“Who you are hasn’t changed,” Amanda said desperately. “Colin and I did what we thought was right for you. We were never sure how or when to tell you. We—”

“You discussed it?” Swamped by her own churning emotions, Shannon spun back to the frail woman on the bed. There was a horrible, shocking urge in her to snatch that shrunken body up, shake it. “Is today the day we tell Shannon she was a little mistake made on the west coast of Ireland? Or should it be tomorrow?”

“Not a mistake, never a mistake. A miracle. Damn it, Shannon—” She broke off, gasping as the pain lanced through her, stealing her breath, tearing like claws. Her vision grayed. She felt a hand lift her head, a pill being slipped between her lips, and heard the voice of her daughter, soothing now.

“Sip some water. A little more. That’s it. Now lie back, close your eyes.”

“Shannon.” The hand was there to take hers when she reached out.

“I’m here, right here. The pain’ll be gone in a minute. It’ll be gone, and you’ll sleep.”

It was already ebbing, and the fatigue was rolling in like fog. Not enough time, was all Amanda could think. Why is there never enough time?

“Don’t hate me,” she murmured as she slipped under the fog. “Please, don’t hate me.”

Shannon sat, weighed down by her own grief long after her mother slept.

She didn’t wake again.

Chapter
Two

An ocean away from where one of Tom Concannon’s daughters dealt with the pain of death, others celebrated the joys of new life.

Brianna Concannon Thane cradled her daughter in her arms, studying the gorgeous blue eyes with their impossibly long lashes. The tiny fingers with their perfect tiny nails, the rosebud of a mouth that no one in heaven or on earth could tell her hadn’t curved into a smile.

After less than an hour she’d already forgotten the strain and fatigue of labor. The sweat of it, and even the prickles of fear.

She had a child.

“She’s real.” Grayson Thane said it reverently, with a hesitant stroke of a fingertip down the baby’s cheek. “She’s ours.” He swallowed. Kayla, he thought. His daughter Kayla. And she seemed so small, so fragile, so helpless. “Do you think she’s going to like me?”

Peering over his shoulder, his sister-in-law chuckled. “Well, we do—most of the time. She favors you, Brie,” Maggie decided, slipping an arm around Gray’s waist for support. “Her hair will be your color. It’s more russet now, but I’ll wager it turns to your reddish gold before long.”

Delighted with the idea, Brianna beamed. She stroked the down on her daughter’s head, found it soft as water. “Do you think?”

“Maybe she’s got my chin,” Gray said hopefully.

“Just like a man.” Maggie winked at her husband as Rogan Sweeney grinned at her across the hospital bed. “A woman goes through the pregnancy, with its queasiness and swollen ankles. She waddles about like a cow for months, then suffers through the horrors of labor—”