“I don’t think,” she mumbled. “I can’t think. Rogan, I’ve been to shows at Worldwide. I can’t even conceive of having one there.”

“Surely you’re not going to sit there, look me straight in the eye, and claim to doubt your talent?”

She opened her mouth. But the way he’d phrased it, the way he looked at her as he waited, had her shoulders moving back and settling firm. “It’s simply that I’ve never thought of my painting in a practical vein.”

“And why should you? That’s my job. You paint, Shannon. You just paint. I’ll handle the details of the rest. Ah, and as to details . . .” He tipped back, already savoring victory. “We’ll need some photographs. I use an excellent man in Dublin for such things. I need to be back there for a couple of days this week. You can fly out with me and we’ll get that taken care of.”

She closed her eyes, but try as she might, she couldn’t trace back the steps to the beginning of the exchange and pinpoint when she’d lost control. “You want me to go to Dublin.”

“For a day or two. Unless you’d like to stay longer. You’re welcome, of course, to stay in our house there as long as you please. I’ll see that you have an appointment with a lawyer while we’re there, to look over the contracts for you and advise you.”

“I minored in business in college,” Shannon mumbled. “I can read contracts for myself.”

“As you please then.” Though he had no need to, Rogan went through the motions of flipping through his desk calendar. “Would Tuesday suit you?”

“Tuesday?”

“For the trip? We can arrange for the photo shoot for Wednesday.”

“Your photographer might be booked.”

“I’m sure he’ll fit us in.” He was sure, as he’d already made the appointment. “Tuesday then?”

Shannon blew out a breath that ruffled her hair, then tossed up her hands. “Sure. Why not?”

* * *

She asked herself that question again on the walk back to the inn. Then she changed gears and asked herself why. Why was she going along with this? Why was Rogan pressuring her to go along?

Yes, she was talented. She could see that for herself in her work and had been told by numerous art teachers over the years. But art wasn’t business, and business had always come first.

Agreeing to Rogan’s deal meant inverting something she’d pursued most of her life—letting her art take the lead and allowing someone else to handle the details of business.

It was more than a little frightening, certainly more than uncomfortable. But she had agreed, she reminded herself; at least she hadn’t refused outright.

And she could have, Shannon thought. Oh, yes, she recognized well the tactics Rogan had used, and used with bloodless skill. He would be a difficult man to outmaneuver, but she could have done so.

The fact was, she hadn’t really tried.

It was foolish, she thought now. A crazy complication. How could she have a show in Ireland in the fall when she would be three thousand miles away at her desk by then?

But is that really what you want?

She heard the little voice murmuring in her ear. Resenting it, she hunched her shoulders and scowled down at the road as she walked.

“You look mad as a hornet,” Alice commented. She was resting a hand on her son’s front gate and smiled as Shannon’s head shot up.

“Oh. I was just . . .” With an effort she relaxed her shoulders. “I was going over a conversation, and wondering why I lost the upper hand of it.”

“We always find a way to keep that upper hand in the replay.” Alice tapped her finger to her temple, then opened the gate. “Won’t you come in?” She pushed the gate wider when Shannon hesitated. “My family’s run off here and there, and I’d like a bit of company.”

“You surprise me.” Shannon stepped through and relatched the gate herself. “I’d think you’d be desperate for a couple minutes of peace and quiet.”

“It’s as my mother used to say—you have nothing but that when you’re six feet under. I was having a look at Murphy’s front garden. He’s tending it well.”

“He tends everything well.” Unsure of her moves, or her position, she followed Alice back up onto the porch and settled in the rocker beside her.

“That he does. He does nothing unless he does it thoroughly and with care. There were times, when he was a lad, and it seemed he would plod forever through one chore or another I might give him. I would be set to snap at him, and he’d just look and smile at me, and tell me he was figuring the best way about it, that was all.”

“Sounds like him. Where is he?”

“Oh, he and my husband are off in the back looking over some piece of machinery. My Colin loves pretending he knows something about farming and machinery, and Murphy loves letting him.”

Shannon smiled a little. “My father’s name was Colin.”

“Was it? You lost him recently.”

“Last year. Last summer.”

“And your mother this spring.” Instinctively Alice reached out to squeeze Shannon’s hand. “It’s a burden that nothing but living lightens.”

She began to rock again, and so did Shannon, so that the silence was broken only by the creak of the chairs and the chatter of birds.

“You enjoyed the ceili?”

This time the question had a flush heating Shannon’s cheeks. “Yes. I’ve never been to a party quite like it.”

“I miss having them since we’re in Cork. The city’s no place for a ceili, a real one.”

“Your husband’s a doctor there.”

“He is, yes. A fine doctor. And I’ll tell you true, when I moved there with him I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. No more rising at dawn to see to cows, no worrying if the crops would grow, or the tractor run.” She smiled, looking over the garden to the valley in the distance. “But parts of me miss it still. Even miss the worrying.”

“Maybe you’ll move back when he retires.”

“No, he’s a city man my Colin. You’d understand the lure of the city, living in New York.”

“Yes.” But she, too, was looking out over the valley, the shimmer of green hills, the living rise of them. “I like the crowds, and the rush. The noise. It took me days to get used to the quiet here, and the space.”