their fingers itching here, she decided. The colors, the shapes, and the magnificent light. She turned around, walking backward for a moment to study the tree from a different angle.
Early morning would be best, she decided and climbed over the next wall with her attention still focused behind her.
Only luck kept her from turning headfirst into the cow.
"Jesus Christ." She scrambled backward, came up hard against stone. The cow simply eyed the intruder dispassionately and swished her tail. "It's so big." From her perch on top of the wall, Shannon let out an unsteady breath. "I had no idea they were so big."
Cautious, she lifted her gaze and discovered that bossie wasn't alone. The field was dotted with grazing cows, large placid-eyed ladies with black-and-white hides. Since they didn't seem particularly interested in her, she lowered slowly until she was sitting on the wall rather than standing on it.
"I guess the tour stops here. Aren't you going to moo or something?"
Rather than oblige, the nearest cow shifted her bulk and went back to grazing. Amused now, Shannon relaxed and took a longer, more comprehensive look around. What she saw had her lips bowing.
"Babies." With a laugh, she started to spring up to get a first-hand look at the spindly calves romping among their less energetic elders. Then caution had her glancing back into the eyes of her closest neighbor. She wasn't at all sure if cows tended to bite or not. "Guess I'll just watch them from right here."
Curiosity had her reaching out, warily, her eyes riveted on the cow's face. She just wanted to touch. Though she leaned out, she kept her butt planted firmly on the wall. If the cow didn't like the move, Shannon figured she could be on the other side. Any woman who worked out three times a week should be able to outrun a cow.
When her fingers brushed, she discovered the hair was stiff and tough, and that the cow didn't appear to object. More confident, Shannon inched a little closer and spread her palm over the flank.
"She doesn't mind being handled, that one," Murphy said from behind her.
Shannon's yelp had several of the cows trundling off. After some annoyed mooing, they settled down again. But Murphy was still laughing when they had, and his hand remained on Shannon's shoulder where he gripped to keep her from falling face first off the wall.
"Steady now. You're all nerves."
"I thought I was alone." She wasn't sure if she was more mortified to have screamed or to have been caught petting a farm animal.
"I was heading back from setting my horses to pasture and saw you." In a comfortable move he sat on the wall, facing the opposite way, and lighted a cigarette. "It's a fine morning."
Her opinion on that was a grunt. She hadn't thought about this being his land. And now, it seemed, she was stuck again. "You take care of all these cows yourself?"
"Oh, I have a bit of help now and then, when it's needed. You go ahead, pet her if you like. She doesn't mind it."
"I wasn't petting her." It was a little late for dignity, but Shannon made a stab at it. "I was just curious about how they felt."
"You've never touched a cow?" The very idea made him grin. "You have them in America I'm told."
"Of course we have cows. We just don't see them strolling down Fifth Avenue very often." She slanted a look at him. He was still smiling, looking back toward the tree that had started the whole scenario. "Why haven't you cut that down? It's in the middle of your wheat."
"It's no trouble to plow and plant around it," he said easily. "And it's been here longer than me." At the moment he was more interested in her. She smelled faintly sinful-some cunning female fragrance that had a man wondering. And wasn't it fine that he'd been thinking of her as he'd come over the rise?
There she'd been, as if she'd been waiting.
"You've a fine morning for your first in Clare. There'll be rain later in the day."
Brianna had said the same, Shannon remembered, and frowned up at the pretty blue sky. "Why do you say that?"
"Didn't you see the sunrise?"
Even as she was wondering what that had to do with anything, Murphy was cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face west.
"And there," he said, gesturing. "The clouds gathering up from the sea. They'll blow in by noontime and bring us rain. A soft one, not a storm. There's no temper in the air."
The hand on her face was hard as rock, gentle as water. She discovered he carried the scents of his farm with him-the horses, the earth, the grass. It seemed wiser all around to concentrate on the sky.
"I suppose farmers have to learn how to gauge the weather."
"It's not learning so much. You just know." To please himself he let his fingers brush through her hair before dropping them onto his own knee. The gesture, the casual intimacy of it, had her turning her head toward him.
They may have been facing opposite ways, with legs dangling on each side of the wall, but they were hip to hip. And now eye to eye. And his were the color of the glass her mother had collected-the glass Shannon had packed so carefully and brought back to New York. Cobalt.
She didn't see any of the shyness or the bafflement she'd read in them the day before. These were the eyes of a confident man, one comfortable with himself, and one, she realized with some confusion of her own, who had dangerous thoughts behind them.
He was tempted to kiss her. Just lean forward and lay his lips upon hers. Once. Quietly. If she'd been another woman, he would have. Then again, he knew if she'd been another woman he wouldn't have wanted to quite so badly.
"You have a face, Shannon, that plants itself right in the front of a man's mind, and blooms there."
It was the voice, she thought, the Irish in it that made even such a foolish statement sound like poetry. In defense against it, she looked away, back toward the safety of grazing cows.
"You think in farming analogies."
"That's true enough. There's something I'd like to show you. Will you walk with me?"
"I should get back."
