Jewels Of The Sun - Gallaghers Of Ardmore 1 Part 63

"I don't think you're stupid at all." He walked down to the bathroom. "Fact is, darling, I believe you're one of the smartest people I know. A bit stubborn is all, but I don't mind that." He hitched her up a bit, so he could reach out and turn on the shower.

"You don't mind that," she repeated.

"Not at all. Just as I don't mind having your eyes shoot darts at me as they are at the moment. I find it- stimulating."

"Put me down, Aidan."

"All right." He obliged by setting her in the tub, right under the stream from the shower.

"d.a.m.n it!"

"Don't worry about the jumper, I'll take care of it." And laughing while she shoved and wiggled, he stripped it off and tossed it with a wet plop onto the floor.

"Keep your hands off me. I want to settle this."

"You've settled it in your mind just as I have in mine. I say I want my way more than you want what you're thinking is yours. But-" He brushed the wet hair out of her face. "If you're so sure of yourself, you've nothing to worry about, and we can just enjoy the time we spend together."

"That isn't the point-"

"Are you saying you don't enjoy being with me?"

"Yes, of course I do, but-"

"Or that you don't know your own mind?"

"I certainly know my own mind."

He pressed still curved lips to her brow, her temples.

"Well then, what's wrong with giving me at least the chance to change it?"

"I don't know." But there had to be something wrong with it. Didn't there? Reason, she decided. Cool reason. Even if she was standing naked in the shower. "We're not talking about a whim here, Aidan. I take all of this very seriously, and I don't intend to change my mind."

"All right, then, in the fine Irish tradition, we'll wager on it. A hundred pounds says you will."

"I'm not betting on such a thing."

He lifted a shoulder carelessly, then picked up the soap. "If you're afraid to risk your money-"

"I'm not." She hissed out at him, trying to see exactly where he'd turned things around and trapped her. "Make it two hundred pounds."

"Done." He kissed the tip of her nose to seal it.

CHAPTER Nineteen

It was ridiculous. She had actually bet money on whether or not she would marry Aidan. It was laughable. And annoying. And not a little embarra.s.sing.

Temper had pushed her into it, which was odd in itself. She usually had such a mild and easily controllable temper.

She would forget the bet entirely, of course, when the time came. What point would there be in making herself or Aidan feel foolish by bringing it up?

For now she had ch.o.r.es and work to concentrate on. She needed to take Finn for a walk, and return the dishes that Mollie O'Toole had brought to her party. It was time to call home and check in with her family. Then, if the weather held, she'd set up her outside work area.

She wanted to write down the story Aidan had told her the night before. Already she had the rhythm of it in her head, and the images of the white bird and the black wolf. She doubted she would do them justice, but she needed to try.

She gathered the dishes, along with a container of sugar cookies she'd baked. Ready to set out, she glanced around for the dog just in time to see him squat under the kitchen table and pee. Naturally he'd missed the paper by two feet.

"Couldn't have waited one more minute, could you?" She only chuckled when he cheerfully thumped his tail, then she set the dishes down again to deal with the puddle.

He had to leap and lick at her face and make growling sounds while she scrubbed it up, which made her forget to scold him. Since cuddling him made her as happy as it made him, she spent ten minutes nuzzling, wrestling, and scratching his belly.

She'd spoil him, of course, Jude admitted. But who could have known she had all this love inside her she needed to give?

"I'm nearly thirty," she murmured as she stroked Finn's long, silky ears. "I want a home. I want a family. I want them with a man who loves me outrageously." She cuddled as Finn wiggled around to lick her hand. "I can't settle again. I can't take a life in pieces just because it looks like the best I can get. So-"

She picked Finn up to rub her nose against his. "For right now, it's just you and me, pal."

The minute she opened the back door, he was off like a spotted arrow. It delighted her to see him race even if his first sprint was directly toward her flowers. He stopped, skidding and tumbling, when she called his name sharply. She considered it progress that he flattened only one row of ageratum.

Finn darted ahead of her, darted back, raced in circles around her feet, then zigged and zagged off to sniff at everything of interest. She imagined how he'd look when he grew into his feet, a big, handsome dog with a whipcord tail who loved to run the hills.

What in G.o.d's name was she going to do with him in Chicago?

Shaking her head, she pushed that worry aside. There was no point in thinking of something that would spoil the pleasure of her walk.

The air was crystal, with the sun sliding and streaming through clouds on their way to England. She caught glimpses of Ardmore Bay, rolling dark green toward sh.o.r.e. If she stopped, concentrated, she could almost hear its music in the s.h.i.+mmering silence. Tourists would flock to the beaches today, and some of the locals as well if they had an hour or two to spare.

Young mothers, she thought, letting their toddlers dip their toes in the surf, or fill their red plastic buckets with sand. Castles would be built today, then washed away by the sea.

The hedgerows that lined the road were ripe with summer blossoms, and the gra.s.s beneath her feet was springy and sparkled with morning dew. To the north, the mountains hulked under the clouds that covered their peaks. And between them and Jude, it seemed the green, glorious hills rolled forever.

She loved the look of them, the simple and sheer beauty of land, the tumble of old castles that had been swamped not by sea but by time and enemy. They made her think of knights and maidens, of kings both petty and grand, of merry servants and clever spies. And of course of magic and witchcraft and the songs of faeries.

More tales to be told, she mused, of sacrifices for love and glory, of the triumph of the heart and of honor, of spells cast and broken.

In a place like this, a storyteller could spend years collecting them, creating them, and pa.s.sing them on. She could spend silvery mornings like this one roaming and imagining, rainy afternoons writing and compiling. Evenings would be for curling up after a satisfying day and finding pictures in the turf fire, or wandering into the pub for noise and company and music.

It would be such a lovely life, full of interest and beauty and dreams.

She stopped short, startled by the thought, more startled yet that the thought had been in her head at all. She could stay, not just for three more months but forever. She could write stories. The ones that were told to her and the ones that seemed always forming in her head.

No, of course she couldn't. What was she thinking of? She let out a laugh, but it was edgy and weak. She had to go back to Chicago as planned, to find work in some area of the field she knew to support her sensibly while she pursued the dream. To consider anything else was completely irresponsible.

Why?

She'd only taken two more steps when that question struck out.