Still, she knew there was more, some piece, some final link that part of her was blocking out.

“He has the broach,” she finished. “Murphy has the broach I saw in my dreams. He found it in the dance when he was a boy, and he says he started having the same dreams.”

Fascinated, and with one part of his brain coolly filing away the facts and images for a story to be spun, he whistled. “That’s pretty heavy stuff.”

“Tell me about it. I feel like I’ve got the weight of a hundred-pound ax at the back of my neck.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I said heavy, not scary. Certainly not threatening.”

“Well, I am threatened. I don’t like it, this having my unconscious intruded upon. And this nasty feeling that I’m supposed to fix whatever went wrong doesn’t agree with me. Gray, when I see a magician vanish in a puff of smoke, I know it’s a trick. I may enjoy it, be entertained if it’s well done, but I’m fully aware there’s a trapdoor and misdirection.”

“Rock and a hard place again, pal. Logic against illogic. Reason against emotion. Have you considered relaxing and just seeing which side wins?”

“I’ve considered finding an analyst,” she muttered. “And I’m telling myself the dreams will stop once I’m back in New York, back in the routine I’m used to.”

“And you’re afraid they won’t.”

“Yes, I’m afraid they won’t. And I’m very afraid that Murphy won’t understand why I have to go.”

“Do you understand?” Gray asked quietly.

“Logically, yes. And still logically, I can understand my connection here. With Murphy, with all of you. I know I’ll have to come back, that I’ll never break the ties, or want to. And that the life I’m going back to will never be quite the same as the one I had before. But I can’t fix dreams, Gray, and I can’t stay and let my life drift. Not even for Murphy.”

“Want advice?”

She lifted her hands, then let them fall. “Hell, I’ll take what I can get.”

“Think through what you’re going back to and what you’re leaving behind. Make a list if it helps the logical side. And after you’ve weighed them, one against the other, see which side of the scale dips.”

“Pretty standard advice,” she mused. “But not bad. Thanks.”

“Wait till you get my bill.”

She laughed, tilted her head onto his shoulder. “I really love you.”

Flustered, and pleased, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Same goes.”

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Shannon couldn’t have been more delighted with Worldwide Gallery, Clare. Its manor-house style was both striking and dignified. The gardens, Murphy told her as she stepped from the truck to admire them, were Brianna’s design.

“She didn’t plant them,” he went on, “as there wasn’t enough time for her to come out every day with her spade and her pots. But she drew up the placement of every last dahlia and rosebush.”