Page 95 of Beside Golden Irish Fields
He was used to rainbows, but he couldn’t see her happiness without feeling it. “’Tis one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”
“I agree,” Kade said, sending him a knowing wink.
“God, I need to paint this. Excuse me, boys, I’ll be right back.” She raced out of the room.
“She doesn’t know only the tourists love the rainbows, does she?” Jamie suddenly stumbled. His face leached color. “Oh, God! I can see Sorcha. She said not to poke fun at the rainbow she brought.”
“It’s a gesture she would bring,” Kade said with a smile. “Poets like rainbows too, as do I. You have to understand their magic. It’s more than just about pots of gold, you know.”
Carrick turned his head. She stood at the edge of the trees, a radiant smile on her face. They shared a look. Sorcha had told him double rainbows always appeared when a person made a big life decision. It portended good fortune. He couldn’t think of a much bigger life decision than deciding to be with Angie. Putting his hand to his heart, he saidThank yousilently, knowing she would hear. She nodded and blew him a kiss. He returned it, smiling himself.
“I smell oranges,” Jamie muttered. “Oh, God! I think I’m going to faint.”
He fell to the ground before either of them could catch him.
“He did that pretty gracefully for a large man, didn’t he?” Kade leaned down and opened his jacket to give him air. “He’s okay. He’ll come around when he’s ready.”
Carrick heard Sorcha’s laughter. Let his eyes rest on her again. He knew this would be the last time he saw her. His heart swelled as she lifted her hand, her smile as beautiful as he remembered. And then she disappeared.
“Not bad for a regular morning, is it?” Kade asked, clapping him on the back.
He surveyed his brother, who had yet to stir.
“No,” he answered, hearing Angie coming back into the parlor. “It might be my best morning in quite some time, and I expect it’s going to stay that way. Angie, come on! We need to set you up so you can paint this rainbow.”
Chapter Thirty
Here. Be. Good.
Angie was living the message every day, a message she now knew was from Sorcha. All of the woman’s messages had come true, and Angie had laid a bouquet of wildflowers at the base of her favorite tree—the one they both loved—to offer her thanks. The wind had blown gently, and the smell of sweetgrass had mixed deliciously with oranges. Her heart was happy. Both for herself and Carrick.
Her painting classes were going well. Like with everything, some students were excelling while others felt more challenged by the medium. She understood. She’d been there. It was her job to help them get past their blocks, if she could, something that was easier now that she’d gotten past hers.
Bets was continuing to formalize the art center. She was posting new flyers around town along with the ones advertising Angie’s show, something she was growing more excited about as the event approached.
Angie’s voice was growing stronger. She painted more freely. She was less critical of herself. When her brush wanted to fly off in a new direction on the canvas, she let it. When she had the urge to mix a surprising collection of paints for a new color, she did it. She’d never been prouder of her work.
She was so proud, in fact, that she’d contacted a few galleries that used to show her work, telling them she was back after a long teaching sabbatical. Their praise had made her hug herself and dance in the studio, and when one of them had said they’d like to feature some of her new work, she’d jumped up and down.
Carrick had bought more champagne, and they’d had dinner in bed and made love with more joy than she’d ever imagined feeling in her life.
As for her and Megan, she’d concluded they were at a detente. Megan was staying out of her way as much as she was staying out of hers. For the time being, they both seemed to be doing better for it.
Ollie seemed to be thriving too. Megan had stopped babying him and was letting him run free around the manor. The added benefit of his new best friends—Liam, Kade, Duke, and the horses—helped. His bedtime had shifted to ten o’clock with the sun setting so late. He’d been taken to see the spots along the rocky shore where the pirates had landed and the Spanish Armada had crashed, and he was filled with tales of fairies, leprechauns, giants, tree spirits, and other Irish myths from books Liam had given him to devour.
Carrick had done his part to help her nephew, showing him how to look after his sheep and inviting him to walk the fields with him and attend to any holes in the fencing. He’d even taken Ollie with him in the tractor to dress the freshly cut fields with slurry, and her nephew had come back beaming.
She couldn’t imagine loving Carrick more.
She painted in his house on some rainy mornings as he worked on nailing down baseboards. When he smiled at her, she felt as light and airy as a cloud. And when he suggested she store some of her paintings there since she was bursting out of her studio space, she thought she might step out of the open window and walk on air.
She was still in the clouds on the day of her Wednesday painting class, the one the Lucky Charms were in. The women weren’t only about fun and games, she knew. All of them worked hard—even Carrick’s retired mother. While Brigid hadn’t said anything about her relationship with Carrick—the whole village knew, of course—she would feel the woman’s gaze on her at times and look up only to see a kind smile.
In fact, while his friends might have shown up to check on him their first morning together weeks ago, no one had teased her or pressed her for details. She suspected they were delighted Carrick was happy again—some did remark on his changed nature, he told her.
“Angie!” Nicola called out, waving a paintbrush her way.
She rose from the drawing table, where she’d been sketching as the class painted. After her demo, she let them get to it since they all knew they could ask for help anytime. Her students had been given three objects to choose from today: a charming yellow watering can she’d found in the garden; ceramic blue wellies potted with orange calendulas that Bets had placed beside her front door for color; and, lastly, a stunning red-tipped pink rose Carrick had brought her from his home garden in a simple crystal vase.
