“Come with me.” She murmured it against his mouth. “Let go and come with me.”

Her breath caught as she began the tumble, then released in a sigh when he took her hand and fell with her.

His mouth was on hers again before the mists cleared. “Stay.”

She shouldn’t. Even as he shifted to draw her against his side she thought of all the reasons why it was best if she left now, crept quietly into her own bed.

“All right,” she said and settling her head on his shoulder, slept.

Of course, by dawn he’d shoved her to the edge of the bed. That was a little something they’d have to work on, Brenna thought as she got up in the half-light. She’d be damned if she’d spend every night of her life fighting for space on the mattress.

Begin as you mean to go on, her mother often said. Well, she’d begin by shoving her elbow into his ribs several times a night until he learned to share.

But her eyes were warm, watching him as she dressed. And the kiss she gave him before she left was unashamedly loving. “We’ll get a bigger bed,” she whispered, then hurried out to get home before her mother came down to make breakfast.

An hour later, he woke alone and vaguely dissatisfied. Couldn’t the woman have said good-bye at least? That was going to change. In fact, the whole business was going to change, and sooner than she might expect.

He wanted her in his life altogether, and not just for snatches of time in his bed. He rose, and gauging his time, figured he had plenty of it to have a look at the land he’d gotten word was for sale.

NINETEEN

THE PRICE WAS as steep as the lay of the land, but Shawn liked the feel of it. As he stood in what was no more than a drizzle now, he could see the water from one direction, stone gray to mirror the sky, and calmer now.

The storm had died in the night, but the beach was littered with shells and kelp and debris that had been heaved out of the sea.

He imagined they would face the house that way, with at least one good-size window in the front room so they could watch the moods of the water.

In back there was the rise of distant mountains, shadowy bumps up into the cloudy sky. Then on either side was the fall of hills and fields, the deep, wet green shimmering through winding ribbons of mist.

He didn’t have the talent to build a house in his mind, sketch one on paper, or take materials and tools and make it a reality. Not as Brenna did. But he could, particularly when the interest was personal, conjure up a glimmer of it.

He wanted a music room—well, not just for music, he thought, as he walked away from the area that he thought most likely for planting a house. It would have to be comfortable and welcoming so others would feel easy about coming in and staying awhile. But a room, and not a tiny, cramped one, where he could have his piano, and his fiddle. He’d want a kind of cabinet— perhaps Brenna could build it—for his music. And a stand, or whatever could be devised for a good tape recorder.