“So am I. Very glad.” Her lips curved when his came to them.

“I beg your pardon,” Rogan said from the doorway. “I’m interrupting.”

“No.” She went to him, hands extended. “I can’t begin to tell you how I feel seeing my work here. It’s something I never thought of. Something my mother always wanted. Thank you.” She kept his hands in hers as she kissed him. “Thank you for making something she dreamed of come true.”

“It’s more than a pleasure. And I’m confident it will continue to be, for both of us, for years to come.” He saw her hesitation and countered it. “Brianna’s gone to the kitchen. You can’t keep her out of one. Will you come have some tea?”

“I’ve just started on this floor, and actually, I’d like a minute of your time.”

“Rogan, there you are.” With a smug smile on her face, Maggie strode into the room. “I’ve dumped Liam on Gray. I told him it would be good practice for when Kayla gains her feet and never stops running on them.” She hooked an arm through Rogan’s. “Brianna has the tea ready, and bless her, she brought a tin of her sugar biscuits from home.”

“I’ll be right down.” He gave her hand an absent pat. “Should we go into my office, Shannon?”

“No, it’s not necessary. I want to discuss the dragon.”

He didn’t need for her to gesture toward the sculpture. “Maggie’s Breath of Fire,” he said with a nod. “Exceptional.”

“Of course it is,” Maggie retorted. “I worked my ass off on it. Started three different times before it came right.”

“I want it.” Shannon was an excellent negotiator, had bargained with the best of them in the diamond district, in the little galleries of Soho. But in this case her skills had no chance against sheer desire. “I’d like to arrange to buy it and have you ship it back to New York for me.”

No one but Maggie noticed that Murphy went suddenly and absolutely still.

“I see.” Considering, Rogan kept his eyes on Shannon’s face. “It’s one of her more unique works.”

“No argument. I’ll write you a check.”

Maggie looked away from Murphy and squared her shoulders for battle. “Rogan, I’ll not have you—”

It amused Shannon to see Maggie seethe into silence when Rogan raised a hand. “Artists tend to have an emotional attachment to their work,” he said mildly while his wife glared at him. “Which is why they need a partner, someone with a head for business.”

“Fathead,” Maggie muttered. “Bloodsucker. Damn contracts. He makes me sign them still as if I hadn’t borne him a child and didn’t have another in the womb.”

He only spared her a brief glance. “Finished?” he asked, then continued before she could swear at him. “As Maggie’s partner, I’ll speak for her and tell you that we’d like you to have it, as a gift.”

Even as Shannon started to protest, Maggie was sputtering in shock. “Rogan Sweeney, never in my life did I expect to hear such a thing come out of your mouth.” After a burst of delighted laughter, she grabbed his face in both her hands, then kissed him long and hard. “I love you.” Still beaming, she turned back to Shannon. “Don’t you dare argue,” she ordered. “This is a moment of great pride and astonishment for me in the man I married. So shake hands on the deal before he comes back to his normal avaricious senses.”

Trapped by kindness, Shannon did what she was told. “It’s very generous. Thank you. I guess I’ll have that tea now, and gloat, before I finish the tour.”

“I’ll take you down. Maggie, Murphy?”

“We’ll be right along.” Maggie sent him a quick, silent signal, then waited until their footsteps faded away. She thought it best to say nothing for the moment and simply wrapped her arms around Murphy.

“She didn’t realize what she was saying,” Maggie began, “about having it shipped to New York.”

That was the worst of it, he thought, closing his eyes and absorbing the dull, dragging ache. “Because it’s automatic to her. The leaving.”

“You want her to stay. You have to fight.”

His hands fisted on her back. He could fight with those if the foe was flesh and blood. But it was intangible, as elusive as ghosts. A place, a mindset, a life he couldn’t grasp even with his brain.

“I haven’t finished.” He said it quietly, with a fire underneath that gave Maggie hope. “And neither, by Jesus, has she.”

He didn’t ask if she’d come back to the farm with him, but simply drove there. When they got out of the truck, he didn’t lead her into the house, but around it.

“Do you have to do something with the animals?” She glanced down at his feet. He wasn’t wearing his boots, but the shoes she knew he kept for church and town.

“Later.”

He was distracted. She’d sensed that all along the drive back from Ennistymon. It worried her that he was still brooding about what they said to each other at Loop Head. There was a stubborn streak under all those quiet waters, just as there was a flaming wave of passion always stirring under the surface. Already the panic was creeping up at the idea he might insist they talk about the dreams again.

“Murphy, I can tell you’re upset. Can’t we just put all this aside?”

“I’ve put it aside too long already.” He could see his horses grazing. He had a client for the bay colt, the one that was standing so proud just now. And he knew he’d have to give him up.

But there was some things a man never gave up.

He could feel the nerves in her hand, the tension in it that held the rest of her rigid as he drew her into the circle of stones. Then he let her go and faced her without touching.

“It had to be here. You know that.”

Though there was a trembling around her heart, she kept her eyes level. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He didn’t have a ring. He knew what he wanted for her—the claddaugh with its heart and hands and crown. But for now, he had only himself.

“I love you, Shannon, as much as a man can love. I tell you that here, on holy ground while the sun beams between the stones.”

Now her heart thudded, as much with love as with nerves. She could see what was in his eyes and shook her head, already knowing nothing would stop him.