Heart Of The Sea

CHAPTER Two

Darcy Gallagher dreamed of Paris. Strolling along the Left Bank on a perfect spring afternoon with the scent of flowers ripe in the air and the cloudless blue sky soaring overhead.

And perhaps best of all, the weight of shopping bags heavy in her hands.

In her dreams she owned Paris, not for a brief week's holiday, but for as long as it contented her. She could stop to while away an hour or two at a sidewalk cafe, sipping lovely wine and watching the world-for it seemed the whole of the world-wander by.

Long-legged women in smart dresses, and the dark-eyed men who watched them. The old woman on her red bicycle with her baguettes spearing up out of her bakery sack, and the tidy children in their straight rows marching along in their prim school uniforms.

They belonged to her, just as the wild and noisy traffic was hers, and the cart on the corner bursting with flowers. She didn't need to ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower to have Paris at her feet.

As she sat sampling wine and cheese that had been aged to perfection, she listened to the city that was hers for the taking. There was music all around her, in the cooing of the ubiquitous pigeons and the swirling whoosh when they took wing, in the steady beep of horns, the click of high, thin heels on sidewalks, the laughter of lovers.

Even as she sighed, blissfully happy, the thunder rolled in. At the rumble of it, she glanced skyward. Clouds spewed in from the west, dark and thick. The brilliant sunlight fell into that false twilight that precedes a storm. The rumble became a roar that had her leaping to her feet even while those around her continued to sit, to chat, to stroll as if they heard or saw nothing amiss.

Snatching up her bags, she started to dash away, to safety, to shelter. And a bolt of lightning, sizzling blue at the edges, lanced into the ground at her feet.

She woke with a start, the blood pounding in her ears and her own gasp echoing.

She was in her own rooms over the pub, not in some freakish thunderstorm in Paris. She found some comfort in that, in the familiar walls and quiet light. Found more comfort when she sat up and saw the clothes and trinkets she'd treated herself to in Paris strewn around the room.

Well, she was back to reality, she thought, but at least she'd bagged a few trophies to bring home with her.

It had been a lovely week, the perfect birthday present to give herself. Indulgent, she admitted, taking such a big chunk of her savings that way. But what were savings for if a woman couldn't use them to celebrate in a spectacular way her first quarter century of living.

She would earn it back. Now that she'd had her first good taste of real travel, she intended to experience it on a more regular basis. Next year, Rome, or Florence. Or perhaps New York City. Wherever it was, it would be someplace wonderful. She would start her Darcy Gallagher holiday fund this very day.

She'd been desperate to get away. To see something, almost anything that wasn't what she saw every day of her life. Restlessness was a sensation she was accustomed to, even appreciated about herself. But this had been like a panther inside her, pacing and snarling and ready to claw its way out of her and leap on the people she loved best.

Going away had been the best thing she could have done for herself and, she was sure, for those closest to her. The restlessness was still there, would always stir a bit inside her. But that pacing and snarling had stopped.

The fact was, she was glad to be home, and looking forward to seeing her family, her friends, and all that was dear. And she looked forward to telling them all she'd seen and done during that glorious seven days to herself.

But now she'd best get up and put things back in order. She'd gotten in too late the night before to do more than throw open her bags and admire her new things. She needed to put them away proper, and stack up the gifts she'd bought, for she was a woman who couldn't abide untidiness for long.

She'd missed her family. Even through the giddy rush of seeing, doing, just being in Paris, she'd missed having them around. She wondered if it was shameful of her not to have expected to.

She couldn't say she missed the work, the hefting of trays and serving yet another pint. It had been glorious to be served for a change. But she was eager to go down and see how the pub had fared without her. Even if it did mean spending the rest of the day on her feet.

She stretched, lifting her arms high, letting her head roll back, focusing on the pleasure the movement gave her body. She was a woman who didn't believe in wasting her senses any more than she would waste her pounds.

It wasn't until she'd climbed out of bed that she realized the constant rumble outside wasn't thunder.

The construction, she remembered. Now wasn't it going to be lovely hearing that din every blessed morning? Gathering up a robe, she walked to the window to see what progress had been made in her absence.

She didn't know anything about the business of building, but what she saw out her window looked to be a terrible mess created by a team of half-wit pranksters. Piles of rubble, scars in the soil, a large concrete floor bottoming out a hole in the ground. Squat towers of cinder block were being erected at the corners with spears of metal poking out of the tops, and a great ugly truck was grinding away with an awful noise.

