"I'll shovel some into the glass house. The rest goes away for Liam. I think Da would have wanted it." Idly she ran her fingers over the dashboard. "It's a nice car you've got here, Brie."

 

"It is." She laughed and told herself she'd have to thank Gray for pushing her out of the house for the day. "Imagine, me driving to Galway without worrying something's going to fall off. It's so like Gray to give outrageous gifts and make it seem natural."

 

"That's the truth. The man hands me a diamond pin as cheerfully as if it's a clutch of posies. He has a lovely, generous heart."

 

"He does."

 

"Speaking of him, what's he up to?"

 

"Well, he's either working or being entertained by the Carstairs."

 

"What characters. Do you know Rogan tells me when they went to the gallery, they tried to charm him into selling them the antique table in the upstairs sitting room?"

 

"Doesn't surprise me in the least. She's nearly talked me into buying, sight unseen, a lamp she says will be perfect for my parlor. A fine discount she'll give me, too." Brianna chuckled. "I'll miss them when they leave tomorrow."

 

"I have a feeling they'll be back." She paused. "When does Gray go?"

 

"Probably next week." Brianna kept her eyes on the road and her voice even. "He's doing no more than tinkering on the book now, from what I can tell."

 

"And do you think he'll be back?"

 

"I hope he will. But I won't count on it. I can't."

 

"Have you asked him to stay?"

 

"I can't do that, either."

 

"No," Maggie murmured. "You couldn't. Nor could I under the same circumstances." Still, she thought, he's a bloody fool if he leaves. "Would you like to close up the cottage for a few weeks, or have Mrs. O'Malley look after it? You could come to Dublin, or use the villa."

 

"No, though it's sweet of you to think of it. I'll be happier at home."

 

That was probably true, Maggie thought, and didn't argue. "Well, if you change your mind, you've only to say." Making a determined effort to lighten the mood, she turned toward her sister. "What do you think, Brie? Let's buy something foolish when we get to Shop Street. The first thing that strikes our fancy. Something useless and expensive; one of those trinkets that we used to look at with our noses pressed up to a shop window when Da would bring us."

 

"Like the little dolls with the pretty costumes or the jewelry cases with the ballerinas that spun around on top."

 

"Oh, I think we can find something a little more suited to our ages, but yes, that's the idea."

 

"All right, then. We'll do it."

 

It was because they'd talked about their father that memories swarmed Brianna after they reached Galway. With the car parked, they joined the pedestrian traffic, the shoppers, the tourists, the children.

 

She saw a young girl laughing as she rode her father's shoulders.

 

He used to do that, she remembered. He'd give her and Maggie turns up, and sometimes he'd run so that they'd bounce, squealing with pleasure.

 

Or he'd keep their hands firmly tucked in his while they wandered, spinning them stories while they jostled along the crowded streets.

 

When our ship comes in, Brianna my love, I'll buy you pretty dresses like they have in that window there.

 

One day we'll travel up here to Galway City with coins leaking out of our pocket. Just you wait, darling.

 

And though she'd known even then they were stories, just dreaming, it hadn't diminished the pleasure of the seeing, the smelling, the listening.

 

Nor did the memories spoil it now. The color and movement of Shop Street made her smile as it always did. She enjoyed the voices that cut through the lilting Irish-the twangs and drawls of the Americans, the guttural German, the impatient French. She could smell a hint of Galway Bay that carried on the breeze and the sizzling grease from a nearby pub.

 

"There." Maggie steered the stroller closer to a shop window. "That's perfect."

 

Brianna maneuvered through the crowd until she could look over Maggie's shoulder. "What is?"

 

"That great fat cow there. Just what I want."

 

"You want a cow?"

 

"Looks like porcelain," Maggie mused, eyeing the glossy black-and-white body and foolishly grinning bovine face. "I bet it's frightfully priced. Even better. I'm having it. Let's go in."

 

"But what'll you do with it?"

 

"Give it to Rogan, of course, and see that he puts it in that stuffy Dublin office of his. Oh, I hope it weighs a ton."

 

It did, so they arranged to leave it with the clerk while they completed the rest of their shopping. It wasn't until they'd eaten lunch and Brianna had studied the pros and cons of half a dozen food processors that she found her own bit of foolishness.

 

The fairies were made of painted bronze and danced on wires hung from a copper rod. At a flick of Brianna's fingers, they twirled, their wings beating together musically.

 

"I'll hang it outside my bedroom window. It'll make me think of all the fairy stories Da used to tell us."

 

"It's perfect." Maggie slipped an arm around Brianna's waist. "No, don't look at the price," she said when Brianna started to reach for the little tag. "That's part of it all. Whatever it costs, it's the right choice. Go buy your trinket, then we'll figure out how to get mine to the car."

 

In the end they decided that Maggie would wait at the shop with the cow, with Liam and the rest of their bags, while Brianna drove the car around.

 

In a breezy mood she strolled back to the car park. She would, she thought, hang her fairy dance as soon as she got home. And then she would play with her fine new kitchen toy. She was thinking how delightful it would be to create a salmon mousse or to finely dice mushrooms with such a precision instrument.

 

Humming, she slipped behind the wheel, turned the ignition. Perhaps there was a dish she could try to add to the grilled fish she intended to make for dinner. What would Gray enjoy especially? she wondered as she steered toward the exit to pay her fee. Colcannon, perhaps, and a gooseberry fool for dessert-if she could find enough ripe gooseberries.

 

She thought of the berries' season as those first days of June. But Gray would be gone then. She clamped down on the twinge around her heart. Well, it was nearly June in any case, she told herself and started to drive out of the lot. And she wanted Gray to have her special dessert before he went away.

 

Brianna heard the shout as she started into her turn. Startled, she jerked her head. She only had time to suck in a breath for the scream as a car, taking the turn too sharp and on the wrong side, crashed into hers.

 

She heard the screech of metal rending, of glass shattering. Then she heard nothing at all.

 

"So Brianna's gone shopping," Iris commented as she joined Gray in the kitchen. "That's lovely for her. Nothing puts a woman in a better frame of mind that a good shopping binge."

 

He couldn't imagine practical Brianna binging on anything. "She went off to Galway with her sister. I told her we could manage if she didn't make it home by tea." Feeling a little proprietary about the kitchen, Gray heaped the food Brianna had prepared earlier onto platters. "It's only the three of us tonight anyway."

 

"We'll be cozy right here." Iris set the teapot in its cozy on the table. "You were right to convince her to take a day for herself with her sister."

 

"I nearly had to drag her out to the car-she's so tied to this place."

 

"Deep, fertile roots. It's why she blooms. Just like her flowers out there. Never in my life have I seen such gardens as hers. Why, just this morning, I was-Ah, there you are, Johnny. Just in time."

 

"I had the most invigorating walk." Carstairs hung his hat on a peg, then rubbed his hands together. "Do you know, my dear, they still cut their own turf?"

 

"You don't say so."

 

"I do indeed. I found the bog. And there were stacks of it, drying in the wind and sun. It was just like stepping back a century." He gave his wife a peck on the cheek before turning his attention to the table. "Ah, what have we here?"

 

"Wash your hands, Johnny, and we'll have a nice tea. I'll pour out, Grayson. You just sit."

 

Enjoying them, and their way with each other, Gray obliged her. "Iris, I hope you're not offended if I ask you something."

 

"Dear boy, you can ask whatever you like."

 

"Do you miss it?"

 

She didn't pretend to misunderstand as she passed him the sugar. "I do. From time to time, I do. That life on the edge sort of feeling. So invigorating." She poured her husband's cup, then her own. "Do you?" When Gray only lifted a brow, she chuckled. "One recognizes one."

 

"No," Gray said after a pause. "I don't miss it."

 

"Well, you'd have retired quite early, so you wouldn't have the same sort of emotional attachment. Or perhaps you do, and that's why you've never used any of your prior experience, so to speak, in your books."

 

Shrugging, he lifted his cup. "Maybe I just don't see the point in looking back."

 

"I've always felt you never have a really clear view of what's coming up if you don't glance over your shoulder now and again."

 

"I like surprises. If tomorrow's already figured out, why bother with it?"

 

"The surprise comes because tomorrow's never quite what you thought it would be. But you're young," she said, giving him a motherly smile. "You'll learn that for yourself. Do you use a map when you travel?"

