Concannons 3 - Born in Shame by Nora Roberts

Author:Nora Roberts
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 1995-06-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

She had a great deal to think about, and wanted the time to do it. Shannon knew she'd turned one very sharp corner in Maggie's kitchen.

She had sisters.

She couldn't deny the connection any longer, nor could she seem to stop the spread of emotion. She cared about them, their families, their lives. When she was back in New York, she imagined the contact would continue, with letters, calls, occasional visits. She could even see herself returning to Blackthorn Cottage for a week or two now and again through the years.

She'd have the paintings, too. Her first study of the stone dance was finished.

When she'd stepped back from the completed canvas, she'd been stunned that the power and scope of it, the sheer passion of it, had come from her.

She'd never painted that vividly before, or felt such a fierce emotional attachment to any of her work.

And it had driven her to start another even as the paint was drying on the first.

The sketch she'd done of Brianna in her garden was now a muted, undeniably romantic watercolor, nearly complete.

There were so many other ideas, varied subjects. How could she resist the luminescent light, the varied shades of green-the old man with the thick ash stick she'd seen herding his cows down a twisting road? All of it, every thing and every face she saw cried out to be painted.

She didn't see the harm in extending her stay another week, or two. A busman's holiday, she liked to think of it, where she could explore a side of her art that had been largely ignored throughout her career.

Her financial freedom was an excellent justification for lengthening her time in Ireland. If her record at Ry-Tilghmanton wasn't strong enough to hold for her sabbatical, then she'd simply find another-better-position when she returned to New York.

Now she walked down the road with Murphy's jacket over her arm. She'd meant to get it back to him before, but as she'd been working closer to the inn the last couple of days, there hadn't been the opportunity.

And it had seemed too cowardly to pass such a petty chore onto Brianna or Gray.

In any case, she was heading for the front of the house and imagined he would be out in the fields, or in the barn. Leaving it on his porch with a quick note of thanks pinned to it seemed an easy way out.

But, of course, he wasn't in the fields or in the barn.

She supposed she should have known he wouldn't be with the way her luck ran when applied to him.

As she bypassed his garden gate for the driveway, she could see his scarred, worn-down boots poking out from under the pitiful little car.

"Fuck me!"

Her eyes widened, then danced with humor at the steady and imaginative stream of curses that flew from beneath the car.

"Bloody buggerin' hell. Stuck like the cock of a cur in a bitch." There was the ping of metal striking metal, the crash of a tool falling. "Biggest pile of shit outside of the pigsty.

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