Tears Of The Moon

CHAPTER Seven

A body would think the woman had never jumped into his arms and kissed him senseless. A man could start believing himself delusional and that she'd never sat across from him at his own kitchen table and suggested they have a romp in bed.

But she had done both of those things. He knew it because every time he came within a foot of her the muscles in his belly knotted.

Shawn didn't care for it, not a bit. No more than he cared for how easy and bloody normal she was acting as they fell into the Saturday night routine at the pub. Every time he came out of the kitchen for one reason or another, she'd shoot him that look of hers that was caught somewhere between a sneer and a smile.

It made him wonder why he'd ever enjoyed seeing that selfsame expression on her face in the past.

Brenna worked the set of taps at one end of the long chestnut bar while Aidan manned those at the other end.

She talked with the customers, laughed with old Mr. Riley, who was in the habit of asking every pretty young thing to be his bride. If the musicians played a tune she was fond of, she joined in the chorus.

She did everything, Shawn noted, that she'd done on a hundred other Saturday nights when the pub was crowded and the music was fine.

It should have been a relief-he told himself it was-that the two of them appeared to be back on even and familiar ground again.

It irritated the living hell out of him.

She wore jeans and a baggy sweater. He'd probably seen that same sweater on her twenty times or more. So why was it that it had never made him think of the trim little body under it until now? The kind of body that was quick and agile and strong, with breasts small and firm as peaches just before they ripen.

Distracted, he burned his fingers on the hot oil as he scooped out chips, and cursed himself for thinking, even for a minute, of sliding his hands up and over that body, those breasts.

That had been her plan, he decided. The devious witch. She'd planted the seed in his brain, stirred up his loins, as he was only a man, after all, and now she could torment him just by being in the same vicinity.

Well, two could play this game.

Rather than waiting for Darcy to pick up the orders, he carried them out himself. Just to show Brenna O'Toole that she didn't trouble him in the least.

The perverse creature didn't even glance his way as he swung into the pub and wound his way through the crowd to the tables. No, just to annoy him, he was sure, she pulled taps and continued a conversation with a couple of tourists as if they were all the best of mates and this was their Saturday night reunion.

She wore her hair down, tied back with a bit of black ribbon. In the muted light it burned like fire.

He wished he could keep his mind off her hair. He wished he had his hands in it.

"Hello, Shawn." Mary Kate caught up with him just as he was serving the Clooney family their basket of chips. She angled as close as she dared, hoping he would like the new scent she was trying out. "Busy tonight."

"The music's lively. I think we've the whole of your tour group here."

"They're having a wonderful time of it." She pitched her voice over the music, struggling to keep it sexy as the band kicked into a rousing rendition of "Maloney Wants a Drink."

"But I'd rather hear you play."

He flashed her a grin as he tucked the empty tray under his arm. "You can hear that for free anytime you like. These Galway lads have a spark to them." He glanced toward the front booth, admired the way the fiddler handled his bow. "Are you here with your family, then?"

Mary Kate's ego took a nosedive. Why did he always think of her as one of the O'Toole girls? She was a grown woman now. "No, I'm not with anyone." It wasn't a lie, she assured herself. She may have come in with her parents and Alice Mae, but she wasn't with them.

"That's fine playing," he murmured, forgetting her in his pleasure with the music. "Quick and clever and bright. It's no wonder they've made a name for themselves. The tenor's the strongest voice, but he knows how to blend in without overpowering his bandmates." He wondered what they would do with one of his own ballads and was brought back to the moment only when Mary Kate touched his arm. "You could make a name for yourself, too." Her eyes were full of dreams when they met his. "A bigger one. A brighter one."

He avoided answering, or thinking too deeply on the possibilities by giving her a light kiss on the cheek. "You're a darling girl, Mary Kate. I'd best be back to the kitchen."

He'd no more than let the door swing shut behind him when it burst open again and Brenna charged through. "I told you to stay away from my sister."

"What?"

She planted herself in the stance he knew very well signaled a fight. "Didn't I stand here a week ago and tell you what the situation was as regards my Mary Kate?"