Most of the workmen, in their rough clothes and filthy boots, were going about the business of making a bigger mess altogether.

She spotted Brenna, her cap perched on her head, her boots mucked nearly to the knee. Seeing her, this forever friend who was now her sister, brought Darcy a warm flood of pure pleasure.

It had shamed her, and did still, to know that part of the reason she'd been wild to get away had been Brenna and Shawn's wedding, as well as her older brother Aidan and his wife Jude's happy planning for the baby they'd have by end of summer. Oh, she was thrilled for them all, couldn't be more delighted with what they'd found together. But the more content and settled they were, the more discontent and unsettled she found herself.

She'd wanted to ball her fists, shake them in the air, and demand, Where's mine? When will I have mine?

It was selfish, she thought, and it was sinful, but she couldn't help it.

Well, now she was back and, she hoped, better.

Darcy watched her friend stride around and give one of the laborers a hand with the blocks. She's in her element here, Darcy mused. Pleased as a puppy with a teat all to herself. She considered opening the window, leaning out to call a hello, and further considered just what having a woman leaning out a window in her robe would do to the rhythm of the work crew.

Because the thought of causing a stir amused her, Darcy reached down. She had the window open the first inch when she spotted the man watching her watching.

He was a tall one, she noted. She'd always had a particular fondness for tall men. He was hatless, and his burnt-honey hair was tousled by the breeze. He wore the rough clothes of a laborer and in her opinion wore them better than most. The long, lanky build had something to do with that, but she thought it was also a matter of confidence. Or arrogance, she mused as he coolly kept his eyes on her face.

She didn't have a problem with arrogance, as she had plenty of her own.

Well, now, you might be an interesting diversion, she thought. A handsome face, a bold eye. If you can string words into a decent conversation, you might be worth a bit of my time. Providing you're not married, of course.

Married or not, she decided, there was no harm in a bit of a flirt, since she intended to have no more than that with a man who likely lived from one payday to the next.

So she smiled at him. Slowly, warmly, deliberately. Then, touching a finger to her lips, she blew him a saucy kiss. She watched his teeth flash in appreciation, then eased out of sight.

It was always best, in Darcy's opinion, to leave a man not only wanting more, but wondering.

Now there was a woman who packed a punch, Trevor thought. And he still felt the impact. If that was Darcy Gallagher, and he assumed it was, he had a good idea why the characteristically dour Finkle had become tongue-tied and bright-eyed whenever her name had come up.

She was a stunner, all right, and he was going to appreciate a closer look. What she'd left him with now was the impression of sleepy beauty, of dark and tumbled hair, white skin, and delicate features. No false modesty there, he decided. She'd met his open stare equally, had taken his measure even as he took hers. The carelessly blown kiss had definitely scored a point.

He thought Darcy Gallagher would be a very interesting pastime while he was in Ardmore.

Casually he hefted some blocks, transferring them to Brenna's work area. "The mix suit you?" he asked, nodding toward the trough that held fresh mortar.

"It does, yes. Good consistency. We're going through it fairly quickly, but I think we've enough to do us."

"If you see us running low, order what you think we need. I think your friend's back from her vacation."

"Hmm." Distracted, she knocked loose mortar from her trowel, glanced up. "Darcy?" Pleased, Brenna looked toward the window.

"Lots of black hair, wicked smile. Gorgeous."

"That would be Darcy."

"I- caught a glimpse of her in the window there. If you want to go in and see her, you can take a break."

"Well, I would." But she scooped up more mortar. "Except that she'd take one look at me as I am at the moment and bolt the door. Darcy's very particular about her living quarters. She wouldn't appreciate me trailing in dirt. I'll see her midday."

Brenna spread her mortar with the quick efficiency of the experienced and hauled up the next block. "I can tell you this, Trevor, your men are about to have their hearts broken. It's a rare one who brushes up near our Darcy and walks away unaffected."

"As long as we stay on schedule, the crew's hearts are their own concern."

"Oh, I'll keep them on schedule for you, and Darcy will give them happy, if impossible, dreams. Speaking of schedules, I'm thinking we could have the plumbing roughed in on this section by end of week. The pipe didn't arrive this morning as expected. Do you want me or Dad to check on it when we're done here?"

"No, I'll deal with it now."

"Then I hope you give them a good boot in the ass. You can use the phone in the pub's kitchen. I unlocked the back when I got here this morning. I've the number in my book."

