Shannon toyed with a display of harmonicas on the counter. “You haven’t asked me if I’m going to sign.”

“It’s been pointed out that it’s business not concerning me.”

Shannon gave a smile and her credit card to the clerk when he returned. “Is that a kiss on my ego, Margaret Mary?”

“Be grateful it’s not a boot to your ass.”

“I’m signing,” Shannon blurted out. “I don’t know if I decided just this instant or the moment he asked, but I’m doing it.” Swallowing hard, she pressed a shaky hand to her stomach. “Now I’m queasy.”

“I had a similar reaction under the same circumstances. You’ve just put your wheel in someone else’s hands.” Sympathetic, she slipped an arm around Shannon’s waist. “He’ll do right by you.”

“I know. I’m not sure if I’ll do right by him.” She watched the clerk box up the dulcimer. “It’s a problem I seem to be having just lately with men I’ve come to care about.”

“I tell you how we’re handling this one, Shannon. We’re going to Rogan’s fine, upstanding office and getting the business part over and done quick. That’s the worst part of it, I can tell you.”

“Okay.” She took the pen the clerk offered, mechanically signed her name to the credit slip.

“Then we’re going back home and cracking open a bottle of Sweeney’s best champagne.”

“You can’t drink. You’re pregnant.”

“You’re doing the drinking. A whole bottle of French bubbly just for you. ’Cause, darling, I’m of the opinion that you’re going to get drunk for the second time in your life.”

Shannon blew out a breath that fluttered her bangs. “You could be right.”

Maggie couldn’t have been more right. A few hours later, Shannon found that all the doubts and worries and questions simply fizzed away with a bottle of Dom Perignon.

Maggie was the overindulger’s friend, listening as Shannon rambled, making sympathetic noises as she complained, and laughing at the poorest of jokes.

When Rogan arrived home, Shannon was sitting dreamy-eyed in the parlor contemplating the last glass that could be squeezed from the bottle.

“What have you done to her, Margaret Mary?”

“She’s well fuddled.” Satisfied, Maggie lifted her mouth for his kiss.

He lifted a brow at the empty bottle. “Small wonder.”

“She needed to relax,” Maggie said airily. “And to celebrate, though you’d never be able to tell her so. You’re feeling fine, aren’t you, Shannon?”

“Fine and dandy.” She smiled brilliantly. “Hello, Rogan, when did you get here? They warned me about you, y’know,” she went on before he could answer.

“Did they?”

“They certainly did. Rogan Sweeney’s slick as spit.” She tipped the glass back again, swallowed hastily. “And you are.”

“Take it as a compliment, darling,” Maggie advised. “That’s how it’s meant.”

“Oh, it is,” Shannon agreed. “There’s not one shark in New York who could outswim you. And you’re so pretty, too.” She hoisted herself up, chuckling when her head revolved. When he would have taken her arm to steady her, she simply leaned in and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. “I’ve got such cute brothers, don’t I, Maggie? Just as cute as buttons.”