“He doesn’t badger, he demolishes, bloodlessly.”

Maggie’s laugh was quick and rich. “Oh, that’s the truth. Bless him. What else have you?” Without invitation she picked up Shannon’s sketchbook and flipped through.

“Help yourself,” Shannon said dryly.

Maggie only made noises of approval and interest, then let out another delighted laugh. “You must do this one, Shannon. You must. It’s Murphy to the ground. The man and his horses. Damn, I wish I had the hands to do portraits like this.”

“I’d see him up there sometimes when I was painting the circle.” Shannon tilted her head so that she could see the page herself. “It was irresistible.”

“When you paint it, I’d be pleased to buy it for his mother.” She frowned then. “Unless you’ve signed with Sweeney by then. If he’s any say in it, he’ll charge me half a leg and both arms. The man asks the fiercest prices for things.”

“I wouldn’t think that would bother you.” With care, Shannon took the finished canvas from the easel and laid it on the table. “When I went to your show in New York a couple years ago, I lusted after this piece—it was like a sunburst, all these hot colors exploding out of a central core. Not my usual style, but God, I wanted it.”

“Fired Dreams,” Maggie murmured, deeply flattered.

“Yes, that’s it. I had to weigh desire against a year’s rent—at New York rates. And I needed a roof over my head.”

“He sold that piece. If he hadn’t, I’d have given it to you.” At Shannon’s stunned look, Maggie shrugged. “At the family rate.”

Touched, and not sure how to respond, Shannon set a fresh canvas on her easel. “I’d say you’re lucky to have a shrewd manager looking after your interests.”

As disconcerted as Shannon, Maggie jammed her hands in her pockets. “So he’s always telling me. He’s got his mind set on doing the same for you.”

“I won’t have as much time for painting once I’m back in New York.” Taking up a pencil, Shannon sketched lightly on the canvas.

Maggie only lifted a brow. When a woman was an artist down to the bone, she recognized another. “He’s having contracts drafted up today.”

“He moves fast.”

“Faster than you can spit. He’ll want fifty percent,” she added, grinning wickedly. “But you can drive him down to forty using the family connection.”

Shannon’s throat was suddenly, uncomfortably dry. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”

“Ah, but you will. He’ll harangue you, and he’ll charm you. He’ll be reasonable and businesslike. You’ll say no, thank you very much, and he’ll skip right over that. If reason doesn’t work, he’ll find some little weakness to twist or some private wish to tweak. And you’ll be signing your name before you realize it. Do you always hold a pencil like that?”

Still frowning over the prediction, Shannon glanced down at her hand. “Yes. I keep the wrist loose.”

“Mmm. I keep a firmer grip, but I might try it. I should give you this before you start mixing paints.” From her pocket she took out a ball of padded paper.