Born in Shame (8 page)

“It's no trouble to plow and plant around it,” he said easily. “And it's been here longer than me.” At the moment he was more interested in her. She smelled faintly sinful—some cunning female fragrance that had a man wondering. And wasn't it fine that he'd been thinking of her as he'd come over the rise?

There she'd been, as if she'd been waiting.

“You've a fine morning for your first in Clare. There'll be rain later in the day.”

Brianna had said the same, Shannon remembered, and frowned up at the pretty blue sky. “Why do you say that?”

“Didn't you see the sunrise?”

Even as she was wondering what that had to do with anything, Murphy was cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face west.

“And there,” he said, gesturing. “The clouds gathering up from the sea. They'll blow in by noontime and bring us rain. A soft one, not a storm. There's no temper in the air.”

The hand on her face was hard as rock, gentle as water. She discovered he carried the scents of his farm
with him—the horses, the earth, the grass. It seemed wiser all around to concentrate on the sky.

“I suppose farmers have to learn how to gauge the weather.”

“It's not learning so much. You just know.” To please himself he let his fingers brush through her hair before dropping them onto his own knee. The gesture, the casual intimacy of it, had her turning her head toward him.

They may have been facing opposite ways, with legs dangling on each side of the wall, but they were hip to hip. And now eye to eye. And his were the color of the glass her mother had collected—the glass Shannon had packed so carefully and brought back to New York. Cobalt.

She didn't see any of the shyness or the bafflement she'd read in them the day before. These were the eyes of a confident man, one comfortable with himself, and one, she realized with some confusion of her own, who had dangerous thoughts behind them.

He was tempted to kiss her. Just lean forward and lay his lips upon hers. Once. Quietly. If she'd been another woman, he would have. Then again, he knew if she'd been another woman he wouldn't have wanted to quite so badly.

“You have a face, Shannon, that plants itself right in the front of a man's mind, and blooms there.”

It was the voice, she thought, the Irish in it that made even such a foolish statement sound like poetry. In defense against it, she looked away, back toward the safety of grazing cows.

“You think in farming analogies.”

“That's true enough. There's something I'd like to show you. Will you walk with me?”

“I should get back.”

But he was already rising and taking her hand as
though it were already a habit. “ 'Tisn't far.” He bent, plucked a starry blue flower that had been growing in a crack in the wall. Rather than hand it to her, as she'd expected, he tucked it behind her ear.

It was ridiculously charming. She fell into step beside him before she could stop herself. “Don't you have work? I thought farmers were always working.”

“Oh, I've a moment or two to spare. There's Con.” Murphy lifted a hand as they walked. “Rabbitting.”

The sight of the sleek gray dog racing across the field in pursuit of a blur that was a rabbit had her laughing. Then her fingers tightened on Murphy's in distress. “He'll kill it.”

“Aye, if he could catch it, likely he would. But chances of that are slim.”

Hunter and hunted streaked over the rise and vanished into a thin line of trees where the faintest gleam of water caught the sun.

“He'll lose him now, as he always does. He can't help chasing any more than the rabbit can help fleeing.”

“He'll come back if you call him,” Shannon said urgently. “He'll come back and leave it alone.”

Willing to indulge her, Murphy sent out a whistle. Moments later Con bounded back over the field, tongue lolling happily.

“Thank you.”

Murphy started walking again. There was no use telling her Con would be off again at the next rabbit he scented. “Have you always lived in the city?”

“In or near. We moved around a lot, but we always settled near a major hub.” She glanced up. He seemed taller when they were walking side by side. Or perhaps it was just the way he had of moving over the land. “And have you always lived around here?”

“Always. Some of this land was the Concannons', and
ours ran beside it. Tom's heart was never in farming, and over the years he sold off pieces to my father, then to me. Now what's mine splits between what's left of the Concannons', leaving a piece of theirs on either side.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked over the hills. She couldn't begin to estimate the acreage or figure the boundaries. “It seems like a lot of land.”

“It's enough.” He came to a wall, stepped easily over it, then, to Shannon's surprise, he simply put his hands at her waist and lifted her over as if she'd weighed nothing. “Here's what I wanted to show you.”