But he was already rising and taking her hand as though it were already a habit. " Tisn't far." He bent, plucked a starry blue flower that had been growing in a crack in the wall. Rather than hand it to her, as she'd expected, he tucked it behind her ear.
It was ridiculously charming. She fell into step beside him before she could stop herself. "Don't you have work? I thought farmers were always working."
"Oh, I've a moment or two to spare. There's Con." Murphy lifted a hand as they walked. "Rabbitting."
The sight of the sleek gray dog racing across the field in pursuit of a blur that was a rabbit had her laughing. Then her fingers tightened on Murphy's in distress. "He'll kill it."
"Aye, if he could catch it, likely he would. But chances of that are slim."
Hunter and hunted streaked over the rise and vanished into a thin line of trees where the faintest gleam of water caught the sun.
"He'll lose him now, as he always does. He can't help chasing any more than the rabbit can help fleeing."
"He'll come back if you call him," Shannon said urgently. "He'll come back and leave it alone."
Willing to indulge her, Murphy sent out a whistle. Moments later Con bounded back over the field, tongue lolling happily.
"Thank you."
Murphy started walking again. There was no use telling her Con would be off again at the next rabbit he scented. "Have you always lived in the city?"
"In or near. We moved around a lot, but we always settled near a major hub." She glanced up. He seemed taller when they were walking side by side. Or perhaps it was just the way he had of moving over the land. "And have you always lived around here?"
"Always. Some of this land was the Concannons', and ours r
an beside it. Tom's heart was never in farming, and over the years he sold off pieces to my father, then to me. Now what's mine splits between what's left of the Concannons', leaving a piece of theirs on either side."
Her brow furrowed as she looked over the hills. She couldn't begin to estimate the acreage or figure the boundaries. "It seems like a lot of land."
"It's enough." He came to a wall, stepped easily over it, then, to Shannon's surprise, he simply put his hands at her waist and lifted her over as if she'd weighed nothing. "Here's what I wanted to show you."
She was still dealing with the shock of how strong he was when she looked over and saw the stone circle. Her first reaction wasn't surprise or awe or pleasure. It was simple acceptance.
It would occur to her later that she hadn't been surprised because she'd known it was there. She'd seen it in her dreams.
"How wonderful." The pleasure did come, and quickly now. Tilting her head over her eyes to block the angle of the sun she studied it, as an artist would, for shape and texture and tone.
It wasn't large, and several of the stones that had served as lintels had fallen. But the circle stood, majestic and somehow magically in a quiet field of green where horses grazed in the distance.
"I've never seen one, except in pictures." Hardly aware that she'd linked her fingers with Murphy and was pulling him with her, she hurried closer. "There are all sorts of legends and theories about standing stones, aren't there? Spaceships or druids, giants freezing or fairies dancing. Do you know how old it is?"
"Old as the fairies, I'd say."
That made her laugh. "I wonder if they were places of worship, or sacrifice." The idea made her shudder, pleasantly, as she reached out a hand to touch the stone.
Just as her fingers brushed, she drew them back sharply, and stared. There'd been heat there, too much heat for such a cool morning.
Murphy never took his eyes off her. "It's an odd thing, isn't it, to feel it?"
"I-for a minute it was like I touched something breathing." Feeling foolish, she laid a hand firmly on the stone. There was a jolt, she couldn't deny it, but she told herself it came from her own sudden nerves.
"There's power here. Perhaps in the stones themselves, perhaps in the spot they chose to raise them in."
"I don't believe in that sort of thing."
"You've too much Irish in you not to." Very gently he drew her through the arch of stone and into the center of the dance.
Determined to be practical, she folded her arms over her chest and moved away from him. "I'd like to paint it, if you'd let me."
"It doesn't belong to me. The land around it's mine, but it belongs to itself. You paint it if it pleases you."
"It would." Relaxing again, she wandered the inner circle. "I know people back home who'd pay for a chance to stand here. The same ones who go to Sedonna looking for vortexes and worry about their chakras."
Murphy grinned as he scratched his chin. "I've read of that. Interesting. Don't you think there are some places and some things that hold old memories in them? And the power that comes from them?"
She could, nearly could, standing there. If she let herself. "I certainly don't think hanging some pretty rock around my neck is going to improve my sex life." Amused, she looked back at him. "And I don't think a farmer believes it, either."
"Well, I don't know about wearing a necklace to make things more interesting in bed. I'd rather depend on myself for that."
"I bet you do" Shannon murmured and turned away to stroke one of the stones. "Still, they're so ancient, and they've stood here for longer than anyone really knows. That's magic in itself. I wonder-" She broke off, holding her breath and listening hard. "Did you hear that?"
He was only a pace away now, and waited, and watched. "What did you hear, Shannon?"
Her throat was dry; she cleared it. "Must have been a bird. It sounded like someone crying for a second."
Murphy laid a hand on her hair, let it run through as he had before. "I've heard her. So have some others. Your sisters. Don't stiffen up," he murmured, turning her to face him. "Blood's blood, and it's useless to ignore it. She weeps here because she lost her lover. So the story goes."
"It was a bird," Shannon insisted.
