Tears of the Moon (15 page)

“Perfume, too,” he said in disgust, as he got a good, heady whiff of her scent. “I should've known it. Well, you can just turn straight around and go back home. I'm not having you go off dressed like this.”

Temper would have snapped out, would have bitten him on the neck, but it couldn't get through the thick wall of shock. “You're not having it? Dressed like what?”

“I'm not, no. And you know very well dressed like what. It's surprised I am that your mother let you out of the house this way.”

“I'm twenty-four, if you've forgotten. My mother stopped approving my choice of attire some years ago. And it's surely no business of yours what I'm wearing.”

“I'm making it my business. Now go home and wash that stuff off your face.”

“I'll do nothing of the sort.” The fact was, she'd used the lipstick and so forth only because she knew Darcy would have slathered twice as much on her if she'd shown up without it. But there was no reason to mention that, especially since that temper was busily gnawing through the shock.

“Fine, then, I'll do for you here and now.” He hauled her up under one arm, ignoring her shrieked curse and the fist that swiped at his temple, and carted her toward the sink. He had a vision through the black haze of his fury of dumping her in headfirst and turning the water on full and ice cold.

He had his hand on the tap when Jude rushed in. “Shawn!”

The stunned and somehow maternal tone stopped him, but barely.

“What in the world are you doing? Put Brenna down this minute!”

“I'm doing what needs to be done. Look how she's flaunted herself up, Jude, and all to go out with some strange man. 'Tisn't right.”

Between curses, Brenna managed to turn her head and try for a good chomp out of his torso, but she only got a mouthful of flannel. She threatened to do something so particularly vile and vicious to his manhood that Shawn cautiously tightened his grip.

Well, well, Jude thought and struggled not to be amused. “Put her down,” she said quietly. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“
I
should? She might as well be naked as wearing this dress, and I should be ashamed?”

“Brenna looks lovely.” Seeing no other choice, Jude walked up to him, carefully avoiding Brenna's kicking feet and snagged him by the ear. “Put her down.”

“Ouch! Bloody hell.” The last woman to pinch his ear in such a manner had been his own mother—and he'd been every bit as unable to defend himself. “I'm only looking out for her. All right, leave off,” he said when Jude ruthlessly twisted.

He dumped Brenna back on her feet, then took the deep breath of the aggrieved. “You don't understand the situation,” he began, then staggered when Brenna snatched up a pan and rapped it smartly over his head.

“Bastard. I'm not your dog in the manger, and don't you forget it.”

He gripped the edge of the sink and watched triple Brennas march to the back stairs. “She coshed me.”

“You deserved it.” But Jude took him gently by the hand. “You should sit down. It's lucky for you she didn't grab the cast iron, or you'd be flat on your back.”

“I don't want her going out with some Dubliner.” Dizzy, he let Jude nudge him into a chair. “I don't want her going 'round looking that way.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't.”

Patient, and more sympathetic than she let him know, Jude ran her fingers delicately through his hair. “You don't always get what you want. It didn't break the skin, but you're going to have a bump, a good one.” Jude tipped his face up to hers, and touched by the stubborn and miserable look in his eyes, kissed him lightly. “I never realized you had such a hard head. If you don't want Brenna going out with someone else, why haven't you asked her to go out with you?”

He shifted in his chair. “It's not that way.”

This time she cupped his cheek. “Isn't it?” Leaving him stewing over that, she walked over to turn off the fish that was already burned beyond redemption.

“I don't want it to be that way.”

Her mouth tipped up at the corners. Keeping her back to him for now, Jude got out fresh portions of fish. “I'll have to repeat, you don't always get what you want.”

“I do.” He got to his feet, gave himself a moment for the room to settle. “I'm careful about what I want.”

“So was I once. Wanting more's what got me here.”

“Well, I'm already where I want to be, so I can afford to be careful.”

Still holding the fish, she gave him a bland stare. “Hard head, indeed.”