She was still dealing with the shock of how strong he was when she looked over and saw the stone circle. Her first reaction wasn't surprise or awe or pleasure. It was simple acceptance.

It would occur to her later that she hadn't been surprised because she'd known it was there. She'd seen it in her dreams.

“How wonderful.” The pleasure did come, and quickly now. Tilting her head over her eyes to block the angle of the sun she studied it, as an artist would, for shape and texture and tone.

It wasn't large, and several of the stones that had served as lintels had fallen. But the circle stood, majestic and somehow magically in a quiet field of green where horses grazed in the distance.

“I've never seen one, except in pictures.” Hardly aware that she'd linked her fingers with Murphy and was pulling him with her, she hurried closer. “There are all sorts of legends and theories about standing stones, aren't there? Spaceships or druids, giants freezing or fairies dancing. Do you know how old it is?”

“Old as the fairies, I'd say.”

That made her laugh. “I wonder if they were places of
worship, or sacrifice.” The idea made her shudder, pleasantly, as she reached out a hand to touch the stone.

Just as her fingers brushed, she drew them back sharply, and stared. There'd been heat there, too much heat for such a cool morning.

Murphy never took his eyes off her. “It's an odd thing, isn't it, to feel it?”

“I—for a minute it was like I touched something breathing.” Feeling foolish, she laid a hand firmly on the stone. There was a jolt, she couldn't deny it, but she told herself it came from her own sudden nerves.

“There's power here. Perhaps in the stones themselves, perhaps in the spot they chose to raise them in.”

“I don't believe in that sort of thing.”

“You've too much Irish in you not to.” Very gently he drew her through the arch of stone and into the center of the dance.

Determined to be practical, she folded her arms over her chest and moved away from him. “I'd like to paint it, if you'd let me.”

“It doesn't belong to me. The land around it's mine, but it belongs to itself. You paint it if it pleases you.”

“It would.” Relaxing again, she wandered the inner circle. “I know people back home who'd pay for a chance to stand here. The same ones who go to Sedonna looking for vortexes and worry about their chakras.”

Murphy grinned as he scratched his chin. “I've read of that. Interesting. Don't you think there are some places and some things that hold old memories in them? And the power that comes from them?”

She could, nearly could, standing there. If she let herself. “I certainly don't think hanging some pretty rock around my neck is going to improve my sex life.” Amused, she looked back at him. “And I don't think a farmer believes it, either.”

“Well, I don't know about wearing a necklace to make things more interesting in bed. I'd rather depend on myself for that.”

“I bet you do,” Shannon murmured and turned away to stroke one of the stones. “Still, they're so ancient, and they've stood here for longer than anyone really knows. That's magic in itself. I wonder—” She broke off, holding her breath and listening hard. “Did you hear that?”

He was only a pace away now, and waited, and watched. “What did you hear, Shannon?”

Her throat was dry; she cleared it. “Must have been a bird. It sounded like someone crying for a second.”

Murphy laid a hand on her hair, let it run through as he had before. “I've heard her. So have some others. Your sisters. Don't stiffen up,” he murmured, turning her to face him. “Blood's blood, and it's useless to ignore it. She weeps here because she lost her lover. So the story goes.”

“It was a bird,” Shannon insisted.

“They were doomed, you see,” he continued as if she hadn't spoken. “He was only a poor farmer, and she was the daughter of the landlord. But they met here, and loved here, and conceived a child here. So it's said.”

She was cold again and, fighting back a shiver, spoke lightly. “A legend, Murphy? I'd expect there'd be plenty about a spot like this.”

“So there are. This one's sad, as many are. He left her here to wait for him, so they could run off together. But they caught him, and killed him. And when her father found her the next day, she was as dead as her love, with tears still on her cheeks.”

“And now, of course, she haunts it.”

He smiled then, not at all insulted by the cynicism. “She loved him. She can only wait.” Murphy took her hands to warm them in his. “Gray thought of doing a
murder here, but changed his mind. He told me it wasn't a place for blood. So instead of being in his book, it'll be on your canvas. It's more fitting.”

“If I get to it.” She should have tugged her hands away, but it felt so good to have his around them. “I need more supplies if I decide to do any serious painting while I'm here. I should get back. I'm keeping you from your work, and Brianna's probably holding breakfast for me.”

