Born In Ice (30 page)

"Yes?"

"If you touch any of the other buttons, I'll have to cut all your fingers off."

"Being an even-tempered sort."

"That's right. The disks are backed up, but we wouldn't want to develop any bad habits." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm going to go back downstairs, check on the progress on your greenhouse. If you find something that jars, or just doesn't ring quite true, you can make a note on the pad there."

"All right." Already reading, she waved him off. "Go away, then."

Gray wandered downstairs, and outside. The six courses of local stone that would be the base for her greenhouse were nearly finished. It didn't surprise him to see Murphy setting stones in place himself.

"I didn't know you were a mason as well as a farmer," Gray called out.

"Oh, I do a bit of this, a bit of that. Mind you don't make that mortar so loose this time," he ordered the skinny teenager nearby. "Here's my nephew, Tim MacBride, visiting from Cork. Tim can't get enough of your country music from the States."

"Randy Travis, Wynonna, Garth Brooks?"

"All of them." Tim flashed a smile much like his uncle's.

Gray bent down, lifted a new stone for Murphy, while he discussed the merits of country music with the boy. Before long he was helping to mix the mortar and making satisfying manly noises about the work with his companions.

"You've a good pair of hands for a writer," Murphy observed.

"I worked on a construction crew one summer. Mixing mortar and hauling it in wheelbarrows while the heat fried my brain."

"It's pleasant weather today." Satisfied with the progress, Murphy paused for a cigarette. "If it holds, we may have this up for Brie by another week."

Another week, Gray mused, was almost all he had. "It's nice of you to take time from your own work to help her with this."

"That's comhair," Murphy said easily. "Community. That's how we live here. No one has to get by alone if there's family and neighbors. They'll be three men or more here when it's time to put up the frame and the glass. And others'll come along if help's needed to build her benches and such. By the end of it, everyone will feel they have a piece of the place. And Brianna will be giving out cuttings and plants for everyone's garden." He blew out smoke. "It comes round, you see. That's comhair."

Gray understood the concept. It was very much what he had felt, and for a moment envied, in the village church during Liam's christening. "Does it ever... cramp your style that by accepting a favor you're obliged to do one?"

"You Yanks." Chuckling, Murphy took a last drag, then crushed the cigarette out on the stones. Knowing Brianna, he tucked the stub into his pocket rather than flicking it aside. "You always reckon in payments. Obliged isn't the word. Tis a security, if you're needing a more solid term for it. A knowing that you've only to reach out a hand, and someone will help you along if you need it. A knowing that you'd do the same."

He turned to his nephew. "Well, Tim, let's clean up our tools. We need to be getting back. You'll tell Brie not to be after fiddling with these stones, will you, Grayson? They need to set."

"Sure, I'll-Oh Christ, I forgot about her. See you later." He hurried back into the house. A glance at the kitchen clock made him wince. He'd left her for more than an hour.

And she was, he discovered, exactly where he'd left her.

"Takes you a while to read half a chapter."

However much his entrance surprised her, she didn't jolt this time. When she lifted her gaze from the screen to his face, her eyes were wet.

"That bad?" He smiled a little, surprised to find himself nervous.

"It's wonderful." She reached into her apron pocket for a tissue. "Truly. This part where Tullia's sitting alone in her garden, thinking of her child. It makes you feel her grief. It's not like she's a made-up person at all."

His second surprise was that he should experience embarrassment. As far as praise went, hers had been perfect. "Well, that's the idea."

"You've a wonderful gift, Gray, for making words into emotions. I went a bit beyond the part you wanted me to read. I'm sorry. I got caught up in it."

"I'm flattered." He noted by the screen she'd read more than a hundred pages. "You're enjoying it."

"Oh, very much. It has a different... something," she said, unable to pinpoint it, "than your other books. Oh, it's moody, as they always are, and rich in detail And frightening. The first murder, the one at the ruins. I thought my heart would stop when I was reading it. And gory it was, too. Gleefully so."

"Don't stop now." He ruffled her hair, dropped down on the bed.

"Well." She linked her hands, laid them on the edge of the desk as she thought through her words. "Your humor's there as well. And your eye, it misses nothing. The scene in the pub, I've walked into that countless times in my life. I could see Tim O'Malley behind the bar, and Murphy playing a tune. He'll like that you made him so handsome."

