Page 16 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Which one isthat?” Angie asked.
“You’ll know it when you hear it,” Liam said, pulling on his gold earring with a grimace. “I won’t ruin the fun. Maybe the men will get up to some good fun and playtheirsong to end all songs. I didn’t understand the byplay as a kid, but I do now. Oh, Gavin is gesturing for another round. Be right back.”
After serving them, Liam returned with the bottle and held it out to pour. Angie didn’t want to turn down good hospitality, but she was getting tired. Of course, it had been a long lunch hour after a long breakfast—post the crazy sheep incident Angie still hadn’t processed—and this was her third whiskey. Bets’ gold Victorian couch was calling to her.
“You Give Love a Bad Name” started to play, and Gavin and Killian rose to their feet and started booing as their wives sashayed over and playfully hit them with their boas.
“Oh, my, that’s…” Megan trailed off.
Her sister meant scandalous, likely. Angie disagreed. The love and attraction between the two couples was obvious, and Angie found herself wondering, again, what that must be like.
Suddenly she was thinking about Carrick and the wonderful relationship he must have had with his wife. They must have loved each other very much for him to still be putting the words from her poems on his sheep. That kind of passion and commitment was foreign to her.
Stop thinking about him, Angie.
Really, she should be glad Bets and his mother hadn’t talked about him more. The last thing she needed was to have more information about him. Actually, maybe he’d be less compelling and mysterious if she had details. A mother would know all of his flaws. Maybe he’d been a compulsive bed wetter or liked to tip cows. They had a lot of cows in Ireland, right? What else did kids do out here in the wilds of County Mayo?
“Angie!” Siobhan slapped away Gavin’s hands when he tried to put them on her waist and dance with her. “What are you going to paint first now that you’re here?”
Bets cut the music, and the parlor went silent. Everyone turned and looked at her. Their change in focus was so sudden, so intense, that Angie froze, her palms starting to sweat.
Carrick’s tall, rugged form rose in her mind. So much for her no man mantra and attempt to drown her interest in chocolate. The urge to sketch him returned. Fire burned her fingertips, banishing the sweat, and she rubbed them together, longing for a paintbrush.
He couldnotbe her subject. No way. No how.
“The fields!” she exclaimed in a good save. “They’re golden in a way I’ve never seen before.” And they were, by God!
“That’s Ireland for you,” Killian said. “Sometimes I go out to check on my horses, and I’d swear they’re standing on a field of gold coins instead of sweetgrass.”
“I can’t wait to see it when you’re finished,” Brigid said. “Bets showed us some of your paintings. You’re so talented.”
“She used to be,” her sister said out of nowhere. “We’re hoping she can get it back after everything that’s gone on these past few years. Right, Angie?”
Megan put her arm around her, as if in commiseration, and Angie dug her fingernails into her palms. She wanted to shove her away but didn’t.
“You’ll have to do a show when you have enough paintings,” Nicola said, nodding enthusiastically.
“I already have the perfect spot in mind, plus a strategy for launching it,” Bets said, her face suddenly glowing. “How about we show your masterpieces the same weekend as the Caisleán’s agricultural show in August? That’s over two months from now. Should be plenty of time. About thirty thousand people come from all over Ireland. There’s always an arts and crafts bazaar, but some might like to buy paintings from a more serious artist. It would be a great time to introduce you to new patrons, make some money, and advertise our new art studio as you teach here.”
“That’s a great idea!” Siobhan said as others murmured their agreement. “Our village can sponsor you.”
“You can show your paintings in my bookshop,” Nicola said. “We have a prime location in town, and lots of visitors will come through that day as we have the best coffee.”
Brigid clapped. “We can advertise your art show all over town and in the newspaper. People can pop by on their way to and from the campground. Oh, this is a great idea!”
Angie’s hands grew clammy. An entire show sponsored by the village? Thirty thousand people? Dear God. That would mean producing a lot of paintings. Really, really good ones. She hadn’t even done sucky ones in longer than she cared to remember.
Her blood pressure flew sky high as her heart rate kicked up. There was no way she could pull this off.
She turned and stared at her sister, who had a pitying look on her face.
Poor Angie, she could hear her sister think.
Pain shot through her chest. Was she going to keep letting fear run her life or was she going to make a stand and get her voice back? She wanted that for her sister… Didn’t she want it for herself?
“All right,” she said, standing up, feeling almost sick. “I’ll do it.”
Chapter Five
