Born in Shame (23 page)

“A dulcimer. Hammer dulcimer.”

“It looks more like a piece of art than an instrument.”

“It's both. That's a lovely one, too. Murphy made one a few years back just as fine. A beautiful tone it had. His sister Maureen fell in love with it, and he gave it to her.”

“That sounds just like him. Do you think he'd like it? One someone else made?”

Maggie lifted her brow. “You could give him wind in a paper bag and he'd treasure it.”

But Shannon had already made her decision and was marching into the shop.

Delighted, Shannon watched the clerk take the dulcimer out of the window, then listened as he gave her a skillful demonstration of the music it could make.

“I can see him playing it, can't you?” Shannon asked Maggie. “With that half smile on his face.”

“I can.” Maggie waited until the happy clerk went in
the back to find the right box for transport. “So you're in love with him.”

Stalling, Shannon reached in her purse for her wallet. “A woman can buy a gift for a man without being in love with him.”

“Not with that look in her eyes she can't. What are you going to do about it?”

“There's nothing I can do.” Shannon caught herself, frowned, and selected her credit card. “I'm thinking it over.”

“He's not a man to take love casually, or temporarily.”

The words, and the knowledge that they were fact, frightened her. “Don't push me on this, Maggie.” Rather than the snap she'd hoped for, there was a plea in Shannon's voice. “It's complicated, and I'm doing the best I know how to do.”

Her eyes lifted in surprise when Maggie laid a hand on her cheek. “It's hard, isn't it, to fall where you've never been, and never really thought you'd be?”

“Yes. It's terribly hard.”

Maggie let her hand slide down and rest on Shannon's shoulder. “Well,” she said in a lighter tone, “He's going to trip over his tongue when you hand him this. Where's the bloody clerk? Rogan'll skin me if I don't have you there at three on the damn dot.”

“Yeah, you look like you're terrified of him.”

“Sometimes I let him think I am. It's a kiss on the ego, so to speak.”

Shannon toyed with a display of harmonicas on the counter. “You haven't asked me if I'm going to sign.”

“It's been pointed out that it's business not concerning me.”

Shannon gave a smile and her credit card to the clerk
when he returned. “Is that a kiss on my ego, Margaret Mary?”

“Be grateful it's not a boot to your ass.”

“I'm signing,” Shannon blurted out. “I don't know if I decided just this instant or the moment he asked, but I'm doing it.” Swallowing hard, she pressed a shaky hand to her stomach. “Now I'm queasy.”

“I had a similar reaction under the same circumstances. You've just put your wheel in someone else's hands.” Sympathetic, she slipped an arm around Shannon's waist. “He'll do right by you.”

“I know. I'm not sure if I'll do right by him.” She watched the clerk box up the dulcimer. “It's a problem I seem to be having just lately with men I've come to care about.”

“I tell you how we're handling this one, Shannon. We're going to Rogan's fine, upstanding office and getting the business part over and done quick. That's the worst part of it, I can tell you.”

“Okay.” She took the pen the clerk offered, mechanically signed her name to the credit slip.

“Then we're going back home and cracking open a bottle of Sweeney's best champagne.”

“You can't drink. You're pregnant.”

“You're doing the drinking. A whole bottle of French bubbly just for you. 'Cause, darling, I'm of the opinion that you're going to get drunk for the second time in your life.”

Shannon blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. “You could be right.”

 

Maggie couldn't have been more right. A few hours later, Shannon found that all the doubts and worries and questions simply fizzed away with a bottle of Dom Perignon.

Maggie was the overindulger's friend, listening as Shannon rambled, making sympathetic noises as she complained, and laughing at the poorest of jokes.

When Rogan arrived home, Shannon was sitting dreamy-eyed in the parlor contemplating the last glass that could be squeezed from the bottle.

“What have you done to her, Margaret Mary?”

“She's well fuddled.” Satisfied, Maggie lifted her mouth for his kiss.

He lifted a brow at the empty bottle. “Small wonder.”