 

"Sure."

 

"Well, that's it, you see. Past, present, future. All mapped out." With her bottom lip clamped between her teeth, she measured out a stingy quarter spoon of sugar for her own tea. "You may plan a route. Now some people stick to it no matter what. No deviations to explore some little road, no unscheduled stops to enjoy a particularly nice sunset. A pity for them," she mused. "And oh, how they complain when they're forced to detour. But most of us like a little adventure along the way, that side road. Having a clear view of the ultimate destination doesn't have to keep one from enjoying the ride. Here you are, Johnny dear, your tea's just poured."

 

"Bless you, Iris."

 

"And with just a drop of cream, the way you like it."

 

"I'd be lost without her," Carstairs said to Gray. "Oh, it appears we're having company."

 

Gray looked toward the kitchen door as Murphy opened it. Con darted in ahead, sat at Gray's feet, laid his head in Gray's lap. Even as Gray lifted a hand to stroke the dog's ears, his smile of greeting faded.

 

"What is it?" He found himself springing to his feet, rattling the cups on the table. Murphy's face was too set, his eyes too dark. "What's happened?"

 

"There's been an accident. Brianna's been hurt."

 

"What do you mean she's hurt?" he demanded over Iris's murmur of distress.

 

"Maggie called me. There was an accident when Brie was driving from the car park to the shop where Maggie and the baby were waiting." Murphy took off his cap, a matter of habit, then squeezed his fingers on the brim. "I'll take you up to Galway. She's in the hospital there."

 

"Hospital." Standing there Gray felt, physically felt, the blood draining out of him. "How bad? How bad is it?"

 

"Maggie wasn't sure. She didn't think it was too bad, but she was waiting to hear. I'll take you to Galway, Grayson. I thought we'd use your car. It'd be faster."

 

"I need the keys." His brain felt dull, useless. "I have to get the keys."

 

"Don't let him drive," Iris said when Gray streaked from the room.

 

"No, ma'am, I won't be letting him do that."

 

Murphy didn't have to argue. He simply took the keys from Gray's hand and got behind the wheel. Since Gray said nothing, Murphy concentrated on finessing all the speed the Mercedes was built for. Another time, perhaps, he would have appreciated the response the sleek car offered. For now he simply used it.

 

For Gray the trip was endless. The glorious scenery of the west rushed by, but they seemed to make no progress. It was like animation, he thought dimly, run over and over again, cel by cel, while he could do nothing but sit.

 

And wait.

 

She wouldn't have gone if he hadn't bullied her into it. But he'd pressured her to go out, to take a day. So she'd gone to Galway, and now she was... Christ, he didn't know what she was, how she was, and couldn't bear to imagine it.

 

"I should have gone with her."

 

With the car cruising near ninety, Murphy didn't bother to glance over. "You'll make yourself sick thinking that way. We're nearly there now, then we'll see." "I bought her the fucking car."

 

"True enough." The man didn't need sympathy, Murphy thought, but practicality. "And you weren't driving the one who hit it. To my way of thinking, if she'd been in that rusted bucket she had before, things would be worse." "We don't know how bad they are." "We soon will. So hang on to yourself until we do." He slipped off an exit, slowed, and began to maneuver through denser traffic. "It's likely she's fine and will give us grief for driving all this way."

 

He turned into the hospital car park. They'd no more climbed out and started for the doors when they spotted Rogan walking the baby. "Brianna." It was all Gray could say. "She's all right. They want to keep her through the night at least, but she's all right."

 

The feeling went out of Gray's legs so that he took Rogan's arm as much for balance as for emphasis. "Where? Where is she?"

 

"They've just put her in a room on the sixth floor. Maggie's with her yet. I brought her mother and Lottie along with me. They're up there as well. She's-" He broke off, shifting to block Gray from rushing the entrance. "She's banged up, and I think she's hurting more than she's letting on. But the doctor told us she's very lucky. Some bruises from the seat belt, which kept it from being worse. Her shoulder's wrenched, and that's causing the most pain. She's a knot on her head, and some cuts. They want her kept quiet for twenty-four hours." "I need to see her."

 

"I know that." Rogan stood his ground. "But she doesn't need to see how upset you are. She's one who'll take that to heart and worry over it."

 

"Okay." Fighting for balance, Gray pressed his fingers to his eyes. "All right. We'll keep it calm, but I have to see her for myself."

 

"I'll go up with you," Murphy said and led the way in.

 

Keeping his own counsel, he said nothing as they waited for the elevator.

 

"Why are they all here?" Gray demanded when the elevator opened. "Why are they here, Maggie, her mother. Rogan, Lottie, if she's all right?"

 

"They're family." Murphy pushed the button for six. "Where else would they be? Now, about three years past I broke an arm and cracked my head playing football. I couldn't get rid of one sister, but another would be at the door. My mother stayed for two weeks, no matter what I did to boost her on her way. And to tell the truth, I was glad to have them fussing around me. Don't go off in a mad rush," Murphy warned as the elevator stopped. "Irish nurses run a tight ship. And here's Lottie."

 

"Gracious, you must have flown all the way." She came forward, her smile all reassurance. "She's doing fine, they're taking grand care of her. Rogan arranged for her to have a private room so she'd have quiet and privacy. She's already fretting about going home, but with the concussion, they'll want to keep an eye on her."

 

"Concussion?"

 

"A mild one, really," she soothed, leading them down the hallway. "It doesn't seem she was unconscious for more than a few moments. And she was lucid enough to tell the man at the car park where Maggie was waiting. Look here, Brianna, you've more visitors already."

 

All Gray could see was Brianna, white against white sheets.

 

"Oh, Gray, Murphy, you shouldn't have come all this way. I'll be going home shortly."

 

"You'll not." Maggie's voice was firm. "You're staying the night."

 

Brianna started to turn her head, but the throbbing made her think better of it. "I don't want to stay the night. Bumps and bruises is all it is. Oh, Gray, the car. I'm so sorry about the car. The side of it's all bent in, and the headlamp's smashed, and-"

 

"Shut up, will you, and let me look at you?" He took her hand, held on.

 

She was pale, and a bruise had bloomed along her cheekbone. Above it, on the brow side of the temple was a neat white bandage. Beneath the shapeless hospital gown he could see more bandages at her shoulder.

 

Because his hand began to tremble, he drew it away, jammed it in his pocket. "You're hurting. I can see it in your eyes."

 

"My head aches." She smiled weakly, lifting a finger to the bandage. "I feel a bit like I've been run over by an entire rugby team."

 

"They should give you something."

 

"They will, if I need it."

 

"She's skittish of needles," Murphy said and leaned over to kiss her lightly. His own relief at seeing her whole showed itself in a wide, cheeky grin. "I remember hearing you howl, Brianna Concannon, when I was in Dr. Hogan's waiting room and you were getting a shot."

 

"And I'm not ashamed of it. Horrible things, needles. I don't want them poking me more than they already have. I want to go home."

 

"You'll stay just where you are." Maeve spoke from a chair beneath the window. "It's little enough to have a needle or two after the fright you've given us."

 

"Mother, it's hardly Brianna's fault that some idiot Yank couldn't remember which side of the road to drive on." Maggie's teeth clenched at the thought of it. "And they, with barely a scratch between them."

 

"You mustn't be so hard on them. It was a mistake, and all but frightened them to death." The drumming in Brianna's head increased at the idea of an argument. "I'll stay if I must, but if I could just ask the doctor again."

 

"You'll leave the doctor be and rest as he told you." Maeve pushed herself to her feet. "And there's no rest with all these people fussing around. Margaret Mary, it's time you took your baby home."

 

"I don't want Brie to be alone here," Maggie began. "I'm staying." Gray turned, met Maeve's gaze steadily. "I'm staying with her."

 

She jerked a shoulder. "Sure it's no business of mine what you do. We missed our tea," she said. "Lottie and I will have something downstairs while Rogan arranges to  have us taken home. Do as you're told here, Brianna, and don't make a fuss."

 

She leaned over, a bit stiffly, and kissed Brianna's uninjured cheek. "You were never a fast healer, so I don't expect this time to be any different." Her fingers rested, for just an instant where her lips had, then she turned and hurried out, calling Lottie to follow.

 

"She said two rosaries on the drive here," Lottie murmured. "Rest yourself." After a parting kiss, she trailed after Meave.

