missed, and fell to the decking in a heap of indignant black fur. Niall scooped the beast up with one hand, set the cat in his lap, and that easily, a contented rumbling ensued.
“Children require a stable home,” Niall said, “and that means I need a source of income. I teach, of course, and I’ve written articles and done clinics, but I need eighteen holes to put my course on the map. Competition here is fierce, and I’ve designed a course that will—”
The cat booped his chin.
“Your dream is to pass golf along to others,” Julie said. “A good dream, if you love the game.”
While Julie wanted what? A judicial pension and a sedentary life?
The cat settled down to kneading Niall’s thigh, which Niall gently dissuaded. “I want security, too, Julie. I’m Scottish, and we manage our coin judiciously for good reasons, but this valley is the perfect place for what I envision.”
He’d not leave Scotland, in other words. Not follow an American lawyer to Maryland for any reason. Julie ought to be relieved.
Niall did, however, see children in his future, while Julie… The dream of a judgeship had apparently paled amid the damp Scottish woods and honest conversation.
So had Julie’s shame and even some of her rage. The rest of Julie’s life was soon enough to pursue that black robe. Right now, she was cuddled up to an honest, healthy, man who let a cat boop him on the chin.
A man whose kisses were as tender as they were unexpected.
Julie snuggled closer to Niall, hooking a leg over his knees. “I wish you the best with your golf course, Niall, but what will you do about Declan and his granny’s will?”
***
Every man—every person—should carry into old age at least one memory of a lazy hour spent kissing and cuddling on a porch swing. Black Douglas had never purred more loudly, and Niall’s jeans bore permanent claw marks.
His heart was not unscathed either.
He made plans to take Julie to a driving range in the morning, made sure she had supplies on hand for a decent evening meal, then let her shoo him down the path to Liam and Louise’s fortress of artwork among the trees.
Liam’s house had always been pretty, but marriage to Louise had made an art history professor’s personal abode welcoming too. Helen, their shaggy, aging deerhound-mastiff, woofed gently at Niall in greeting.
“I do enjoy a woman who’s subtle about her desires,” Niall informed the dog as he let her out into the backyard. He also apparently could develop a fondness for a woman who would be getting on a plane in two weeks without looking back.
“Though I’m not entirely comfortable with that idea either,” he said to Helen as she went sniffing among boulders and ferns. “Too much like tour groupies and the old Niall. Didn’t care for him very much, after a while.”
Nobody had cared for that Niall, though once he’d started winning, everybody had wanted to have their picture taken with him. Declan’s continued hostility had been nearly welcome in its genuineness.
While Helen inspected the same stumps, rocks, and bracken she’d patrolled for years, Niall heated some leftover lasagna and brought it out to the back steps. Julie had been insistent that she wanted the evening to herself, and Niall had accepted an opportunity to consider the day’s developments.
“Why is it,” he asked the dog when she’d finished her patrol, “that the same day a pretty, smart, and fierce woman kisses me into a witless stupor, Declan announces that he’s found the damned will and intends to attack nearly all I hold dear?”
Helen put her chin on his Niall’s knee, turning a patch of the denim damp. Niall didn’t finish his lasagna, though Louise was a formidable cook. Worry began to supplant the rosy good cheer left by Julie’s kisses.
He washed his dishes, flipped on Liam’s state-of-the-art office computer, and started searching Scottish land record archives—then took a detour to do a search on a certain
“Children require a stable home,” Niall said, “and that means I need a source of income. I teach, of course, and I’ve written articles and done clinics, but I need eighteen holes to put my course on the map. Competition here is fierce, and I’ve designed a course that will—”
The cat booped his chin.
“Your dream is to pass golf along to others,” Julie said. “A good dream, if you love the game.”
While Julie wanted what? A judicial pension and a sedentary life?
The cat settled down to kneading Niall’s thigh, which Niall gently dissuaded. “I want security, too, Julie. I’m Scottish, and we manage our coin judiciously for good reasons, but this valley is the perfect place for what I envision.”
He’d not leave Scotland, in other words. Not follow an American lawyer to Maryland for any reason. Julie ought to be relieved.
Niall did, however, see children in his future, while Julie… The dream of a judgeship had apparently paled amid the damp Scottish woods and honest conversation.
So had Julie’s shame and even some of her rage. The rest of Julie’s life was soon enough to pursue that black robe. Right now, she was cuddled up to an honest, healthy, man who let a cat boop him on the chin.
A man whose kisses were as tender as they were unexpected.
Julie snuggled closer to Niall, hooking a leg over his knees. “I wish you the best with your golf course, Niall, but what will you do about Declan and his granny’s will?”
***
Every man—every person—should carry into old age at least one memory of a lazy hour spent kissing and cuddling on a porch swing. Black Douglas had never purred more loudly, and Niall’s jeans bore permanent claw marks.
His heart was not unscathed either.
He made plans to take Julie to a driving range in the morning, made sure she had supplies on hand for a decent evening meal, then let her shoo him down the path to Liam and Louise’s fortress of artwork among the trees.
Liam’s house had always been pretty, but marriage to Louise had made an art history professor’s personal abode welcoming too. Helen, their shaggy, aging deerhound-mastiff, woofed gently at Niall in greeting.
“I do enjoy a woman who’s subtle about her desires,” Niall informed the dog as he let her out into the backyard. He also apparently could develop a fondness for a woman who would be getting on a plane in two weeks without looking back.
“Though I’m not entirely comfortable with that idea either,” he said to Helen as she went sniffing among boulders and ferns. “Too much like tour groupies and the old Niall. Didn’t care for him very much, after a while.”
Nobody had cared for that Niall, though once he’d started winning, everybody had wanted to have their picture taken with him. Declan’s continued hostility had been nearly welcome in its genuineness.
While Helen inspected the same stumps, rocks, and bracken she’d patrolled for years, Niall heated some leftover lasagna and brought it out to the back steps. Julie had been insistent that she wanted the evening to herself, and Niall had accepted an opportunity to consider the day’s developments.
“Why is it,” he asked the dog when she’d finished her patrol, “that the same day a pretty, smart, and fierce woman kisses me into a witless stupor, Declan announces that he’s found the damned will and intends to attack nearly all I hold dear?”
Helen put her chin on his Niall’s knee, turning a patch of the denim damp. Niall didn’t finish his lasagna, though Louise was a formidable cook. Worry began to supplant the rosy good cheer left by Julie’s kisses.
He washed his dishes, flipped on Liam’s state-of-the-art office computer, and started searching Scottish land record archives—then took a detour to do a search on a certain
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