The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

brought the image into his head. “Under it all, everything will be modern, slick. But what people will see is age.”
    What he saw, among the work and supplies and equipment, was the whole of it, shining and complete. “Bare floors,” he continued. “We’ll match them to what you already have. Soft, faded colors, nothing bright or vivid. We’ll have some seating in the lobby, but keep it small, intimate. Benches, I think. We’ll get some art for the walls, but keep it spare and all of it Celtic.”
    He glanced at her, lifted his brow when he saw her staring at him. “What?”
    “I suppose I thought you’d go for the modern and slick, outside as well as in.”
    “Would you?”
    She started to speak, then shook her head. “Not here,” she realized. “No, not here, not for this. Here you want duachais .”
    “Okay. Since I want it, why don’t you tell me what it is?”
    “Oh, it’s Gaelic for . . .” She waved her hand as she tried to find the right translation. “For ‘tradition.’ No, not just that. It has to do with a place most particularly, and its roots and its lore. With, well, with what and why it is.”
    His eyes narrowed, focused. “Say it again.”
    “It’s duachais.”
    “Yeah, that’s it. That’s just exactly it.”
    “You’re very right about wanting that here, and I’m glad of it.”
    “And considerably surprised by it.”
    “A bit anyway, yes. I shouldn’t be.” Because his perception unsettled her, she moved away. “And into the theater?”
    “Yeah, doors again, two across.” He took her hand, an absentminded gesture that neither of them noticed. But others did.
    “The audience area, three sections, two aisles. Full house is two hundred and forty. Small again, and intimate. The stage is the star here. I can see you there.”
    She said nothing, only studied the empty space ahead of her.
    He waited a beat. “Are you afraid of performing?”
    “I’ve performed all my life.” One way or another, she thought. “No, I’ve no stage fright, if that’s what you mean. Maybe I need to build that image in my head, as you’re building your theater, and see if it stands as sturdy. You’re proud of what you’ve done and what you’re doing. I intend to be the same.”
    It wasn’t why she’d come out. She’d meant to surprise him, to flirt with him, to make certain he thought of her through the day. Wanted her through the day.
    “I like your theater, Trevor, and I’ll be pleased to sing in it with my brothers, as discussed. As for the rest”— she moved her shoulders, took his empty mug—“I need a bit more convincing. We’ll likely have a session tonight.” She’d make sure of it. “Why don’t you have your supper here, stay for it. Then after, you can come into my parlor. This time I’ll pour the wine.”
    Rather than wait for his answer, she slid her free hand into his hair, lifted her mouth to his. And with the promise of more, should he care for it, in her eyes, she turned and walked away.
    The minute she opened the kitchen door she smelled the baking. Apples, cinnamon, brown sugar. Shawn must have come in just behind her, and had been busy since. There was a pot already simmering on the stove, and he was chopping whatever else he intended to put in it on the thick board.
    He barely glanced at her. “You can put apple crumble as the sweet on the daily, and Mexican chile as well. We have some fresh plaice, for frying.”
    Rather than spring into action, she wandered to the refrigerator and got herself a bottle of ginger ale. Here, she thought, sipping it and eyeing her brother, was a source that would be brutally honest and one she trusted completely.
    “What do you think of my voice?” she demanded.
    “I could do with hearing a good deal less of it.”
    “It’s my singing voice I’m referring to, you bonehead.”
    “Well, thus far, it’s cracked no glass that I’m aware of.”
    She considered heaving the bottle at him, but she wasn’t done with it. “I’m asking you a serious question, and you could do me the courtesy of answering in kind.”
    Because her tone had been stiff rather than hot as expected, he lowered his knife and gave her his full attention. The broody look she was wearing he was well accustomed to, but not when there was real worry in her eyes.
    “You’ve a beautiful voice, strong and true. You know that as well as I do.”
    “No one hears themselves as others do.”
    “I like hearing you sing my music.”
    That, she