"Oh, Gray," she said again.
"I walked across the fields one morning, and I saw the standing stones. They fascinated me, and I felt a tug, a power that didn't surprise me in the least."
Her hand tensed in his. "You mean that."
"I do. I could walk down the road there, or drive to the cliffs, through the village, wander around in ruins, cemeteries. I felt connected-and I'd never felt that connection with anything or anyone before. I didn't have visions, but I knew I'd been here before and was meant to come back."
"And that doesn't give you the creeps."
"It scared the shit out of me," he said cheerfully. "Just about as much as falling in love with Brianna did. What's scaring you more, pal?"
"I don't know. I have these dreams."
"So you said before. Are you going to tell me about them this time?"
"I have to tell somebody," she murmured. "Whenever I start to talk about it with Murphy I get... panicked. Like something's got a hold of me. I'm not the hysterical type, Gray, or the fanciful type. But I can't get past this."
She began slowly, telling him of the first dream, the details of it, the emotions of it. The words came easily now, without the hot ball in her throat that swelled each time she tried to discuss it with Murphy.
Still, she knew there was more, some piece, some final link that part of her was blocking out.
"He has the broach," she finished. "Murphy has the broach I saw in my dreams. He found it in the dance when he was a boy, and he says he started having the same dreams."
Fascinated, and with one part of his brain coolly filing away the facts and images for a story to be spun, he whistled. "That's pretty heavy stuff."
"Tell me about it. I feel like I've got the weight of a hundred-pound ax at the back of my neck."
He narrowed his eyes. "I said heavy, not scary. Certainly not threatening."
"Well, I am threatened. I don't like it, this having my unconscious intruded upon. And this nasty feeling that I'm supposed to fix whatever went wrong doesn't agree with me. Gray, when I see a magician vanish in a puff of smoke, I know it's a trick. I may enjoy it, be entertained if it's well done, but I'm fully aware there's a trapdoor and misdirection."
"Rock and a hard place again, pal. Logic against illogic. Reason against emotion. Have you considered relaxing and just seeing which side wins?"
"I've considered finding an analyst," she muttered. "And I'm telling myself the dreams will stop once I'm back in New York, back in the routine I'm used to." "And you're afraid they won't." "Yes, I'm afraid they won't. And I'm very afraid that Murphy won't understand why I have to go." "Do you understand?" Gray asked quietly. "Logically, yes. And still logically, I can understand my connection here. With Murphy, with all of you. I know I'll have to come back, that I'll never break the ties, or want to. And that the life I'm going back to will never be quite the same as the one I had before. But I can't fix dreams, Gray, and I can't stay and let my life drift. Not even for Murphy." "Want advice?"
She lifted her hands, then let them fall. "Hell, I'll take what I can get."
"Think through what you're going back to and what you're leaving behind. Make a list if it helps the logical side. And after you've weighed them, one against the other, see which side of the scale dips."
"Pretty standard advice," she mused. "But not bad. Thanks."
"Wait till you get my bill."
She laughed, tilted her head onto his shoulder. "I really love you."
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?"