"No, I have it. You'll have the pipe today."

"I've no doubt of that," Brenna murmured as he strode toward the kitchen door.

The kitchen was spotless. It was one of the things Trevor noticed, and demanded, when it came to any business he had a part in. He imagined the Gallaghers wouldn't think of him as having a part in their pub, but from his viewpoint their business was now very much his concern.

He dug his book out of his pocket. In New York his assistant would have located the number, made the call. She would have worked her way through the various steps until she'd reached the person in charge. Only then, if it was necessary, would the matter have passed into Trevor's hands.

He had to admit, though that saved time and frustration, he rather enjoyed wading in at the bottom and administering that good boot in the ass.

In the five minutes it took him to reach the top level, he spied the biscuit tin. In the few days he'd been in and around Gallagher's he'd come to know that when there were cookies, they were homemade. And they were spectacular.

He helped himself to a honey and oatmeal cookie as big as his fist as he annihilated the supply supervisor without ever raising his voice. He jotted down the name, in case retribution should become necessary, and was given a personal guarantee that the pipe in question would be delivered to the site by noon.

Satisfied with that, he broke the connection and was considering a second cookie when he heard the footsteps on the stairs. Selecting peanut butter this time, Trevor leaned back against the counter and prepared for his first real eyeful of Darcy Gallagher.

Like Shawn's cookies, she was spectacular.

She stopped at the base of the stairs, lifted one slim eyebrow. Her eyes were blue, like her brothers', a brilliant color against flawlessly white skin. She left her hair loose so that it waved beguilingly over her shoulders.

She was dressed with a tailored smartness that seemed more suited to Madison Avenue than Ardmore.

"Good morning to you. Having a tea break?"

"Phone call." He took a bite of the cookie as he watched her. The voice, Irish and smoky as a turf fire, was as straight-out sexy as the rest of her.

"Well I'm making some tea here, as I've run out upstairs and don't like to start my day without. Makes me cross." She skimmed her gaze over him as she moved to the stove. "Will you have a cup to wash down the biscuit? Or must you go straight back to work?"

"I can take a minute."

"You're fortunate your employer's not so strict. I've heard that Magee runs a very tight ship."

"So he does."

While the kettle heated, Darcy dealt with the pot. The man was better up close. She liked the sharp angles of his face, the little scar on his chin. It gave him a dangerous look, and she was so bloody weary of safe men. No wedding ring, she noted, though that didn't always tell the tale.

"You've come all the way from America," she continued, "to work on his theater?"

"That's right."

"A long way from home. I hope you were able to bring your family with you."

"If you mean wife, I'm not married." He broke the cookie in half, offered her a share.

Amused, she took it. "That leaves you free to travel for your work, doesn't it? And what is it you do?"

"Whatever's necessary."

Oh, yes, she thought and nibbled on the cookie. Just dangerous enough. "I'd say that makes you a handy man to have around and about."

"I'm going to be around and about here for some time yet." He waited while she lifted the sputtering kettle, poured the boiling water into the pot. "Would you like to have dinner?"

She sent him a long sidelong glance, added a hint of a smile. "Sure I like a good meal now and then, and interesting company with it. But I'm just back from my holiday and won't have time off for a bit. My brother Aidan's a hard man with a schedule."

"How about breakfast?"

She set the kettle down. "I might enjoy that. Perhaps you'll ask me again in a day or two, once I've settled back in."

"Perhaps I will."

She was vaguely surprised, and a little disappointed that he hadn't pursued the invitation then and there. She was used to men pleading a bit. But she turned, took out a thick mug for his tea. "What part of America are you from, then?"

"New York."

"New York City?" Her eyes sparkled as she turned back. "Oh, is it wonderful?"

"A lot of it is."

"It has to be the most exciting city in the world." She cupped the mug in both hands as she imagined it, as she'd imagined it countless times before. "Maybe not the most beautiful. I thought Paris so beautiful-female and sly and sexual. I think of New York as a man-demanding and reckless and so full of energy you have to run to keep up."

Amused at herself, she set down his mug. "It probably doesn't strike you that way since you're used to being there your whole life."

"I doubt you think of Ardmore, or this area, as magic." He saw her eyebrow arch up again at his words. "As a small and nearly perfect corner of the world where you can reach back or forward in time as suits you. And while there's energy here, it comes with patience so you don't have to run to keep up."

"It's interesting, isn't it, how people see what's the everyday to someone else?" She poured out his tea. "I'd think a man who can philosophize so easily over tea and biscuits might be wasting his talents hauling bricks."