She had, of course. And, Shawn admitted as he shoved a hand through his hair, he hadn't given it another thought. "I just had a conversation with her, Brenna, nothing more than that. It was as harmless as tickling a baby."

"She's not a baby, and you kissed her."

"Oh, Jesus Christ on the Cross, I'd kiss my own mother in the same fashion."

"The Germans are hungry," Darcy said brightly as she carted in a tray loaded with empty plates and bowls. "They're after three servings of your stew and two of the fish. You'd think the lot of them hadn't eaten since they left their homeland."

Dumping the dishes, she measured the weight in the pocket of her apron with a drum of her fingers. "But, bless them, they tip often and they tip well, and only once did one of them give my bum a pat."

When she started to deal with the dishes, Brenna took a steadying breath. "Darcy, would you mind seeing to those later? I need a word with Shawn, in private."

Darcy glanced around, lifted an eyebrow. She could see it now, the tension running in waves from one to the other. As far as she was concerned, the two of them weren't happy unless they were spatting. But this seemed- different. "Is something the matter?"

"The O'Toole thinks I've designs on Mary Kate and is warning me off." He wrenched open the refrigerator to take out the fish he needed. But not before he saw Brenna flinch.

"I don't." Because she spoke without heat, without her usual bite, Shawn looked back at her. "But she's designs on you."

"Well, she's a crush on him, to be sure," Darcy confirmed. "Not that he'd ever notice."

"All I did was talk to her." Uncomfortable with two pairs of female eyes staring at him with both pity and disgust, Shawn turned on the fire to heat the oil. "Next time I'll just give her a shove out of my way and keep going. Will that do for you?"

Darcy sighed. "You're such a knucklehead, aren't you, Shawn?" She gave Brenna's arm a quick, supportive squeeze, then left them alone.

"I'm sorry I came barreling in and snapped at you." Apologies came rarely off Brenna's tongue, and had that much more impact because of it. "Everything's so new for Mary Kate just now, with university behind her and her just getting her feet wet in her career. She looks at Maureen, all flushed with being newly married, and our Patty so excited about her own wedding coming this spring. And she-"

Helpless, she fluttered her hands. She was so bad at words when they mattered most. "She thinks she's all grown up, you see, and ready for everything in her life to begin. Inside, her heart's still a girl's and romantic with it. And it's tender, Shawn. You could bruise it."

"I won't."

"You'd never mean to." She smiled now, but it didn't reach up into her eyes as it usually did. "You don't have it in you."

"I'd rather you were mad at me than sad. I don't like seeing you unhappy. Brenna-" But when he reached out to touch her hair, she shook her head and backed away.

"No, now you'll say something kind and sweet, and I'm too much in the mood for it. We've both work to do."

"I think about you in a way I didn't," he said, his voice soft and quiet as she turned to go. "And I think about you often."

She felt her heart shiver, and took a breath to steady herself. "Well, it's a fine time you pick to bring up the subject. But then, you've never had the gift of timing except for your music."

"I think about you often," he repeated. He walked toward her, pleased when her eyes went wary.

"What are you about?" She was flustered, and she was never flustered by a man. Certainly not by Shawn. She could handle him, of course. She always had, always would. But she couldn't seem to make her legs move.

Now wasn't this interesting? he mused as he closed in. She looked nervous, and color was rising in her cheeks. "I never used to think about doing this." He slid a long-fingered hand around to cup the back of her neck, eased her a step closer, all the while watching her eyes. "Now I'm thinking about it all the time."

He played his mouth over hers. A teasing, whispering, devastating slide of lips.

She should have known he would kiss like this if he set his mind to it. Slow, soft, sexy, so a woman could barely keep a thought in her head. The hand at her neck squeezed and released, squeezed and released, and sent pulses dancing. Warmth washed into her, filling her throat, her breasts, her belly, loosening her knees until she felt herself begin to sway into him, into the seductive rhythm of her own pulse that he set with no more than his mouth.

