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, Grayson, 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, Grayson.”

“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.”