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She felt Mike’s arm drape around her
shoulders. A big man, he towered over her but she was grateful he
didn’t resort to stooping to accommodate her. She liked his
size.

“Jimmy, Iain,” Mike said, “we’ll sort it out
in the morning. Sarah’s right. Tonight’s for celebrating.”

“Without even a glass of beer?” Iain said,
shaking his head.

“Well, seeing how we don’t
have any, yes. Come on, old son, can ya not dance
sober?”

“Not anything you want to see,” Jimmy said,
laughing at his own wit.

Sarah pulled Mike free of
the group. His arm felt relaxed around her shoulders, beer or not.
Maybe he’d worked himself out of whatever mood she thought she’d
detected.

“You okay?” she asked,
looking up at him.

“Sure, and why wouldn’t I
be? Me with my only sister wed to my best mate and the luscious
Sarah Woodson all but pulling me into her arms for a
dance?”

Sarah grinned when Mike’s
hand moved from her shoulders to her waist and then to her bottom.
She removed it firmly. “None of that, Mike Donovan. Especially as
we don’t have alcohol to blame it on.”

“I don’t need to be drunk to want to feel
your bum in me hands, Sarah.” His eyes glittered meaningfully.

“Mike, behave yourself. This is Fiona’s
night.”

“Nothing I have in mind
will take anything away from my sister’s night. And did you have to
remind me?”

Sarah laughed. “I can’t believe how
old-fashioned you are! She’s not a virgin, you know.”

“Blimey! Did I need to hear that?”

“We may live like we’re in
the sixteen hundreds but we
did
all have twenty-first century lives until
relatively recently.”

“It might surprise ya to
know, Sarah Woodson, that I’m not so keen to be discussing my
sister’s sex life.”

“Alright, settle down. I
just want to make sure you’re okay. You looked a little grumpy up
there during the ceremony.”

“Well, that’s just daft. I’m pleased as
feckin’ punch for the both of them.”

“Remind me to make sure you don’t make any
toasts to the happy couple.”

“And what would we even toast with?”

“God! Is it really the end of the world for
an Irishman to have no alcohol?”

“I think you just answered your own
question.” Mike pulled up a bench a few yards away from the music
and the dancing and pulled Sarah onto his lap.

“Mike!” she squealed, but laughed as he held
her firmly on his knee.

“Now we’ll just be watching
the others dance and enjoy this special day,” he said. “And marvel
to the good Lord above that it’s possible to do that without beer
or whiskey. Sure, I’m not positive it
is
possible to do that, ya
ken?”

Sarah slid off his lap and pulled him to a
standing position. “Dance with me, Mike,” she said. “There’s no
booze, no DJ, no canapés and no bouquet to catch. Dance with
me.”

He stood up and followed
her to the dirt dance floor, the rest of the dancers parting to
make room for them. Some even clapped to see their leader—easily
the tallest of them—coming among them. He nodded at Declan who was
slow-dancing with Fiona and then drew Sarah into his arms. The
music was scratchy and repetitive, but it was lively and had a
beat.

As she relaxed in his arms
Sarah glanced around the camp, taking note of where Papin and John
were. Not surprisingly, John was standing with Gavin at the food
table. The women of the camp had outdone themselves creating
multiple tables of cakes, pies, ham, and devilled eggs.

She could see Papin on the
dance floor. Iain, the man who had been arguing with Mike earlier,
was methodically two stepping his way through the song, his large
hands gripping her small waist. Sarah frowned. At thirty, Iain was
way too old to be dancing with Papin. Plus, he was
married.

She saw her
fourteen-year-old adopted daughter’s eyes flash up at Iain as she
spoke, the words drowned out by the music. Papin was flirting with
Iain. It was practically the only way the girl knew how to relate
to men. Half the time she did it to John and Mike, too, although
they ignored it.

Iain didn’t seem to be ignoring it.

“Mike,” Sarah said in a low voice. She felt
his body stiffen as she spoke. It hadn’t taken long for the two of
them to develop an efficient shorthand communication.