"You think he'll recognize himself?"

"Oh, I do, yes. I don't know how he'll feel about being one of the suspects, or the murderer, if that's what you've done in the end." She waited, hopeful, but he only shook his head.

"You don't really think I'm going to tell you who done it, do you?"

"Well, no." She sighed and propped her chin on her fist. "As to Murphy, probably he'll enjoy it. And your affection for the village, for the land here and the people shows. In the little things-the family hitching a ride home from church in their Sunday best, the old man walking with his dog along the roadside in the rain, the little girl dancing with her grandda in the pub."

"It's easy to write things down when there's so much to see."

"It's more than what you see, with your eyes, I mean." She lifted her hands, let them fall again. She didn't have words, as he did, to juggle into the right meaning. "It's the heart of it. There's a deepness to the heart of it that's different from what I've read of your writings before. The way McGee fights that tug of war within himself over what he should do. The way he wishes he could do nothing and knows he can't. And Tullia, the way she bears her grief when it's near to bending her in two, and works to make her life what it needs to be again. I can't explain it."

"You're doing a pretty good job," Gray murmured.

"It touches me. I can't believe it was written right here, in my home."

"I don't think it could have been written anywhere else." He rose then, disappointing her by hitting buttons that jangled the screen. She'd hoped he let her read more.

"Oh, you've changed the name of it," she said when the title page came up. "Final Redemption. I like it. That's the theme of it, is it? The murders, what's happened to McGee and Tullia before, and what changes after they meet?"

"That's the way it worked out." He hit another button, bringing up the dedication page. In all the books he'd written, it was only the second time he'd dedicated one. The first, and only, had been to Arlene.

To Brianna, for gifts beyond price.

"Oh, Grayson." Her voice hitched over the tears rising in the back of her throat. "I'm honored. I'll start crying again," she murmured and turned her face into his arm. "Thank you so much."

"There's a lot of me in this book, Brie." He lifted her face, hoping she'd understand. "It's something I can give you."

"I know. I'll treasure it." Afraid she'd spoil the moment with tears, she ran her hands briskly over her hair. "You'll want to get back to work, I'm sure. And I've whittled the day away." She picked up her linens, knowing she'd weep the moment she was behind the first closed door. "Shall I bring your tea up here when it's time?"

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes as he studied her. He wondered if she'd recognized herself in Tullia. The composure, the quiet, almost unshakable grace. "I'll come down. I've nearly, done all I need to do for today."

"In an hour then."

She went out, closing the door behind her. Alone, Gray sat, and stared, for a long time, at the brief dedication.

It was the laughter and the voices that drew Gray, when the hour was up, toward the parlor rather than the kitchen. Brianna's guests were gathered around the tea table, sampling or filling plates. Brianna herself stood, swaying gently from side to side to rock the baby sleeping on her shoulder. "My nephew," she was explaining. "Liam. I'm minding him for an hour or two. Oh, Gray." She beamed when she saw him. "Look who I have here."

"So I see." Crossing over, Gray peeked at the baby's face. His eyes were open, and dreamy, until they latched onto Gray and stared owlishly. "He always looks at me as if he knows every sin I commited. It's intimidating."

Gray moved to the tea table and had nearly decided on his choices when he noted Brianna slipping from the room. He caught up with her at near the kitchen door. "Where are you going?" "To put the baby down." "What for?"

"Maggie said he'd be wanting a nap." "Maggie's not here." He took Liam himself. "And we never get to play with him." To amuse himself, he made faces at the baby. "Where's Maggie?"

"She's fired up her furnace. Rogan had to run into the gallery to handle some problem, so she came dashing down here just a little bit ago." With a laugh she bent her head close to Gray's. "I thought it would never happen. Now I have you all to myself," she murmured. She straightened at the knock on the door. "Keep his head supported, mind," she said as she went to answer.

"I know how to hold a baby. Women," he said to Liam. "They don't think we can do anything. They all think you're hot stuff right now, boy-o, but just wait. In a few years they'll figure your purpose in life is to fix small electrical appliances and kill bugs."

