Rogan opened a tin, took out one of Murphy’s biscuits to entertain Liam. “My initial reaction to this part of the world wasn’t quite as romantic as that. The first time I came out here, I was cursing every muddy mile. Christ, it seemed it would never cease to rain, and a long way from Dublin is the west, in more than miles. Here, let me take him. He’ll have crumbs all over you.”

“I don’t mind.” Shannon snuggled Liam closer. “But you settled here,” she prompted Rogan.

“We’ve a home here, and a home in Dublin. I’d wanted the new gallery, been working on the concept of it before I met Maggie. And after I had her under contract, fell in love with her, badgered her into marrying me, the concept became Worldwide Galleries Clare.”

“You mean it was a business decision?”

“That was secondary. She’s rooted here. If I’d torn her out, it would have broken her heart. So we have Clare, and Dublin, and it contents us.”

He rose, going to the kettle that was shooting steam, to finish making the tea. “Maggie showed me the sketch you did of Liam. It takes skill to put so much into a few lines and shadings.”

“Charcoal’s simple, and kind of a hobby of mine.”

“Ah, a hobby.” Keeping his cards close to his vest, Rogan turned when Murphy came in. “Is your music a hobby, Murphy?”

“It’s my heart.” He stopped by the table to ruffle Liam’s hair. “Stealing my biscuits. You’ll have to pay for that.” He snatched the boy up, tickling his ribs and sending Liam into squeals of laughter.

“Truck,” Liam demanded.

“You know where it is, don’t you? Go on then and get it.” Murphy set Liam down, patted his butt. “Sit on the floor in there and play with it. If I hear anything I shouldn’t, I’m coming after you.”

As Liam toddled off, Murphy opened a cabinet for cups. “He’s partial to an old wooden truck I had as a boy,” he explained. “Partial enough that it can keep him quiet and out of trouble for ten or fifteen minutes at a go. Sit down, Rogan, I’ll tend to the rest of this.”

Rogan joined Shannon at the table, smiled at her again. “I had a look at the painting you’ve finished, the one of the standing stones? I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” But her brow creased.

“You do some, and Brie wasn’t happy about my insisting on going up to look when she mentioned it to me. She said I was to tell you myself I’d invaded your privacy, and apologize for it.”

“It doesn’t matter, really.” She looked up at Murphy as he filled cups. “Thanks.”

“I’ll offer you a thousand pounds for it.”

She was grateful she’d yet to sip tea. Surely she’d have choked on it. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m always serious about art. If you’ve anything else finished, or in progress, I’d be interested in having first look.”