Later, he promised himself, later it would be amusing, but for now he fought to rip himself out of erotic fantasy and focus on the man approaching the circle of stones.
He was dark, strikingly handsome, dressed in the rough, sturdy clothes of a farmer. Perhaps thirty, Gray judged, one of the stunning Black Irish who claimed jet hair and cobalt eyes. The eyes seemed friendly enough, a little amused.
Brianna's dog was prancing happily at his heels. Recognizing Gray, Con galloped into the circle to greet him.
"An interesting spot," the man said in a musical west county brogue.
"I didn't expect to find it here." Rubbing Con's head, Gray came through a space between stones. "It isn't listed on any of the tourist maps I have."
"It isn't, no. It's our dance, you see, but we don't mind sharing it occasionally. You'd be Brie's Yank." He offered a big, work-roughened hand. "I'm Murphy Muldoon."
"Of the rose-trampling cows."
Murphy winced. "Christ, she'll never forget it. And didn't I replace every last bush? You'd think the cows had stepped on her firstborn." He looked down at Con for support. The dog sat, tilted his head, and kept his own counsel. "You've settled into Blackthorn, then?"
"Yes. I'm trying to get a feel for the area." Gray glanced around again. "I guess I crossed over onto your land."
"We don't shoot trespassers often these days," Murphy said easily.
"Glad to hear it." Gray studied his companion again. There was something solid here, he thought, and easily approachable. "I was in the village pub last night, O'Malley's, had a beer with a man named Rooney."
"You mean you bought him a pint." Murphy grinned.
"Two." Gray grinned back. "He earned them, with the payment of village gossip."
"Some of which was probably truth." Murphy took out a cigarette, offered one.
After shaking his head, Gray tucked his hands in his pockets. He only smoked when he was writing. "I believe your name was mentioned."
"I won't doubt you."
"What young Murphy is missing," Gray began in such a deadly mimic of Rooney that Murphy snorted with laughter, "is a good wife and strong sons to be working the land with him. He's after perfection, is Murphy, so he's spending his nights alone in a cold bed."
"This from Rooney who spends most of his nights in the pub complaining that his wife drives him to drink."
"He did mention that." Gray eased into the question he was most interested in. "And that since the jackeen had
snapped Maggie out from under your nose, you'd be courting her younger sister before long."
"Brie?" Murphy shook his head as he expelled smoke. "It'd be like cuddling my baby sister." He smiled still, but his eyes were sharp on Gray's. "Is that what you wanted to know, Mr. Thane?"
"Gray. Yes, that's what I wanted to know."
"Then I'll tell you the way's clear there. But mind your step. I'm protective of my sisters." Satisfied his point was made, Murphy took another comfortable drag. "You're welcome to come back to the house for a cup of tea."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll take a raincheck. There are things I need to get done today."
"Well, then, I'll let you get to them. I enjoy your books," he said in such an offhand way that Gray was doubly complimented. "There's a bookstore in Galway you may like to visit if you travel that way."
"I intend to."
"You'll find it then. Give my best to Brianna, will you? And you might mention that I've not a scone left in my pantry." His grin flashed. " 'Twill make her feel sorry for me."
After whistling for the dog who fell into place beside him, he walked away with the easy grace of a man crossing his own land.
It was midafternoon when Brianna returned home, frazzled, drained, and tense. She was grateful to find no trace of Gray but for a note hastily scrawled and left on her kitchen table.
Maggie called. Murphy's out of scones.
An odd message, she thought. Why would Maggie call to tell her Murphy wanted scones? With a sigh Brianna set the note
He was dark, strikingly handsome, dressed in the rough, sturdy clothes of a farmer. Perhaps thirty, Gray judged, one of the stunning Black Irish who claimed jet hair and cobalt eyes. The eyes seemed friendly enough, a little amused.
Brianna's dog was prancing happily at his heels. Recognizing Gray, Con galloped into the circle to greet him.
"An interesting spot," the man said in a musical west county brogue.
"I didn't expect to find it here." Rubbing Con's head, Gray came through a space between stones. "It isn't listed on any of the tourist maps I have."
"It isn't, no. It's our dance, you see, but we don't mind sharing it occasionally. You'd be Brie's Yank." He offered a big, work-roughened hand. "I'm Murphy Muldoon."
"Of the rose-trampling cows."
Murphy winced. "Christ, she'll never forget it. And didn't I replace every last bush? You'd think the cows had stepped on her firstborn." He looked down at Con for support. The dog sat, tilted his head, and kept his own counsel. "You've settled into Blackthorn, then?"
"Yes. I'm trying to get a feel for the area." Gray glanced around again. "I guess I crossed over onto your land."
"We don't shoot trespassers often these days," Murphy said easily.
"Glad to hear it." Gray studied his companion again. There was something solid here, he thought, and easily approachable. "I was in the village pub last night, O'Malley's, had a beer with a man named Rooney."
"You mean you bought him a pint." Murphy grinned.
"Two." Gray grinned back. "He earned them, with the payment of village gossip."
"Some of which was probably truth." Murphy took out a cigarette, offered one.
After shaking his head, Gray tucked his hands in his pockets. He only smoked when he was writing. "I believe your name was mentioned."
"I won't doubt you."
"What young Murphy is missing," Gray began in such a deadly mimic of Rooney that Murphy snorted with laughter, "is a good wife and strong sons to be working the land with him. He's after perfection, is Murphy, so he's spending his nights alone in a cold bed."
"This from Rooney who spends most of his nights in the pub complaining that his wife drives him to drink."
"He did mention that." Gray eased into the question he was most interested in. "And that since the jackeen had
snapped Maggie out from under your nose, you'd be courting her younger sister before long."
"Brie?" Murphy shook his head as he expelled smoke. "It'd be like cuddling my baby sister." He smiled still, but his eyes were sharp on Gray's. "Is that what you wanted to know, Mr. Thane?"
"Gray. Yes, that's what I wanted to know."
"Then I'll tell you the way's clear there. But mind your step. I'm protective of my sisters." Satisfied his point was made, Murphy took another comfortable drag. "You're welcome to come back to the house for a cup of tea."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll take a raincheck. There are things I need to get done today."
"Well, then, I'll let you get to them. I enjoy your books," he said in such an offhand way that Gray was doubly complimented. "There's a bookstore in Galway you may like to visit if you travel that way."
"I intend to."
"You'll find it then. Give my best to Brianna, will you? And you might mention that I've not a scone left in my pantry." His grin flashed. " 'Twill make her feel sorry for me."
After whistling for the dog who fell into place beside him, he walked away with the easy grace of a man crossing his own land.
It was midafternoon when Brianna returned home, frazzled, drained, and tense. She was grateful to find no trace of Gray but for a note hastily scrawled and left on her kitchen table.
Maggie called. Murphy's out of scones.
An odd message, she thought. Why would Maggie call to tell her Murphy wanted scones? With a sigh Brianna set the note
Similar Books