“And that's the way I like it as well. No, don't trouble yourself there, I'll do it.” He shoved the entire pan aside, and got out another to heat fresh oil. “Ask Aidan to serve the hikers another pint on me, with apologies for the delay in the meal, would you, darling?”

“All right.” She started out, then turned back. This family business was still so new. “Shawn, maybe you do like where you are, maybe it's the right spot for you. But there are times when you have to make certain. Take a step forward or take one back. You're not being fair to Brenna or to yourself by running in place.”

“Is that the psychologist talking?” He glanced back in time to see her wince, then lower her eyes. “I didn't mean that in a hard way, Jude. And you're right. I just haven't figured which direction to take.” Brooding over it, he coated the fish. “The fact is, she gave me a push. I don't care to be pushed. It makes me want to dig in my heels.”

“I can understand that, just as I can understand Brenna's the type who needs to move things along. One way or the other.”

“Aye.” Scowling, he touched fingers cautiously to the bump on his head. “One way or the other.”

“If you can stand one more piece of advice, make yourself busy in the storeroom when you hear Brenna coming back down the steps.”

“You're a wise woman.”

“It's going well, isn't it?” Darcy powdered her nose in the ladies' room of the restaurant and slid her gaze to Brenna's in the mirror.

“The food's very good.”

“Well, that, yes, but I mean the whole of it. It's so nice to be out with a man of some sophistication for a change. Matthew lived in Paris for an entire year,” Darcy went on, speaking of her date. “He speaks the language like a native. I think I'll have him come up with the idea of taking me there for a weekend before much longer.”

Despite herself, Brenna had to laugh. “Oh, you'll let him think he thought of it.”

“Naturally. Men prefer it that way. And Daniel's very taken with you.”

“He's pleasant enough.” Knowing Darcy would be ages yet before she deemed herself freshened up enough to go back to the table, Brenna took out her lipstick. Well, Mary Kate's lipstick, copped from the bathroom, if the truth be known.

“He's marvelous-looking and wealthy as sin. Why don't we let them take us both to Paris?”

“I don't have the time to go off to France, nor the inclination to pay for the journey in the way a man would expect.”

“We've nothing but time.” Darcy fluffed at her hair. “And a clever woman doesn't pay, in any form, unless she wants to. I'm not after sleeping with Matthew.”

“I thought you liked him.”

“I do, yes. He just doesn't give me a tug that way. But that could change,” she added cheerfully.

Lips pursed, Brenna studied the lipstick as she wound the tube up and down. “Have you ever wanted to sleep with a man who didn't want to sleep with you?”

“I've never known a man who wouldn't pull down his zipper at the least provocation. It's the way they're made, so you can't blame them.”

“But there would be some, under certain circumstances, who just wouldn't find a particular woman attractive in that way.”

“I suppose there are exceptions to every rule. But you've not to worry.” She gave Brenna a supportive pat on the shoulder. “Daniel finds you very attractive. I'm sure he'd be glad to sleep with you if you wanted.”

Heaving a breath, Brenna dropped the lipstick back in her bag. “Well, then, what a relief.”

She had a wonderful time. The best time she'd ever had in her life. A civilized meal in a civilized place with civilized people.

She'd been bored half to death but wasn't ready to admit it.

With that block in place, she'd given Daniel her number and promised herself she'd go out with him again should he ring her to ask. He'd been polite and amusing, she reminded herself as she drove home from the pub, where she'd been let off after the date. He'd pretended to be interested in her work and had actually made the effort to find something they had in common. Which had turned out to be old American films, the
noir
type.

He had an extensive collection of them on video and had made casual mention of her coming up to Dublin, where they could have their own little film festival.

It might be something she'd enjoy. Just as she'd enjoyed the good-night kiss. He hadn't been overly familiar with it, he hadn't let his hands roam where they shouldn't so early in an acquaintance.

A perfectly nice individual.