“She needed to relax,” Maggie said airily. “And to celebrate, though you'd never be able to tell her so. You're feeling fine, aren't you, Shannon?”

“Fine and dandy.” She smiled brilliantly. “Hello, Rogan, when did you get here? They warned me about you, y'know,” she went on before he could answer.

“Did they?”

“They certainly did. Rogan Sweeney's slick as spit.” She tipped the glass back again, swallowed hastily. “And you are.”

“Take it as a compliment, darling,” Maggie advised. “That's how it's meant.”

“Oh, it is,” Shannon agreed. “There's not one shark in New York who could outswim you. And you're so pretty, too.” She hoisted herself up, chuckling when her head revolved. When he would have taken her arm to steady her, she simply leaned in and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. “I've got such cute brothers, don't I, Maggie? Just as cute as buttons.”

“Darling men.” Maggie's grin was wide and wicked. “Both of them. Would you like a little nap now, Shannon?”

“Nope.” Beaming, Shannon snatched up her glass. “Look, there's more. I'll just take it with me while I
make a call. I need to make a call. A private call, if you don't mind.”

“And who are you after calling?” Maggie asked.

“I'm after calling Mr. Murphy Muldoon, in County Clare, Ireland.”

“I'll just come along,” Maggie suggested, “and dial the number for you.”

“I'm perfectly capable. I have his number right in my trusty little electronic organizer. I never go anywhere without it.” With the glass dangling dangerously from her hand, she looked around the room. “Where'd it go? No up and coming professional can survive without their organizer.”

“I'm sure it's about.” With a wink for Rogan, Maggie took Shannon's arm and led her away. “But it happens I have the number right in my head.”

“You're so clever, Maggie. I noticed that about you right away—even when I wanted to punch you.”

“That's nice. You can sit right here in Rogan's big chair and talk to Murphy all you like.”

“He's got an incredible body. Murphy, I mean.” Giggling, Shannon dropped into the chair behind Rogan's library desk. “Though I'm sure Rogan's is lovely, too.”

“I can promise you it is. Here, you talk into this end and listen in this one.”

“I know how to use a phone. I'm a professional. Murphy?”

“I haven't finished calling yet. I'm an amateur.”

“That's all right. It's ringing now. There's Murphy. Hi, Murphy.” She cradled the phone like a lover and didn't notice when Maggie slipped out.

“Shannon? I'm glad you called. I was thinking of you.”

“I'm always thinking of you. It's the damnedest thing.”

“You sound a bit strange? Are you all right?”

“I'm wonderful. I love you, Murphy.”

“What?” His voice rose half an octave. “What?”

“I'm so buzzed.”

“You're what? Shannon, go back two steps and start again.”

“The last time I was a freshman in college and it was Homecoming and there was all this wine. Oceans of it. I got so awful sick, too. But I don't feel sick at all this time. I just feel . . .” She sent the chair spinning and nearly strangled herself with the phone cord. “Alive.”

“Christ, what has Maggie done to you?” he muttered. “Are you drunk?”

“I think so.” To test she held up two fingers in front of her face. “Pretty sure. I wish you were here, Murphy, right here so I could crawl in your lap and nibble you all over.”

There was a moment of pained silence. “That would be memorable,” he said in a voice tight with strain. “Shannon, you said you loved me.”

“You know I do. It's all mixed up with white horses and copper broaches and thunderstorms and making love in the dance and cursing at the moon.” She let her head fall back in the chair as the visions flowed and circled in her head. “Casting spells,” she murmured. “Winning battles. I don't know what to do. I can't think about it.”

“We'll talk it through when you get back. Shannon, have you called me from across the entire country, drunk on—what are you drunk on?”

“Champagne. Rogan's finest French champagne.”

“Figures. Drunk on champagne,” he repeated, “to tell me for the first time that you love me?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. You have a
wonderful voice.” She kept her heavy eyes closed. “I could listen to it forever. I bought you a present.”

