A Woman's Heart. JoAnn Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ devil she didn’t.

      Nora sighed and thought once again how useless it was to fight nature. Hadn’t she learned that lesson with Conor? Living in the west was living poor, and Conor, born on a neighboring farm where Kate still lived, had been determined to outrun and outride poor.

      As for herself, so long as she could keep the bankers at bay, Nora had never minded not having money for the extras Conor had seemed to need. Her husband, who’d set his sights even higher than Dublin, had jokingly called her his little country mouse. Indeed, Nora could more easily imagine traveling on a spaceship to the moon than moving away from the family farm.

      Conor had been bold, daring and restless as the wind.

      He’d also been a wee bit self-centered. But since that had been part of the cocky confidence that contributed greatly to his charm, she’d never complained. Not even when he hadn’t managed to make it home for Rory’s birth.

      He’d been competing in the Olympic trials at the time. And although she’d understood the importance of the event, Nora couldn’t deny that she wished he’d been by her side when she’d brought their only son into the world.

      At the time, Kate, who was not nearly as unforgiving of her brother’s behavior, had accused Nora of being a natural-born caretaker, always willing to put her own wishes aside in order to concentrate on the whims of others. Nora hadn’t argued then, and truth be told, couldn’t argue the fact now.

      She had, indeed, been a caretaker all of her life, and a caretaker she’d undoubtedly die. Normally the personal rewards made the sacrifices worthwhile. She feared that Quinn Gallagher might prove to be the exception to the rule.

      “Shall I show you the lake?” she asked into the prolonged silence.

      “The lake?” Appearing to pull himself momentarily out of whatever gloomy place he was wallowing in, Quinn looked over at her with surprise.

      “Lough Caislean.” She called the lake by its Irish name.

      He lifted a brow. “Ah, where the famed monster lurks.”

      “The creature,” she corrected quietly, hoping his words didn’t mean the movie people were planning to portray the Lady as some voracious killer from the deep lagoon. Like in those grainy black-and-white Japanese Godzilla films John had been so taken with when he’d been Rory’s age.

      “Creature, monster.” He waved a hand dismissively. “What’s the difference?”

      Nora thought about that for a moment. “I suppose it’s a matter of semantics. And respect.”

      He laughed again, a rough rusty sound that reminded her of the nearly bald tires of Fionna’s miracle-mobile running over a gravel road. It occurred to Nora that Quinn Gallagher was not a man who allowed himself to laugh often.

      “Are you saying you believe the Lady exists?” he asked.

      She shrugged, feeling foolish. She dearly wished they’d not gotten onto this topic. “I’ve never seen her myself. But I respect others’ beliefs.”

      She did not mention that Rory was one of those who insisted he’d not only seen, but talked with the Lady. Since it seemed to give him comfort and she’d had her own imaginary playmate when she was his age, she’d never been overly concerned with her son having the lough beastie for a best friend.

      “That’s not exactly the same thing.”

      “I suppose I believe that myths are capable of possessing their own reality. And if there is a Lady in the lake—and I’m not saying I believe there is, mind you—” she shot him a stern look “—she deserves the same consideration we give any of God’s creatures. Including a rich and famous American horror novelist.”

      Having tacked on the last without taking time to censor her words, Nora feared he’d take offense, but he surprised her by flashing a grin that came and went so quickly she thought perhaps she’d imagined it.

      “Point taken.”

      The brief argument, if it could, indeed, even be called an argument, appeared to have burned off his dark mood, like a July sun burns off cold morning fog.

      “I think I’d like to see the lake,” Quinn said, “if you have time.”

      Although holding a grudge was nearly a national pastime, Nora had never been able to keep a decent pique going. She smiled, pleased at the opportunity to share one of her favorite places with him. “We have a saying here in Ireland, Mr. Gallagher—when God made time, he made plenty of it.”

      Chapter Seven

      Whatever You Say, Say Nothing

      Less than five minutes later Nora pulled off to the side of the road. “It’s a bit of a walk. But a lovely one, just the same.”

      “I could use some exercise.” Once again Quinn figured the fresh air might help banish the remnants of his hangover and jet lag.

      “It might help clear away any lingering Jameson fog,” she said with a smile, revealing similar thinking.

      Quinn started to remind her she hadn’t locked the car door, then realized there was probably no need, which left him feeling a lot like Dorothy after the tornado had blown her out of Kansas. Ireland might not exactly be Oz. But it sure as hell wasn’t California, either.

      They passed a cemetery like the ones he’d seen while driving around in circles, a somber place of high crosses standing like silent sentinels and rounded gravestones covered with pale green moss. A few of the more recent stones had been decorated with arrangements of colorful plastic flowers in domed containers.

      The narrow well-worn path meandered through the hills like a tangled fishing line, crossing meadows lush with blue lupine, wild roses and strawberries. After climbing for about ten minutes, they came upon a mound of earth blanketed with yellow poppies and decorated with stones.

      “It’s a cairn,” Nora explained, “built about five thousand years ago. There are quite a few of them around this part of the country.”

      “It’s a tomb, right?”

      “Of sorts. There’s probably a passage below leading to a central burial chamber. The early ones believed in an afterlife, so they often buried their loved ones with tools, weapons or household goods.”

      Quinn, who always prided himself on his research, knew about the pre-Christian burial sites. But reading about something in a dry archeological text was vastly different from actually standing right beside it. This place hidden in the green folds of the mountain had gone unchanged for millennia; memories of that long-ago heroic time and shadows of a mysterious faith hovered over the site like ghosts standing guard over an ancient past.

      He paused and drank in the atmosphere, breathing deeply of air scented with golden hollyhock and something else he could not quite define. Then he rubbed at the tingling sensation at the back of his neck.

      “I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife,” he said. “But here…it sure feels as if some spirits might have lingered on.” He could almost hear the eerie sound of ghostly voices floating on the breeze.

      Nora СКАЧАТЬ