Page 64 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
And they did while he studied her. She didn’t bring up the orange scent, but it seemed to strengthen. Maybe she was picking up on the notes in the whiskey?
“Now, you asked me a direct question.”
“A few, in fact,” she said, trying to hide her smile.
He tipped his head back, his wrist lax as it held the whiskey glass. “Let me see if I can recall them. No, I don’t want you to apologize to me on that one matter.”
Wasn’t he going to say it out loud? Well, she sure as hell was. “Sex.”
The air sizzled with the word.
“You should spray it on one of your sheep,” she said impishly, taking another sip of whiskey, watching as his eyes shifted color from Payne’s grey to a deep midnight blue.
Actually, his eyes weren’t the only part of him that changed color when she poked at him. Even his strong face had shifted from gray to yellow ochre and now a more crimson red, especially around the nose and cheeks. She knew what that meant as a painter. His skin was changing temperature. Desire did that. Okay, irritation did as well, but that’s not what his eyes were conveying right now. When they locked with her own, she could feel heat fan out in her belly.
“Your suggestion is noted,” Carrick said, clearing his throat. “As for avoiding you, I thought it best. Angie… We don’t want to be tempted.”
She raised her hand to her throat.Tempted. Now that was a word. “But we are already, and we’ve discussed it.”
“Twice—”
“Both times nothing has happened—”
“Yet,” he said emphatically and with a heated, pointed look. “Let’s not tempt fate.”
Part of her wanted to sayOh, yes, let’s.The orange scent saturated her. “Do you really not smell that?”
He poured them both another drink. “Have another drink and tell me how the painting is going. I already know your students are loving their classes, my mother included.”
“Good to hear what’s being said around town. Every student has their own journey, and I do my best to help. We’re connecting more as we get to know each other. But are you really serious about my paintings?”
“Of course! I’ve wondered.”
Her bones seemed to liquify. “You have?”
He sliced a hand through the air. “Are you testing my patience? Yank, I know how important it is to you. Do you think I’d have turned you down otherwise? Never mind. Tell me.”
His demanding tone oddly didn’t bother her. He wasn’t trying to control her—not like Randall or Saul had. He was only impatient to know. She rather liked that. “I’ve been painting up a storm. Mostly outside in the mornings, when it’s not raining. And later in the afternoons between classes and sometimes even after Ollie has gone to sleep.”
She hadn’t wanted her nephew to realize she was staying away from the cottage because of Megan, but the tension was clear around dinnertime and Ollie’s bedtime. They mostly talked to Ollie rather than each other, and right now Angie was okay with that. Megan had to find her own answers, and truthfully, so did she.
“You asked about the weight of grief earlier.” He brought his whiskey to his lap and studied it. “It’s not easy to speak of. But yes, I understand. I haven’t been easy to be around. You’ve met my friends and family. They’ve tried to pull me out—to the pub or to a concert or even for a pony ride. Kade can be relentless when he wants to be.”
She’d realized as much. He’d been giving Ollie a ride every few days, bringing Duke by to play with Megan. Ollie would tell her about the funny things Winston had done—bowing and pooping were his favorite stories. They both seemed happier for the visits, and it hadn’t escaped Angie that her sister was happier outside her presence too. She lit up when she talked about Duke sitting on her lap or running to greet her.
They were bringing each other down. Giving each other space seemed to be the key.
“He seems to know what he’s about,” she agreed. “Kade even offered to give me a pony ride to help bolster my creativity. Fortunately, I didn’t need it, but it seems to be helping Ollie. We’re buying him his own helmet, in fact.”
Bets had offered to pay her more since they’d added three extra painting classes to the schedule. Now she was teaching midmorning, late afternoon, and early evening on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. She had another class on Saturday morning as well. They were doing still lifes as well as beginning figurative drawing. In a few weeks, she’d start introducing them to different painting styles, everything from realism to expressionism. As her students learned, they would find or hone their voices.
Much like she herself was doing.
“I’m glad Kade’s therapy is helping them,” he said, his tone grave. “But it’s not something that would help me. Everyone has their own way of dealing with things. I…do my best to keep busy while honoring my promises and the past.”
On their very first meeting, he’d told her that he liked to keep his wife’s words around him. He was building her a house after her death. “You seem to have made vows to your wife, ones you won’t break. Megan isn’t like that. She let Tyson become her whole world. She lost herself.”
“Like you did with men.”
