He did kiss her, but lightly, on the brow. “Meanwhile, you should be smiling instead of worrying. Rogan takes only the best for his galleries. You haven’t been out to Ennistymon yet, have you?”

“No.” She was sorry he’d let her go. “Is that where the gallery is?”

“Near. I’ll take you if you like. I can’t today,” he said with a wince at the wall clock. “I’ve got a bit to do around here yet, and I’ve promised to go by Feeney’s and lend him a hand with the tractor.”

“No, and I’ve kept you long enough anyway.”

“You can keep me as long as you want.” He took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Maybe you’d come down to the pub tonight. I’ll buy you a drink to celebrate.”

“I’m not sure what I’m celebrating, but I might do that.” Anticipating him, she stepped back. “Murphy, I didn’t come here to wrestle in the kitchen.”

“I never said you did.”

“You’re getting that look in your eyes,” she muttered. “And that’s my clue to leave.”

“My hands are clean now, so I wouldn’t muss you up if I kissed you.”

“I’m not worried about being mussed, I’m worried about being . . . never mind. Just keep your hands where I can see them. I mean it.”

Obliging, he lifted them palms out, then felt his heart turn over when she rose on her toes and kissed his cheek.

“Thanks for the tea, and the shoulder.”

“You’re welcome to either, anytime.”

She sighed and made herself back up another step. “I know. You make it hard to be sensible.”

“If you’ve a mind to be insensible, Feeney can wait.”

She had to laugh. No man had ever asked her to bed with quite such style. “Go back to work, Murphy. I think I’m in the mood to paint.”

She went out the back, accustomed now to the way over the fields.

“Shannon Bodine.”

“Yes.” Laughing again, she turned, walking backward as she watched him come out the kitchen door.

“Will you paint something for me? Something that reminds you of me?”

“I might.” She tossed up a hand in a wave, swiveled on her heel, and hurried away toward Blackthorn.

In the rear gardens of the inn Kayla napped in a folding crib near the flowering almond Murphy had planted for her. Her mother was weeding the perennial bed nearby, and her father was doing his level best to talk Brianna into indoor activities.

“The place is empty.” Gray trailed his fingers down Brianna’s arm. “All the guests are off sightseeing. The kid’s asleep.” He inched a little closer to nibble at the back of Brianna’s neck, encouraged by her quick shiver of reaction. “Come to bed, Brianna.”

“I’ve work.”

“The flowers aren’t going anywhere.”

“Neither are the weeds.” Her system went haywire as he skimmed the tip of his tongue along her skin. “Ah, look. I nearly pulled an aster. Go away now, and—”

“I love you, Brianna.” He caught her hands, pressing his lips to the back of each.