Born in Fire (Born In Trilogy #1)

Born in Fire (Born In Trilogy #1) Page 40

She was, he realized, every bit as capricious, moody and brilliant as that fire. As dangerous and as elemental.

And he was, quite desperately, in love with her.

Chapter Ten

“WHAT do you mean, gone?” Rogan pushed away from his desk and scraped Joseph with look of outrage. “Of course she’s not gone.’’

“But she is. She stopped by the gallery to say goodbye only an hour ago.” Reaching into his pocket, Joseph drew out an envelope. “She asked me to give you this.’’

Rogan took it, tossed it on his desk. “Are you saying she’s gone back to Clare? The morning after her show?’’

“Yes, and in a tearing hurry. I didn’t have time to show her the reviews.” Joseph reached up to fiddle with the tiny gold hoop in his ear. “She’d booked a flight to Shannon. Said she only had a moment to say goodbye and God bless, gave me the note for you, kissed me and ran out again.” He smiled. “It was a bit like being battered by a small tornado.” He lifted his shoulders, let them fall. “I’m sorry, Rogan, if I’d known you wanted her to stay, I’d have tried to stop her. I believe I’d have been flattened, but I’d have tried.’’

“It doesn’t matter.” He lowered carefully into his chair again. “How did she seem?’’

“Impatient, rushed, distracted. Very much as usual. She wanted to be back home, was all she told me, back at work. I wasn’t sure you knew, so I thought I’d come by and tell you in person. I have an appointment with General Fitzsimmons, and it was on my way.”

“I appreciate it. I should be by the gallery by four. Give the general my regards.”

“I’ll give him the business,” Joseph said with a flashing grin. “By the way, he went up another five thousand on Surrender.”

“Not for sale.”

Rogan picked up the note on his desk after Joseph closed the door behind him. Ignoring his work, Rogan split the envelope with his ebony-handled letter opener. The creamy stationery from his own guest room was dashed over with Maggie’s hurried and beautiful scrawl.

Dear Rogan,

I imagine you’ll be annoyed that I’ve left so abruptly, but it can’t be helped. I need to be home and back at work, and I won’t apologize for it. I will thank you. I’m sure you’ll start firing wires my way, and I’ll warn you in advance I intend to ignore them, at least for a time. Please give my best to your grandmother. And I wouldn’t mind if you thought of me now and again.

Maggie

Oh, one more thing. You might be interested to know that I’m taking home a half dozen of Julien’s recipes—that’s your cook’s name, if you don’t know. He thinks I’m charming.

Rogan skimmed the letter a second time before setting it aside. It was for the best, he decided. They would both be happier and more productive with the whole of Ireland between them. Certainly, he would be. It was difficult to be productive around a woman when you were in love with her, and when she frustrated you on every possible level.

And with any luck, any at all, these feelings that had grown in him would ease and fade with time and distance.

So…He folded the letter and set it aside. He was glad she’d gone back, satisfied that they’d accomplished the first stage of his plans for her career, happy that she’d inadvertently given him time to deal with his own confused emotions.

The hell, he thought. He missed her already.

The sky was the color of a robin’s egg and clear as a mountain stream. Maggie sat on the little stoop at her front door, elbows on knees, and just breathed. Beyond her own garden gate and the trailing, flowering fuchsia, she could see the lush green of hill and valley. And farther, since the day was so clear, so bright, she glimpsed the distant dark mountains.

She watched a magpie dart across her line of vision, flashing over the hedge and up. Straight as an arrow he went, until even the shadow of him was lost in the green.

One of Murphy’s cows lowed and was answered by another. There was a humming echo that would be his tractor, and the more insistent sealike roar of her furnaces, which she’d fired the moment she’d arrived.

Her flowers were brilliant in the sunshine, vivid red begonias tangled with the late-blooming tulips and dainty spears of larkspur. She could smell rose-mary and thyme and the strong perfume of the wild roses that swayed like dancers in the mild, sweet breeze.

A wind chime she’d made out of scraps of glass sang musically above her head.

Dublin, with its busy streets, seemed very far away.

On the ribbon of road in the valley below, she saw a red truck, tiny and bright as a toy, rumble along, turn into a lane and climb toward a cottage.

Home for tea, she thought, and let out a sigh of pure contentment.

She heard the dog first, that full-throated echoing bark, then the rustle of brush that told her he’d flushed out a bird. Her sister’s voice floated out on the air, amused, indulgent.

“Leave the poor thing alone, Con, you great bully.”

The dog barked again and, moments later, leaped at the garden gate. His tongue lolled happily when he spotted Maggie.

“Get down from there,” Brianna ordered. “Do you want her to come home and find her gate crashed in, and…Oh.” She stopped, laying a hand on the wolfhound’s massive head as she saw her sister. “I didn’t know you were home.” The smile came first as she tugged open the gate.

“I’ve just arrived.” Maggie spent the next few minutes being greeted by Concobar, wrestling and accepting his lavish licks until he responded to Brianna’s command to sit. Sit he did, his front paws over Maggie’s feet, as if to ensure that she would stay put.

“I had a little time,” Brianna began. “So I thought I’d come down and tend to your garden.”

“It looks fine to me.”

“You always think so. I’ve brought you some bread I baked this morning. I was going to put it in your freezer.” Feeling awkward, Brianna held out the basket. There was something here, she realized. Something behind the cool, calm look in her sister’s eyes. “How was Dublin?”

“Crowded.” Maggie set the basket beside her on the stoop. The scent beneath the neat cloth was so tempting that she lifted the cloth aside and broke off a warm hunk of brown bread. “Noisy.” She tore off a bit of bread and tossed it. Concobar nipped it midair, swallowed it whole and grinned. “Greedy bastard, aren’t you?” She tossed him another piece before she rose. “I have something for you.”