She trembled. He absorbed the first glorious sensation of having Brenna O'Toole tremble against him. Then immediately wanted to feel it again.

But he gave way when she braced a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"You took me by surprise when you kissed me last week," he told her while her eyes gradually cleared. "I seem to have done the same to you now."

Pull yourself together, girl, she ordered herself. This wasn't the way to handle the man. "Then we're in the way of being even."

His eyes narrowed in speculation. "So is it a contest then, Brenna?"

More at ease with the faint irritation in his voice than she'd been with the smooth, seductive tone, she nodded. "I've always thought of it so. But, in the fortunate way of sexual matters, we can both win. I've customers to serve."

Her lips still tingled from his as she walked out of the kitchen.

"Maybe we'll both win," he murmured, "but I don't think I'll be playing this your way, Brenna, my darling."

Pleased with himself, he went back to his stove to make the German tourists happy.

The sun decided to shine on Sunday, and the sky was clear and blue. The smudge of gray far away to the east told him the storm hovering over England would likely put in an appearance by nightfall. But for now it was a fine, fresh day for walking the hills.

He thought if he happened to wander over to the O'Tooles' he'd get himself invited in for some tea and biscuits. And he'd enjoy seeing how Brenna would react to having him sitting in her kitchen after what had passed between them the night before.

He thought he understood what was in her head. She was a woman who liked to get things done-her way. Step by step and at a smart pace. For some reason she'd set her sights on him, and he was starting to like the idea. Quite a little bit, if it came to that.

But he had his own way of getting things done. One step might not follow the other in such a straight line, and he preferred a meandering pace. After all, marching head-on you missed the little things that happened all around you.

He was one for treasuring the little things. Like the clear call of the magpie, or the shine of the sun on a particular blade of grass. And there, the way the cliffs stood strong against the incessant beat of the sea.

He could wander for hours, and did when he forgot himself. He was well aware that most people thought he got nothing done during his dreaming time, and they smiled indulgently. But in truth he got everything done. The thinking, the restoring, the watching.

And because he was watching, he didn't see Mary Kate until she hailed him and ran in his direction.

"It's a fine day for walking." To be on the safe side, he tucked his hands into his pockets.

"Warmer than it's been in days." She smoothed her hair in case her little dash had mussed it. "I was just thinking I might walk down to your cottage, then here you are."

"My cottage?" She'd changed out of her Sunday dress, he noted, but she wore what looked to be a new sweater, and she had on earrings, scent, fresh lipstick. All the little lures women use.

He was suddenly sure that Brenna had been right about the situation. And it terrified him.

"I was hoping to take you up on what you said last night."

"Last night?"

"About how I could listen to your music anytime. I love hearing you play your tunes."

"Ah- I was just coming over to your own house, to speak with Brenna about a matter."

"She's not home." Deciding he needed a little encouragement, Mary Kate slid her arm through his. "Something needed to be fixed at Maureen's, so off she went, and Ma and Patty with her."

"A word with your father, then-"

"He's not at home either. He took Alice Mae down to the beach to look for shells. But you're welcome to come."

Knowing it was bold, she let her hand run up and down his arm as they walked. The feel of muscle-a man's arm, not a boy's-had her pulse dancing. "I'll be happy to fix you some tea, and a bite to eat."

"That's kind of you." He was a dead man. He caught sight of the O'Toole house as they topped the hill.

Though thin smoke plumed from the chimney, it had the general air of being empty.

Brenna's lorry wasn't parked in the street. The dog was nowhere to be seen. Apparently even Betty had deserted him in his hour of need.

The only choice left was a quick and cowardly retreat.

"What was I thinking?" He stopped short and clapped a hand to his forehead. "I'm supposed to be helping Aidan- at the house. Slipped my mind." As quickly as he could manage, he untangled his arm, gently nudging her hand away, as he might a puppy who was inclined to nip. Down, girl. "Things are always slipping my mind, so I don't suppose he'll be surprised that I'm late."