 

"Well." Maggie let out a long breath. "I think I can trust Grayson to see that you behave yourself. I'll find Rogan and see how we'll deal with getting them both home again. I'll come back before we go, in case Grayson needs help."

 

"I'll go with you, Maggie." Murphy patted Brianna's sheet-draped knee. "If they come to poke you, just turn your head away and close your eyes. That's what I do."

 

She chuckled and, when the room emptied, looked up at Gray. "I wish you'd sit down. I know you're upset."

 

"I'm fine." He was afraid if he sat, he'd go one better and just slide bonelessly to the floor. "I'd like to know what happened if you're up to telling me."

 

"It was all so fast." Indulging the discomfort and fatigue, she closed her eyes a moment. "We'd bought too much to carry, and I was going to fetch the car and drive it around to the shop where Maggie was waiting. Just as I pulled out of the car park, I heard someone shout. It was the attendant. He'd seen the other car coming for mine. There was nothing anyone could do then. There wasn't time. It hit on the side."

 

She started to shift and her shoulder twanged in protest. "They were going to tow the car away. I can't remember where."

 

"It doesn't matter. We'll take care of it later. You hit your head." Gently he reached down but kept his fingertips a breath away from the bandage.

 

"I must have, for the next thing I remember, there was a crowd around, and the American woman was crying and asking me if I was all right. Her husband had already gone to call an ambulance. I was fuddled. I think I asked that somebody get my sister, and then the three of us-Maggie, the baby and me-were riding off in an ambulance."

 

She didn't add that there had been a great deal of blood. Enough to terrify her until the medical attendant had staunched the flow.

 

"I'm sorry Maggie wasn't able to tell you more when she called. If she'd waited until the doctor had finished looking me over, she'd have saved you a lot of worry."

 

"I'd have worried anyway. I don't-I can't-" He shut his eyes and struggled to find the words. "It's hard for me to handle the idea of you being hurt. The reality of it is even tougher."

 

"It's just bruises and bumps."

 

"And a concussion, a pulled shoulder." For both of their sakes, he yanked himself back. "Tell me, is it truth or myth about not falling asleep with a concussion because you might not wake up?"

 

"It's a myth." She smiled again. "But I'm thinking seriously of staying awake for a day or two, just in case."

 

"Then you'll want company."

 

"I'll love company. I think I'd go mad lying in this bed alone, with nothing to do and no one to see."

 

"How's this?" Careful not to jar her, he sat on the side of the bed. "The food probably sucks here. It's hospital law in every developed country. I'll go out, hunt us up some burgers and chips. We'll have dinner together."

 

"I'd like that."

 

"And if they come in and try to give you a shot, I'll beat them up."

 

"I wouldn't mind if you did. Would you do something else for me?"

 

"Name it."

 

"Would you call Mrs. O'Malley? I've haddock waiting to be grilled for dinner. I know Murphy will see to Con, but the Carstairs need to be served, and there's more guests coming tomorrow."

 

Gray lifted her hand to his lips, then rested his brow on it. "Don't worry about it. Let me take care of you."

 

It was the first time in his life he'd ever made the request.

 

Chapter Twenty-three

 

By the time Gray got back with dinner, Brianna's hospital room resembled her garden. Sprays of roses and freesia, spears of lupine and lilies, blooms of cheerful daisies and carnations banked her window, filled the table beside the bed.

 

Gray shifted the enormous bouquet he held so that he could see over it and shook his head. "Looks like these are superfluous."

 

"Oh, no, they aren't. They're lovely. Such a fuss really for a bump on the head." She held the bouquet in her uninjured arm, much like she held a child, then buried her face in it. "I'm enjoying it. Maggie and Rogan brought those, and Murphy those. And the last ones there were sent up from the Carstairs. Wasn't that sweet of them?"

 

"They were really worried." He set down the large paper

 

bag he held. "I'm to tell you they're going to stay over another night, maybe two, depending on when you get out of here."

 

"That's fine, of course. And I'll be out tomorrow, if I have to climb through the window." She shot a wistful look at the bag. "Did you really bring dinner?"

 

"I did. Managed to sneak it past the big, eagle-eyed nurse out there."

 

"Ah, Mrs. Mannion. Terrifying, isn't she?" "Scares me." He pulled a chair close to the bed, then sat to dig into the bag. "Bon appetit," he said, handing her a burger. "Oh, here, let me take those." He rose again to lift the bouquet from her arm. "I guess they need water, huh? Here, you eat." He pulled out a bag of chips for her. "I'll go find a vase."

 

When he left again, she tried to shift to see what else was in the bag he'd set on the floor. But the shoulder made movement awkward. Settling back again, she nibbled on the burger and tried not to pout. The sound of footsteps returning had her pasting a smile on her face. "Where do you want them?" Gray asked. "Oh, on that little table over there. Yes, that's lovely. Your dinner'll be cold, Gray."

 

He only grunted, then sitting again took his own share of the meal from the bag. "Feeling any better?"

 

"I don't feel nearly bad enough to be pampered this way, but I'm glad you stayed to have dinner with me."

 

"Only the beginning, honey." He winked and with the half-eaten burger in one hand, reached into the bag.

 

"Oh, Gray-a nightgown. A real nightgown." It was plain, white, and cotton and all but brought tears of gratitude to her eyes. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate that. This awful thing they put on you."

 

"I'll help you change after dinner. There's more." "Slippers, too. Oh, a hairbrush. Thank God." "Actually, I can't take credit for all this. It was Maggie's idea."

 

"Bless her. And you."

 

"She said your blouse was ruined." Bloody, he remembered she'd told him and took a moment to steady himself.

 

"We'll take care of that tomorrow, if they spring you. Now what else do we have here? Toothbrush, a little bottle of that cream you use all the time. Almost forgot the drinks." He handed her a paper cup, topped with plastic with a hole for the straw. "An excellent vintage, I'm told."

 

"You thought of everything."

 

"Absolutely. Even the entertainment."

 

"Oh, a book."

 

"A romance novel. You have several on your shelf at the cottage."

 

"I like them." She didn't have the heart to tell him the headache would make reading impossible. "You went to a lot of trouble."

 

"Just a quick shopping spree. Try to eat a little more."

 

Dutifully she bit into a chip. "When you get home will you thank Mrs. O'Malley for me, and tell her please, not to bother with the wash."

 

"I'm not going back until you go."

 

"But you can't stay here all night."

 

"Sure I can." Gray polished off the burger, balled the wrapper, and tossed it into the waste can. "I've got a plan."

 

"Grayson, you need to go home. Get some rest."

 

"Here's the plan," he said, ignoring her. "After visiting hours, I'll hide out in the bathroom until things settle down. They probably make a sweep, so I'll wait until they come in and check on you."

 

"That's absurd."

 

"No, it'll work. Then the lights go off, and you're all tucked in. That's when I come out."

 

"And sit in the dark for the rest of the night? Grayson, I'm not on my deathbed. I want you to go home."

 

"Can't do it. And we won't sit in the dark." With a smug grin, he pulled his last purchase from the bag. "See this? It's a book light, the kind you clip on so you don't disturb your bed partner if you want to read late."

 

Amazed, she shook her head. "You've lost your mind."

 

"On the contrary, I'm extremely clever. This way I won't be at the cottage worrying, you won't be here, alone and miserable. I'll read to you until you're tired."

 

"Read to me?" she repeated in a murmur. "You're going to read to me?"

 

"Sure. Can't have you trying to focus on this little print with a concussion, can we?"

 

"No." She knew nothing, absolutely nothing in her life had ever touched her more. "I should make you go, but I so very much want you to stay."

 

"That makes two of us. You know, this sounded pretty good from the back cover copy. 'A deadly alliance,'" he read. " 'Katrina-she would never be tamed. The fiery-haired beauty with the face of a goddess and the soul of a warrior would risk everything to avenge the murder of her father. Even wed and bed her fiercest enemy.' " He lifted a brow. "Hell of a gal, that Katrina. And the hero's no slouch, either. 'Ian-he would never surrender. The bold and battle-scarred highland chief known as the Dark Lord would fight friend and foe to protect his land, and his woman. Sworn enemies, sworn lovers, they form an alliance that sweeps them toward destiny and into passion.' "

 

He flipped the book over to the front cover, reaching idly for a chip. "Pretty good, huh? And a fine-looking couple they are, too. See, it takes place in Scotland, twelfth century. Katrina's the only child of this widowed laird. He's let her run pretty wild, so she does a lot of guy stuff. Sword-play and archery, hunting. Then there's this evil plot and he's murdered, which makes her the laird and prey for the vicious and slightly insane villain. But our Katrina's no doormat." Brianna smiled, reached for Gray's hand. "You've read it?"

