Page 75 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
Around her the light changed, and she knew coming here had changed her in the best of ways. Hope bloomed in her heart. Her voice was coming back full throttle, on canvas and in life. She wasn’t afraid to say what she wanted to say anymore. Not to herself. Her sister. Or the canvas.
She finally felt like she was an artist again.
She thought of Carrick and wondered what he was feeling after letting go of painting his wife’s words on his sheep. She would see him soon and show him her work, something she usually never did until it was finished.
Then again, she’d never been afraid to speak her mind to him, and as she smelled oranges again, she realized why. Kade was right.
Shewasfalling in love with him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carrick hadn’t been sure what to bring to Angie’s private art show.
He carried the bottle of champagne awkwardly tucked under his light jacket as he walked up the driveway. He’d decided not to drive in the hopes he could steal past the manor house. Would it be weird to be caught coming after hours to meet with Angie? They’d seen each other just this morning, but this was different.
When he and Bets spotted each other, her in a fine orange dress with pencil-thin heels, he had his answer. She curled in her shoulders and winced, making him want to turn around and leave the way he’d come.
Best get it over and done with.
“Hello, Bets!” he called out, striding toward her. “The Yank invited me to see some of her paintings.”
She threw an emerald purse covered in peacock feathers into her red Mini Cooper and faced him, her brows wrinkling. “She’s letting you see her paintings?”
Nerves whipped up like a mistral in his belly. “She is.”
“Well, that shows the way of things, I guess. She hasn’t shown anyone her final paintings—not even me when I asked. Then again, I did hear tell that you aren’t spraying any more words on your sheep.”
He was done for. His mother should have given him to the fairies to raise. “Yes, people have been staring at me as if I’ve grown a bull’s own horns.”
When he’d gone to town to pick up the champagne, he’d been mobbed with questions about why he hadn’t put words on his young sheep yet. When he’d said he was giving it up, using the excuse that it was too much work, they’d protested. Some had volunteered to help him even. He hadn’t expected that.
He hadn’t seen Sorcha since the other night in the shed, when he’d decided to let her words go. He’d left a bouquet of wildflowers on her grave yesterday. There had been no appearance from her. No smell of oranges. He was moving on, and since that’s what she wanted, he didn’t imagine she’d be hanging around anymore.
“I think it shows good progress in other quarters,” she said, pointing to his jacket. “Especially now that I know who you were buying the champagne for.”
“Jesus, you can’t do anything in this village without everyone knowing about it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can we speak of other things? You’re dressed mighty fine tonight. Where are you headed?”
She swatted as a fly buzzed around her. “Gads, I shouldn’t have worn perfume. I’ll be crawling with bugs. Maybe I should head inside and forget the whole thing.”
“Forget what thing?”
Her mouth gaped, and he realized she was wearing lipstick in bright red. Holy hell, she had makeup on.
“Remember how you asked to speak of other things?” She swatted a bumblebee this time. “I’m going to follow suit and leave you to yourself. Only… You might be unaware of some news.”
The way she said it almost had him leaning out of his shoes.
“Megan and Ollie moved into another cottage yesterday.” She placed a hand to her collarbone, her face strained. “I offered it to them in the beginning, but Megan wasn’t ready. Seems that’s changed. Megan told me they both agreed it was good for her to start living on her own with Ollie again.”
The Yank hadn’t mentioned it to him. He’d attributed her less talkative mood the past couple of days to her art, but perhaps there was more to it. “I would have gone mad myself if I’d moved in with my parents or Jamie.”
Bets uttered a tepid laugh. “Would have driven your mother crazy, no doubt. I’m sure it’s been hard on Angie these past eight months, taking care of them like she has, even though Ollie is the sweetest boy. I feel for both of those girls, but I think it’s the right decision. You have to carry your own grief, even if it bows you under with its weight.”
Carrick certainly understood such weight. “It’s never an easy time.”
“No,” Bets said, her gaze unfocused as if memories were playing through her mind. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to yours and go to mine. I know I don’t have to tell you, but have a care for Angie, Carrick. You’re both getting on track. While I’ve smelled oranges from time to time and know there’s support from other quarters, you don’t have to rush.”
“Who’s rushing?” he asked as Bets got into her car and left.