"They were doomed, you see," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "He was only a poor farmer, and she was the daughter of the landlord. But they met here, and loved here, and conceived a child here. So it's said."
She was cold again and, fighting back a shiver, spoke lightly. "A legend, Murphy? I'd expect there'd be plenty about a spot like this."
"So there are. This one's sad, as many are. He left her here to wait for him, so they could run off together. But they caught him, and killed him. And when her father found her the next day, she was as dead as her love, with tears still on her cheeks."
"And now, of course, she haunts it."
He smiled then, not at all insulted by the cynicism. "She loved him. She can only wait." Murphy took her hands to warm them in his. "Gray thought of doing a murder here, but changed his mind. He told me it wasn't a place for blood. So instead of being in his book, it'll be on your canvas. It's more fitting."
"If I get to it." She should have tugged her hands away, but it felt so good to have his around them. "I need more supplies if I decide to do any serious painting while I'm here. I should get back. I'm keeping you from your work, and Brianna's probably holding breakfast for me."
But he only looked at her, enjoying the way her hands felt in his, the way the air blushed color in her cheeks. Enjoyed as well the unsteady pulse he felt at her wrists, and the quick confusion in her eyes.
"I'm glad I found you sitting on my wall, Shannon Bodine. It'll give me something to picture the rest of my day."
Annoyed with the way her knees were melting, she stiffened them and cocked her head. "Murphy, are you flirting with me?"
"It seems I am."
"That's flattering, but I don't really have time for it. And you've still got my hands."
"So I do." With his eyes on hers, he lifted them, pressed his lips to her knuckles. His smile was quick and disarming when he let her go. "Come walking with me again, Shannon."
She stood a moment when he turned and stepped out of the dance. Then, because she couldn't resist, she darted to one of the arches and watched him walk, with a whistle for the dog, over his field.
Not a man to underestimate, she mused. And she watched until he'd disappeared behind a rise, unconsciously rubbing her warmed knuckles against her cheek.
Chapter Seven
Shannon didn't know how to approach her first visit to an Irish pub. It wasn't that she didn't look forward to it. She always enjoyed new things, new places, new people. And even if she'd been resistant, Brianna's obvious pleasure at the idea of an evening out would have pushed her into going.
Yet she couldn't quite resolve herself to the idea of taking a baby to a bar.
"Oh, you're ready." Brianna glanced up when Shannon started down the stairs. "I'm sorry, I'm running behind. The baby was hungry, then needed changing." She swayed as she spoke, Kayla resting in the crook of one arm, a tray with two cups of tea balanced in the other.
"Then the sisters complained about itchy throats and asked for some hot toddies."
"The sisters?"
"The Freemonts, in the blue room? Oh, you probably missed them. They just came in today. Seems they got caught in the rain and took a chill." Brianna rolled her eyes. "They're regulars, are the Freemonts, so I try not to mind their fussing. But they spend the three days a year they have here doing little else. Gray says it's because they've lived with each other all their lives and neither ever had a decent tumble with a man."
She stopped herself, flushed, then managed a weak smile when Shannon laughed.
"I shouldn't be talking that way about guests. But the point is, I'm a little behind things, so if you wouldn't mind waiting?"
"Of course not. Can I-"
"Oh, and there's the phone. Blast it, let it
ring."
"Where's Gray?"
"Oh, he's investigating a crime scene, or killing someone else. He snarled when I poked into his studio, so he'll be no help at the moment."
"I see. Well, can I do something?"
"I'd be grateful if you could take the baby for a few minutes, just while I run this tray upstairs and pamper the sisters a bit." Brianna's eyes gleamed. "It won't take long; I used a free hand with the whiskey."
"Sure, I'll take her." Warily Shannon shifted Kayla into her arms. The baby felt so terrifyingly small there, and fragile. "I haven't had a lot of practice. Most of the women I know are concentrating on their career and putting off having children."
"A pity, isn't it, that it's still so much easier for men to do both. If you'd just walk her a bit. She's restless-as anxious I think to get out and have some music and company as I am."
With an enviable grace, Brianna darted up the steps with her tray and doctored tea.
"Restless, Kayla?" Shannon strolled down the hall and into the parlor. "I know the feeling." Charmed, she skimmed a finger down the baby's cheek and felt that quick jolt of pleasure when a tiny fist gripped it. "Strong, aren't you? You're no pushover. I don't think your mother's one, either."
Indulging herself, she snuck a kiss, then another, delighted when Kayla bubbled at her.
"Pretty great, isn't she?"
Still starry-eyed, Shannon looked up and smiled as Gray strode into the room. "She's just beautiful. You don't realize how tiny they are until you're holding one."
"She's grown." He bent down, grinned at his daughter. "She looked like an indignant fairy when she was born. I'll never forget it."
"She looks like her mother now. Speaking of which, Brianna's upstairs drugging the Freemont sisters."
"Good." Gray seemed to find that no surprise, and nodded. "I hope she does a good job of it; otherwise they'll keep her busting her ass for three days."
"She seems to do that pretty well on her own."
"That's Brie. Want a drink before we go, or would you rather wait for a pint at the pub?"
Books by Nora Roberts Page 122