Born in Shame Read online

  fresh air's good for exercising. It's a lovely morning for being out, though we'll have rain this afternoon. You'll want a jacket," she continued, nodding toward a light denim jacket hanging on a peg by the back door.

  "A jacket?"

  "It's a bit cool out." Brianna set bacon to sizzling in the pan. "The exercise will give you an appetite. You'll have breakfast when you get back."

  Frowning, Shannon studied Brianna's back. It looked as if she was going for a walk. A little bemused, she set down her cup and picked up the jacket. "I don't guess I'll be long."

  "Take your time," Brianna said cheerfully.

  Amused at each other, they parted company.

  Shannon had never considered herself the outdoor type. She wasn't a fan of hiking. She much preferred the civilized atmosphere of a well-equipped health club- bottled water, the morning news on the television set, machines that told you your progress. She put in fifty minutes three times a week and was pleased to consider herself strong, healthy, and well toned.

  But she'd never understood people who strapped on heavy boots and backpacks and hiked trails or climbed mountains.

  Still, her discipline was too ingrained to allow her to forfeit all forms of exercise. And one day at Blackthorn had shown her that Brianna's cooking could be a problem.

  So she'd walk. Shannon tucked her hands into the pockets of her borrowed jacket, for the air was chilly. There was a nice little bite in the morning that shook away any lingering dregs of jet lag.

  She passed the garden where primroses were still drenched with dew, and the greenhouse that tempted her to cup her hands and peer in through the treated glass. What she saw had her mouth falling open. She'd visited professional nurseries with her mother that were less organized and less well stocked.

  Impressed, she turned away, then stopped. It was all so big, she thought as she stared out over the roll of land. So empty. Without being aware she hunched her shoulders defensively in the jacket. She thought nothing of walking down a New York sidewalk, dodging pedestrians, guarding her own personal space. The blare of traffic, blasting horns, raised voices were familiar, not strange like this shimmering silence.

  "Not exactly like jogging in Central Park," she muttered, comforted by the sound of her own voice. Because it was less daunting to go on than to return to the kitchen, she began to walk.

  There were sounds, she realized. Birds, the distant hum of some machine, the echoing bark of a dog. Still, it seemed eerie to be so alone. Rather than focus on that, she quickened her pace. Strolling didn't tone the muscles.

  When she came to the first stone wall, she debated her choices. She could walk along it, or climb over it into the next field. With a shrug, she climbed over.

  She recognized wheat, just high enough to wave a bit in the breeze, and in the midst of it, a lone tree. Though it looked immensely old to her, its leaves were still the tender green of spring. A bird perched on one of its high, gnarled branches, singing its heart out.

  She stopped to watch, to listen, wishing she'd brought her sketch pad. She'd have to come back with it. It had been too long since she'd had the opportunity to do a real landscape.

  Odd, she thought as she began to walk again. She hadn't realized she wanted to. Yet anyone with even rudimentary skills would find their fingers itching here, she decided. The colors, the shapes, and the magnificent light. She turned around, walking backward for a moment to study the tree from a different angle.

  Early morning would be best, she decided and climbed over the next wall with her attention still focused behind her.

  Only luck kept her from turning headfirst into the cow.

  "Jesus Christ." She scrambled backward, came up hard against stone. The cow simply eyed the intruder dispassionately and swished her tail. "It's so big." From her perch on top of the wall, Shannon let out an unsteady breath. "I had no idea they were so big."

  Cautious, she lifted her gaze and discovered that bossie wasn't alone. The field was dotted with grazing cows, large placid-eyed ladies with black-and-white hides. Since they didn't seem particularly interested in her, she lowered slowly until she was sitting on the wall rather than standing on it.

  "I guess the tour stops here. Aren't you going to moo or something?"

  Rather than oblige, the nearest cow shifted her bulk and went back to grazing. Amused now, Shannon relaxed and took a longer, more comprehensive look around. What she saw had her lips bowing.

