Page 61 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
He gritted his teeth. “Did you come to fight?”
“No, Carrick.” She lifted her hand and pointed. “I’m only asking why you’re here working when you should be down there talking with Angie like usual. This is the fifth morning in a row you two haven’t spoken, and from where I’m standing, you’re going backward.”
Hadn’t he fought the urge to go to her every morning? Especially when a sudden rain pelted her and her art, and he caught sight of her furiously packing up and rushing back to the cottage.
But he’d turned her down, and it had been the right thing. To see her and talk with her would only make it difficult to hold the line. Whenever they were near each other, the temptation to touch, to connect, was too strong. “She needs to paint, for herself and for her gallery show. She’s been tearing aside page after page from what I can see. Things are finally going well for her.”
“From up here.” Sorcha walked to the corner of the parlor, her hand touching the unpainted concrete wall. “You’ve been watching her—a good sign. That’s the only reason I didn’t prod you before.”
“I’m not a pervert.” He stepped back from the windows completely. “I can simply see her when I work up here. That’s all. Besides, she’s a friend. I want her to be able to paint. Do you think I don’t recall how upset it made you when you couldn’t write?”
She smiled as she looked over her shoulder. “Seems you’ve helped Angie as well. It shows the kind of heart you have, the kind of man you are.”
“I have no time for such talk,” he said, looking around for something to do. He was putting the hardwood floor in, an arduous process at the best of times, which this wasn’t. The floor was still not level in many places due to the foundation shifting. “We both know I’m no Prince Charming.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No,” he answered and pounded a nail into the flooring for good measure.
“You’ll have more time very soon,” Sorcha said, walking toward him on her bare feet. “You’ll be shearing the sheep, and then you’ll have nothing but time on your hands. Summer is always a good courting time for sheep farmers.”
He wished he could turn the table saw on and drown her voice out, but that would be rude. “A lot you know. Once the shearing is done, it’s time to catch up on everything else that’s been neglected. I’ll be working at this house for one, but the other needs some painting. Plus, I have swallows making nests all around the roof.”
She clucked her tongue. “Busy work keeping you away from where you really want to be. Spend some time with Angie while she paints and her nephew rides his bicycle. You’re companionable like that.”
He’d been good at sitting outside once, enjoying his sheep and his land. Soaking in the sweet slowness of that life. “Those days are gone from me. I have pursuits and ambitions.”
“So you say—”
“But I’m glad you mentioned her nephew.” He could still hear the way Ollie had giggled as he walked through his herd. “Megan is a different sort. She’s had a rough time.” He’d wondered about paying a call, but what could he say in the face of her grief when he held so tightly on to his own?
“Kade is working his magic there,” Sorcha said, weaving her hand in a figure eight. “Didn’t you see him giving Ollie a pony ride and the sister playing with the dog behind the cottage?”
He had but demurred to say so.
“She likes Duke more than she cares to let on. That dog was always a little wonder. I hope Megan will let herself heal. It’s pained me to see you struggle, Carrick.”
“So don’t watch.” His throat thickened. “You don’t like the house. You’re pushing me at another woman. Sorcha, this is no comfort.”
Her scent of oranges washed over him as she stood in front of him. “Comfort won’t heal you. Not when you’ve calcified on the inside. You’re the one who’s choosing to break. Carrick, this can’t continue.”
He turned away from her. “It can, and it will.”
“Have you thought of living here all alone? Do you plan to look out these beautiful windows at night and tell yourself you’re content? You’re building a home for a reason. Because you want one—with a family and everything it entails! Don’t be lying to yourself.”
She might as well have struck him with a hammer. He wasn’t building this house for some future family he didn’t intend to have. He was building it forher. She was the one lying to herself.
Except she would never live here.
His energy left him.
“You’re right about one thing, and one thing only. I have sheep needing shearing.” He would call Ned O’Bannon about coming today. Shearing five hundred sheep and then some would keep him distracted a few more days.
“What will your excuse be next, I wonder?” Sorcha appeared in front of him, making him jump. “Carrick, the houseisbeautiful. But it’s not for me. It’s time you made peace with that. Open your mind to a new vision.”
She disappeared.
He sank down on the floor and put his face in his hands. The pain he’d been holding back tore through him like a river swelled by the rain, breaking the levee holding it in place. Hot tears poured out of his eyes. His chest heaved with labored breaths.
