There was only Shannon to think of. Shannon to hurt for.

Her beautiful, brilliant daughter who had never been anything but a joy to her. A pride to her. The pain rippled through her like a poisoned stream, but she gritted her teeth. There would be hurt now, for what would happen soon, from what had happened all those years ago in Ireland. With all her heart she wished she could find some way to dull it.

She watched her daughter come back in, the quick, graceful movements, the nervous energy beneath. Moves like her father, Amanda thought. Not Colin. Dear, sweet Colin had lumbered, clumsy as an overgrown pup.

But Tommy had been light on his feet.

Shannon had Tommy’s eyes, too. The vivid moss green, clear as a lake in the sun. The rich chestnut hair that swung silkily to her chin was another legacy from Ireland. Still, Amanda liked to think that the shape of her daughter’s face, the creamy skin, and the soft full mouth had been her own gifts.

But it was Colin, bless him, who had given her determination, ambition, and a steady sense of self.

She smiled as Shannon bathed her clammy face. “I haven’t told you enough how proud you make me, Shannon.”

“Of course you have.”

“No, I let you see I was disappointed you didn’t choose to paint. That was selfish of me. I know better than most that a woman’s path must be her own.”

“You never tried to talk me out of going to New York or moving into commercial art. And I do paint still,” she added with a bolstering smile. “I’ve nearly finished a still life I think you’ll like.”

Why hadn’t she brought the canvas with her? Damn it, why hadn’t she thought to pack up some paints, even a sketchbook so that she could have sat with her mother and given her the pleasure of watching?

“That’s one of my favorites there.” Amanda gestured to the portrait on the parlor wall. “The one of your father, sleeping in the chaise in the garden.”

“Gearing himself up to mow the lawn,” Shannon said with a chuckle. Setting the cloth aside, she took the seat beside the bed. “And every time we said why didn’t he hire a lawn boy, he’d claim that he enjoyed the exercise, and go out and fall asleep.”

“He never failed to make me laugh. I miss that.” She brushed a hand over Shannon’s wrist. “I know you miss him, too.”

“I still think he’s going to come busting in the front door. ‘Mandy, Shannon,’ he’d say, ‘get on your best dresses, I’ve just made my client ten thousand on the market, and we’re going out to dinner.’ ”

“He did love to make money,” Amanda mused. “It was such a game to him. Never dollars and cents, never greed or selfishness there. Just the fun of it. Like the fun he had moving from place to place every couple of years. ‘Let’s shake this town, Mandy. What do you say we try Colorado? Or Memphis?’ ”

She shook her head on a laugh. Oh, it was good to laugh, to pretend for just a little while they were only talking as they always had. “Finally when we moved here, I told him I’d played gypsy long enough. This was home. He settled down as if he’d only been waiting for the right time and place.”

“He loved this house,” Shannon murmured. “So did I. I never minded the moving around. He always made it an adventure. But I remember, about a week after we’d settled in, sitting up in my room and thinking that I wanted to stay this time.” She smiled over at her mother. “I guess we all felt the same way.”

“He’d have moved mountains for you, fought tigers.” Amanda’s voice trembled before she steadied it. “Do you know, Shannon, really know how much he loved you?”

“Yes.” She lifted her mother’s hand, pressed it to her cheek. “I do know.”

“Remember it. Always remember it. I’ve things to tell you, Shannon, that may hurt you, make you angry and confused. I’m sorry for it.” She drew a breath.

There’d been more in the dream than the love and the grief. There had been urgency. Amanda knew she wouldn’t have even the stingy three weeks the doctor had promised her.

“Mom, I understand. But there’s still hope. There’s always hope.”

“It’s nothing to do with this,” she said, lifting a hand to encompass the temporary sickroom. “It’s from before, darling, long before. When I went with a friend to visit Ireland and stayed in County Clare.”

“I never knew you’d been to Ireland.” It struck Shannon as odd to think of it. “All the traveling we did, I always wondered why we never went there, with you and Dad both having Irish roots. And I’ve always felt this—connection, this odd sort of pull.”

“Have you?” Amanda said softly.

“It’s hard to explain,” Shannon murmured. Feeling foolish, for she wasn’t a woman to speak of dreams, she smiled. “I’ve always told myself, if I ever took time for a long vacation, that’s where I’d go. But with the promotion and the new account—” She shrugged off the idea of an indulgence. “Anyway, I remember, whenever I brought up going to Ireland, you’d shake your head and say there were so many other places to see.”

“I couldn’t bear to go back, and your father understood.” Amanda pressed her lips together, studying her daughter’s face. “Will you stay here beside me and listen? And oh, please, please, try to understand?”

There was a new and fresh frisson of fear creeping up Shannon’s spine. What could be worse than death? she wondered. And why was she so afraid to hear it?

But she sat, keeping her mother’s hand in hers. “You’re upset,” she began. “You know how important it is for you to keep calm.”

“And use productive imagery,” Amanda said with a hint of smile.

“It can work. Mind over matter. So much of what I’ve been reading—”

“I know.” Even the wisp of a smile was gone now. “When I was a few years older than you, I traveled with a good friend—her name was Kathleen Reilly—to Ireland. It was a grand adventure for us. We were grown women, but we had both come from strict families. So strict, so sure, that I was more than thirty before I had the gumption to make such a move.”

She turned her head so that she could watch Shannon’s face as she spoke. “You wouldn’t understand that. You’ve always been sure of yourself, and brave. But when I was your age, I hadn’t even begun to struggle my way out of cowardice.”