But he only looked at her, enjoying the way her hands felt in his, the way the air blushed color in her cheeks. Enjoyed as well the unsteady pulse he felt at her wrists, and the quick confusion in her eyes.

“I'm glad I found you sitting on my wall, Shannon Bodine. It'll give me something to picture the rest of my day.”

Annoyed with the way her knees were melting, she stiffened them and cocked her head. “Murphy, are you flirting with me?”

“It seems I am.”

“That's flattering, but I don't really have time for it. And you've still got my hands.”

“So I do.” With his eyes on hers, he lifted them, pressed his lips to her knuckles. His smile was quick and disarming when he let her go. “Come walking with me again, Shannon.”

She stood a moment when he turned and stepped out of the dance. Then, because she couldn't resist, she darted to one of the arches and watched him walk, with a whistle for the dog, over his field.

Not a man to underestimate, she mused. And she watched until he'd disappeared behind a rise, unconsciously rubbing her warmed knuckles against her cheek.

Chapter
Seven

Shannon didn't know how to approach her first visit to an Irish pub. It wasn't that she didn't look forward to it. She always enjoyed new things, new places, new people. And even if she'd been resistant, Brianna's obvious pleasure at the idea of an evening out would have pushed her into going.

Yet she couldn't quite resolve herself to the idea of taking a baby to a bar.

“Oh, you're ready.” Brianna glanced up when Shannon started down the stairs. “I'm sorry, I'm running behind. The baby was hungry, then needed changing.” She swayed as she spoke, Kayla resting in the crook of one
arm, a tray with two cups of tea balanced in the other. “Then the sisters complained about itchy throats and asked for some hot toddies.”

“The sisters?”

“The Freemonts, in the blue room? Oh, you probably missed them. They just came in today. Seems they got caught in the rain and took a chill.” Brianna rolled her eyes. “They're regulars, are the Freemonts, so I try not to mind their fussing. But they spend the three days a year they have here doing little else. Gray says it's because they've lived with each other all their lives and neither ever had a decent tumble with a man.”

She stopped herself, flushed, then managed a weak smile when Shannon laughed.

“I shouldn't be talking that way about guests. But the point is, I'm a little behind things, so if you wouldn't mind waiting?”

“Of course not. Can I—”

“Oh, and there's the phone. Blast it, let it ring.”

“Where's Gray?”

“Oh, he's investigating a crime scene, or killing someone else. He snarled when I poked into his studio, so he'll be no help at the moment.”

“I see. Well, can I do something?”

“I'd be grateful if you could take the baby for a few minutes, just while I run this tray upstairs and pamper the sisters a bit.” Brianna's eyes gleamed. “It won't take long; I used a free hand with the whiskey.”

“Sure, I'll take her.” Warily Shannon shifted Kayla into her arms. The baby felt so terrifyingly small there, and fragile. “I haven't had a lot of practice. Most of the women I know are concentrating on their career and putting off having children.”

“A pity, isn't it, that it's still so much easier for men to do both. If you'd just walk her a bit. She's restless—as
anxious I think to get out and have some music and company as I am.”

With an enviable grace, Brianna darted up the steps with her tray and doctored tea.

“Restless, Kayla?” Shannon strolled down the hall and into the parlor. “I know the feeling.” Charmed, she skimmed a finger down the baby's cheek and felt that quick jolt of pleasure when a tiny fist gripped it. “Strong, aren't you? You're no pushover. I don't think your mother's one, either.”

Indulging herself, she snuck a kiss, then another, delighted when Kayla bubbled at her.

“Pretty great, isn't she?”

Still starry-eyed, Shannon looked up and smiled as Gray strode into the room. “She's just beautiful. You don't realize how tiny they are until you're holding one.”

“She's grown.” He bent down, grinned at his daughter. “She looked like an indignant fairy when she was born. I'll never forget it.”

“She looks like her mother now. Speaking of which, Brianna's upstairs drugging the Freemont sisters.”

“Good.” Gray seemed to find that no surprise, and nodded. “I hope she does a good job of it; otherwise they'll keep her busting her ass for three days.”

