Marisa looked up at Patrick, her gratitude so deep it was beyond words. This reunion had happened only because of him, yet he was standing apart. Their eyes locked; she wanted to reach out her hand, to invite him over, but she felt stunned with emotion. His eyes were filled with such a gentle expression, one she hadn't seen for so long—she shivered, because it reminded her of how Paul used to look at her.

“Patrick,” she said again. “Thank you.”

“You don't have to thank me,” he said, his voice soft and gruff.

“How can I not?” she asked. “After what you've done for us?”

“You needed to find your sister,” he said. “And she needed to find you.”

“I know,” Marisa said, wanting to say so much more.

“You should let Sam settle in,” Patrick said, stepping back. Marisa opened her mouth to speak, but she faltered. Maybe he had just delivered Sam—and didn't plan on staying. Perhaps she had the wrong idea . . . but there was still that look in his blue eyes, reminding her of the only real love she had ever known, watching her as if he never wanted to look away.

“Aunt Sam, you brought your fiddle,” Jessica said.

“I did,” Sam said, glancing at Marisa. “We're going to clean up at the competition, knock those other bands right off the stage.”

“Are we really going to play together?” Marisa asked, almost unable to believe it.

“I think we should, don't you?” Sam asked softly. “After Patrick went to all the trouble to get me here?”

“It's good to see you all together,” Patrick said, his eyes still locked on hers. Her heart beat fast in her throat, and she swayed slightly.

“I love your dog,” Jessica said as she crouched to hug and pet the black Lab.

“Flora, meet Jessica,” Patrick said, finally turning away from Marisa. He stretched after his long drive, looking around, possibly looking for a way out of the family reunion. “I hope the inn takes dogs. I probably should have called first, to check.” So he was planning to stay. Marisa smiled with relief.

“Anne and Jude are over at the ceili,” Marisa said. “I'm sure they'll find a place for you and Flora. Let's go over and see. . . .”

“Yes, and check out who's playing,” Sam said. Then she glanced back at the ferry. The captain, a man Marisa had often seen but never met, had just loaded up the next group of cars, preparing to cross back to the other side. He was lean and lanky, with short brown hair under a Greek fisherman's cap, and a sexy way of leaning over the controls. He smiled straight at Sam.

“You know him?” Marisa asked.

“That's T. J. McGuinn,” Sam said, giving him a last wave as the horn sounded and the ferry pulled away, into the strait.