Since no one was looking, he bent his head to press a light kiss on Liam's mouth. And watched it curve.

"That's the way. Why don't we go in the kitchen, and-" He broke off at Brianna's startled exclamation. Shifting Liam more securely in the crook of his arm, he hurried back down the hallway.

Carstairs stood at the threshold, a tan bowler in his hands, a friendly smile on his face. "Grayson, how nice to see you again. I wasn't certain you'd still be here. And what's this?"

"It's a baby," Gray said shortly.

"Of course it is." Carstairs tickled Liam's chin and made foolish noises. "Handsome lad. I must say, he favors you a bit, Brianna. Around the mouth."

"He's my sister's child. And what might you be doing here at Blackthorn, Mr. Carstairs?"

"Just passing through, as it were. I'd told Iris so much about the cottage, and the countryside, she wanted to see it for herself. She's in the car." He gestured to the Bentley parked at the garden gate. "Actually, we'd hoped you might have a room for us, for the night." She goggled at him. "You want to stay here?" "I've bragged, perhaps unwisely, about your cooking." He leaned forward confidentially. "I'm afraid Iris was a bit irked at first. She's quite a cook herself, you know. She wants to see if I was exaggerating." "Mr. Carstairs. You're a shameless man." "That may be, my dear," he said, twinkling. "That may be."

She huffed, sighed. "Well, don't leave the poor woman sitting in the car. Bring her in for tea."

"Can't wait to meet her," Gray said, jiggling the baby.

"She says the same of you. She's quite impressed that you could lift my wallet without me having a clue. I used to be much quicker." He shook his head in regret. "But then, I used to be much younger. Shall I bring in our luggage, Brianna?"

"I have a room. It's smaller than what you had last." "I'm sure it's charming. Absolutely charming." He strolled off to fetch his wife. "Can you beat it?" Brianna said under her breath. "I don't know whether to laugh or hide the silver. If I had any silver."

"He likes you too much to steal from you. So," Gray mused, "This is the famous Iris."

The photograph from the pinched wallet had been a good likeness, Brianna discovered. Iris wore a flowered dress that ruffled in the breeze around excellent legs. To Brianna's eye, Iris had used the time in the car to freshen her hair and makeup and so looked fresh and remarkably pretty as she strolled up the walk beside her grinning husband.

"Oh, Miss Concannon. Brianna, I do hope I can call you

Brianna. I think of you as Brianna, of course, after hearing so much about you and your charming inn."

Her voice was smooth, cultured, despite the fact that her words all but tumbled over each other to get out. Before Brianna could respond, Iris flung out both hands, gripped hers, and barrelled on.

"You're every bit as lovely as Johnny told me. How kind of you, how sweet to find room for us when we've dropped so unexpectedly on your doorstep. And your garden, my dear, I must tell you I'm dizzy with admiration. Your dahlias! I never have a bit of luck with them myself. And your roses, magnificent. You really must tell me your secret. Do you talk to them? I chatter at mine day and night, but I never get blooms like that."

"Well, I-"

"And you're Grayson." Iris simply rolled over Brianna's response and turned to him. She freed one of Brianna's hands so that she could grip Gray's. "What a clever, clever young man you are. And so handsome, too. Why, you look just like a film star. I've read all your books, every one. Frighten me to death, they do, but I can't put them down. Wherever do you come up with such thrilling ideas? I've been so anxious to meet both of you," she continued, holding on to each of them. "Badgering poor Johnny to death, you know. And now, here we are."

There was a pause while Iris beamed at both of them. "Yes." Brianna discovered she could find little else to say. "Here you are. Ah, please come in. I hope you had a pleasant trip."

"Oh, I adore traveling, don't you? And to think with all the racketing around Johnny and I did in our misspent youth, we never came to this part of the world. It's pretty as a postcard, isn't it, Johnny?"

"It is, my sweet. It certainly is."

"Oh, what a lovely home. Just charming." Iris kept her hand firmly on Brianna's as she glanced around. "I'm sure no one could be anything but comfortable here."

Brianna gave Gray a helpless look, but he only shrugged. "I hope you will be. There's tea in the parlor if you like, or I can show you your room first."