"Well, but if you're already late-" She leaned toward him, nearly into him, in a gesture that even a distracted coward such as himself recognized as an invitation.

"He'll be looking for me." This time he patted her on the head, as he might a child, and saw from the pout beginning to form that she'd taken it as he'd meant it. "I'll stop in for tea sometime soon. Give my best to your family, now, won't you?"

He was twenty strides away before he let out a relieved breath. And what, he wondered, was this with the O'Toole girls all of a sudden? Now instead of a quiet walk, perhaps a cup of tea in a friendly kitchen, and a little time alone in the cottage working on his music, he was honor-bound to go into the village and find something to do at Aidan's.

"What are you doing here?" Aidan asked him,

"It's a long and complicated story." Shawn glanced around cautiously as he stepped inside. "Is Jude at home?"

"She's upstairs with Darcy. Our sister's having some trouble deciding what to wear to drive this Dubliner she's seeing crazy."

"That should be keeping them busy for a while. Good. I've had enough of women lately," he explained when Aidan looked at him questioningly. "Now there's the handsome dog." He bent down to give Finn's head a scratch. "Growing into his feet, this one is, and fast."

"He is that, and good-natured with it, aren't you, lad?"

Finn turned adoring eyes on Aidan, and his tail swished with such enthusiasm that it drummed from Shawn's knees to the table by the door. "He grows much more, he'll be knocking lamps off the table with that whip of his. Can you spare a beer?"

"I can spare two, one for each of us. Women," Aidan continued as they made their way into the kitchen, "as we were on the subject, are always going to be giving you grief of one sort or another. It's that pretty face of yours."

Amused, Shawn sat at the table while Aidan got two bottles of Harp and opened them. He laid a hand absentmindedly on Finn's head when the dog bumped under it. "You did fair in the lady department yourself, as I recall. And you're not nearly so pretty as I am."

"But I'm smarter." With a grin, Aidan passed his brother the bottle. "I held out for the best of them."

"I can't argue with that." After tapping his bottle to Aidan's, Shawn took a long, appreciative swallow. "Well, then, it wasn't to talk about women that I came by, but to get away from them for a time."

"If you've a mind to discuss business, I've some of that." He got down a tin of crisps, set it between them before he sat. "I had a call from Dad this morning. He and Ma send their love. He was going to ring you as well."

"I was out walking. I suppose I missed them."

"Well, the immediate news is he's off to New York next week to meet with the Magee." Since his dog was looking at him hopefully, and Jude wasn't around to disapprove, he tossed Finn a crisp. "He wants a feel for the man before we go any further on this deal."

"No one sizes a man up quicker and more true than Dad."

"Aye. And in the meantime, Magee is sending his man here, to do some sizing up of his own. His name is Finkle, and he'll be staying at the cliff hotel. Dad and I agree we won't discuss hard monetary terms with Finkle until we've got a better handle on this Magee."

"You and Dad would know best about such matters. But-"

"But?"

"It seems to me that one of the handles we're looking to grip would be what we'll make out of the deal. In pounds, yes, but also in how this project of Magee's will enhance the pub."

"That's a fact."

"So the trick would be," Shawn said after a contemplative sip of beer, "how to gain information without giving so much of it in return."

"Dad'll be working on that in New York."

"Which doesn't stop us from working on it here." As easy a mark as Aidan, Shawn fed Finn another crisp. "What we have in our happy little family, Aidan, is the businessman"-Shawn tipped his beer toward his brother-"that would be you."

"So it would."

"And," Shawn aimed a finger at the ceiling, "upstairs we have two lovely women. One, gracious and charming, has a shyness of manner that masks, to those who don't look close enough, a clever brain. The other, flirtatious and beautiful, has a habit of wrapping men around her finger before they realize she has a steel spine."

Aidan nodded slowly. "Go on."

"Then there's me, the brother who doesn't have a brain cell working in his head for business. The affable one, who pays no attention to money matters."

"Well, you're an affable enough sort, Shawn, but you've as good a head for business as I do."