“What is it?” he said. By the way he moved
in her arms, she could tell he was looking around to see what had
upset her. It didn’t take him long, either.

“Oy! Jamison!” he bellowed. “We’ll not be
needing your minding services any longer.”

Papin reddened as Iain dropped his hands
from her and backed away. “Da!” she said indignantly. “I’m not a
baby!”

Mike had stepped up to the
role of co-parenting Papin, a virtual orphan when she came to the
camp last year, with Sarah. He had seen immediately that she needed
a loving and firm male presence—and one who didn’t want to bed
her.

Mike gave Sarah’s arm a squeeze of apology
and went to Papin.

“I’ll be having this dance, milady?” he
said, bowing at the waist.

Sarah held her breath but she needn’t have
worried. Papin smiled at Mike and held up her hands for him to pick
her up and swing her, which he did, to her delighted giggles.

Sarah saw Fiona sitting on one of the long
wooden benches that had been brought out to line the center
campfire. She sat holding the hem of her gown away from the dirt on
the ground, her eyes wide with exhaustion and joy. Sarah joined her
on the bench.

She reached out and patted
Fiona’s knee. “Are you happy?”

Fiona turned her face to
Sarah with real delight. “Oh, so happy, Sarah. I wish you this kind
of happiness.”

“I had it once, remember.”

“Sure, that’s right. With your David.”

Fiona fanned herself. A light mist of
perspiration coated her face, giving her the effect of glowing.

Sarah held her friend’s
hand. “Declan is a good man. I can’t tell you how happy I am for
you both.”

“Ta, Sarah. As happy as
I’d be if you and Mike were ever to stop playing around and get
down to being together.”

Sarah squeezed her hand and
found herself looking for Mike in the crowd of laughing, dancing
bodies milling around the center courtyard. She knew Fiona was
right. Just seeing Mike, the way his body moved, the way he looked
at her, was enough to make her want to grab his hand and take him
right back to her cottage with a
Do Not
Disturb
sign on the door. He would
probably always have that effect on her.

She wasn’t exactly sure why
things hadn’t moved along in that direction. It certainly wasn’t
for lack of broad hints and downright
trying
on Mike’s part.

She finally spotted him,
his hand on one hip, leaning down to listen, as an elderly couple
seemed to be talking earnestly to him about something. Sarah loved
seeing him like this, unaware of her—or anyone—and doing what he
did best: looking after the families in Donovan’s Lot. His face was
kind, his eyes alert as he listened. He was a good leader, Sarah
mused. A little given to the
my-way-or-the-highway
type thinking,
but possibly that was normal for natural-born leaders.

“I know you’re hot for him, Sarah Woodson. A
blind person could see that. And you know he’s burned for you since
the day he laid eyes on you.”

“Okay, Fi, let’s focus on
one romance at a time, shall we?”

Fiona shook her head, but
she smiled and plucked at the lace cuff of her wedding dress, a
dated cocktail dress that some of the women in camp had fitted to
Fiona’s slim body. “I just can’t believe he’s mine, you
know?”

“Trust me, Declan’s saying the same
thing.”

“Which is even more amazing to me.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be, Fi. You were just
holding out for the right one.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Fi said
laughing. “Oh, here’s my husband. I think he’s got that ‘it’s time
we’re away, wench’ look in his eye.”

“I think you’re right.” Sarah stood up as
Declan approached, his faced flushed, his gaze focused on the only
woman he had eyes for.

“Excuse me, Sarah,” he
said, “I’ll be taking me bride, now. Fi?” He held his arms out to
Fiona and she slipped easily into them. The two kissed and Fi
pulled him away toward their cottage. “See you in the morning,
Sarah,” she said over her shoulder.

“Aye, but not too early, mind,” Declan
called out as the two disappeared into the evening.

Smiling, Sarah pulled her
cardigan around her shoulders and turned back to the party, which
appeared to be winding down. She could see mothers pulling their
children back to huts and tents. While there was no sugar to wire
the little ones, the music and general excitement had served to
make most of them cranky and tearful.

“The lovebirds call it a night?”

