The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

like who you are, I enjoy being with you, and I want you in a way . . . I’ve never wanted anyone else in the same way,” he finished.
    She ordered herself to relax, to accept, even to be pleased. But there was a hole somewhere inside her that wouldn’t close up again. “All right. Separate from that, I feel the same. So there’s no problem at all.” Flashing a smile, she rose to her toes and kissed him warmly, then waved him toward the door.
    “Now go on with you, as I’ve got to be on my way.”
    “Will you come to the cottage tonight?”
    She shot him a look from under her lashes. “I’d be pleased to. You can look for me around midnight, and I wouldn’t mind if you had a glass of wine poured and waiting.”
    “Later, then.” He would have kissed her again, but she was already shutting the door in his face.
    On the other side of it she counted to ten three full times. Then exhaled. So, they were to be reasonable and sensible and do it all exactly the Magee way, were they? He was too removed to tumble into legend, or into love.
    Well, by God, she’d have him begging on his knees for her before she was done with him. He’d promise her the world and everything in it.
    And when he had, well, she might just take it. That would teach the man not to shrug off the notion of loving Darcy Gallagher.

THIRTEEN

    A LL IN ALL, Trevor found himself very satisfied by the way things were going. The project was moving along on schedule. The townspeople were supportive and interested. Never a day went by without at least some of them wandering by to watch the work, make comments, give suggestions, or tell him some story or other about his relations.
    He’d met a few who were cousins. In fact, he had two of them employed as laborers.
    With Mick out of commission for the next few days, he’d have to spend more time at the site. But he didn’t mind. It would keep his mind focused on what it needed to be focused on. And give him less time to let it wander around Darcy.
    He felt he’d straightened things out in that area as well. Both of them were too sensible to be influenced by legends, or self-interested faeries. Or dreams of a blue heart that beat steady and strong deep in the sea.
    He had business to see to, he reminded himself as he carried coffee up to his office in the cottage. Calls to make, contracts to negotiate, supplies to order. He couldn’t waste time thinking about what he did or didn’t see, did or didn’t believe. Responsibilities wouldn’t wait while he pondered just how much of Irish myth was real and how much was imagined.
    He touched the disk under his shirt. Real, he thought. As real as it gets. But he was handling it.
    He glanced at his watch, and thought he might just catch his father at home in New York. And stepping into the bedroom, he jerked and spilled hot coffee over the back of his hand.
    “Goddamn it!”
    “Oh, there’s no need to profane.” With a quiet cluck of her tongue, Gwen continued to ply her needle. She sat in the chair in front of the tidy hearth, her hair neatly bound back, her face composed, her hands quick and clever as she embroidered a white cloth.
    “You’ll want salve on that burn,” she told him.
    “It’s nothing.” What was a little discomfort compared to seeing ghosts? Much less to conversing with one. “I’d nearly convinced myself not to believe in you.”
    “Sure and you need to do what makes you most comfortable. Would you rather I let you be?”
    “I don’t know what I’d rather.” He set the coffee down on the table, turned his desk chair around to face her. And sitting, he sucked absently at the sting on his hand. “I had dreams about you. I told you that. I didn’t tell you I halfway believed I’d find you when I came here. Not you,” he corrected, fumbling just enough to annoy himself. “Someone . . .” the word “alive” seemed rude somehow. “Real. A woman.”
    Her gaze when it lifted to his was gentle and full of understanding. “You thought perhaps you’d find the woman you’d dreamed of, and that she would be for you?”
    “Maybe. Not that I’m looking particularly,” he added. “But maybe.”
    “A man can fall in love with a dream if he lets himself. It’s a simple matter with no effort, no work, no troubles. And no real joy, when it comes down to it. You prefer working for something, don’t you? It’s part of who you are.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “The woman you did meet is a great deal of effort and work