 

"I paged through it when I was waiting to pay for it. There's this incredibly erotic scene on page two fifty-one. Well, we'll work our way up to that. They're probably going to come in and check your blood pressure, and we don't want it elevated. Better get rid of the evidence here, too." He gathered up the wrappings from the smuggled dinner.

 

He'd barely hidden them in the bag when the door opened. Nurse Mannion, big as a halfback, bustled in. "Visiting hours are nearly over, Mr. Thane."

 

"Yes, ma'am."

 

"Now, Miss Concannon, how are we doing? Any dizziness, nausea, blurred vision?"

 

"No, not at all. I'm feeling fine, really. In fact, I was wondering if-"

 

"That's good, that's good." Nurse Mannion easily over-road the expected request to leave as she made notes on the chart at the foot of the bed. "You should try to sleep. We'll be checking on you through the night, every three hours." Still moving briskly, she set a tray on the table beside the bed.

 

Brianna only had to take one look to go pale. "What's that? I told you I feel fine. I don't need a shot. I don't want one. Grayson."

 

"I, ah-" One steely glance from Nurse Mannion had him fumbling in the role of hero.

 

"It's not a shot. We just need to draw a little blood."

 

"What for?" Abandoning any pretense of dignity, Brianna cringed back. "I lost plenty. lake some of that."

 

"No nonsense now. Give me your arm."

 

"Brie. Look here." Gray linked his fingers with hers. "Look at me. Did I ever tell you about the first time I went to Mexico? I hooked up with some people and went out on their boat. This was in the Gulf. It was really beautiful. Balmy air, crystal blue seas. We saw this little barracuda swimming along the port side."

 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nurse Mannion slide the needle under Brianna's skin. And his stomach turned.

 

"Anyway, anyway," he said, speaking quickly. "One of the guys went to get his camera. He comes back, leans over the rail, and the mama barracuda jumps right up out of the water. It was like freeze frame. She looked right at the lens of the camera and smiled with all those teeth. Like a pose. Then she plopped back into the water, got her baby, and they swam away."

 

"You're making it up."

 

"God's truth," he said, lying desperately. "He got the picture, too. I think he sold it to National Geographic, or maybe it was the Enquirer. Last I heard he was still out in the Gulf of Mexico, hoping to repeat the experience."

 

"That's done." The nurse patted a bandage in the crook of Brianna's elbow. "Your dinner's on its way, miss, if you have room for it after your hamburger."

 

"Ah, no, thank you just the same. I think I'll just rest now."

 

"Five minutes, Mr. Thane."

 

Grayson scratched his chin when the door swung shut behind her. "Guess we didn't quite pull that off."

 

Now Brianna did pout. "You said you'd beat them up if they came in with needles."

 

"She's a lot bigger than me." He leaned over, kissed her lightly. "Poor Brie."

 

She tapped a finger on the book that lay on the bed beside her. "Ian would never have backed down."

 

"Well, hell, look how he's built. He could wrestle a horse. I'll never qualify for Dark Lord."

 

"I'll take you just the same. Grinning barracudas," she said and laughed. "How do you think of such things?"

 

"Talent, sheer talent." He went to the door, peeked out. "Don't see her. I'm going to turn off the light, duck into the bathroom. We'll give it ten minutes."

 

He read to her for two hours, taking her through Katrina's and Ian's perilous and romantic adventures by the tiny light of the book lamp. Now and again his hand would reach out and brush over hers, lingering over the moment of contact.

 

She knew she would always remember the sound of his voice, the way he slipped into a Scottish burr for the dialogue to amuse her. And the way he looked, she thought, the way his face was lit by the small bulb so that his eyes were dark, his cheekbones shadowed.

 

Her hero, she thought. Now and always. Closing her eyes, Brianna let the words he read drift over her.

 

"You're mine." Ian swept her into his arms, strong arms that trembled from the need that gripped him. By law and by right, you're mine. And I am pledged to you, Katrina, from this day, from this hour."

 

"And are you mine, Ian ?" Fearlessly she speared her fingers into his hair, drew him closer. "Are you mine, Dark Lord?"

 

"No one has ever loved you more than I." He swore it. No one ever will.

 

Brianna fell asleep wishing the words Gray read could be his own.

 

Gray watched her, knowing from the slow, steady sound of her breathing that she'd drifted off. He indulged himself then and buried his face in his hands. Keep it light. He'd promised himself he'd keep it light, and the strain was catching up with him.

 

She wasn't badly hurt. But no matter how often he reminded himself of that, he couldn't shake the bone-deep terror that had gripped him from the moment Murphy had stepped into the kitchen.

 

He didn't want her in a hospital, bruised and bandaged. He never wanted to think of her hurt in any way. And now he would always remember it, he would always know that something could happen to her. That she might not be, as he wanted her always to be, humming in her kitchen or babying her flowers.

 

It infuriated him that he would have this picture of her to carry with all the others. And it infuriated him all the more that he'd come to care so much he knew those pictures wouldn't fade as hundreds of other memories had.

 

He'd remember Brianna, and that tie would make it difficult to leave. And necessary to do so quickly.

 

He brooded over it as he waited for the night to pass. Each time a nurse would come to check Brianna, he listened to their murmured questions, her sleepy responses. Once, when he came back out, she called for him softly.

 

"Go back to sleep." He brushed the hair away from her brow. "It's not morning yet.

 

"Grayson." Drifting again, she reached for his hand. "You're still here."

 

"Yeah." He looked down at her, frowned. "I'm still here."

 

When she awoke again, it was light. Forgetting, she started to sit up, and the dull ache in her shoulder jarred her memory. More annoyed now than distressed, she touched her fingertips to the bandage on her head and looked around for Gray. She hoped he'd found some empty bed or waiting room couch to sleep on. She smiled at his flowers and wished she'd asked him to put them closer so that she could touch them as well.

 

Warily she tugged out the bodice of her nightgown, bit her lip. There was a rainbow of bruises down her breastbone and torso where the seat belt had secured her. Seeing them, she was grateful Gray had helped her change into the nightgown in the dark.

 

It wasn't fair, she thought. It wasn't right that she should look so battered for the last few days they had together. She wanted to be beautiful for him.

 

"Good morning, Miss Concannon, so you're awake." A nurse breezed in, all smiles and youth and blooming health. Brianna wanted to hate her.

 

"I am, yes. When will the doctor come to release me?"

 

"Oh, he'll be making his rounds soon, don't worry. Nurse Mannion said you passed a peaceful night." As she spoke, she strapped a blood pressure cuff on Brianna's arm, stuck a thermometer under her tongue. "No dizziness then? Good, good," she said when Brianna shook her head. She checked the blood pressure guage, nodded, slipped the thermometer back out and nodded again at the results. "Well, you're doing fine, then, aren't you?"

 

"I'm ready to go home."

 

"I'm sure you're anxious." The nurse made notes on the chart. "Your sister's called already this morning, and a Mr. Biggs. An American. He said he was the one who hit your car."

 

"Yes."

 

"We reassured them both that you're resting comfortably. The shoulder paining you?"

 

"A bit."

 

"You can have something for that now," she said, reading the chart.

 

"I don't want a shot."

 

"Oral." She smiled. "And your breakfast is coming. Oh, Nurse Mannion said you'd need two trays. One for Mr. Thane?" Obviously enjoying the joke, she glanced toward the bathroom. "I'll be leaving in just a moment, Mr. Thane, and you can come out. She says he's a most handsome man," the nurse murmured to Brianna. "With the devil's own smile."

 

"He is."

 

"Lucky you. I'll get you something for the pain."

 

When the door closed again, Gray stepped out of the bathroom, scowled. "What, does that woman have radar?"

 

"Were you really in there? Oh, Gray, I thought you'd found a place to sleep. Have you been up all night?"