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the tea." He moved toward the door, passing close enough to appreciate that she smelled every bit as good as she looked. "I'll bring back the mug."

"Mind you do. Shawn knows his kitchen supplies down to the last spoon."

"Come to the window again sometime," he added as he opened the door. "I liked looking at you."

She smiled to herself when he left. "Well, now, that goes both ways, New York City."

Debating how she would answer him the next time he asked her out, she picked up the pot of tea to carry it upstairs. The back door flew open.

"You're back."

Brenna took one leap inside. Little pellets of drying cement flew.

"Keep your distance." Darcy held up the pot like a shield. "Christ Jesus, Brenna, you have as much of that muck on your person as you do on the brick."

"Block, and not by any means. Don't worry, I won't hug you."

"Damn right you won't."

"But I missed you."

Though she was touched, Darcy let out a snort. "You're too busy being a newlywed to have missed me."

"I can do both. Can you spare a cup of that? I've ten minutes coming."

"All right, then, but get some old newspaper to put on the chair before you sit down. I missed you too," Darcy admitted as she took out another mug.

"I knew you would. I still say it was adventurous of you to go off to Paris like that by yourself. Did you love it?" Brenna asked as she dutifully laid out newspaper. "Was it everything you wanted it to be?"

"It was, yes. Everything about it: the sounds and the scents, the buildings, the shops and cafes. I could've spent a month just looking. Now if they'd just learn to make a decent cup of tea." She sipped at her own. "But I made out fine with wine. Everyone dresses so smart, even when they aren't trying to. I got some marvelous clothes. The shopkeepers are very aloof and act as if they're doing you a great favor in taking your money. I found it added to the overall experience."

"I'm glad you had a good holiday. You look rested."

"Rested? I barely slept the whole week. I'm- energized," Darcy decided. "Of course, I'd planned to lay like a slug until I had to get up for work this morning, but that noise outside's enough to keep the dead alert."

"You'll have to get used to that. We're making fine progress."

"Not from my window. It looks like a rubble heap, with ditches."

"We'll have the foundation finished and the plumbing roughed in by the end of the week. It's a good crew, the ones from New York are well trained, and the ones from here Dad and I picked ourselves. Magee doesn't tolerate slackers. And he knows every step of putting a building up, so you'd better be on your toes."

"Which tells me you're enjoying yourself."

"Tremendously. And I'd best get back to it."

"Wait. I got you a present."

"I was counting on it."

"I'll go up and get it. I don't want you tracking through my rooms."

"I was counting on that, too," Brenna commented as Darcy hurried up the stairs.

"It's not boxed," Darcy called down. "It was easier to pack just keeping it in a bag. Jude was wise in telling me to take an extra suitcase as it was. But yours didn't take up much room."

She came back with a small shopping bag, then narrowed her eyes at Brenna's hand. "I'll take it out for you." She slid out a thin bundle wrapped in tissue, carefully uncovered it, then held it up.

Brenna's mouth fell open.

"Shawn's going to love it," Darcy decided.

It was a short, narrow-strapped nightgown in a shimmering green that was nearly transparent. "He'd have to be a complete dunderhead not to," Brenna agreed once she had her voice back. "I'm trying to imagine wearing that." Slowly wicked amusement brightened her eyes. "I think I'll love it, too. It's beautiful, Darcy."

"I'll keep it for you until you're cleaned up and ready to go home."

"Thanks." Brenna kissed Darcy on the cheek, mindful not to transfer any dirt. "I won't say I'll think of you when I'm wearing it, nor do I think you'd want me to."

"That I don't."

"Don't let Shawn see it," Brenna added as she started out. "I've a mind to surprise him."

It was almost too easy to fall back into routine. Though Shawn refused to bicker with her because she'd bought him a fancy French cookbook in Paris, everything else just slipped right into place. As if, she thought, she'd never been away.

For the life of her, Darcy wasn't sure if that pleased or annoyed her.

The lunch shift kept her busy. Added to the regulars were the tourists who were beginning to come in packs for the season, and added to them were the men hired to work on the theater.

Only half-twelve, Darcy thought, and not a single empty table in the place. She was grateful Aidan had hired Sinead on for an extra pair of hands. But Mother of God, the girl was slower than a snail with a limp.

"Miss! We're still waiting to order."

