Page 37 of Against Ebony Irish Seas

Bets looked a little gray, but her vibrant energy was intact as she practically stomped over in her ankle boots. “No beating around the bush. It sucked.”

She winced. “I’m sorry.”

Linc rested his weight on one leg. “Malcolm Coveney has big eyes and probably an even bigger stomach. He wants us to move our entire operation up his way—to make it easier for tourists.”

“They haveeverythingset up in Watertown,” Bets added with bitterness. “Why would we want to build anything down here?”

“Because that’s called development.” Sophie studied Linc’s poker face. “How much trouble is he planning?”

Linc’s mouth worked before he answered, “A heap, I imagine. Bets, Donal, and I talked the whole way back, and we have our marching orders. Donal is going to look into getting your house back as well as hiring a compliance manager ASAP.”

“To field things like new permit issues or surprise safety inspections,” Bets added. “It’s happened before.”

“Terrific,” she said with a sigh. “Don’t these people have anything else to do?”

“Apparently not.” Linc took out a piece of hard candy and crunched, offering her one, which she declined. “I plan to lock down Hans Shumaker today and send out a press release.”

“That’s awesome!” She’d been the one to connect them, so she was particularly glad it had worked out. “He’s a great artist and a great person.”

“We also hoped you might be willing to talk to your reporter friend atThe New York Times,” Bets said, “who wrote the piece in May about your decision to join the arts center.”

“The one I’ve seen you laughing with huddled in a corner at one of the fancy art shindigs,” Linc added with a smile. “Taylor McGowan impressed me as a no-bullshit kind of girl.”

“Yeah. She got jaded early on like I did. Her parents were big patrons of the arts, so we ran in the same circles. We also went to the same prep school, although she was a couple grades behind. But we had a few art teachers in common, whom we both hated. They thought she was a lost cause as an artist so she turned to writing, her other love. I always thought they were wrong about her, but then again, they said I was hopeless as a painter.”

“Which you might have secretly wanted them to say,” Linc said knowingly. “Well, seems we have our girl. Hate to ask but you know how good press helps. You might even mention our plan for the children’s program.”

And lay the groundwork to make Malcolm look like a bad guy if he tried to hold things up. Smart.

“Done,” she said. “Maybe Taylor will want to interview Jamie. I know he’s still working on the program, but he’d be able to convey the general idea.”

“Great thought,” Bets said, tapping her thigh, her pent-up energy visible. “I’ll call him after school is out. He might need some tips on talking to the press.”

Her heart sped up a little at the thought of Jamie. “I can walk him through it if you’d like. You want to see the near final design for the sculpture? I’ve added an additional component to the Tree of Life. It represents a new level for me—a step I’ve been a little scared to take…”

They both studied her as she gestured with her hands, seeking the right words as her nerves flared to life.

“My parents always caused a lot of controversy with their art. When I became an artist myself, I stayed away from that kind of attention. And yet the minute I came to Ireland—”

“You found yourself smack-dab in the middle of one,” Linc finished for her.

“I’m so sorry, Sophie,” Bets said, crossing to her and putting a hand on her arm.

“No, it turns out this was good for me.” She touched her heart. “Inside I’ve been wanting to break out, but I couldn’t figure out how.Thisis how.”

She led them to her drawings. Bets gasped and raised her hand slowly to her mouth.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Linc mused, rubbing his jaw. “It’s the best you’ve ever done, darlin’, and this cowboy ain’t blowing smoke up your dress.”

Bets’ fingers hovered over the image of the pregnant goddess. “She’s so beautiful.”

Her chest grew tight. “Yes, she is. Like how I think all pregnant women are. Goddesses. That’s how I felt with Greta inside me. I was filled with more love than I’d imagined possible.”

The orange-haired woman’s hand settled over her belly. “I remember that feeling like it was yesterday—the flutters, the kicks, the movement—even though it was decades ago.”

“That’s exactly how I recall feeling,” Linc quipped with a lopsided smile. “Oh, this is going to draw people in, all right. The love is tangible. I mean, the tree is beautiful, Sophie, but the heart of your sculpture will be the goddess woman and her unborn baby. Way to take it to the next level.”

“Thank you.” She blew out a long breath, knowing it was full of her trepidation. “The Celtic tradition has goddesses associated with the Tree of Life, so it fits. It’s going to involve some modifications, of course, and more glass pieces to blow, but I figure you’re not concerned about that.”

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