When he scrambled off, slamming the kitchen door behind him, Maggie frowned over the painting. "Rogan's right then," she decided. "It's rare that he's not, which is a trial to me. He took your painting of the stones into the gallery before I had a chance to see."
"And you wanted to check it out for yourself."
"Your sketch of Liam was more than good," Maggie conceded. "But one charcoal isn't enough to judge. I can tell you now he'll want this, and he'll badger you until you agree."
"He doesn't badger, he demolishes, bloodlessly."
Maggie's laugh was quick and rich. "Oh, that's the truth. Bless him. What else have you?" Without invitation she picked up Shannon's sketchbook and flipped through.
"Help yourself," Shannon said dryly.
Maggie only made noises of approval and interest, then let out another delighted laugh. "You must do this one, Shannon. You must. It's Murphy to the ground. The man and his horses. Damn, I wish I had the hands to do portraits like this."
"I'd see him up there sometimes when I was painting the circle." Shannon tilted her head so that she could see the page herself. "It was irresistible."
"When you paint it, I'd be pleased to buy it for his mother." She frowned then. "Unless you've signed with Sweeney by then. If he's any say in it, he'll charge me half a leg and both arms. The man asks the fiercest prices for things."
"I wouldn't think that would bother you." With care, Shannon took the finished canvas from the easel and laid it on the table. "When I went to your show in New York a couple years ago, I lusted after this piece-it was like a sunburst, all these hot colors exploding out of a central core. Not my usual style, but God, I wanted it."
"Fired Dreams," Maggie murmured, deeply flattered.
"Yes, that's it. I had to weigh desire against a year's rent-at New York rates. And I needed a roof over my head."
"He sold that piece. If he hadn't, I'd have given it to you." At Shannon's stunned look, Maggie shrugged. "At the family rate."
Touched, and not sure how to respond, Shannon set a fresh canvas on her easel. "I'd say you're lucky to have a shrewd manager looking after your interests."
As disconcerted as Shannon, Maggie jammed her hands in her pockets. "So he's always telling me. He's got his mind set on doing the same for you."
"I won't have as much time for painting once I'm back in New York." Taking up a pencil, Shannon sketched lightly on the canvas.
Maggie only lifted a brow. When a woman was an artist down to the bone, she recognized another. "He's having contracts drafted up today."
"He moves fast."
"Faster than you can spit. He'll want fifty percent," she added, grinning wickedly. "But you can drive him down to forty using the family connection."
Shannon's throat was suddenly, uncomfortably dry. "I haven't agreed to anything yet."
"Ah, but you will. He'll harangue you, and he'll charm you. He'll be reasonable and businesslike. You'll say no, thank you very much, and he'll skip right over that. If reason doesn't work, he'll find some little weakness to twist or some private wish to tweak. And you'll be signing your name before you realize it. Do you always hold a pencil like that?"
Still frowning over the prediction, Shannon glanced down at her hand. "Yes. I keep the wrist loose."
"Mmm. I keep a firmer grip, but I might try it. 1 should give you this before you start mixing paints." From her pocket she took out a ball of padded paper.
The moment Shannon felt the weight, she knew. "Oh, it's great." Once the paper was pulled aside, she held the globe up to the light.
"You made it, for the most part, so you should have it."
Shannon turned it so that the swirls of deep blue inside changed shape and tone. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Maggie turned back to the canvas. She could see the outline of the man, the horse. "How long will it take you to finish? It's a nasty question, and I only ask as I'd love to give it to Mrs. Brennan, Murphy's mother, when she comes up for the ceili."
"If it starts to click, it'll only take a day or two." Shannon set the globe aside and took up her pencil again. "When's the ceili, and what is it?"
"It's Saturday next, and a ceili's a kind of party-with music and dancing and food." She glanced over as Brianna stepped out of the kitchen door. "I'm telling this poor, ignorant Yank what a ceili is. Where's my whirlwind?"
"Off to the village with Grayson. I'm told it's man's business." Brianna stopped, then beamed at the canvas on the table. "Oh, I'm so flattered. What lovely work you do, Shannon." She peeked at the new canvas, wary. Experience with Maggie had taught her artists had moods that flared like lightning. "It's Murphy, isn't it?"
"It will be," Shannon murmured, narrowing her eyes as she sketched. "I didn't realize you were having a party, Brie."
"A party? Oh, the ceili. No, Murphy's having it. We were surprised at first, since his family had just come a few weeks ago for Kayla's baptism. But the lot of them are coming again, so they can meet you."
Shannon dropped her pencil. Slowly she bent to retrieve it. "Excuse me?"
"They're anxious to get to know you," Brianna continued, too engrossed in the canvas to notice that Maggie was rolling her eyes and making faces. "It's lovely Murphy's mother and her husband can make the trip from Cork so soon again."
Shannon turned. "Why would they want to meet me?"
"Because..." The warning registered, just a beat too late. Fumbling, Brianna began to brush at her apron. "Well, it's just that... Maggie?"
"Don't look at me. You've already put your foot in it."
"It's a simple question, Brianna." Shannon waited until Brianna lifted her gaze again. "Why would Murphy's mother and his family come back here to meet me?"
"Well, when he told them he was courting you, they-"
"He what?" She threw the pencil down to cap the explosion. "Is he crazy or just brain dead? How many times do I have to tell him I'm not interested before he gets it through that thick skull?"
"Several times more, I'd wager," Maggie said with a grin. "There's a pool in the village that's leaning toward a June wedding."
"Maggie!" Brianna said under her breath.
"Wedding?" Shannon made a sound between a groan and a curse. "That tops it. He's calling out his mother to inspect me, he's got people betting-"
"Fact is, it was Tim O'Malley who started the pool," Maggie put in.