“She seems to do that pretty well on her own.”

“That's Brie. Want a drink before we go, or would you rather wait for a pint at the pub?”

“I'll wait, thanks. You're going with us? I thought you were killing someone.”

“Not tonight. They're already dead.” Gray considered a whiskey, opted against. He was more in the mood for a Guinness. “Brie said you wanted to do some painting while you're here.”

“I think I do. I brought some things with me, enough to get started anyway.” Unconsciously she was
mimicking Brianna's movements by swaying the baby. “She said I could use the car and try Ennis for more supplies.”

“You'd do better in Galway, but you might find what you need there.”

“I don't like to use her car,” Shannon blurted out.

“Worried about driving on the left?”

“There is that—but it just doesn't feel right to borrow it.”

Considering, Gray eased down on the arm of the sofa. “Want some advice from a fellow Yank?”

“Maybe.”

“The people around here are a world unto themselves. Offering to give, to lend, to share everything, themselves included, is second nature. When Brie hands you the keys to her car, she isn't thinking—is she insured, does she have a driving record—she's just thinking someone needs the car. And that's all there is to it.”

“It isn't as easy from my end. I didn't come here to be part of a big, generous family.”

“Why did you come?”

“Because I don't know who I am.” Furious that it had come out, that it had been there to come out, she handed him the baby. “I don't like having an identity crisis.”

“Can't blame you,” Gray said easily. “I've been there myself.” He caught the sound of his wife's voice, patient, soothing. “Why don't you give yourself a little time, pal? Enjoy the scenery, gain a few pounds on Brianna's cooking. In my experience, the answers usually come when you least expect them.”

“Professionally or personally?”

He rose, gave her a friendly pat on cheek. “Both. Hey, Brie, are we going or not?”

“I just have to get my bag.” She hurried in, smoothing her hair. “Oh, Gray, are you going then?”

“Do you think I'd miss an evening out with you?” With his free hand he circled her waist and swept her into a quick waltz.

Her face was already glowing. “I thought you were going to work.”

“I can always work.” Even as her lips curved, he was lowering his to them.

Shannon waited a beat, then another before clearing her throat. “Maybe I should wait outside, in the car. With my eyes closed.”

“Stop it, Grayson, you're embarrassing Shannon.”

“No, I'm not. She's just jealous.” And he winked at the woman he already considered his sister-in-law. “Come on, pal, we'll find a guy for you.”

“No, thanks, I just got rid of one.”

“Yeah?” Always interested, Gray handed the baby to his wife so that he could circle Shannon's waist. “Tell us all about it. We live for gossip around here.”

“Leave her be,” Brianna said with an exasperated laugh. “Don't tell him anything you don't want to find in a book.”

“This wouldn't make very interesting reading,” Shannon decided and stepped outside into the damp air. It had rained, and was raining still, just as predicted.

“I can make anything interesting.” Gray opened the car door for his wife with some gallantry, then grinned. “So, why'd you dump him?”

“I didn't dump him.” It was all just absurd enough to brighten her mood. Shannon slid into the backseat and shook back her hair. “We parted on mutually amenable terms.”

“Yeah, yeah, she dumped him.” Gray tapped his fingers on the back of the seat as he eased into the road. “Women always talk prissy when they break a guy's heart.”

“Okay, I'll make it up.” Shannon flashed Gray a smile in the rearview mirror. “He crawled, he begged, he pleaded. I believe he even wept. But I was unmoved and crushed his still-bleeding heart under my heel. Now he's shaved his head, given away all his worldly goods, and joined a small religious cult in Mozambique.”

“Not too shabby.”

“More entertaining than the truth. Which was we didn't really share any more than a taste for Thai food and office space, but you're welcome to use either version in a book.”

“You're happier without him then,” Brianna said complacently. “And that's what's important.”

A little surprised at how simple it was, Shannon raised a brow. “Yes, you're right.” Just as it was a great deal more simple than she had supposed to sit back and enjoy the evening.

 

O'Malley's pub. It was, Shannon decided as she stepped inside, an old black-and-white movie starring Pat O'Brien. The air faintly hazed from cigarettes, the murky colors, the smoke-smudged wood, the men hunkered at the bar over big glasses of dark beer, the laughter of women, the murmuring voices, the piping tune in the background.

