Flustered, and pleased, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Same goes.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Shannon couldn’t have been more delighted with Worldwide Gallery, Clare. Its manor-house style was both striking and dignified. The gardens, Murphy told her as she stepped from the truck to admire them, were Brianna’s design.

“She didn’t plant them,” he went on, “as there wasn’t enough time for her to come out every day with her spade and her pots. But she drew up the placement of every last dahlia and rosebush.”

“Another family affair.”

“It is, yes. Rogan and Maggie worked with the architect on the design of the house, scrutinized every paint chip. There were some lively arguments there,” he remembered, taking Shannon’s hand as Gray pulled up nearby. “It’s a labor of love for all of them.”

Shannon scanned the cars already parked in the lot. “It appears it’s working very well.”

“The president of Ireland’s been here.” There was wonder in his voice as well as pride. “Twice, and bought one of Maggie’s pieces, others as well. It’s no small thing to take a dream and make it into a reality that stands strong.”

“No.” She understood what was beneath his words and was grateful when Brianna and the rest joined them.

“You’ll keep your hands in your pockets, Liam Sweeney,” Maggie warned. “Or I’ll handcuff you.” Not trusting the threat, she hoisted him up. “What do you think then, Shannon?”

“I think it’s beautiful, and every bit as impressive as Dublin and New York.”

“Here’s a home,” she said simply and carried Liam toward the entrance.

Shannon smelled the flowers, the roses, the drifting fragrance of peonies, the scent of the trimmed lawn that was thick as velvet. When she stepped inside, she saw that it was, indeed, a home, furnished with care, and with the welcoming grace of elegance.

There were paintings on the wall of the main hall, clever pencil portraits that celebrated the faces and moods of the people of Ireland. In the front parlor were dreamy watercolors that suited the curved settee and quiet tones of the room. There were sculptures, Maggie’s incomparable glass, as well as a bust of a young woman carved in alabaster, and canny little elves depicted in glossy wood. A hand-hooked rug in bleeding blues graced the floor, and a thick throw was draped over the back of the sofa.

There were flowers, fresh that morning, in vases of brilliant glass and fired pottery.

It gave her a jolt to see her own painting on the wall. Stunned, she walked closer, staring at her watercolor of Brianna.

“I’m so proud to have it here,” Brianna said from beside her. “Maggie told me that Rogan had displayed three, but she didn’t tell me this was one of them.”

“Three?” There was something spreading in Shannon’s chest, making her heart beat too fast for comfort.

Maggie stepped up, struggling with a wriggling Liam. “At first he was only going to use the one, The Dance, but he decided to put up the other two for a few days only. He wants to tease the clientele a bit. Give them a glimpse or two of what’s to come in your fall showing, and start a buzz. He’s had an offer on The Dance already.”

“An offer?” Now whatever was stretching inside of Shannon was creeping into her throat. “Someone wants to buy it?”

“I think he said two thousand pounds. Or maybe it was three.” She shrugged as Shannon stared at her. “Of course he wants twice that.”

“Twice—” She choked, then certain she’d gotten the joke, shook her head. “You almost had me.”

“He’s greedy, is Rogan,” Maggie said with a smile. “I’m forever telling him he asks outrageous prices, and he delights in forever proving me wrong by getting them. If he wants six thousand pounds for it, he’ll get it, I promise you.”

The logical part of Shannon’s brain calculated the exchange into American dollars, and banked it. The artist in her was both flustered and grieving.

“All right, boy-o,” Maggie said to the squirming Liam. “It’s your da’s turn.” She marched out with him, leaving Shannon staring at the painting.

“When I sold the yearling,” Murphy began in a quiet voice, “it broke my heart. He was mine, you see.” He smiled a little when Shannon turned to him. “I’d been there at the foaling and watched through until the first nursing. I trained him to the lead and worried when he bruised his knee. But I had to sell him, and knew that in my head. You can’t be in the horse business without doing business. Still, it broke my heart.”

“I’ve never sold anything I’ve painted. I’ve given it away as gifts, but that’s not the same.” She took a long breath. “I didn’t know I could feel this way. Excited, overwhelmed, and incredibly sad.”

“It may help to know that Gray’s already told Rogan he’ll skin him if Rogan sells your Brianna to anyone but him.”

“I’d have given it to them.”

Murphy leaned close to whisper in her ear. “Say it soft, for Rogan’s got good hearing.”

That made her laugh, and she let him take her hand and lead her into the next room.

It took more than an hour before she could be persuaded from the first floor to the second. There was too much to see, and admire, and want. The first thing she spotted in the upstairs sitting room was a long sinuous flow of glass that hinted at the shape of a dragon. She could see the spread of wings, the iridescent sheen of them, the curve of the neck, the fierce turn of head and sweep of tail.

“I have to have it.” Possessively she ran her fingers along the serpentine body. It was Maggie’s work, of course. Shannon didn’t have to see the carved M.M. under the base of the tail to know it.

“You’ll let me buy it for you.”

“No.” She was firm as she turned to Murphy. “I’ve wanted a piece of hers for more than a year and know exactly what Rogan gets for her. I can afford it now. Barely. I mean it, Murphy.”

“You took the earrings.” And she was wearing them still, he saw with pleasure.

“I know, and it’s sweet of you to offer. But this is important to me, to buy for myself something of my sister’s.”

The stubborn look that had come into his eyes faded. “Ah, so it’s that way. I’m glad.”