 

"I'm used to being up all night. Hey, you look better." He came closer, his scowl fading into a look of sheer relief. "You really look better."

 

"I don't want to think of how I look. And you look tired."

 

"I don't feel tired now. Starving," he said, pressing a hand to his stomach. "But not tired. What do you think they'll feed us?"

 

"You are not going to carry me into the house."

 

"Yes, I am." Gray skirted the hood of his car and opened the passenger door. "The doctor said you could come home, if you took it easy, rested every afternoon, and avoided any heavy lifting."

 

"Well, I'm not lifting anything, am I?"

 

"Nope. I am." Careful of her shoulder, he slipped an arm behind her back, another behind her knees. "Women are supposed to think this kind of stuffs romantic."

 

"Under different circumstances. I can walk, Grayson. There's nothing wrong with my legs."

 

"Not a thing. They're great." He kissed her nose. "Haven't I mentioned that before?"

 

"I don't believe you have." She smiled, despite the fact that he'd bumped her shoulder and the bruises on her chest were aching. It was the thought, after all, that counted. "Well, since you're playing at being Dark Lord, sweep me inside, then. And I expect to be kissed. Well kissed."

 

"You've gotten awfully demanding since you got hit on the head." He carried her up the walk. "But I guess I have to indulge you."

 

Before he could reach for the door, it swung open and

 

Maggie rushed out. "There you are. It seems we've been waiting forever. How are you?"

 

"I'm being pampered. And if all of you don't watch out, I'll get used to it."

 

"Bring her inside, Gray. Is there anything in the car she needs?"

 

"About an acre of flowers."

 

"I'll fetch them." She dashed off as the Carstairs hurried into the hall from the parlor.

 

"Oh, Brianna, you poor, dear thing. We've been so worried. Johnny and I barely slept a wink thinking of you lying in the hospital that way. Such depressing places, hospitals. I can't think why anyone would choose to work in one, can you? Do you want some tea, a nice cool cloth? Anything at all?"

 

"No, thank you, Iris," Brianna managed when she could get a word in. "I'm sorry you were worried. It was only a little thing, really."

 

"Nonsense. A car accident, a night in the hospital. A concussion. Oh, does your poor head ache?"

 

It was beginning to.

 

"We're glad you're home again," Carstairs put in, and patted his wife's hand to calm her.

 

"I hope Mrs. O'Malley made you comfortable."

 

"She's a treasure, I assure you."

 

"Where do you want these flowers, Brie?" Maggie asked from behind a forest of posies.

 

"Oh, well-"

 

"I'll put them in your room," she decided for herself. "Rogan'll be up to see you as soon as Liam wakes from his nap. Oh, and you've had calls from the whole village, and enough baked goods sent over to feed an army for a week."

 

"There's our girl." Drying her hands on a towel, Lottie bustled out from the kitchen.

 

"Lottie. I didn't realize you were here."

 

"Of course I am. I'm going to see you settled and cared for. Grayson, take her right on into her room. She needs rest."

 

"Oh, but no. Grayson, put me down."

 

Gray only shifted his grip. "You're outnumbered. And if you don't behave, I won't read you the rest of the book."

 

"This is nonsense." Over her protests Brianna found herself in her room being laid on the bed. "I might as well be back in the hospital."

 

"Now, don't make a fuss. I'm going to make you a nice cup of tea." Lottie began arranging pillows, smoothing sheets. "Then you'll nap. You're going to be flooded with visitors before long and you need your rest."

 

"At least let me have my knitting."

 

"We'll see about that later. Gray, you can keep her company. See that she stays put."

 

Brianna poked out a lip, folded her arms. "Go away," she told him. "I don't need you about if you won't stand up for me."

 

"Well, well, the truth comes out." Eyeing her, he leaned comfortably on the doorjamb. "You're quite a shrew, aren't you?"

 

"A shrew, is it? I complain at being bullied and ordered about and that makes me a shrew?"

 

"You're pouting and complaining about being cared for and looked after. That makes you a shrew."

 

She opened her mouth, closed it again. "Well, then, I am."

 

"You need your pills." He took the prescription bottle out of his pocket, then walked into the bathroom to fill a glass with water.

 

"They make me groggy," she muttered when he came back, holding out the capsule.

 

"Do you want me to have to pinch your nose to get you to open up and swallow."

 

The notion of that humiliation had her snatching the pill, then the glass. "There. Happy?"

 

"I'll be happy when you stop hurting."

 

The fight went out of her. "I'm sorry, Gray. I'm behaving so badly."

 

"You're in pain." He sat on the side of the bed, took her hand. "I've been battered a couple of times myself. The first day's a misery. The second's hell."

 

She sighed. "I thought it would be better, and I'm angry it's not. I don't mean to snap at you."

 

"Here's your tea now, lamb." Lottie came in and balanced the saucer in Brianna's hands. "And let's get these shoes off so you'll be comfortable."

 

"Lottie. Thank you for being here."

 

"Oh, you don't have to thank me for that. Mrs. O'Malley and I'll keep things running around here till you're feeling yourself again. Don't you fret over a thing." She spread a light blanket over Brianna's legs. "Grayson, you see that she rests now, won't you?"

 

"You can count on it." On impulse he rose to kiss Lottie's cheek. "You're a sweetheart, Lottie Sullivan."

 

"Oh, go on." Flushing with pleasure, she bustled back into the kitchen.

 

"So are you, Grayson Thane," Brianna murmured. "A sweetheart."

 

"Oh, go on," he said. He tilted his head. "Can she cook?"

 

She laughed as he'd hoped she would. "A fine cook is our Lottie, and it wouldn't take much to charm a cobbler from her. If you've a taste for one."

 

"I'll keep that in mind. Maggie brought in the book." He picked it up from where Maggie had set it on Brianna's night table. "Are you up for another chapter of blistering medieval romance?"

 

"I am."

 

"You fell asleep while I was reading last night," he said as he paged through the book. "What's the last thing you remember?"

 

"When he told her he loved her."

 

"Well, that certainly narrows it down."

 

"The first time." She patted the bed, wanting him to sit beside her again. "No one forgets the first time they hear it." His fingers fumbled on the pages, stilled, and he said nothing. Understanding, Brianna touched his arm. "You mustn't let it worry you, Grayson. What I feel for you isn't meant to worry you."

 

It did. Of course it did. But there was something else, and he thought he could give her that, at least. "It humbles

 

me Brianna." He lifted his gaze, those golden-brown eyes uncertain. "And it staggers me."

 

"One day, when you remember the first time you heard it, I hope it pleasures you." Content for now, she sipped  her tea, smiled. "Tell me a story, Grayson "

 

Chapter Twenty-four

 

He didn't leave on the first of June as he'd planned. He could have. Knew he should have. But it seemed wrong, certainly cowardly, to go before he was positive Brianna was well on the mend.

 

The bandages came off. He'd seen for himself the bruises and had iced down the swelling of her shoulder. He'd suffered when she turned in her sleep and caused herself discomfort. He scolded when she overdid.

 

He didn't make love with her.

 

He wanted her, hourly. At first he'd been afraid even the most gentle of touches would hurt her. Then he decided it was best as it was. A kind of segue, he thought, from lover, to friend, to memory. Surely it would be easier for them both if his remaining days with her were spent in friendship and not in passion.

 

His book was finished, but he didn't mail it. Gray convinced himself he should take a quick detour to New York before his tour and hand it over to Arlene personally. If he thought, from time to time, how he had asked Brianna to go off with him for a little while, he told himself it was best forgotten.

 

For her sake, of course. He was only thinking of her.

 

He saw, through the window, that she was taking down the wash. Her hair was loose, blowing back from her face in the stiff western breeze. Behind her, the finished greenhouse glistened in the sunlight. Beside her, flowers she'd planted swayed and danced. He watched as she unhooked a clothespin, popped it back on the line, moved onto the next, gathering billowing sheets as she went.

 

She was, he thought, a postcard. Something that personified a place, a time, a way of life. Day after day, he thought, year after year, she would hang her clothes and linens to dry in the wind and the sun. And gather them up again. And with her, and those like her, the repetition wouldn't be monotony. It would be tradition-one that made her strong and self-reliant.

 

Oddly disturbed, he walked outside. "You're using that arm too much."

