“Rogan sent you along a fine one. It’s in my purse.”

“I’ll take it down to the pub tomorrow. Somebody’s bound to be handing out free drinks.”

“Oh, you can bet on that as well.” She took a little breath, locked her fingers together. “Grayson, about this afternoon. My mother.”

“You don’t have to say anything about that. I walked in at a bad moment, that’s all.”

“It’s not all, and it’s foolish to pretend it is.”

“All right.” He’d known she’d insist on hashing it out, but he couldn’t bear to see her mood lowered. “We won’t pretend. Let’s not think about it tonight, though. We’ll talk about it later, as much as you need to. Tonight’s for celebrating, don’t you think?”

Relief warmed her. Her emotions had ridden on a roller coaster long enough that day. “I do, yes.”

“I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“I haven’t.”

“Why don’t I get us some of the cold chicken that’s left over from dinner? We’ll eat in bed.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was easy enough to avoid serious subjects over the next week. Gray buried himself in his work, and Brianna’s time was stretched thin between her guests and her new nephew. Whenever she had a spare minute, she found some excuse to dart down to Maggie’s cottage and fuss over the new mother and baby. Maggie was too enraptured with her son to do more than give a few token complaints about missing the opening of her new gallery.

Gray had to admit the kid was a winner. He’d wandered down to the cottage himself a time or two when he needed to stretch his legs and clear his mind.

Early evening was the best time, when the light took on that luminous glow so special to Ireland, and the air was so clear he could see for miles across the emerald hills with the sun striking down on the thin ribbon of river in the distance making it flash like a silver sword.

He found Rogan, dressed in a T-shirt and old jeans, in the front garden, plucking industriously at weeds. An interesting look, Gray mused, for a man who could likely afford a platoon of gardeners.

“Hiya, Pop.” Grinning, Gray leaned on the garden gate.

Rogan shifted back on the worn heels of his boots. “Ah, a man. Come in and join me. I’ve been evicted. Women.” He jerked his head toward the cottage. “Maggie and Brie and Murphy’s sister Kate up for a visit, and some of the village ladies. Discussing breast feeding and delivery room war stories.”

“Yeah.” Gray gave the cottage a pained look as he swung through the gate. “It sounds to me more like you escaped than got kicked out.”

“True enough. Being outnumbered I can’t get near Liam. And Brianna pointed out that Maggie shouldn’t be doing the gardening yet, and it’s getting overrun. Then she lifted her brow at me in that way of hers. So I took the hint.” He looked longingly back at the cottage. “We could try sneaking into the kitchen for a beer.”

“It’s safer out here.” Gray sat down, folded his legs. Companionably, he reached out and pulled a weed. At least it looked like a weed. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you anyway. About that stock certificate.”

“Which stock certificate is that?”

“The Triquarter Mining thing.”

“Ah, yes. That business slipped my mind with all that’s been going on. Brianna heard from them, didn’t she?”

“She heard from someone.” Gray scratched his chin. “I had my broker do a little digging. It’s interesting.”

“Thinking of investing, are you?”

“No, and couldn’t if I were. There is no Triquarter Mining—not in Wales or anywhere else he can locate.”

Rogan’s brow creased. “Folded, did they?”

“It doesn’t appear there ever was a Triquarter Mining—which should mean the certificate you’re holding is worthless.”

“Odd then, that someone would be willing to pay a thousand pounds for it. Your man might have missed something. The company might be quite small, not appear on any of the standard lists.”

“I thought of that. So did he. He was curious enough to dig a little deeper, even called the number that was printed on the letterhead.”

“And?”

“It isn’t a working number. It occurs to me that anyone can have a sheet of letterhead printed up. Just as anyone can rent a post office box, like the one Brianna wrote to in Wales.”

“True enough. But it doesn’t explain why someone would be willing to pay for something that doesn’t exist.” Rogan frowned into middle distance. “I’ve got some business in Dublin. Though I’m not sure Brie will forgive me for taking Maggie and Liam away, we need to leave at the end of the week. It should only take a few days, and I can look into this myself while I’m there.”

“I figure it’s worth a trip to Wales.” Gray shrugged as Rogan looked at him. “You’re a little encumbered right now, but I’m not.”

“You’re thinking of going to Wales yourself?”

“I’ve always wanted to play detective. It’s kind of a coincidence, don’t you think, that shortly after Brie found the certificate and sent off a letter, the cottage was broken into.” He moved his shoulders again. “I make my living tying coincidences into plots.”

“And will you tell Brianna what you’re up to?”

“Pieces of it anyway. I’ve been thinking about taking a quick trip to New York—Brianna might like a weekend in Manhattan.”

Now Rogan’s brows lifted. “I imagine she would—if you could convince her to leave the cottage during high season.”

“I think I’ve got that worked out.”

“And New York is a distance from Wales.”

“Wouldn’t be hard to detour there on the way back to Clare, though. Add a couple days onto the trip. I thought about going on my own, but if I had to talk to anyone official, I think I’d need her—or Maggie or their mother.” He grinned again. “I think Brie’s the obvious choice.”

“When would you leave?”

“A couple of days.”

“You move fast,” Rogan commented. “Do you think you can get Brianna to move as quickly?”