“And here’s one of mine. My website’s on it. And I wrote my personal email on the back when I got my camera. In case you have any questions or follow-ups about . . . Sally.”
“That’s grand.” He slipped it into his pocket.
Shortly, after helping Megan settle Sally in her container for the trip, Connor climbed back in his lorry.
“That’s grand? That’s all you have to say about it?” He cast his eyes to heaven as he drove. “What’s come over you, O’Dwyer? The woman was gorgeous, single, clever, and a keen hawker. And she gave you an open door a kilometer wide. But did you walk through it? You didn’t, no. ‘That’s grand’ is all you said, and let that open door sit there.”
Was it simply distraction, the burden of what he knew would have to be done, and the not knowing when it could or would be done? But it had always been there, hadn’t it, in the back of all? And had never interfered with his romantic maneuverings.
Had it all changed so much after the solstice? He knew he’d never known fear as sharp as when he’d seen Boyle’s hands burning, seen Iona on the ground bruised and bloody. When he’d known the lives of all of them depended on all of them.
Ah well, he thought, perhaps it was best to stay unentangled from those romantic maneuvers for a bit longer. No reason at all he couldn’t walk through that open door at a later date.
But for now, he needed to swing by the big stables, let Fin know the deal was done. Then his sister expected him, as this was, at least in theory, his free day.
He stopped at the stables where Fin made his home in the fancy stone house with a hot tub big as a pond on the back terrace and a room on the second floor where he kept magickal weapons, books, and everything else a witch might need—especially one determined to destroy a dark sorcerer of his own blood.
Beside it stood the garage with the apartment over it where Boyle lived—and where Iona would. And the barn for the horses—some for breeding, some for use at the working stables not far off.
Some of the horses cropped in the paddock beyond the one set for jumping practice and lessons.
He spotted Meara, which surprised him, leading one out.
He hopped down from the lorry to greet Bugs, the cheerful mutt who made the barn his home, then hailed her.
“I’d hoped to see Fin, but didn’t expect to see you.”
“I’m fetching Rufus. Caesar was on the slate for guides today, but Iona says he’s got a bit of a strain—left foreleg.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“She says not.” She looped Rufus’s reins around the fence. “But we agreed to give him a bit of rest and keep an eye. Fin’s round and about somewhere. I thought this was your free day.”
“It is, but I had to meet a customer over at Mulligan’s farm. She bought Sally—one from the brood we had last spring.”
“And you’re a bit sulky over it.”
“I’m not sulky.”
“A bit,” Meara said, and bent to give Bugs a scratch. “It’s hard to raise a living thing, connect and bond with it, then give it to another. But you can’t keep them all.”
“I know it”—though he wished otherwise—“and it’s a good match. Sally took to her right off, I could see it.”
“She?”
“A Yank, moved here a few years ago, and intends to stay—even after her husband, now her former husband, moved back.”
Meara’s lips curved; her eyebrows lifted. “A looker, is she?”
“She is. Why?”
“No why, just I could hear it in your voice. Living hereabouts?”
“No, down in Clare. Still squeamish over the hunt, but a good hand and heart with the hawk. I thought I’d let Fin know we made the deal, then I’m off to home to work with Branna, as I promised.”
“I’m off as well.” She unlooped the reins. “Since you’ll talk to Branna before I do, tell her Iona’s after a trip to Galway City to look for a wedding dress, and soon.”
“That’s months off yet.”