 

"The doctor said exercise was good for it." She glanced over her shoulder. The smile that curved her lips didn't reach her eyes, and hadn't for days. He was moving away from her so quickly, she couldn't keep up. "I barely have a twinge now. It's a glorious day, isn't it? The family staying with us drove to Ballybunion to the beach. Da used to take Maggie and me there sometimes, to swim and eat icecream cones."

 

"If you'd wanted to go to the beach, you'd only had to ask. I'd have taken you."

 

The tone of his voice had her spine stiffening. Her movements became more deliberate as she unpinned a pillowslip, "That's kind of you, I'm sure, Grayson. But I don't have time for a trip to the sea. I've work to do."

 

"All you do is work," he exploded. "You break your back over this place. If you're not cooking, you're scrubbing, if you're not scrubbing, you're washing. For Christ's sake, Brianna, it's just a house."

 

"No." She folded the pillowslip in half, then half again before laying it in her wicker basket. " 'Tis my home, and it pleases me to cook in it, and scrub in it, and wash in it."

 

"And never look past it."

 

"And where are you looking, Grayson Thane, that's so damned important?" She choked off the bubbling temper, reverted to ice. "And who are you to criticize me for making a home for myself."

 

"Is it a home-or a trap?"

 

She turned then, and her eyes were neither hot nor cold, but full of grief. "Is that how you think, really, in your heart? That one is the same as the other, and must be? If it is, truly, I'm sorry for you."

 

"I don't want sympathy," he shot back. "All I'm saying is that you work too hard, for too little."

 

"I don't agree, nor is that all you said. Perhaps it was all you meant to say." She bent down and picked up her basket. "And it's more than you've said to me for these past five days."

 

"Don't be ridiculous." He reached out to take the basket from her, but she jerked it away. "I talk to you all the time. Let me take that."

 

"I'll take it myself. I'm not a bloody invalid." Impatiently she set the basket at her hip. "You've talked at me and around me, Grayson, these last days. But to me, and of anything you were really thinking or feeling, no. You haven't talked to me, and you haven't touched me. Wouldn't it be more honest to just tell me you don't want me anymore?"

 

"Don't-" She was already stalking past him toward the house. He'd nearly grabbed at her before he stopped himself. "Where did you get an idea that like?"

 

"Every night." She let the door swing back and nearly caught him in the face with it. "You sleep with me, but you don't touch me. And if I turn to you, you turn away."

 

"You're just out of the fucking hospital."

 

"I've been out of the hospital for nearly two weeks. And don't swear at me. Or if you must swear, don't lie." She slapped the basket onto the kitchen table. "Anxious to be gone is what you are, and not sure how to be gracious about it. And you're tired of me." She snapped a sheet out of the basket and folded it neatly, corner to corner. "And haven't figured out how to say so."

 

"That's bullshit. That's just bullshit."

 

"It's funny how your way with words suffers when you're angry." She flipped the sheet over her arm in a practiced move, mating bottom to top. "And you're thinking, poor Brie, she'll be breaking her heart over me. Well, I won't." Another fold, and the sheet was a neat square to be laid on the scrubbed kitchen table. "I did well enough before you came along, and I'll do well enough after."

 

"Very cool words from someone who claims to be in love."

 

"I am in love with you." She took out another sheet, and calmly began the same routine. "Which makes me a fool to be sure for loving a man so cowardly he's afraid of his own feelings. Afraid of love because he didn't have it as a boy. Afraid to make a home because he never knew one."

 

"We're not talking about what I was," Gray said evenly.

 

"No, you think you can run away from that, and do every time you pack your bag and hop the next plane or train. Well, you can't. Any more than I can stay in one place and pretend I grew up happy in it. I missed my share of love, too, but I'm not afraid of it."

 

Calmer now, she laid the second sheet down. "I'm not afraid to love you, Grayson. I'm not afraid to let you go. But I'm afraid we'll both be sorry if we don't part honestly."

 

He couldn't escape that calm understanding in her eyes. "I don't know what you want, Brianna." And he was afraid, for the first time in his adult memory, that he didn't know what he wanted himself. For himself.

 

It was hard for her to say it, but she thought it would be harder not to. "I want you to touch me, to lie with me. And if you've no desire for me anymore, it would hurt much less if you'd tell me so."

 

He stared at her. He couldn't see what it was costing her.

 

She wouldn't let him see, only stood, her back straight, her eyes level, waiting.

 

"Brianna, I can't breathe without wanting you." "Then have me now, in the daylight." Defeated, he stepped forward, cupped her face in his hands. "I wanted to make it easier for you." "Don't. Just be with me now. For now." He picked her up, made her smile as she pressed her lips to his throat. "Just like in the book."

 

"Better," he promised as he carried her into the bedroom. "This will be better than any book." He set her on her feet, combing her wind-tossed hair back from her face before reaching for the buttons of her blouse. "I've suffered lying beside you at night and not touching you." "There was no need."

 

"I thought there was." Very gently he traced a fingertip over the yellowing marks on her skin. "You're still bruised."

 

"They're fading."

 

"I'll remember how they looked. And how my stomach clenched when I saw them. How I'd tighten up inside when you'd moan in your sleep." A little desperate, he lifted his gaze to hers. "I don't want to care this much about anyone, Brianna."

 

"I know." She leaned forward, pressed her cheek to his. "Don't worry on it now. There's only us two, and I've been missing you so." With her eyes half closed, she ran a line of kisses up his jaw while her fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt. "Come to bed, Grayson," she murmured, sliding the shirt from his shoulders. "Come with me."

 

A sigh of the mattress, a rustle of sheets, and they were in each other's arms. She lifted her face, and her mouth sought his. The first frisson of pleasure shuddered through her, then the next as the kiss went deep.

 

His fingertips were cool against her flesh, soft strokes as he stripped her. And his lips were light over the fading bruises, as if by wish alone he could vanish them.

 

A bird sang in the little pear tree outside, and the breeze sent the fairy dance she'd hung singing, billowed the delicate lace of her curtains. It fluttered over his bare back as he shifted over her, as he laid his cheek under her heart. The gesture made her smile, cradle his head in her hands.

 

It was all so simple. A moment of gold she would treasure. And when he lifted his head, and his lips sought hers again, he smiled into her eyes.

 

There was need, but no hurry, and longing without desperation. If either of them thought this might be their last time together, they looked for savoring rather than urgency.

 

She sighed out his name, breath hitching. He trembled.

 

Then he was inside her, the pace achingly slow. Their eyes remained open. And their hands, palm to palm, completed the link with interlacing fingers.

 

A shaft of light through the window, and dust motes dancing in the beam. The call of a bird, the distant bark of a dog. The smell of roses, lemon wax, honeysuckle. And the feel of her, the warm, wet feel of her yielding beneath him, rising to meet him. His senses sharpened on it all, like a microscope just focused.

 

Then there was only pleasure, the pure and simple joy of losing everything he was, in her.

 

She knew by dinnertime that he was leaving. In her heart she had known when they had lain quiet together after loving, watching the sunlight shift through her window.

 

She served her guests, listened to their bright talk of their day at the seaside. As always, she tidied her kitchen, washing her dishes, putting them away again in the cupboards. She scrubbed off her stove, thinking again that she should replace it soon. Perhaps over the winter. She would have to start pricing them.

 

Con was sniffing around the door, so she let him out for his evening run. For a time she just stood there, watching him race over the hills in the glowing sunlight of the long summer evening.

 

She wondered what it would be like to run with him. To just race as he was racing, forgetting all the little details of settling the house for the night. Forgetting most of all what she had to face.

 

But, of course, she would come back. This was where she would always come back.

 

She turned, closing the door behind her. She went into her room briefly before going up to Gray.

 

He was at his window, looking out at her front garden. The light that hung yet in the western sky gilded him and made her think, as she had so many months before, of pirates and poets.

 

"I was afraid you'd have finished packing." She saw his suitcase open on the bed, nearly full, and her fingers tightened on the sweater she carried.

 

"I was going to come down and talk to you." Braced for it, he turned to her, wishing he could read her face. But she'd found a way to close it off from him. "I thought I  could make Dublin tonight."

 

"It's a long drive, but you'll have light for a while yet."

 

"Brianna-"

 

"I wanted to give you this," she said quickly. Please, she wanted to beg, no excuses, no apologies. "I made it for you."