“That's nice. Tell me again.”

“I bought you a present.” At his frustrated snarl, she opened her eyes and laughed. “Oh, I get it. I'm not stupid.
Suma cum laude,
you know. I love you, Murphy, and it really messes things up all around, but I love you. Good night.”

“Shannon—”

But she was aiming for the phone, with one eye closed. Through more luck than skill, she managed to jiggle the receiver in place. Then she leaned back, yawned once, and went to sleep.

Chapter
Twenty

“And the next morning, not a stagger, not a wince.” While she sipped tea in Brianna's kitchen, Maggie shot Shannon an admiring glance. “I couldn't have been more proud.”

“You have an odd sense of pride.” But Shannon felt an odd flare of it herself. Through luck or God's pity, she'd escaped the punishment of a hangover after her romance with Dom Pérignon.

Twenty-four hours after the affair had ended, she was safely back in Clare and enjoying the questionable distinction of having a hard head.

“You shouldn't have let her overdo.” Brianna began
to swirl a rich and smooth marshmallow frosting over chocolate cake.

“She's a woman grown,” Maggie objected.

“And the youngest.”

“Oh, really.” Shannon rolled her eyes at Brianna's back. “I hardly think that's an issue. You and I were born in the same year, so . . .” She trailed off as the full impact of what she'd said struck. Her brows knit, and she stared down at a spot on the table. Well, she thought. This is awkward.

“Busy year for Da,” Maggie said after a long silence.

Shocked, Shannon looked up quickly and met Maggie's bland eyes. The sound of her own muffled snort of laughter surprised her nearly as much as Maggie's lightning grin. Brianna continued to frost her cake.

“An entire bottle, Maggie,” Brianna went on in a quiet, lecturing tone. “You should have had more care.”

“Well, I looked after her, didn't I? After she'd passed out in the library—”

“I didn't pass out,” Shannon corrected primly. “I was resting.”

“Unconscious.” Maggie reached over to pick up her niece when Kayla began to fuss in her carrier. “And poor Murphy ringing back like a man possessed. Who talked him out of hopping in his lorry and driving all the way to Dublin if it wasn't me?” she asked Kayla. “And didn't I take her upstairs and see that she ate a bowl of soup before she slept the rest of it off?”

Her ears pricked up. “There's Liam awake.” She passed the baby to Shannon, then went through to Brianna's bedroom, where she'd laid him down for a nap.

Brianna stepped back to judge the frosting job before she turned. “Other than last evening, did you enjoy your trip to Dublin?”

“Yes. It's a lovely city. And the gallery there—it's a religious experience.”

“I've thought so myself. You've yet to see the one here in Clare. I was hoping we could all go, a kind of outing. Soon.”

“I'd like that. Brianna . . .” She wasn't sure she was ready to ask. Far less sure she was ready for the consequences.

“Is something troubling you?”

“I think—I'd like to see the letters.” She said it quickly before her courage evaporated. “The letters my mother wrote.”

“Of course.” Brianna laid a hand, support and comfort, on Shannon's shoulder. “I've kept them in my dresser. Why don't you come into the family parlor, and you can read them.”

But before Shannon could rise, there was a commotion in the hall. Voices fussed and clashed causing the hand on Shannon's shoulder to tense once, briefly.

“It's Mother,” she murmured. “And Lottie.”

“It's all right.” Not at all sure if she was disappointed or relieved, Shannon patted Brianna's hand. “I'll look at them later.” She braced for whatever form the confrontation would take.

Maeve swept in first, still arguing. “I tell you I'll not ask. If you've no pride yourself, I can't stop you from it.” She caught sight of Shannon holding her granddaughter and lifted her chin.

“Well, you're very much to home, I see.”

“Yes, I am. Brianna makes it impossible to be otherwise. Hello, Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Oh, Lottie, dear. You just call me Lottie like everyone. And how's my angel today?” She bent over Kayla, cooing. “Look here, Maeve, she's smiling.”

