“I’m sure he’ll fit us in.” He was sure, as he’d already made the appointment. “Tuesday then?”

Shannon blew out a breath that ruffled her hair, then tossed up her hands. “Sure. Why not?”

* * *

She asked herself that question again on the walk back to the inn. Then she changed gears and asked herself why. Why was she going along with this? Why was Rogan pressuring her to go along?

Yes, she was talented. She could see that for herself in her work and had been told by numerous art teachers over the years. But art wasn’t business, and business had always come first.

Agreeing to Rogan’s deal meant inverting something she’d pursued most of her life—letting her art take the lead and allowing someone else to handle the details of business.

It was more than a little frightening, certainly more than uncomfortable. But she had agreed, she reminded herself; at least she hadn’t refused outright.

And she could have, Shannon thought. Oh, yes, she recognized well the tactics Rogan had used, and used with bloodless skill. He would be a difficult man to outmaneuver, but she could have done so.

The fact was, she hadn’t really tried.

It was foolish, she thought now. A crazy complication. How could she have a show in Ireland in the fall when she would be three thousand miles away at her desk by then?

But is that really what you want?

She heard the little voice murmuring in her ear. Resenting it, she hunched her shoulders and scowled down at the road as she walked.

“You look mad as a hornet,” Alice commented. She was resting a hand on her son’s front gate and smiled as Shannon’s head shot up.

“Oh. I was just . . .” With an effort she relaxed her shoulders. “I was going over a conversation, and wondering why I lost the upper hand of it.”

“We always find a way to keep that upper hand in the replay.” Alice tapped her finger to her temple, then opened the gate. “Won’t you come in?” She pushed the gate wider when Shannon hesitated. “My family’s run off here and there, and I’d like a bit of company.”

“You surprise me.” Shannon stepped through and relatched the gate herself. “I’d think you’d be desperate for a couple minutes of peace and quiet.”

“It’s as my mother used to say—you have nothing but that when you’re six feet under. I was having a look at Murphy’s front garden. He’s tending it well.”

“He tends everything well.” Unsure of her moves, or her position, she followed Alice back up onto the porch and settled in the rocker beside her.

“That he does. He does nothing unless he does it thoroughly and with care. There were times, when he was a lad, and it seemed he would plod forever through one chore or another I might give him. I would be set to snap at him, and he’d just look and smile at me, and tell me he was figuring the best way about it, that was all.”