 

He looked down at her hands. He remembered the dark green wool, how she'd been knitting with it the night he'd come into her room late and picked a fight with her. The way it had spilled over the white of her nightgown.

 

"You made it for me?"

 

"Yes. A sweater. You might find use for it in the fall and winter." She moved toward him, holding it up to measure. "I added to the length of the sleeves. You're long in the arm."

 

His already unsteady heart shifted as he touched it. In the whole of his life, no one had ever made him anything. "I don't know what to say."

 

"Whenever you gave me a gift, you'd always tell me to say thank you."

 

"So I did." He took it, felt the softness and warmth on the palms of his hands. "Thank you."

 

"You're welcome. Do you need some help with your packing?" Without waiting for an answer, she took the sweater back and folded it neatly into his suitcase. "You've more experience with it, I know, but you must find it tedious."

 

"Please don't." He laid a hand on her shoulder, but when she didn't look up, dropped it again. "You've every right to be upset."

 

"No, I don't. And I'm not. You made no promises, Gray-son, so you've broken none. That's important to you, I know. Have you checked the drawers? You'd be amazed at what people forget."

 

"I have to go, Brianna."

 

"I know." To keep her hands busy, she opened the dresser drawers herself, painfully distressed to find them indeed empty.

 

"I can't stay here. The longer I do now, the harder it is. And I can't give you what you need. Or think you need."

 

"Next you'll be telling me you've the soul of a gypsy, and there's no need for that. I know it." She closed the last drawer and turned around again. "I'm sorry for saying what I did earlier. I don't want you to go remembering hard words between us, when there was so much more."

 

Her hands were folded again, her badge of control. "Would you like me to pack you some food for the trip, or a thermos of tea perhaps?"

 

"Stop being the gracious hostess. For Christ's sake, I'm leaving you. I'm walking out."

 

"You're going," she returned in a cool and steady voice, "as you always said you would. It might be easier on your conscience if I wept and wailed and made a scene, but it doesn't suit me."

 

"So that's that." He tossed some socks into the case.

 

"You've made your choice, and I wish you nothing but happiness. You're welcome back, of course, if you travel this way again."

 

His gaze cut to hers as he snapped the case closed. "I'll let you know."

 

"I'll help you down with your things."

 

She reached for his duffel, but he grabbed it first. "I carried them in. I'll carry them out."

 

"As you please." Then she cut out his heart by coming to him and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Keep well, Gray-son."

 

"Goodbye, Brie." They went down the steps together. He said nothing more until they'd reached the front door. "I won't forget you."

 

"I hope not."

 

She walked part way with him to the car, then stopped on the garden path, waiting while he loaded his bag, climbed behind the wheel. She smiled, lifted her hand in a wave, then walked back into the cottage without looking back.

 

An hour later she was alone in the parlor with her mending basket. She heard the laughter through the windows and closed her eyes briefly. When Maggie came in with Rogan and the baby, she was nipping a thread and smiling.

 

"Well, now, you're out late tonight."

 

"Liam was restless." Maggie sat, lifting her arms so Rogan could pass the baby to her. "We thought he'd like some company. And here's a picture, the mistress of the house in the parlor mending."

 

"I'm behind in it. Would you like a drink? Rogan?"

 

"I wouldn't turn one down." He moved toward the decanter. "Maggie?"

 

"Aye, a little whiskey would go down well."

 

"And Brie?"

 

"Thank you. I think I will." She threaded a needle, knotted the end. "Is your work going well, Maggie?"

 

"It's wonderful to be back at it. Yes, it is." She planted a noisy kiss on Liam's mouth. "I finished a piece today. It was Gray talking about those ruins he's so fond of that gave me the notion for it. Turned out well I think."

 

She took the glass Rogan handed her, lifted hers. "Well, here's to a restful night." "I'll give you no argument there," her husband said with fervor and drank.

 

"Liam doesn't think the hours between two and five A.M. should be for sleeping." With a laugh Maggie shifted the baby onto her shoulder. "We wanted to tell you, Brie, the detective's tracking Amanda Dougherty to-where is that place, Rogan?"

 

"Michigan. He has a lead on her, and the man she married." He glanced at his wife. "And the child."

 

"She had a daughter, Brie," Maggie murmured, cuddling her own baby. "He located the birth certificate. Amanda named her Shannon."

 

"For the river," Brianna whispered and felt tears rise up in her throat. "We have a sister, Maggie."

 

"We have. We may find her soon, for better or worse."

 

"I hope so. Oh, I'm glad you came to tell me." It helped a little, took some of the sting out of her heart. "It'll be good to think of it."

 

"It may just be thinking for a while," Rogan warned. "The lead he's following is twenty-five years old."

 

"Then we'll be patient," Brianna said simply.

 

Far from certain of her own feelings, Maggie shifted the baby, and the topic. "I'd like to show the piece I've finished to Gray, see if he recognizes the inspiration. Where is he? Working?"

 

"He's gone." Brianna sent the needle neatly through a buttonhole.

 

"Gone where? To the pub?"

 

"No, to Dublin, I think, or wherever the road takes him."

 

"You mean he's gone? Left?" She rose then, making the baby chortle with glee at the sudden movement.

 

"Yes, just an hour ago."

 

"And you sit here sewing?"

 

"What should I be doing? Flogging myself?"

 

"Flogging him's more like. Why, that Yank bastard. To think I'd grown fond of him."

 

"Maggie." Rogan laid a warning hand on her arm. "Are you all right, Brianna?"

 

"I'm fine, thank you, Rogan. Don't take on so, Maggie. He's doing what's right for him."

 

"To hell with what's right for him. What about you? Take the baby, will you?" she said impatiently to Rogan, then, arms free, went to kneel in front of her sister. "I know how you feel about him, Brie, and I can't understand how he could leave this way. What did he say when you asked him to stay."

 

"I didn't ask him to stay."

 

"You didn't-Why the devil not?"

 

"Because it would have made us both unhappy." She jabbed the needle, swore lightly at the prick on her thumb. "And I have my pride."

 

"A fat lot of good that does you. You probably offered to fix him sandwiches for the trip."

 

"I did."

 

"Oh." Disgusted, Maggie rose, turned around the room. "There's no reasoning with you. Never has been."

 

"I'm sure you're making Brianna feel much better by having a tantrum," Rogan said dryly.

 

"I was just-" But catching his eye, Maggie bit her tongue. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, Brie. If you like I can stay awhile, keep you company. Or I'll pack up some things for the baby, and we'll both stay the night."

 

"You both belong at home. I'll be fine, Maggie, on my own. I always am."

 

Gray was nearly to Dublin and the scene kept working on his mind. The ending of the book, the damn ending just wouldn't settle. That's why he was so edgy.

 

He should have mailed the manuscript off to Arlene and forgotten it. That last scene wouldn't be digging at him now if he had. He could already be toying with the next story.

 

But he couldn't think of another when he wasn't able to let go of the last.

 

McGee had driven away because he'd finished what he'd come to Ireland to do. He was going to pick up his life again, his work. He had to move on because... because he had to, Gray thought irritably.

 

And Tullia had stayed because her life was in the cottage, in the land around it, the people. She was happy there the way she never would be anywhere else. Brianna-Tullia, he corrected, would wither without her roots.

 

The ending made sense. It was perfectly plausible, fit both character and mood.

 

So why was it nagging at him like a bad tooth?

 

She hadn't asked him to stay, he thought. Hadn't shed a tear. When he realized his mind had once again shifted from Tullia to Brianna, he swore and pressed harder on the accelerator.

 

That's the way it was supposed to be, he reminded himself. Brianna was a sensible, levelheaded woman. It was one of the things he admired about her.

 

If she'd loved him so damn much, the least she could have done was said she'd miss him.

 

He didn't want her to miss him. He didn't want a light burning in the window, or her darning his socks or ironing his shirts. And most of all, he didn't want her preying on his mind.

 

He was footloose and free, as he'd always been. As he needed to be. He had places to go, a pin to stick in a map. A little vacation somewhere before the tour, and then new horizons to explore.

 

That was his life. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. He liked his life. And he was picking it up again, just like McGee.

 

Just like McGee, he thought with a scowl.

 

The lights of Dublin glowed in welcome. It relaxed him to see them, to know he'd come where he'd intended to go. He didn't mind the traffic. Of course he didn't. Or the noise. He'd just spent too long away from cities.

