“I’ve kept it for you half my life.” Calmer now, he slipped it back into his pocket. “I can keep it longer. There’s no need for you to leave before you’ve had the time you’re wanting with your sisters. I won’t touch you in that way again, or pressure you to give me what you’re not willing to. You’ve my word.”

He would keep it. She knew him now well enough not to doubt it. How could she blame him for giving her a promise that made her feel small and weepy? “I care about you, Murphy. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She couldn’t have any idea how much she had done just that. But he kept his voice neutral. “I’m a man grown, Shannon, and can tend to myself.”

She’d been so sure she could walk away cold. Now she found she wanted to hold him again, and be held. “I don’t want to lose your friendship. It’s come to mean a lot to me in a short time.”

“You couldn’t lose it.” He smiled, though he had to keep his hands close to his sides to keep from reaching for her. “You never have to worry over that.”

She tried not to as she left and started up the road again. And she tried not to think too deeply about why she needed to weep.

Chapter Fourteen

Murphy put his back into mucking out the stables. Physical labor was part of his life, and he knew how to use strain and sweat to ease the mind.

It was a pity it wasn’t working for him.

He drove his shovel into the soiled straw bedding, tossed the load into the growing pile in his wheelbarrow.

“You always had a good aim, you did, Murphy.” Maggie strolled up behind him. She was smiling, but her eyes were searching his face for signs. And what she found tore at her heart.

“Why aren’t you working?” He spoke without looking over or stopping. “I hear your furnace.”

“I’m going to get to it.” She came closer, resting a hand on the open stall door. “I didn’t come by yesterday because I thought you might want a little breathing space. So I waited till this morning. Shannon looked miserable when she came back after seeing you yesterday.”

“I did my best to put her at ease.” He bit off the words before taking his shovel into the next stall.

“What about your ease, Murphy?” Maggie laid a hand on his back, leaving it lay despite his bad-tempered shrug. “I can see what you feel for her, and I hate to know you’re so upset.”

“Then you’d best be off, as I’m planning on staying this way. Move back, damn it, you’ll have manure in your face.”

Instead she snatched at the handle of the shovel and had an angry and brief wrestle for it. “Fine then.” She let go and brushed her hands together. “You can go on shoveling at shit all you please, but you’ll talk to me.”

“I’m in no mood for company.”

“And since when have I been company?”

“Damn it, Maggie, go away.” He whirled on her, temper hot in his eyes. “I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want any bloody advice.”

She fisted her hands, plopped them on her hips, and went toe to toe with him. “If you think you can shake me off with nasty words and nastier temper, you’re mistaken, lad.”

Of course he couldn’t, and because it would do him no good with her, Murphy did what he could do to bury the fury. “I’m sorry, Maggie Mae. I shouldn’t swipe at you. I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Murphy—”

She’d break him if he didn’t see her off, and quickly. “It’s not that I’m not grateful you’d come by and want to help. I’m not ready for it. I need to lick my wounds on my own. Be a friend, darling, and leave me be.”

Deflated, she did the only thing she knew how, and pressed her cheek to his. “Will you come talk to me when you can?”

“Sure I will. Go on now, be off. I’ve a lot to do today.”

When she left him, Murphy drove his shovel into the straw and cursed softly, viciously, until he ran out of words.

He worked like a man possessed until the sun set, then rose again when it did to repeat the process. Even his well-toned muscles ached by the time he settled down with a cold sandwich and a bottle of beer.

He was already thinking of bed, though it was barely eight, when the back door swung open. Rogan and Gray came through it, followed happily by Con.

“We’re on a mission, Murphy.” Gray slapped him on the back, then turned to the cupboards.

“A mission, is it.” Automatically he scratched Con’s ears when the dog laid his head on his lap. “Of what nature?”

“We’re ordered to draw off your black mood.” Rogan set a bottle on the counter and broke the seal. “We’re neither of us allowed back home until we’ve accomplished it.”

“Brie and Maggie have had their heads together over you for two days,” Gray put in.

“There’s no need for that, or for this. I was going up to bed.”

“You can’t, as an Irishman, turn your back on two mates and a bottle of Jamison’s.” Gray slapped three glasses, one by one, on the table.

“So, we’re to get drunk, are we?” Murphy eyed the bottle. He hadn’t thought of that one.

“The women haven’t been able to turn the tide.” Rogan poured three hefty shots. “So they’ve conceded it’s a man’s job.” He seated himself comfortably at the table, lifted his glass. “Slainté.”

Murphy scratched his chin, blew out a breath. “What the f**k.” He downed the first glass, winced before slapping it down for a refill. “Did you only bring one bottle?”

Laughing, Gray poured the next round.

When the bottle was half gone, Murphy was feeling more mellow. A temporary fix, he knew, and a fool’s one. But he felt very much the fool.

“I gotta tell you.” Already a little wobbly, Gray kicked back in his chair and puffed on one of the cigars Rogan had provided. “I can’t get drunk.”

“Yes, you can.” Rogan studied the tip of his own cigar. “I’ve seen you.”

“You couldn’t see anything. You were too drunk.” Finding that wonderfully funny, Gray leaned forward again and nearly upended. “But what I mean is, I can’t get so plowed I can’t make love with my wife tonight. Oh, thanks.” He picked up the glass Murphy had refilled and gestured with it. “I’m making up for lost time.” Deadly serious, he rested his elbow on the table. “Do you know how long you can’t when a woman’s pregnant?”