Page 32 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
“Even better.” A twinkle appeared in her eye. “Of course, Megan wouldn’t like it. Do you break out into hives when you hear Bon Jovi, or can you ignore it like your dad does?”
“I’m more on the hives side.” He could admit that, if only to hear her chuckle again. “It was craic in the beginning, when I was a kid, but there are other bands. My dad and I still can’t understand why they don’t idolize U2 like the rest of us.”
“I get it,” she said, her smile as tempting as her lush mouth. “It helps them recapture part of their youth.”
“But they’re not young anymore, girl. Might as well accept it.”
Her face fell. “It’s Angie,” she corrected. “And neither am I.”
He disagreed, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take it—or how he wanted her to take it—so he rushed on to say, “My friend Declan keeps telling Siobhan—that’s his mum—that she can’t pester him about getting married and having grandbabies if she’s going to dance around with a feather boa and gyrate her hips like a snake charmer. Not very nanny like. My own mum might kill me if I said the same, even though I think it every time that infernal purple boa comes out.”
Her crestfallen expression disappeared, and she uttered her first heartfelt laugh. He felt like he’d had a victory.
“Your mom has been very nice. All of the Lucky Charms are when they stop and chat as they leave Bets’. I didn’t know you Irish just pop in like that.”
“Easier to pop by when you have time than have to cancel something planned due to a farm issue and the like,” he said, thinking he should move along. “Best mind yourself with the Lucky Charms, though. That’s how they lure you in, Yank. You have enough to focus on with the paintings.”
He turned to leave and nearly swore. A lone sheep stood a few meters away, rubbing her body against the fence, the wordStoppainted clearly on her fluffy body. He knew who was to blame.
“I need a little fun or I’ll go crazy,” Angie said, rearranging her wild mess of hair with a clip. “Overwork is what landed me in this mess.”
“I thought men had. If I can be direct.”
She lifted her brow, making her paint smear move. “Itwasmen, and me burying myself in work so I wouldn’t have to face the fact that I couldn’t paint anymore. And to pay the bills, of course. Shit, I should stop talking right now.”
He gestured impatiently. “Don’t stop on my account. Get it out. Maybe it will help.”
Her throat moved, and an answering lump appeared in his own.
“I didn’t want to admit that I’d become someone I’m not proud of,” she said softly. “I didn’t used to look like this.”
“Like what?” he asked, blinking at her. “I don’t see anything wrong with you.”
She shook her head at him. “You didn’t know me before. I was thin and pretty and spirited and… You wouldn’t understand.”
He couldn’t help but cross to her and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him in surprise.
His fingertips itched to touch the curls bouncing around her nape in the gentle breeze. “Life changes us. Sometimes we let it by ignoring it, like the English ivy strangling all the ash trees here in Ireland. Sometimes it simply wrecks us like a storm blowing the roof off a well-built shed. You get up and keep on.”
She pursed her lips as if gathering herself. “I appreciate you saying that. I guess I need to do some pruning and rebuild my roof then.”
He wanted to rub her shoulder in comfort, so he forced himself to drop his hand. “Ah, Yank, you’re still pretty as a picture, if you don’t mind me saying, and a woman who wields a golf club at a three-hundred-pound sheep is certainly spirited.”
Her eyes glistened. “You didn’t mention me being thin.”
He held up his hands. “I’ve never been accused of being a stupid man, but if you mean you were rail thin like those Americans I see on the telly, I’m glad to see it’s behind you now. You look like a real woman, and that’s how a woman should be.”
She wiped her eyes. “Aren’t you full of surprises?”
Wasn’t that the truth of it? “I must have woken up in a generous mood.”
“Then can I ask you something else?” Her voice was almost hesitant now. Struck with the thought that he’d always know the shades of her mood by that expressive voice, he knew he needed to leave. “Make it quick, and then I’ll be on my way.”
“I… Ah… Shit. I wondered what else your wife said about this view. What you told me about that tree having fingers to claw through the land really helped. I guess I need to see this place through fresh eyes.”
Wouldn’t hers be the freshest? But it was rude to ask, and she was only doubting herself. He studied the land. The house he was building had a view of another of Sorcha’s favorite spots. “Do you see that raised hill over there to the west? The one with the gorse on three sides?”
“Is gorse the big bush with the yellow flowers?”