  "Babies." With a laugh, she started to spring up to get a first-hand look at the spindly calves romping among their less energetic elders. Then caution had her glancing back into the eyes of her closest neighbor. She wasn't at all sure if cows tended to bite or not. "Guess I'll just watch them from right here."

  Curiosity had her reaching out, warily, her eyes riveted on the cow's face. She just wanted to touch. Though she leaned out, she kept her butt planted firmly on the wall. If the cow didn't like the move, Shannon figured she could be on the other side. Any woman who worked out three times a week should be able to outrun a cow.

  When her fingers brushed, she discovered the hair was stiff and tough, and that the cow didn't appear to object. More confident, Shannon inched a little closer and spread her palm over the flank.

  "She doesn't mind being handled, that one," Murphy said from behind her.

  Shannon's yelp had several of the cows trundling off. After some annoyed mooing, they settled down again. But Murphy was still laughing when they had, and his hand remained on Shannon's shoulder where he gripped to keep her from falling face first off the wall.

  "Steady now. You're all nerves."

  "I thought I was alone." She wasn't sure if she was more mortified to have screamed or to have been caught petting a farm animal.

  "I was heading back from setting my horses to pasture and saw you." In a comfortable move he sat on the wall, facing the opposite way, and lighted a cigarette. "It's a fine morning."

  Her opinion on that was a grunt. She hadn't thought about this being his land. And now, it seemed, she was stuck again. "You take care of all these cows yourself?"

  "Oh, I have a bit of help now and then, when it's needed. You go ahead, pet her if you like. She doesn't mind it."

  "I wasn't petting her." It was a little late for dignity, but Shannon made a stab at it. "I was just curious about how they felt."

  "You've never touched a cow?" The very idea made him grin. "You have them in America I'm told."

  "Of course we have cows. We just don't see them strolling down Fifth Avenue very often." She slanted a look at him. He was still smiling, looking back toward the tree that had started the whole scenario. "Why haven't you cut that down? It's in the middle of your wheat."

  "It's no trouble to plow and plant around it," he said easily. "And it's been here longer than me." At the moment he was more interested in her. She smelled faintly sinful-some cunning female fragrance that had a man wondering. And wasn't it fine that he'd been thinking of her as he'd come over the rise?

  There she'd been, as if she'd been waiting.

  "You've a fine morning for your first in Clare. There'll be rain later in the day."

  Brianna had said the same, Shannon remembered, and frowned up at the pretty blue sky. "Why do you say that?"

  "Didn't you see the sunrise?"

  Even as she was wondering what that had to do with anything, Murphy was cupping her chin in his hand and turning her face west.

  "And there," he said, gesturing. "The clouds gathering up from the sea. They'll blow in by noontime and bring us rain. A soft one, not a storm. There's no temper in the air."

  The hand on her face was hard as rock, gentle as water. She discovered he carried the scents of his farm with him-the horses, the earth, the grass. It seemed wiser all around to concentrate on the sky.

  "I suppose farmers have to learn how to gauge the weather."

  "It's not learning so much. You just know." To please himself he let his fingers brush through her hair before dropping them onto his o
wn knee. The gesture, the casual intimacy of it, had her turning her head toward him.

  They may have been facing opposite ways, with legs dangling on each side of the wall, but they were hip to hip. And now eye to eye. And his were the color of the glass her mother had collected-the glass Shannon had packed so carefully and brought back to New York. Cobalt.

  She didn't see any of the shyness or the bafflement she'd read in them the day before. These were the eyes of a confident man, one comfortable with himself, and one, she realized with some confusion of her own, who had dangerous thoughts behind them.

  He was tempted to kiss her. Just lean forward and lay his lips upon hers. Once. Quietly. If she'd been another woman, he would have. Then again, he knew if she'd been another woman he wouldn't have wanted to quite so badly.

