“I haven’t the answer.”

“You’ve part of it,” he muttered, and straightened again. “You are part of the answer. Tell me now, what’s in your heart for Shawn Gallagher.” Before she could speak, he lifted a hand in warning. He’d seen the temper flash over her face. “Before you speak, mind this. You’re in my world here, and it’s the simplest of matters for me to make you speak truth. Only truth. We both prefer you answer of your own will.”

“I don’t know what’s in my heart. You’ll have to take that as your truth, for I’ve nothing more.”

“Then it’s time you looked, and time you knew, isn’t it?” He sighed again, not troubling to hide his disgust. “But you won’t till you’re ready. Go on to sleep, then.”

With a sweep of his arm, he was alone with his thoughts in the jeweled light. And Brenna slept, dreamlessly now, in her bed.

She got no more than four hours’ sleep, but went through the day fueled with energy. Most often a late night followed by an early morning left her out of sorts and cross most of the day. But in this case, she was so cheerful that her father commented on her bright mood more than once.

She didn’t feel she could tell him what she told herself. It was good, healthy sex that had her whistling through her work. As close as they were, and as much as she loved him, she doubted her father would want to know how she’d spent her evening.

She remembered the dream, remembered it so clearly, so precisely, that she wondered if she was filling in some blanks without meaning to. But it wasn’t anything she was going to muddle over for long.

“That’s about all for the day, wouldn’t you say, Brenna darling?” Mick straightened up, stretched his back, then glanced over to where his daughter was squatted down painting the floor molding. His lips pursed when he noted she was painting the same six inches over and over with lazy swipes of the brush.

“Brenna?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t you think you might have just about enough paint on that space of wood by this time?”

“What? Oh.” She dipped the brush again, then made sure to hit the fresh wood. “My mind must’ve wandered.”

“It’s time to call it a day.”

Already?”

With a shake of his head, he gathered up brushes, rollers, and pans. “What was it your mother put in your oatmeal this morning to give you such pep? And why didn’t I have any?”

“The day went by fast, that’s all.” She got to her feet, looked around. With some surprise she noted just how much had been done. She’d gone through the day on automatic pilot, she supposed. “We’ve nearly finished in here.”

“By tomorrow, it’ll be on to the next. We deserve big portions of that roast your mother promised for tonight.”

“You’re tired, Dad. I’ll clean this up.” That, at least, would soften some of the guilt she was going to feel. “And you know, I was thinking I’d go on into the pub and see Darcy. Would you tell Ma I’ll be grabbing a sandwich there?”