“They’ve got more in common than either one of them realizes.” Gray watched Shannon stare at the pub door before giving her attention back to the old couple.

“It’s the common ground that’s between them as much as under their own feet.”

Gray nodded before looking back at Murphy. “Are you stuck on that comely face, Murphy?”

More out of habit than design, Murphy fiddled out a tune. “That’s part of it.” His lips curved, but the look in his eyes was distant and deep. “It’s the face I’ve been waiting to see again.”

She wasn’t going to let Maggie get under her skin. Shannon promised herself that as she readied for bed later that night. The woman had set detectives on her, had her researched and reported, and now that she’d tried to be open minded enough to meet with the Concannons face-to-face, Maggie treated her like an intruder.

Well, she was staying as long as she damn well pleased. A couple of weeks, Shannon mused. Three at the outside. No one was going to chase her away with cold looks and abrasive comments. Margaret Mary Concannon was going to come to realize that America bred tougher nuts to crack.

And the farmer wasn’t going to spook her, either. Charm and good looks weren’t weapons that worried her. She’d known plenty of charming, good-looking men.

Maybe she’d never met one with quite Murphy’s style, or that odd something flowing so placidly under it all, but it didn’t concern her. Not really.

She climbed into bed, tugged the covers up to her chin. The rain had made the air just a little cooler than comfortable. Still it was snug and almost childishly pleasant to be bundled into bed with the sound of the rain pattering and the steaming cup of tea Brianna had insisted she take with her cooling on the nightstand.

Tomorrow she’d explore, Shannon promised herself. She would swallow her pride and take the car. She’d find her art supplies, maybe some ruins, a few shops. She’d done enough traveling with her parents not to be concerned about knocking about a foreign country on her own.

And on her own is where she wanted to be for a day, without anyone watching her movements, or trying to dissect them.

Snuggling down lower in the bed, she let her mind drift to the people she’d become involved with.

Brianna, the homebody. A new mother, new wife. And a businesswoman, Shannon reminded herself. Efficient, talented. Warm hearted, certainly, but with something like worry behind her eyes.

Gray—her fellow Yank. Easygoing—on the surface, at any rate. Friendly, sharp witted, dazzled by his wife and daughter. Content, apparently, to shrug off the high life he could be living in a major city with his fame.

Maggie. The scowl came automatically. Suspicious by nature, hotheaded, frank to the point of rudeness. Shannon considered it too bad that she respected those particular traits. Unquestionably a loving wife and mother, indisputably a major talent. And, Shannon though, overly protective and fiercely loyal.