“With his da. Rogan had the idea I needed a lie-in this morning and took him off to the gallery for a few hours.”

“I’d like to see it. The gallery. I’ve been in Worldwide in New York.”

“This one’s not as posh. Rogan’s goal was to make it more a home for art than a display. We feature only Irish artists and craftsmen. It’s been a year since it opened, and he’s done what he set out to do. But then—he always does.” Agile, she swung over the first wall.

“Have you been married long?”

“Two years soon. That was something else he set out to do.” It made her smile to think of it, to remember how she’d fought him every step of the way. “You’ve no thoughts of marriage, a man waiting for you to come back?”

“No.” As if on cue she heard the sound of a tractor, then saw Murphy riding in the far field. “I’m concentrating on my career.”

“I know how that is.” Maggie lifted her hand in a wave. “He’ll be going back to his bog to cut turf. It’s a fine day for it, and he prefers peat to wood or coal.”

Peat fires and bogs, Shannon thought. But God, didn’t he look fine riding over his land with the sun streaming down on him. “Will he do it all alone?”

“No, there’ll be help. It’s rare that a man cuts turf by himself. Not many do it now, it takes such time and effort. But Murphy always makes use of what he has.” Maggie paused a minute to turn a slow circle. “He’ll have a fine crop this year. After his father died, he put everything he is into this place. And he’s made it shine like his father, and mine, never could.” As they walked again, she slanted Shannon a look. “This was Concannon land once.”

“Murphy mentioned that he’d bought it.” They went over the next wall. They were close to the farmhouse now, and Shannon could see chickens scratching in the yard. “Was this your house, then, before?”

“Yes, but not in my memory. We grew up at Blackthorn. If you go back a few generations, the Muldoons and Concannons were related. There were brothers you see, who inherited all the land here, and split it between them. One couldn’t but plant a seed that it would spring out of the earth. And the other seemed to grow nothing but rocks. But it’s said he drank more than he plowed. There was jealousy and temper between them, and their wives wouldn’t speak if they met face to face.”

“Cozy,” Shannon commented and was too intrigued to remember to put the borrowed jacket on the back stoop.

“And one fine day the second brother, the one who preferred beer to fertilizer, disappeared. Vanished. In the way of the inheritance, the first brother owned all the land now. He let his brother’s wife and children stay in the cottage—which would be my house now. Some said he did so out of guilt, for it was suspected that he did away with his brother.”