Darcy caught the tone, British, public school, annoyed, and put her best smile on her face. It was Sinead's station, but the girl was off God knew where. "I'm so sorry. What would you like to have today?"

"We'll both have today's special, and a glass of Smithwick's."

"I'll have your drinks right back to you." She wove her way to the bar, taking three more orders as she went. Moving fast, she scooted under the pass-through, called out the drinks to Aidan, and swung straight into the kitchen.

Grace under pressure, Trevor noted. He'd slipped in and joined some of his crew at a back table. The perfect vantage point, he decided, to watch the very attractive Miss Gallagher at work.

There was a light of battle in her eye when she came back out of the kitchen, and there it remained no matter how brightly she chatted up the customers. She served drinks and food, showering goodwill over the patrons. But Trevor noted that those sharp blue eyes were scanning. And when they lit on Sinead as the girl wandered back in from the direction of the rest rooms, they fired.

Oh, honey, Trevor thought, you are meat. She's going to chew you up and spit you out.

Which, he thought, was precisely how he would have dealt with a lazy employee.

He gave Darcy full marks for holding her temper and doing no more than giving the new waitress a fulminating look and a quick order to tend to her stations. A busy lunch hour wasn't the time for a dressing-down. He imagined Sinead's ears would be burned off after shift.

And he figured it was his lucky day, as Darcy was even now working her way back to his table.

"And what can I get you fine, handsome men this afternoon?" She got out her pad, then focused those glorious eyes on Trevor. "You look hungry."

"You can't go wrong with the special at Gallagher's," Trevor said.

"That you can't. Will you have a pint to go with it?"

"Tea. Iced."

Now she rolled her eyes. "That's a Yank's way of ruining a perfectly good pot of tea. But we'll accommodate you. And for you gentlemen?"

"I sure like the way y'all do fish and chips."

Darcy smiled at the scrawny man with a pleasantly homely face. "My brother will appreciate that. And where are you from, if you don't mind my asking, for that's a lovely accent."

"Georgia, ma'am. Donny Brime from Macon, Georgia. But I've never heard anyone talk prettier than you. And I'd love some of that iced tea like the boss here."

"And just when I was thinking you must have some Irish in you. And for you, sir?"

"I'll have the meat pie, fries-I mean chips-on the side, and-" The burly man with a scraggly dark beard slid a sorrowful glance at Trevor. "Make it iced tea all around."

"I'll be back with your drinks quick as I can."

"Now, that," Donny said with a long sigh as Darcy walked away, "is the most beautiful thing I've seen in my entire life. Makes you glad to be a man, doesn't it, Lou?"

Lou stroked his beard. "I've got a fifteen-year-old daughter, and if I caught a man looking at her the way I figure I just looked at that tasty little dish there, I'd have to kill him."

"Your wife and daughter still planning on coming over?" Trevor asked him.

"As soon as Josie's out of school. 'Nother couple of weeks."

Trevor settled back while his two men talked of family. There was no one waiting for him at home, or looking forward to the day she could fly over and join him. It wasn't something that troubled him. It was better to live alone than to make a mistake, as he'd nearly done.

Living alone meant he could come and go as he needed to, as his business demanded. And without the guilt or tension that regular travel could add to a relationship. No matter how much his mother might pine for him to settle down and give her grandchildren, the simple fact was that his life ran more efficiently solo.

He glanced at a nearby table where a young family was crowded together. The woman was doing her best to distract a fussy infant while the man frantically mopped up the soft drink their whining toddler had just managed to spill all over everything.

Nothing efficient about it, Trevor mused.

Darcy delivered their tea, apparently unaffected by the fact that the toddler had gone from whine to wail. "Your meals will be out directly, and if you've a need for more tea, just give me a sign." Still smiling, she turned to the next table and handed the young father a stack of napkins, all the while waving away his apologies.

"Oh, it's not so much of a thing, is it, little man?" She crouched down to the little boy's level. "Wipes up, doesn't it, but such things scare off the faeries. You might lure them back if they weren't afraid your tears would flood them out again."

"Where are the faeries?" he demanded in the testy voice of a child who desperately needs a nap.

"Oh, they're hiding now, but they'll come back when they're sure you mean them no harm. Could be they'll be dancing around your bed next time you lay your head on your pillow. I bet your sister's seeing them now." Darcy nodded toward the baby, who had drifted off to sleep. "That's why she's smiling."

The boy subsided into sniffles and watched his sister sleep with both suspicion and interest.

That, Trevor thought as she moved on to the next table, was efficient.