by Nora Roberts
When he scrambled off, slamming the kitchen door behind him, Maggie frowned over the painting. "Rogan's right then," she decided. "It's rare that he's not, which is a trial to me. He took your painting of the stones into the gallery before I had a chance to see."
"And you wanted to check it out for yourself."
"Your sketch of Liam was more than good," Maggie conceded. "But one charcoal isn't enough to judge. I can tell you now he'll want this, and he'll badger you until you agree."
"He doesn't badger, he demolishes, bloodlessly."
Maggie's laugh was quick and rich. "Oh, that's the truth. Bless him. What else have you?" Without invitation she picked up Shannon's sketchbook and flipped through.
"Help yourself," Shannon said dryly.
Maggie only made noises of approval and interest, then let out another delighted laugh. "You must do this one, Shannon. You must. It's Murphy to the ground. The man and his horses. Damn, I wish I had the hands to do portraits like this."
"I'd see him up there sometimes when I was painting the circle." Shannon tilted her head so that she could see the page herself. "It was irresistible."
"When you paint it, I'd be pleased to buy it for his mother." She frowned then. "Unless you've signed with Sweeney by then. If he's any say in it, he'll charge me half a leg and both arms. The man asks the fiercest prices for things."
"I wouldn't think that would bother you." With care, Shannon took the finished canvas from the easel and laid it on the table. "When I went to your show in New York a couple years ago, I lusted after this piece-it was like a sunburst, all these hot colors exploding out of a central core. Not my usual style, but God, I wanted it."
"Fired Dreams," Maggie murmured, deeply flattered.
"Yes, that's it. I had to weigh desire against a year's rent-at New York rates. And I needed a roof over my head."
"He sold that piece. If he hadn't, I'd have given it to you." At Shannon's stunned look, Maggie shrugged. "At the family rate."
Touched, and not sure how to respond, Shannon set a fresh canvas on her easel. "I'd say you're lucky to have a shrewd manager looking after your interests."
As disconcerted as Shannon, Maggie jammed her hands in her pockets. "So he's always telling me. He's got his mind set on doing the same for you."
"I won't have as much time for painting once I'm back in New York." Taking up a pencil, Shannon sketched lightly on the canvas.
Maggie only lifted a brow. When a woman was an artist down to the bone, she recognized another. "He's having contracts drafted up today."
"He moves fast."
"Faster than you can spit. He'll want fifty percent," she added, grinning wickedly. "But you can drive him down to forty using the family connection."
Shannon's throat was suddenly, uncomfortably dry. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
"Ah, but you will. He'll harangue you, and he'll charm you. He'll be reasonable and businesslike. You'll say no, thank you very much, and he'll skip right over that. If reason doesn't work, he'll find some little weakness to twist or some private wish to tweak. And you'll be signing your name before you realize it. Do you always hold a pencil like that?"
Still frowning over the prediction, Shannon glanced down at her hand. "Yes. I keep the wrist loose."
"Mmm. I keep a firmer grip, but I might try it. 1 should give you this before you start mixing paints." From her pocket she took out a ball of padded paper.
The moment Shannon felt the weight, she knew. "Oh, it's great." Once the paper was pulled aside, she held the globe up to the light.
"You made it, for the most part, so you should have it."
Shannon turned it so that the swirls of deep blue inside changed shape and tone. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Maggie turned back to the canvas. She could see the outline of the man, the horse. "How long will it take you to finish? It's a nasty question, and I only ask as I'd love to give it to Mrs. Brennan, Murphy's mother, when she comes up for the ceili."
"If it starts to click, it'll only take a day or two." Shannon set the globe aside and took up her pencil again. "When's the ceili, and what is it?"
"It's Saturday next, and a ceili's a kind of party-with music and dancing and food." She glanced over as Brianna stepped out of the kitchen door. "I'm telling this poor, ignorant Yank what a ceili is. Where's my whirlwind?"
"Off to the village with Grayson. I'm told it's man's business." Brianna stopped, then beamed at the canvas on the table. "Oh, I'm so flattered. What lovely work you do, Shannon." She peeked at the new canvas, wary. Experience with Maggie had taught her artists had moods that flared like lightning. "It's Murphy, isn't it?"
"It will be," Shannon murmured, narrowing her eyes as she sketched. "I didn't realize you were having a party, Brie."
"A party? Oh, the ceili. No, Murphy's having it. We were surprised at first, since his family had just come a few weeks ago for Kayla's baptism. But the lot of them are coming again, so they can meet you."
Shannon dropped her pencil. Slowly she bent to retrieve it. "Excuse me?"
"They're anxious to get to know you," Brianna continued, too engrossed in the canvas to notice that Maggie was rolling her eyes and making faces. "It's lovely Murphy's mother and her husband can make the trip from Cork so soon again."
Shannon turned. "Why would they want to meet me?"
"Because..." The warning registered, just a beat too late. Fumbling, Brianna began to brush at her apron. "Well, it's just that... Maggie?"
"Don't look at me. You've already put your foot in it."
"It's a simple question, Brianna." Shannon waited until Brianna lifted her gaze again. "Why would Murphy's mother and his family come back here to meet me?"
"Well, when he told them he was courting you, they-"
"He what?" She threw the pencil down to cap the explosion. "Is he crazy or just brain dead? How many times do I have to tell him I'm not interested before he gets it through that thick skull?"
"Several times more, I'd wager," Maggie said with a grin. "There's a pool in the village that's leaning toward a June wedding."
