“And neat as a pin they were, every one of them. You’ll tell me if the strudel’s as good as she claimed.”

Brianna was dishing it up when the phone rang. Shannon reached for the receiver on the wall phone. “I’ll get it. Blackthorn Cottage.” She hesitated a moment, brows lifting in surprise. “Tod? Yes, it’s me.” She laughed. “I do not sound Irish.”

Unable to keep his lip from curling, Murphy sat down at the table. “Tod,” he muttered when Brianna set the strudel in front of him. “Sounds more like an insect than a name.”

“Hush,” Brianna ordered and patted his arm.

“It’s beautiful,” Shannon continued. “Very much like Local Hero. Remember? Burt Lancaster.” She chuckled again. “Right. Well, I’m doing a lot of walking, and eating. And I’m painting.”

“That bored, huh?” His voice was amused, and faintly sympathetic.

“No.” Her brow creased. “Not at all.”

“Doesn’t sound like your kind of deal. Anyway, when are you coming back?”

She caught the curling phone cord in her fingers and began to twist. “I’m not sure. A couple of weeks, probably.”

“Christ, Shan, you’ve been there a month already.”

Her fingers worried the cord, twisting it tighter. Odd, it hadn’t seemed like a month. “I had three weeks coming.” She heard the defensiveness in the tone, and hated it. “The rest is on me. How are things going there?”

“You know how it is. Regular madhouse since we clinched the Gulfstream account. You’re the golden girl there, Shan. Two major notches in your belt in six months between Gulfstream and Titus.”

She’d forgotten Titus, and frowned now thinking of the concept and art she’d come up with to help sell tires. “Gulfstream’s yours.”

“Now, sure, but the brass knows who initiated it. Hey, you don’t think I’d take credit for your work.”

“No, of course not.”

“Anyway, I thought I’d let you know the guys upstairs are happy, but our department’s starting to feel the pinch with the fall and Christmas campaigns getting underway. We really need you back.”

She felt the light throbbing in her temple, the warning of a tension headache brewing. “I have things to work out, Tod. Personal things.”

“You had a rough patch. I know you, Shannon, you’ll have your feet back under you again. And I miss you. I know things were a little strained between us when you left, and I wasn’t as understanding as I should have been, as sensitive to your feelings. I think we can talk that out, and get back on line.”

“Have you been watching Oprah?”

“Come on, Shan. You take a couple more days, then give me a call. Let me know your flight number and E.T.A. I’ll pick you up at the airport, and we’ll cozy down with a bottle of wine and work this out.”

“I’ll get back to you, Tod. Thanks for calling.”

“Don’t wait too long. The brass has a short collective memory.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Bye.”

She hung up, discovered the cord was wrapped messily around her fingers. She concentrated on meticulously straightening it again.