 

What he needed was to find a hotel, check in. All he wanted was a chance to stretch his legs after the long drive, to buy himself a drink or two.

 

Gray pulled over to a curb, let his head fall back against the seat. All he wanted was a bed, a drink, and quiet room.

 

The hell it was.

 

Brianna was up at dawn. It was foolish to lie in bed and pretend you could sleep when you couldn't. She started her bread and set it aside to rise before brewing the first pot of tea.

 

She took a cup for herself into the back garden, but couldn't settle. Even a tour of the greenhouse didn't please her, so she went inside again and set the table for breakfast.

 

It helped that her guests were leaving early. By eight, she'd fixed them a hot meal and bid them on their way.

 

But now she was alone. Certain she would find contentment in routine, she set the kitchen to rights. Upstairs, she stripped the unmade beds, smoothed on the sheets she'd taken fresh from the line the day before. She gathered the damp towels, replaced them.

 

And it couldn't be put off any longer, she told herself. Shouldn't be. She moved briskly into the room where Grayson had worked. It needed a good dusting, she thought and ran a finger gently over the edge of the desk.

 

Pressing her lips together, she straightened the chair.

 

How could she have known it would feel so empty?

 

She shook herself. It was only a room, after all. Waiting now for the next guest to come. And she would put the very next one into it, she promised. It would be wise to do that. It would help.

 

She moved into the bath, taking the towels he'd used from the bar where they'd dried.

 

And she could smell him.

 

The pain came so quickly, so fiercely, she nearly staggered under it. Blindly she stumbled back into the bedroom, sat on the bed, and burying her face in the towels, wept.

 

Gray could hear her crying as he came up the stairs. It was a wild sound of grieving that stunned him, made him slow his pace before he faced it.

 

From the doorway he saw her, rocking herself for comfort, with her face pressed into towels.

 

Not cool, he thought, or controlled. Not levelheaded.

 

He rubbed his hands over his own face, scraping away some of the travel fatigue and the guilt.

 

"Well," he said in an easy voice, "you sure as hell had me fooled."

 

Her head shot up, and he could see now the heartbreak in her eyes, the shadows under them. She started to rise, but he waved a hand.

 

"No, don't stop crying, keep right on. It does me good to know what a fake you are. 'Let me help you pack, Gray.

 

Why don't I fix you some food for your trip? I'll get along just dandy without you.' "

 

She struggled against the tears, but couldn't win. As they poured out, she buried her face again.

 

"You had me going, really had me. You never even looked back. That's what was wrong with the scene. It didn't play. It never did." He crossed to her, pulled the towels away. "You're helplessly in love with me, aren't you, Brianna? All the way in love, no tricks, no traps, no trite phrases."

 

"Oh, go away. Why did you come back here?"

 

"I forgot a few things."

 

"There's nothing here."

 

"You're here." He knelt down, taking her hands to keep her from covering the tears. "Let me tell you a story. No, go on crying if you want," he said when she tried to pull away. "But listen. I thought he had to leave. McGee."

 

"You've come back to talk to me about your book?"

 

"Let me tell you a story. I figured he had to leave. So what if he'd never cared for anyone the way he cared for Tullia. So what if she loved him, had changed him, changed his whole life. Completed it. They were miles apart in every other way, weren't they?"

 

Patiently he watched another tear run down her cheek. She was struggling against them, he knew. And she was losing.

 

"He was a loner," Gray continued. "Always had been. What the hell would he be doing, planting himself in some little cottage in the west of Ireland? And she let him go, because she was too damn stubborn, too proud, and too much in love to ask him to stay.

 

"I worried over that," he continued. "For weeks. It drove me crazy. And all the way to Dublin I chewed on it- figured I wouldn't think of you if I was thinking of that. And I suddenly realized that he wouldn't go, and she wouldn't let him. Oh, they'd survive without each other, because they're born survivors. But they'd never be whole. Not the way they were together. So I did a rewrite, right there in the Lobby of the hotel in Dublin."

 

She swallowed hard against tears and humiliation. "So you've solved your problem. Good for you."

 

"One of them. You're not going anywhere, Brianna." He tightened his grip until she stopped dragging at her hands. "When I finished the rewrite, I thought, I'll get a drink somewhere, and go to bed. Instead, I got in the car, turned around, and came back here. Because I forgot that I spent the happiest six months of my life here. I forgot that I wanted to hear you singing in the kitchen in the morning or see you out of the bedroom window. I forgot that surviving isn't always enough. Look at me. Please."

 

When she did, he rubbed one of her tears away with his thumb, then linked his hands with hers again. "And most of all, Brianna, I forgot to let myself tell you that I love you."

 

She said nothing, couldn't as her breath continued to hitch. But her eyes widened and two new tears plopped onto their joined hands.

 

"It was news to me, too," he murmured. "More of a shock. I'm still not sure how to deal with it. I never wanted to feel this way about anyone, and it's been easy to avoid it until you. It means strings, and responsibilities, and it means maybe I can live without you, but I'd never be whole without you."

 

Gently he lifted their joined hands to his lips and tasted her tears. "I figured you'd gotten over me pretty quick with that send-off last night. That started me panicking. I was all set to beg when I came in and heard you crying. I have to say, it was music to my ears."

 

"You wanted me to cry."

 

"Maybe. Yeah." He rose then, releasing her hands. "I figured if you'd done some sobbing on my shoulder last night, if you'd asked me not to leave you, I'd have stayed. Then I could have blamed you if I screwed things up."

 

After a short laugh she wiped at her cheeks. "I've accommodated you, haven't I?"

 

"Not really." He turned back to look at her. She was so perfect, he realized, with her tidy apron, her hair slipping from its pins, and tears drying on her cheeks. "I had to come around to this on my own, so I've got no one else to blame if I mess it up. I want you to know I'm going to try hard not to mess it up."

 

"You want to come back." She gripped her hands tight together. It was so hard to hope.

 

"More or less. More, actually." The panic was still there, brewing inside him. He only hoped it didn't show. "I said I love you, Brianna."

 

"I know. I remember." She managed a smile as she rose. "You don't forget the first time you hear it."

 

"The first time I heard it was the first time I made love to you. I was hoping I'd hear it again."

 

"I love you, Grayson. You know I do."

 

"We're going to see about that." He reached into his pocket and took out a small box.

 

"You didn't have to buy me a gift. You only had to come home."

 

"I thought about that a lot, driving back from Dublin. Coming home. It's the first time I have." He handed her the box. "I'd like to make it a habit."

 

She opened the box and, bracing a hand on the bed behind her, sat again.

 

"I harassed the manager of the hotel in Dublin until he had the gift shop opened. You Irish are so sentimental, I didn't even have to bribe him." He swallowed. "I thought I'd have better luck with a traditional ring. I want you to marry me, Brianna. I want us to make a home together."

 

"Grayson-"

 

"I know I'm a bad bet," he hurried on. "I don't deserve you. But you love me anyway. I can work anywhere, and I can help you here, with the inn."

 

As she looked at him, her heart simply overflowed. He loved her, wanted her, and would stay. "Grayson-"

 

"I'll still have to travel some." He plowed over her, terrified she'd refuse him. "But it wouldn't be like before. And sometimes you could come with me. We'd always come back here, Brie. Always. This place, it means almost as much to me as it does to you."

 

"I know. I-"

 

"You can't know," he interrupted. "I didn't know myself until I'd left. It's home. You're home. Not a trap," he murmured. "A sanctuary. A chance. I want to make a family here." He dragged a hand through his hair as she stared at him. "Jesus, I want that. Children, long-term plans. A future. And knowing you're right there, every night, every morning. No one could ever love you the way I do, Brianna. I want to pledge to you." He drew an unsteady breath. "From this day, from this hour."

 

"Oh, Grayson." She choked out his name. Dreams, it seemed, could come true. "I've wanted-"

 

"I've never loved anyone before, Brianna. In my whole life there's been no one but you. So I'll treasure you. I swear it. And if you'd just-"

 

"Oh, be quiet, will you," she said between laughter and tears, "so I can say yes."

 

"Yes?" He plucked her off the bed again, stared into her eyes. "No making me suffer first?"

 

"The answer's yes. Just yes." She put her arms around him, laid her head on his shoulder. And smiled. "Welcome home, Grayson."