There was a television hung behind the bar, the picture on some sort of sporting event, the sound off. A man wearing a white apron over his wide girth glanced up and grinned broadly as he continued to draw another brew.

“So, you've brought the little one at last.” He set the pint down to let it settle. “Bring her by, Brie, let us have a look at her.”

Obliging, Brianna put Kayla, carrier and all, atop the
bar. “She's wearing the bonnet your missus brought by, Tim.”

“That's a sweet one.” He clucked Kayla under the chin with a thick finger. “The image of you she is, Brianna.”

“I had something to do with it,” Gray put in as people began to crowd around the baby.

“Sure and you did,” Tim agreed. “But the good Lord in his wisdom overlooked that and gave the lass her mother's angel face. Will you have a pint, Gray?”

“I will, of Guinness. What'll you have, Shannon?”

She looked at the beer Tim O'Malley finished drawing. “Something smaller than that.”

“A pint and a glass,” Gray ordered. “And a soft drink for the new mother.”

“Shannon, this is Tim O'Malley building your Guinness.” Brianna laid a hand on Shannon's shoulder. “Tim, this is my . . . guest, Shannon Bodine from New York City.”

“New York City.” With his hands moving with the ease and automation of long experience, Tim beamed into Shannon's face. “I've cousins to spare in New York City. You don't happen to be knowing Francis O'Malley, the butcher.”

“No, I'm sorry.”

“Bodine.” A man on the stool beside Shannon took a deep, considering drag from his cigarette, blew out smoke with a thoughtful air. “I knew a Katherine Bodine from Kilkelly some years back. Pretty as fresh milk was she. Kin to you, maybe?”

Shannon gave him an uncertain smile. “Not that I know of.”

“It's Shannon's first trip to Ireland,” Brianna explained. There were nods of understanding all around.

“I knew Bodines from Dublin City.” A man at the end
of the bar spoke in a voice cracked with age. “Four brothers who'd sooner fight than spit. The Mad Bodines we called them, and every man son of them ran off and joined the IRA. That'd be back in . . . thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-five,” the woman beside him corrected and winked at Shannon out of a face seamed with lines. “I went out walking a time or two with Paddy Bodine, and Johnny split his lip over it.”

“A man's got to protect what's his.” Old John Conroy took his wife's hand and gave it a bony squeeze. “There was no prettier lass in Dublin than Nell O'Brian. And now she's mine.”

Shannon smiled into the beer Gray handed her. The couple were ninety if they were a day, she was sure, and they were holding hands and flirting with each other as if they were newlyweds.

“Let me have that baby.” A woman came out of the room behind the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. “Go, get yourself a table,” she said, gesturing Brianna aside. “I'm taking her back with me so I can spoil her for an hour.”

Knowing any protest was useless, Brianna introduced Shannon to Tim's wife and watched the woman bundle Kayla off. “We might as well sit then. She won't let me have the baby back until we leave.”

Shannon turned to follow, and saw Murphy.

He'd been sitting near the low fire all along, watching her while he eased a quiet tune out of a concertina. Looking at her had fuddled his mind again, slowed his tongue, so he was glad he'd had time to gather his wits before Gray led her to his table.

“Are you entertaining us tonight, Murphy?” Brianna asked as she sat.

“Myself mostly.” He was grateful his fingers didn't fumble like his brain when Gray nudged Shannon into a
chair. All he could see for a heartbeat of time were her eyes, pale and clear and wary. “Hello, Shannon.”

“Murphy.” There'd been no gracious way to avoid taking the chair Gray had pulled out for her—the one that put her nearly elbow to elbow with Murphy. She felt foolish that it would matter. “Where'd you learn to play?”

“Oh, I picked it up here and there.”

“Murphy has a natural talent for instruments,” Brianna said proudly. “He can play anything you hand him.”

“Really?” His long fingers certainly seemed clever enough, and skilled enough, on the complicated buttons of the small box. Still, she thought he must know the tune well as he never glanced down at what he was doing. He only stared at her. “A musical farmer,” she murmured.