"No, that I don't, but I've enough of one to get by. Enough of one to know it'll be you Finkle concentrates on." He gestured absently toward Aidan with his beer as he thought it through. "And while he's doing that, the rest of us can surround him and poke in, so to speak, in our own fashions. I think by the time the deed is done, we'll know what we need to know. Then you make your deal, Aidan. And Gallagher's will be the finest public house in the country, the place they speak of when they speak of Irish hospitality and music."

Aidan sat back, his eyes dark and sober. "Is that what you want, Shawn?"

"It's what you want."

"That's not what I'm asking you." Before Shawn could lift the bottle again, Aidan gripped his wrist, held it firm enough that Shawn cocked his head in question. "Is it what you want?"

"Gallagher's is ours," Shawn said simply. "It should be the best."

After a moment, Aidan released him, then restless, rose. "I never figured you for staying."

"Where would I go? Why would I?"

"I always thought there'd come a day when you'd figure out what you wanted from your music, then you'd go to get it."

"I have what I want from my music." As the crisps were no longer coming his way, Finn settled under the table at Shawn's feet. "It pleasures me."

"Why have you never tried to sell it? Why have you never taken yourself off to Dublin or London or New York to play in the pubs there so it can be heard?"

"It's not ready to sell." It was an excuse, but all he had. The rest, at least, could be plain truth. "And I've no yearning to go to Dublin or London or New York, Aidan, or anywhere to sing for supper. This is my place. It's where my heart is."

He settled back, absently rubbing Finn's side with his foot. "I've no wanderer's thirst inside me like you had, or like Darcy and Ma and Dad. I want to see what I know when I wake in the morning, and hear sounds I'm familiar with. It centers me, you see," he went on while Aidan studied him, "to know the names of the faces around me, and to be home no matter where I look."

"You're the best of us," Aidan said quietly and made Shawn laugh with both surprise and embarrassment.

"Well, now, there's a statement for the ages."

"You are. You've the heart that draws in the land here, and the sea and the air and holds it with respect and with love. I couldn't do that until I'd gone off to see all I could see. And when I left, Shawn, I'm telling you I didn't think I'd be back. Not to stay."

"But that's what you did, what you've done."

"Because I came to realize what you've always known. This is our place in the world. By rights, if we went by heart instead of birth order, you'd head the pub."

"And run it into the ground within a year. Thanks, but no."

"You wouldn't, though. I haven't always given you the credit you deserve."

Shawn turned the Harp over in his hand, eyed it thoughtfully, and sent the dog at his feet a wink. "Just how many of these bottles did the man drink down before I got here, Finn, my lad?"

"I haven't been drinking. I want you to understand my feelings and thoughts before things change on us again. And they will change if we make this deal."

"They'll change, but we'll be the ones guiding the direction of it."

"It'll take more of your time."

He'd thought of that, and what use he would make of the time it took. "I've time to spare."

"And Darcy's-she won't be pleased with that."

"No." Shawn let out a breath. "But she'll be pleased enough with the baubles and trinkets she can buy with the profits. And she'll stand for Gallagher's, Aidan." Shawn met his brother's eyes. "You can give her credit for that."

"At least till she bags that rich husband."

"After she does, and she deigns to visit with those of us who remain peasants, you could still ask her to put on an apron and pick up a tray."

"And have her bash me head in with it." But Aidan nodded, understanding. "Aye, she'd lend her hand if the need was there, I know it."

"Don't take this weight all on yourself-the deal and the worry and the work of it," Shawn told him. "There's three of us-well, four now that we've our Jude Frances.

Gallagher's is family. We'll do well with this business, Aidan. I've a good feeling about it."

"It's good you came by. I'm clearer in my head than I was."

"Well, then, that should be worth one more beer before I-" Shawn broke off as he heard voices, light and female. "Oh, blessed Mary, there's the women. I'm off. I'll use the back door."

"Next time, I'll get you drunk and pry out what's got you so spooked over women."

"If I don't figure out what to do about it in the next little while, I'll tell you." With this, Shawn escaped out the back door.