And damn Shawn Gallagher for ruining her palate for the taste of another man.

She slowed, then stopped as she came to his cottage, letting her lorry idle on the road while the fragile fog swam around it.

Oh, he was in there, all right, the snake in the grass. See there, the parlor light was on. He was likely playing at his music. If he'd had a window open, it would have drifted out into the night so she could hear it.

She wished she could.

Because knowing that made her feel soft, she deepened her scowl. She was tempted, sorely, to whip the truck into his street, march right in the door to give him a piece of her mind and the back of her hand.

But that would put too much importance on his earlier behavior. She'd rather shun him. The bastard.

What kind of man was it who could kiss you one night as if he'd happily spend eternity with his lips on yours, then behave like a furious father the next?

Wash her face indeed.

She sniffed, started to turn back in the seat to take the wheel when the movement in the upper window stopped her. For a moment she was terrified, mortified, that Shawn was there, looking out while she stared at his cottage.

But the embarrassed flush never had the chance to heat her cheeks as she saw the figure of a woman and the shine of pale hair in the delicate moonlight.

So now Brenna sighed, and rolling down her window, crossed her arms there and rested her chin on them.

How many nights, she wondered, had poor Lady Gwen stood there in that window, alone and lonely and heartbroken? All because of a man.

“Why do we bother with them, Gwen? Why do we let them get into our heads this way? When you push all the rest aside, they're so bloody irritating.”

His heart's in his song.
Brenna heard the words as if they were whispered directly into her ear.
And so are you. Listen.

She squeezed her eyes tight, as something frightening was trying to swell and shift in her head. “No, no, I'm done with that, and with him. I'm not giving more of my thoughts and more of my time to Shawn. He's had enough of them, and for too long already.”

Almost violently, she shoved the truck back into gear and drove home.

He knew she was working alone because he'd checked. Mick O'Toole was seeing to some business up at the cliff hotel, and Jude was running some errands.

He could hear her banging away at something as he climbed the steps. Which meant, he realized, the woman was armed. It was a risk he'd have to take.

He'd spent most of the night thinking the situation over—which was becoming too much of a habit and costing him a great deal of sleep. He'd come to the conclusion that Jude was right. It was time to move one way or the other. He imagined the conversation to come would determine which direction he headed.

The banging, he noted, was from inside the baby's closet. Following impulse, a rare thing for him, he closed the door, locked it, and pocketed the key. That, at least, would keep her from walking out on him until he'd finished.

Braced for the explosion he was sure he was inviting, he walked toward the closet.

“Jude? Back so soon? Well, have a look at these shelves here and see if they're to your liking.” From the third step on her ladder, she looked over her shoulder and saw Shawn in the doorway.

He waited, but rather than blistering him with her tongue, she just looked through him, then turned back to work.

That, he thought, was a very dire sign indeed.

“I want to talk to you,” he began.

“I'm working. I've no time for chatting.”

“I need to talk to you.” He stepped in, laid a hand on her hip. It took a great deal of courage not to spring back when she stared down on him and took a fresh grip on her hammer. “Would you put that down?”

“No.”

He might have had courage, but he also had brains. In a quick move, he yanked the hammer out of her hand. “I've a knot the size of a fucking golf ball on my head. I'm not after a second one. I just want a few words with you, Brenna.”

“I've nothing to say to you, Shawn, and as I value the friendship we've had all our lives, I'll ask you to leave me be for now.”

Dire indeed, he thought as a tongue of panic licked the inside of his throat. “I want to apologize to you.” She shifted on the ladder again, gave him her back and pulled out her measuring tape.

The woman brought out the worst in him, was all Shawn could think as he gripped her by the hips and lifted her down from the ladder. She came around swinging, and though he'd expected no less, he didn't dodge the blow. Not after he'd caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“I'm sorry.” Panic was more than a sly lick now. It simply coated his throat. “Don't cry. I can't stand it.”