“Just as you do,” Rogan said mildly as he brought pot to table. “Brianna inspires loyalty. The inn’s very welcoming, isn’t it?” Expertly he smoothed feathers while he poured the tea. “I stayed there myself when I first came here to batter at Margaret Mary’s door. The weather was filthy,” he remembered, “as was Maggie’s temperament. And the inn was a little island of peace and grace amid it all.”

“ ’Twas your temperament that was filthy as I remember,” Maggie corrected. “He badgered me mercilessly,” she told Shannon. “Came here uninvited, and unwanted. And as you can see I’ve yet to rid myself of him.”

“Tenacity has its rewards.” In an old habit he slid his hand over Maggie’s. “Our first reward’s falling asleep in his tea,” he murmured.

Maggie glanced over to see Liam, slack-mouthed, eyes closed, head nodding, with one hand fisted in cake. “He’s a prize, all right.” She chuckled as she rose to lift him from his high chair. When he whined, she patted his bottom and crooned. “There, love, you just need a bit of a lie down. Let’s go see if your bear’s waiting for you. I think he is. He’s waiting for Liam to come.”

“She’s a beautiful mother,” Shannon said without thinking.

“That surprises you.”

“Yes.” She realized what she’d said an instant too late and fumbled. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not a problem. It surprises her, too. She was resistant to the idea of having a family. A great deal of that came from the fact that her childhood was difficult. Things mend in time. Even the oldest and rawest of wounds. I don’t know if she’ll ever be close to her mother, but they’ve made a bridge. So the distance is spanned.”

He set down his cup and smiled at her. “I wonder if you’d come into the office for a moment or two.”

“Your office?”

“Here. Just through the next room.” He rose, knowing manners would have her going with him.

He’d wanted her on his own turf. He’d been in business long enough to know that home field advantage was a distinctive one. And that the atmosphere of business suited some deals better than the informality of deals with meals.

With Shannon, he’d already decided to make a cleave between business and family. Except when the nudge of family became useful.

Curious, Shannon followed him into the living room and through an adjoining door. On the threshold, she stopped and stared with a combination of surprise and admiration.

They may have been in the middle of the country, a stone’s throw away from grazing cows and clucking chickens, but here was a professional work space worthy of any glossy high-rise in any major city.

It was tastefully, even elegantly decorated, from the Bokarra rug to the Tiffany lamp, to the gleaming antique mahogany desk. Maggie was in the room—a stunning fountain of sapphire glass rose halfway to the coffered ceiling; a delicate tangle of shapes and colors sat alone on a marble column and made Shannon think of Brianna’s garden.

Marching practically with style were the tools of the executive—fax, computer, modem, copier, all sleek and high tech.

“Holy cow.” Her grin started to spread as she moved in and skimmed her finger over the monitor of a top-grade P.C. “I would never have guessed this was here.”

“That’s the way Maggie wanted it. And I, too.” Rogan gestured to a chair. “This is home for a good part of the year, but to keep it home, I have to work.”

“I guess I thought you had an office at the gallery.”

“I do.” To establish the tone he wanted to set, he sat behind his desk. “But we both have demanding careers, and we both have a child. When scheduling allows, I can work here three days a week, tending to Liam in the mornings while Maggie’s in her glass house.”

“It can’t be easy, for either of you. Juggling so much.”

“You make certain you only drop balls that are replaceable. Compromise is the only way I know to have all. I thought we’d talk about the other paintings you’ve done.”

“Oh.” Her brow creased. “I’ve done a couple more watercolors, and another oil, but—”

“I’ve seen the one of Brianna,” he interrupted smoothly. “You’ve finished the one of the inn—the back garden view.”

“Yes. I went out to the cliffs and did a seascape. Pretty typical, I imagine.”

“I doubt that.” He smiled and made a quick note on a pad. “But we’ll have a look. You’d have more in New York.”

“There are several in my apartment, and, of course, the ones I brought back from Columbus.”

“We’ll arrange to have them shipped over.”

“But—”

“My manager at the New York gallery can take care of the details—the packing and so forth, once you give me a list of inventory.” She made another attempt to speak, and he rolled right over her. “We’ve only the one on display here in Clare, and I think we’ll keep it that way, until we have a more polished strategy. In the meantime.” He opened his top drawer and drew out a neat stack of legal-size papers. “You’ll want to look over the contracts.”

“Rogan, I never agreed to contracts.”

“Of course you haven’t.” His smile was easy, his tone all reason. “You haven’t read them. I’d be happy to go over the terms with you, or I can recommend a lawyer. I’m sure you have your own, but you’d want one locally.”

She found a copy of the contracts dumped neatly in her hands. “I already have a job.”

“It doesn’t seem to stop you from painting. I’ll want my secretary to contact you in the next week or so, for background. The sort of color and information we’ll need for a biography and press releases.”

“Press releases?” She put a hand to her spinning head.

“You’ll see in the contract that Worldwide will take care of all publicity for you. Depending on your inventory in America, we should be ready for a showing in October, or possibly September.”

“A showing.” She left her supporting hand where it was and gaped at him. “You want—a showing?” she repeated, numb. “In Worldwide Galleries?”

“I’d considered having it in Dublin, as we’d had Maggie’s first there. But I think I’d prefer the gallery here in Clare, because of your connection here.” He tilted his head, still smiling politely. “What do you think?”