  "You have a face, Shannon, that plants itself right in the front of a man's mind, and blooms there."

  It was the voice, she thought, the Irish in it that made even such a foolish statement sound like poetry. In defense against it, she looked away, back toward the safety of grazing cows.

  "You think in farming analogies."

  "That's true enough. There's something I'd like to show you. Will you walk with me?"

  "I should get back."

  But he was already rising and taking her hand as though it were already a habit. " Tisn't far." He bent, plucked a starry blue flower that had been growing in a crack in the wall. Rather than hand it to her, as she'd expected, he tucked it behind her ear.

  It was ridiculously charming. She fell into step beside him before she could stop herself. "Don't you have work? I thought farmers were always working."

  "Oh, I've a moment or two to spare. There's Con." Murphy lifted a hand as they walked. "Rabbitting."

  The sight of the sleek gray dog racing across the field in pursuit of a blur that was a rabbit had her laughing. Then her fingers tightened on Murphy's in distress. "He'll kill it."

  "Aye, if he could catch it, likely he would. But chances of that are slim."

  Hunter and hunted streaked over the rise and vanished into a thin line of trees where the faintest gleam of water caught the sun.

  "He'll lose him now, as he always does. He can't help chasing any more than the rabbit can help fleeing."

  "He'll come back if you call him," Shannon said urgently. "He'll come back and leave it alone."

  Willing to indulge her, Murphy sent out a whistle. Moments later Con bounded back over the field, tongue lolling happily.

  "Thank you."

  Murphy started walking again. There was no use telling her Con would be off again at the next rabbit he scented. "Have you always lived in the city?"

  "In or near. We moved around a lot, but we always settled near a major hub." She glanced up. He seemed taller when they were walking side by side. Or perhaps it was just the way he had of moving over the land. "And have you always lived around here?"

  "Always. Some of this land was the Concannons', and ours ran beside it. Tom's heart was never in farming, and over the years he sold off pieces to my father, then to me. Now what's mine splits between what's left of the Concannons', leaving a piece of theirs on either side."

  Her brow furrowed as she looked over the hills. She couldn't begin to estimate the acreage or figure the boundaries. "It seems like a lot of land."

  "It's enough." He came to a wall, stepped easily over it, then, to Shannon's surprise, he simply put his hands at her waist and lifted her over as if she'd weighed nothing. "Here's what I wanted to show you."

  She was still dealing with the shock of how strong he was when she looked over and saw the stone circle. Her first reaction wasn't surprise or awe or pleasure. It was simple acceptance.

  It would occur to her later that she hadn't been surprised because she'd known it was there. She'd seen it in her dreams.

  "How wonderful." The pleasure did come, and quickly now. Tilting her head over her eyes to block the angle of the sun she studied it, as an artist would, for shape and texture and tone.

  It wasn't large, and several of the stones that had served as lintels had fallen. But the circle stood, majestic and somehow magically in a quiet field of green where horses grazed in the distance.

  "I've never seen one, except in pictures." Hardly aware that she'd linked her fingers with Murphy and was pulling him with her, she hurried closer. "There are all sorts of legends and theories about standing stones, aren't there? Spaceships or druids, giants freezing or fairies dancing. Do you know how old it is?"

  "Old as the fairies, I'd say."

  That made her laugh. "I wonder if they were places of worship, or sacrifice." The idea made her shudder, pleasantly, as she reached out a hand to touch the stone.

  Just as her fingers brushed, she drew them back sharply, and stared. There'd been heat there, too much heat for such a cool morning.

  Murphy never took his eyes off her. "It's an odd thing, isn't it, to feel it?"

  "I-for a minute it was like I touched something breathing." Feeling foolish, she laid a hand firmly on the stone. There was a jolt, she couldn't deny it, but she told herself it came from her own sudden nerves.

  "There's power here. Perhaps in the stones themselves, perhaps in the spot they chose to raise them in."