“He does. But I know when my boy is having a fancy and when he means just what he says. He was speaking no more than the truth to me. And he spoke nothing more than the truth when he called me a short time ago to tell me that she’d come.”

“It’s not like that. It can’t be like that.”

“It’s hard to judge what can and can’t be. In the heart. You’re holding his, Shannon Bodine. The only thing I’ll ask of you is to take care, great care with it. If you find you can’t keep it, or don’t want it after all, hand it back to him gently.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Oh, child, I know that. He’d never choose a woman with meanness in her. I’m sorry to have made you sad.”

Shannon only shook her head. “You needed to say it. I’m sure I needed to hear it. I’ll straighten things out.”

“Darling.” With something close to a chuckle, Alice leaned forward again to take Shannon’s hand. “You may try, but he’ll tangle them up again. You mustn’t think I said all of this to put the burden on your shoulders alone. It’s shared between you, equal. What happens between you, joy or sorrow, will be caused by both of you. If your mother was here, she’d be telling Murphy to take care with you.”

“She might.” The tension in Shannon’s fingers relaxed a little. “Yes, she might. He’s lucky to have you, Mrs. Brennan.”

“And so I remind him, often. Come now, let’s see if my daughters have finished cooking the lamb for dinner.”

“I should get back.”

Alice rose, drawing Shannon with her. “You’ll have your Sunday meal with us, surely. Murphy’ll want you. So do I.”

She opened the front door, stepped back, and welcomed Shannon inside.

Chapter
Eighteen

As much as Murphy enjoyed seeing Shannon with his family, dangling one of his nieces on her knee, laughing over something Kate said, listening intently to his nephew explain about carburetors, he wanted her alone.

It seemed the family he loved so well was conspiring to keep him from fulfilling that one simple and vital wish.

He mentioned very casually that it was a lovely night for a drive, and he thought Shannon would enjoy it. Whatever response she might have made was drowned out by his sisters’ chattering to Shannon about fashions.

A patient man, he waited a time, then tried again, suggesting a trip to the pub—where he was sure he could slip Shannon out in a wink. But his stepfather pulled him aside and began to drill him on the workings of the new combine.

When the sun set and the moon began its rise, he found himself dragooned into a game of Uncle Wiggly with some of the children while Shannon was across the room having an intent discussion with his teenage niece about American music.