No turning back, she reminded herself. Foolish to even consider it. It might have been true that she’d made the decision to come on impulse, influenced by the drag of her own guilt and grief, and the simple understanding in Brianna’s letter. But she’d followed the impulse through, taking a leave of absence from her job, closing up her apartment, and boarding a plane for a three-thousand mile journey that was minutes away from being complete.

She’d stopped asking herself what she expected to find, or what she wanted to accomplish. She didn’t have the answers. All she knew was that she’d needed to come. To see, perhaps, what her mother had once seen. The doubts plagued her—worry that she was being disloyal to the only father she’d ever known, fears that she would suddenly find herself surrounded by relatives she had no desire to acknowledge.

With a shake of her head, she took her compact from her purse. She’d been clear enough in her letter, Shannon reminded herself as she tried to freshen her makeup. She’d edited and revised the text three times before she’d been satisfied enough to mail a response to Brianna. It had been polite, slightly cool, and unemotional.

And that was exactly how she intended to go on.

She tried not to wince when the wheels touched down. There was still time, she assured herself, to work on her composure. Years of traveling with her parents had made her familiar with the routine of disembarking, customs, passports. She moved through it on automatic while she calmed her mind.

Confident now, assured that she once again felt slightly aloof to the circumstances, she joined the crowd moving toward the main terminal.

She didn’t expect the jolt of recognition. The absolute certainty that the two women waiting with all the others were the Concannons. She could have told herself it was the coloring, the clear creamy skin, the green eyes, the red hair. They shared some features, though the taller of the two had a softer look, and her hair was more gold while the other was pure flame.

But it wasn’t the coloring, or the family resemblance that had her zeroing in on only two when there were so many people weeping and laughing and hurrying to embrace. It was a deep visceral knowledge that was surprisingly painful.

She had only an instant to sum them up, the taller, neat as a pin in a simple blue dress, the other oddly chic in a baggy shirt and tattered jeans. And she saw her recognition returned, with a glowing smile by one, a cool, measured stare by the other.

“Shannon. Shannon Bodine.” Without hesitation or plan, Brianna hurried forward and kissed Shannon lightly on the cheek. “Welcome to Ireland. I’m Brianna.”

“How do you do?” Shannon was grateful her hands were gripped on the luggage cart. But Brianna was already neatly brushing her aside to take the cart herself.

“This is Maggie. We’re so glad you’ve come.”

“You’ll want to get out of the crowd, I imagine.” Reserving judgment on the aloof woman in the expensive slacks and jacket, Maggie inclined her head. “It’s a long trip across the water.”

“I’m used to traveling.”

“It’s always exciting, isn’t it?” Though her nerves were jumping, Brianna talked easily as she pushed the cart. “Maggie’s done a great deal more than I have of seeing places. Every time I get on a plane I feel as though I’m someone else. Was it a pleasant trip for you?”

“It was quiet.”

A little desperate now as it seemed she would never draw more than one short declarative sentence from Shannon at a time, Brianna began to talk of the weather—it was fine—and the length of the trip to the cottage—mercifully short. On either side of her Shannon and Maggie eyed each other with mutual distrust.

“We’ll have a meal for you,” Brianna went on as they loaded Shannon’s luggage in the car. “Or you can rest a bit first if you’re tired.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Shannon said, so definitely that Maggie snorted.

“Going to trouble is what Brie does best. You’ll take the front,” she added coolly. “As the guest.”

Quite the bitch, Shannon decided, and jerked up her chin, much as Maggie had a habit of doing, as she slid into the passenger seat.

Brianna set her teeth. She was used, much too used to family discord. But it still hurt. “You’ve never been to Ireland, then, Shannon?”

“No.” Because the word had been curt, and made her feel as bitchy as she’d concluded Maggie was, she deliberately relaxed her shoulders. “What I saw from the air was lovely.”

“My husband’s traveled everywhere, but he says this spot is the loveliest he’s seen.” Brianna tossed a smile at Shannon while she negotiated her way out of the airport. “But it’s his home now, and he’s prejudiced.”

“You’re married to Grayson Thane.”

“Aye. For a year come the end of June. He came to Ireland, to Clare, to research a book. It’ll be out soon. Of course, he’s working on another now, and having a fine time murdering people right and left.”

“I like his books.” A safe topic, Shannon decided. A simple one. “My father was a big fan.”

And that brought a moment of thick, uncomfortable silence.

“It was hard for you,” Brianna said carefully. “Losing both your parents so close together. I hope your time here will help ease your heart a little.”

“Thank you.” Shannon turned her head and watched the scenery. And it was lovely, there was no denying it. Just as there was no denying there was something special in the way the sun slanted through the clouds and gilded the air.

“Rogan’s man said you’re a commercial artist,” Maggie began, more from curiosity than manners.

“That’s right.”

“So what you do is sell things, market them.”

Shannon’s brow lifted. She recognized disdain when she heard it, however light it was. “In a manner of speaking.” Deliberately she turned, leveled her gaze on Maggie’s. “You sell . . . things. Market them.”

“No.” Maggie’s smile was bland. “I create them. Someone else has the selling of them.”

“It’s interesting, don’t you think,” Brianna put in quickly, “that both of you are artists?”

“Odd more like,” Maggie muttered, and shrugged when Brianna aimed a warning glance in the rearview mirror.