“Why shouldn't she? She's being spoiled right and left.”

“Brianna's an incredibly loving mother,” Shannon shot back before she could stop herself.

Maeve merely sniffed. “The baby can't so much as whimper that someone's not snatching her up.”

“Including you,” Lottie put in. “Oh, Brie, what a lovely cake.”

Resigned that she'd have to bake another now for her guests' dessert, Brianna took out a knife. “Sit down, won't you, and have a piece.”

Liam shot out of the adjoining door, five paces ahead of his mother. “Cake!” he shouted.

“Got radar, that boy has.” However gruff her voice, Maeve's eyes lit up at the sight of him. “There's a likely lad.”

He beamed at her, sensing an ally, and lifted his arms. “Kiss.”

“Come sit on my lap,” Maeve ordered. “And you'll have both, the cake and the kiss. He's a bit flushed, Margaret Mary.”

“He's just up from his nap. Are you cutting that cake then, Brie?”

“You should have more care with your diet, now that you're breeding again,” Maeve told her. “The doctor says you've the morning sickness this time around.”

It was a toss-up as to who was more shocked by the statement, Maeve or Maggie. Already wishing the words back, Maeve began to feed her grandson bits of cake.

“It's nothing.”

“She's sick as a dog every morning,” Shannon corrected, looking directly at Maeve.

“Maggie, you told me it was passing.” There was accusation twined with the concern in Brianna's voice.

Furious and embarrassed, Maggie glared at Shannon. “It's nothing,” she repeated.

“Never could bear a weakness.”

Maeve's caustic comment had the fury leaping. Before Maggie could spew, Shannon nodded in agreement. “She snaps like a terrier when you try to help her through it. It's hard, don't you think, Mrs. Concannon, for a strong woman to need help? And one like Maggie, who's figured out how to handle a family and a demanding career, to lose her stomach and her control every morning . . . it's lowering.”

“I was sick every morning for more than three months carrying her,” Maeve said crisply. “A woman learns to get through such things—as a man never could.”

“No, they'd just whine about it.”

“Neither of my daughters were whiners, ever.” Scowling again, Maeve looked over at Brianna. “Are you going to stand there holding that pot of tea all day, Brianna, or are you going to pour it out?”

“Oh.” She managed to lift the jaw that had dropped and serve the tea. “Sorry.”

“Thank you, darling.” Delighted with the way things were going, Lottie beamed.

For more than two years she'd been nudging and tugging Maeve toward even a shaky bridge with her daughters. Now it looked as though the span was narrowing.

“You know, Maggie, Maeve and I were just looking through the snapshots from our trip to your home in France.”

“No more pride than a beggar,” Maeve muttered, but Lottie just smiled.

“They reminded us both what a lovely time we had there. It's the south of France,” she told Shannon. “The house is like a palace and looks right out over the sea.”

“And sits there empty, month after month,” Maeve grumbled. “Empty but for servants.”

Maggie started to snarl at the complaint, but caught Brianna's arched look. It cost her, but she buried the hot words and chose kinder ones. “Rogan and I were talking about just that not long ago. We'd hoped to take a few weeks there this summer, but both of us are too busy to go just now.”

She let out a breath, telling herself she was earning points with the angels. “It's been a bit of a concern to me that no one's there to check on matters, and see that the staff is doing as it should.”

Which was a big, bold lie she hoped wouldn't negate the points. “I don't suppose the two of you would consider taking a bit of time and going out there? It would be a great favor to me if you could manage it.”

With an effort Lottie bit back the urge to spring up and dance. She looked at Maeve, cocked her head. “What do you think, Maeve? Could we manage it?”

As the image of the sunny villa, the servants dancing attendance, the sheer luxury of it all slid into her mind, she shrugged and brought the cup of tea to Liam's waiting lips.

“Traveling aggravates my digestion. But I suppose I could tolerate a bit of inconvenience.”

