“Is that what you want to do? Have to do?”

“I can’t keep putting it off. That call reminded me I’ve been letting it all drift. I have to have solid ground under me, Murphy. I don’t function well otherwise.” When her voice broke, she pressed her hand to her lips. “It still hurts so much. It still hurts to think of my parents. To know I’ll never see them again. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye to either of them.”

He said nothing at all as he rose and went to her, but simply lifted her to her feet to cradle her in his arms. In his silence was an understanding so perfect, so elemental, it devastated. She could weep and know that her tears would fall on a shoulder that would never shrug away from her.

“I keep thinking I’m over it,” she managed. “Then it sneaks up and squeezes my heart.”

“You haven’t let yourself cry it through. Go ahead, darling. You’ll feel better for it.”

It ripped at him, each shuddering sob, and knowing he could do no more than be there.

“I want them back.”

“I know, darling. I know you do.”

“Why do people have to leave, Murphy? Why do the people who we love and need so much have to leave?”

“They don’t, not all the way. You still have them inside, and you can’t lose them from there. Don’t you hear your mother talking to you sometimes, or your father reminding you of something you did together?”

Tired and achy from crying, she turned her damp cheek so it could rest against his chest. Foolish, she realized. How foolish it had been to think it was stronger to hold in the tears than to let them go.

“Yes.” Her lips curved in a watery smile. “I get pictures sometimes, of things we did together. Even the most ordinary things, like eating breakfast.”

“So they haven’t left all the way, have they?”

She closed her eyes, comforted by the steady beat of Murphy’s heart under her ear. “Just before the Mass, my mother’s funeral Mass, the priest sat down with me. He was very kind, compassionate, as he was only months before when we buried my father. Still, it was the standard line—everlasting life, mercy, and the eternal rewards both my parents would reap having been devout Catholics and good, caring people.”

She pressed against him one last time, for herself, then drew back. “It was meant to comfort me, and perhaps it did, a little. What you just said helps a lot more.”

“Faith’s a kind of remembering, Shannon. You need to prize your memories instead of being hurt by them.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with the side of his thumb. “Are you all right now? I’ll stay if you like, or get Brie for you.”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

He tipped her chin up, kissed her forehead. “Then sit down, drink your tea. And don’t clutter your mind with New York till you’re ready.”

“That’s good advice.” When she sniffled, he took his bandanna out of his pocket.

“Blow your nose.”

She laughed a little and obeyed. “I’m glad you came by, Murphy. Don’t stay away again.”

“I’ll be around.” Because he knew she needed time to herself now, he turned to take his cap from the peg. “Will you come to the fields again soon? I like seeing you painting there in the sunlight.”

“Yes, I’ll come to the fields. Murphy . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to put the question, or why it seemed so important she ask. “Never mind.”

He paused at the doorway. “What? It’s always better to say what’s on your mind than to let it circle in there.”

Circling was exactly what it was doing. “I was wondering. If we’d been . . . friends when my mother was ill, and I’d had to go away to take care of her. To be with her. When she died, if I’d told you I could handle all of it, even preferred to handle all of it alone, would you have respected that? Stayed away?”

“No, of course not.” Puzzled, he settled his cap on his head. “That’s a stupid question. A friend doesn’t stay away from a friend who’s grieving.”

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured, then stared at him long enough, hard enough to have him rubbing the back of his hand over his chin searching for crumbs.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was—” She lifted her cup and laughed at both of them. “Woolgathering.”

More puzzled than ever, he returned her smile. “I’ll see you then. You’ll, ah, come to the ceili, won’t you?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Chapter Fifteen

Music was pouring out of the farmhouse when Shannon arrived with Brianna and her family. They’d brought the car as Brianna had made too much food for the three of them to handle all of it, and the baby, on a walk.

Shannon’s first surprise of the evening was the number of vehicles along the road. Their wheels tipped up onto the grass verge left just enough room from another car, with a very brave or foolish driver, to squeeze through.

“From the looks of this, he’ll have a houseful,” Shannon commented as they began to unload Brianna’s dishes and bowls.

“Oh, the cars and lorries are only for those who live too far away to walk. Most come on foot to a ceili. Gray, don’t tip that pot. You’ll spill the broth.”

“I wouldn’t tip it if I had three hands.”

“He’s cross,” Brianna told Shannon, “because his publishing people have added another city to his tour.” She couldn’t quite keep the smugness out of her voice. “Time was the man couldn’t wait to go roving.”

“Times change, and if you’d come with me—”

“You know I can’t leave the inn for three weeks in the middle of summer. Come on now.” Despite the load they both held, Brianna leaned forward to kiss him. “Don’t fret on it tonight. Ah, look, it’s Kate.”

She hurried forward, her call of greeting floating on the air.

“You could always cancel the tour,” Shannon said under her breath as she and Gray followed.

“Tell that to her. ‘You’ll not be neglecting your responsibilities toward your work because of me, Grayson Thane. I’ll be just where you left me when you get back.’ ”

“Well.” Shannon would have patted his cheek if her hands hadn’t been full. “She will. Cheer up, Gray. If I’ve ever seen a man who’s got it all, it’s you.”