“I’m always pleased to see you.”

“We were out, weren’t we?” Maeve shot back. “Too lazy to cook, she was, so I have to drag myself out to a restaurant no matter how I’m feeling.”

“Even Brie must tire of her own cooking from time to time,” Lottie said as she hung Maeve’s coat on the hall rack. “As fine as it is. And it’s nice to get out now and again and see people.”

“There’s no one I need to see.”

“You wanted to see Brianna, didn’t you?” It pleased Lottie to score a small point. “That’s why we’re here.”

“I want some decent tea is what I want, not that pap they serve in the restaurant.”

“I’ll make it.” Lottie patted Brianna’s arm. “You have a nice visit with your ma. I know where everything is.”

“And take that hound to the kitchen with you.” Maeve gave Con a look of impatient dislike. “I won’t have him slobbering all over me.”

“You’ll keep me company, won’t you, boy-o?” Cheerful, Lottie ruffled Con between the ears. “Come along with Lottie, now, there’s a good lad.”

Agreeable, and ever hopeful for a snack, Con trailed behind her.

“I’ve a nice fire in the parlor, Mother. Come and sit.”

“Waste of fuel,” Maeve muttered. “It’s warm enough without one.”

Brianna ignored the headache brewing behind her eyes. “It’s comforting with one. Did you have a nice dinner?”

Maeve gave a snort as she sat. She liked the feel and the look of the fire, but was damned if she would admit it. “Dragged me off to a place in Ennis and orders pizza, she does. Pizza of all things!”

“Oh, I know the place you’re speaking of. They have lovely food. Rogan says the pizza tastes just as it does in the States.” Brianna picked up her knitting again. “Did you know that Murphy’s sister Kate is expecting again?”

“The girl breeds like a rabbit. What’s this—four of them?”

“ ’Twill be her third. She’s two boys now and is hoping for a girl." Smiling, Brianna held up the soft pink yarn. “So I’m making this blanket for luck.”

“God will give her what He gives her, whatever color you knit.”

Brianna’s needles clicked quietly. “So He will. I had a card from Uncle Niall and Aunt Christine. It has the prettiest picture of the sea and mountains on it. They’re having a lovely time on their cruise ship, touring the islands of Greece.”

“Honeymoons at their age.” And in her heart Maeve yearned to see the mountains and foreign seas herself. “Well, if you’ve enough money you can go where you choose and do what you choose. Not all of us can fly off to warm places in the winter. If I could, perhaps my chest wouldn’t be so tight with cold.”

“Are you feeling poorly?” The question was automatic, like the answers to the multiplication tables she’d learned in school. It shamed her enough to have her look up and try harder. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“I’m used to it. Dr. Hogan does no more than cluck his tongue and tell me I’m fit. But I know how I feel, don’t I?”

“You do, yes.” Brianna’s knitting slowed as she turned over an idea. “I wonder if you’d feel better if you could go away for some sun.”

“Hah. And where am I to find sun?”

“Maggie and Rogan have that villa in the south of France. It’s beautiful and warm there, they say. Remember, she drew me pictures.”

“Went off with him to that foreign country before they were married.”

“They’re married now,” Brianna said mildly. “Wouldn’t you like to go there, Mother, you and Lottie, for a week or two? Such a nice rest in the sunshine you could have, and the sea air’s always so healing.”

“And how would I get there?”

“Mother, you know Rogan would have the plane take you.”

Maeve could imagine it. The sun, the servants, the fine big house overlooking the sea. She might have had such a place of her own if. . .If.

“I’ll not ask that girl for any favors.”

“You needn’t. I’ll ask for you.”

“I don’t know as I’m fit to travel,” Maeve said, for the simple pleasure of making things difficult. “The trip to Dublin and back tired me.”

“All the more reason for you to have a nice vacation,” Brianna returned, knowing the game well. “I’ll speak to Maggie tomorrow and arrange it. I’ll help you pack, don’t worry.”

“Anxious to see me off, are you?”

“Mother.” The headache was growing by leaps and bounds.

“I’ll go, all right.” Maeve waved a hand. “For my health, though the good Lord knows how it’ll affect my nerves to be among all those foreigners.” Her eyes narrowed. “And where is the Yank?”

“Grayson? He’s upstairs, working.”

“Working.” She huffed out a breath. “Since when is spinning a tale working, I’d like to know. Every other person in this county spins tales.”

“Putting them on paper would be different, I’d think. And there are times when he comes down after he’s been at it for a while he looks as though he’s been digging ditches. He seems that tired.”

“He looked frisky enough in Dublin—when he had his hands all over you.”

“What?” Brianna dropped a stitch and stared.

“Do you think I’m blind as well as ailing?” Spots of pink rode high on Maeve’s cheeks. “Mortified I was to see the way you let him carry on with you, in public, too.”

“We were dancing,” Brianna said between lips that had gone stiff and cold. “I was teaching him some steps.”

“I saw what I saw.” Maeve set her jaw. “And I’m asking you right now if you’re giving your body to him.”

“If I’m . . .” The pink wool spilled onto the floor. “How can you ask me such a thing?”

“I’m your mother, and I’ll ask what I please of you. No doubt half the village is talking of it, you being here alone night after night with the man.”

“No one is talking of it. I run an inn, and he’s my guest.”