This time it was Shannon's warning glance that held back Maggie's snarl. “I'd be grateful,” she said between clamped teeth. “I'll have Rogan arrange to have the plane take you when it suits.”

 

Twenty minutes later Brianna listened to the front door close behind her mother and Lottie, then crossed the kitchen to give Maggie a hard hug.

“That was well done, Maggie.”

“I feel as if I'd swallowed a toad. Her digestion be damned.”

Brianna only laughed. “Don't spoil it.”

“And you.” Maggie spun to jerk an accusing finger at Shannon.

“And me?” she returned, all innocence.

“As if I couldn't see the wheels turning in your head. ‘Sick as a dog, she is, Mrs. Concannon. Snaps like a terrier.' ”

“Worked, didn't it?”

Maggie opened her mouth, then closed it on a laugh. “It did, but my pride's sorely injured.” Catching movement through the window, she moved closer and peered out. “Well, look what Con's rooted out of the bush. There's three men coming this way, Brianna. You may want to make a new pot of tea.” She stared out for another moment as a smile bloomed. “Christ Jesus, what a handsome lot they are. I'll take the jackeen,” she murmured. “The two of you can scrabble over the others.”

While Shannon tried to adjust her suddenly jittery system, Maggie went to the door and threw it open. Con bolted in first, streaking under the table to vacuum up the crumbs Liam had been considerate enough to drop.

“Cake.” His senses as tuned as the hounds, Gray spotted the treat the moment he crossed the threshold. “With the marshmallow stuff. Guys, we've struck gold.”

“Da.” Liam bounced in his chair and held up sticky fingers. Rogan had the presence of mind to stop by the sink and dampen a cloth before he went to his son.

Murphy just stood there, his cap in his hands, his eyes on Shannon. “You're back.”

“A couple of hours ago,” she began, then her eyes widened as he marched to her, pulled her to her feet,
and kissed her the way a wise man only kisses a woman in private.

“Welcome.”

She didn't have a single breath left. She drew some in and nodded. She would have given her shaky legs the relief of sitting again, but he held firm to her arm.

“Come with me.”

“Well, I . . .” Her gaze darted around the room, where everyone was suddenly intent on their own business.

“Hold on to yourself, Murphy,” Maggie said lightly as she got out fresh plates. “Shannon's a present she wants to give you.”

“Yes. That's right. I . . .” She trailed off.

“I'll get the box for you,” Rogan offered.

“Will you have some tea, Murphy?” Brianna asked.

“No, thank you.” He never took his eyes off Shannon's face. “We can't stay just now. Shannon'll have dinner with me tonight.”

“And breakfast,” Gray murmured in Brianna's ear.

“Thank you, Rogan.” Shannon took the box he brought in and wondered what to do next.

“What is it?” Gray wanted to know. “Open it up. Ow.” He winced as Brianna jabbed his ribs with her elbow.

“He'll open it at home,” she said. “Take some cake with you.” She already readied a slab and handed Murphy the covered plate.

“Thanks. Come with me,” he said again and, taking Shannon's arm, led her outside.

“Good thing you gave him the plate,” Maggie commented. “Else he'd have his hands all over her before they were out of the garden.”

As it was, he had to call on all of his control. He wanted to drag her over the fields, down onto them.
Instead he concentrated on keeping his stride from outdistancing hers.

“I should have brought the lorry.”

“It's not far to walk,” she said, breathless.

“Right now it is. Is that heavy? I'll take it.”

“No.” She shifted the box out of his reach. It wasn't light, but she wanted to carry it. “You might guess.”

“You didn't have to buy me anything. Your coming back's present enough.” He hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her easily over the wall. “I missed you every minute. I didn't know a man could think of a woman so many times in one day.”

He forced himself to take three calming breaths. “Rogan told me you'd signed the contracts with him. Are you happy?”

“Part of me is, and part of me's terrified.”

“The fear's only a motivator to do your best. You'll be famous, Shannon, and rich.”

“I'm already rich.”

His stride faltered. “You are?”

“Comparatively.”