"Maggie!" Brianna said under her breath.
"Wedding?" Shannon made a sound between a groan and a curse. "That tops it. He's calling out his mother to inspect me, he's got people betting-"
"Fact is, it was Tim O'Malley who started the pool," Maggie put in.
"He has to be stopped."
"Oh, there's no stopping Tim once a wager's made."
Unable to find the humor, Shannon shot Maggie a searing look. "You think it's funny? People I don't even know are betting on me?"
Maggie didn't have to think it over. "Yes." Then with a laugh, she grabbed Shannon by the shoulders and shook. "Oh, cool yourself down. No one can make you do what you don't want."
"Murphy Muldoon is a dead man."
With less sympathy than amusement, Maggie patted her cheek. "Seems to me you'd not be so fired up if you were as disinterested as you claim. What do you think of the matter, Brie?"
"I think I've said more than enough." But her heart pushed the words out. "He loves you, Shannon, and I can't help but feel for him. I know what it is to tumble into love and not be able to find your way out, no matter how foolish it makes you. Don't be too hard on him."
Temper drained as quickly as it had flashed. "It would be harder, wouldn't it, for me to let this go on when it isn't leading anywhere?"
Maggie picked up the sketchbook, then held out the page where Murphy looked out. "Isn't it?" When Shannon said nothing, Maggie set the book aside again. "The ceili's more than a week away. You'll have some time to sort it out."
"Starting now." Shannon picked up the watercolor and carried it inside. On the way up to her room, she practiced exactly what she would say to Murphy when she tracked him down.
It was a shame that she would have to break off their friendship just when she'd begun to realize how much it meant to her. But she doubted he would understand anything less than total a
mputation.
And he'd brought it on himself, the idiot. With an effort, she controlled herself long enough to prop the canvas carefully against the wall of her room. Going to the window, she scanned the fields. After a moment she caught sight of movement near the back of the house.
Dandy. She'd beard the beast in his den.
Her headlong rush took her down the stairs and outside. She was halfway to the gate before she saw the car parked at the side of the road, and Brianna and Maggie on either side of it.
She didn't have to see to know an argument was in full swing. She could hear it in the sharp, impatient tone of Maggie's voice. It would have been easy to continue on her way-but she saw Brianna's face.
It was pale, and rigidly controlled, except for the eyes. Even from two yards away, Shannon could see the hurt in them.
She set her teeth. It seemed it was her day for dealing with emotional crises. And damn it, she was in the perfect mood.
The angry words came to an abrupt halt as she strode to the car and looked down at Maeve.
"Shannon." Brianna gripped her hands together. "I never introduced you to Lottie. Lottie Sullivan, Shannon Bodine."
The woman with the round face and beleaguered expression continued the process of climbing out from the driver's side.
"I'm pleased to meet you," she said with a quick, apologetic smile. "And welcome."
"Get in the car, Lottie," Maeve snapped. "We're not staying."
"Drive yourself off then," Maggie snapped right back. "Lottie's welcome here."
"And I'm not?"
"It's you who's made that choice." Maggie folded her arms. "Make yourself miserable if you like, but you won't do this to Brie."
"Mrs. Concannon." Shannon nudged Maggie aside. "I'd like to speak with you."
"I've nothing to say to you."
"Fine. Then you can listen." Out of the corner of her eye, Shannon caught Lottie's nod of approval and hoped to earn it. "We have a connection, you and I, whether we like it or not. Your daughters link us, and I don't want to be the cause of friction between you."
"No one's causing friction but herself," Maggie said hotly.
"Be quiet, Maggie." Shannon ignored her sister's hiss of temper and continued. "You have a right to be angry, Mrs. Concannon. And to be hurt, whether it's your pride that's suffering or your heart, it doesn't matter. Still, the fact is you can't change what happened, or the result of it any more than I can."
Though Maeve said nothing, only continued to stare fiercely straight ahead, Shannon was determined to finish.
"My part in this whole thing is rather indirect, a result rather than a cause. Whether or not you were part of the cause doesn't really matter."
That brought Maeve's head around, and the venom spewing. "You'd dare to say that I caused your mother to commit adultery with my husband."
"No. I wasn't there. My mother blamed no one, certainly not you, for her actions. And what I'm saying is it doesn't matter what part you played. Some might say that since you didn't love him, you shouldn't care that he found someone else. I don't agree with that. You have all the right in the world to care. What they did was wrong."
Maggie's next protest was cut off by a cold look from Shannon. "It was wrong," she said again, satisfied that no one interrupted. "Whether you look at it morally, religiously, or intellectually. You were his wife, and no matter how dissatisfied either of you were in the marriage, that should have been respected. Honored. It wasn't, and to find out it wasn't after all these years doesn't diminish the anger or the betrayal."
She took a quiet breath, aware that Maeve's attention was centered fully on her. "I can't go back and not be born, Mrs. Concannon. Nothing either of us can do will break the connection, so we're going to have to live with it."
She paused again. Maeve was watching her now, and intrigued, her eyes narrowed. "My mother died with my hard words between us. I can't fix that, either, and I'll regret it all my life. Don't let something you can't change ruin what you have now. I'll be gone soon. Maggie and Brie and your grandchildren are right here."
Satisfied she'd done her best, Shannon stepped back. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go murder a man."
She started down the road, had gotten no more than five paces when she heard the car door open.
"Girl."
Shannon stopped, turned, and met Maeve's gaze levelly. "Yes?"