Sarah turned to see Mike approaching with
two steaming mugs in his hands. He handed one to her.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” she said, taking the
cup. She sipped slowly and then coughed, her face reddening. She
put a hand to her mouth. “Is there whiskey in this?” she whispered
around another small cough. “You could’ve warned me, first.”

“I find the sneak attack is often more
effective for my purposes. It’s some of the last of what we got
from that trip to Limerick in the spring. There’s only just a dram
so don’t go broadcasting it.”

“Perks of the rank?” Sarah
asked, reseating herself on the bench.

“Something like that. Fi and Dec pack it
in?”

“Please don’t put it like that,” Sarah said
with a grin.

“Oh, very funny. You just don’t quit, do
you?”

“Well, not when you make it so easy to tease
you.”

They sat, shoulder to
shoulder, sipping their whisky and hot tea and watching the last of
the partiers pick up children, food, and musical instruments. A few
of the gypsies—Declan’s extended family—seemed to be bedding down
around the center campfire, which would burn all night
long.

“Papin and John in bed, do
you know?”

Mike shook his head. “They’re in your
cottage but too excited to sleep, I’ll wager.”

“It was a perfect night,” Sarah said,
finishing off her drink.

Mike took both cups and set them aside. “The
night’s not over yet,” he said in a low voice.

When she saw his eyes
regarding her, so full of tenderness and care, it was all she could
do not to climb onto his lap right there. He was so much a part of
her world, her support system in this life. So strong, so
confident.

So damn sexy.

Her face must have expressed more than she
intended because he leaned in and kissed her mouth. A slow kiss she
couldn’t push away from.

She placed her hands on his broad shoulders
and fell into the kiss, feeling him pull her close into his chest.
A small moan escaped her lips as he looked into her dark eyes.

“
Yes
, Sarah?” he
whispered.

“God, yes,” she responded without
hesitating.

“I’d pick you up and carry you there,” he
growled, his voice full of urgent need, “but I don’t want to alert
the camp to my intentions.”

“
Our
intentions,” Sarah said, kissing
him firmly. “I can walk. At least for now.”

“God, woman, every word out of your mouth is
making me hard as a brick.” He tilted her head back to see her face
lit by the firelight, her neck long and bare. He kissed her
again.

“Oy, Mike! You still up, son? Is that you
over yonder I see snoggin’ the Widow Woodson? Mike?”

Sarah stood up quickly, straightening her
blouse and pulling her cardigan around her in time to see Jimmy
Baskerville waving at Mike from across the campfire.

“Bloody hell,” Mike cursed, shaking his
head. “Are ya kidding me?”

Sarah would have laughed if she weren’t so
annoyed by the interruption herself—and if she hadn’t noticed that
Jimmy was approaching with a stranger in tow.

“Oy, Mike,” Jimmy said, walking to stand in
front of Mike, still seated. “We got us a visitor and you said
we’re always to bring ‘em before yerself, like, whenever that
happens.”

The stranger stood behind
Jimmy, almost as if hiding, Sarah thought. He looked bedraggled and
hungry. He’d clearly been traveling and living off the land for
many weeks, if not longer. Camp policy was to welcome all travelers
with food and a bed for the night.

“I don’t mean to disrupt
the festivities,” the man said, peeking out from behind Jimmy. “But
a bit of grub would be welcome.”

Sarah saw Mike work to
pull himself together and shake off his disappointment. He nodded
to Jimmy. “Go see if Molly is still up and have her put together a
sandwich.” Jimmy saluted him and turned on his heel.

The traveler stood alone
now, his eyes darting from Sarah to Mike like a canary between two
cats.

“Won’t you sit down?” she
said, although the grunt she heard from Mike indicated he had hoped
the man wouldn’t be staying long.

“Thank you, missus,” he
said, not moving. He had a tattered backpack on his shoulder, and
even in the dark Sarah could see it held very little. She returned
to her seat on the bench.

“Please, sit,” Sarah said again. “We usually
ask visitors if they have any news to share.” She was hoping to
make him feel less like a beggar by suggesting he had something to
offer to the camp. The effect of her words on him was
immediate.