Born in Shame
Page 50

“That’s what I haven’t decided. I’m floundering, Gray. I’m not used to that. I’ve always known what step to take next, and was confident, maybe overconfident, about what I was made of.”
Thoughtful, she brushed her fingers over the bright purple face of a pansy. “Maybe it was because it was only my parents and me—no other family—that I always felt able to stand on my own, do exactly what I wanted. I never made really close attachments as a kid because we moved around so much. It made me easy with strangers, and comfortable in new places and situations, but I never felt any real connection with anyone but my parents. By the time we settled in Columbus, I’d set my goals and focused on reaching them step by careful step. Now, within a year, I’ve lost my parents, learned that my life wasn’t what I thought it was. Suddenly I’m swimming in family I never knew I had. I don’t know how I feel about them, or myself.”
She looked up again, managed a small smile. “Wow. That was a lot, wasn’t it?”
“It usually helps to sound the feelings out.” Gently he tugged on her hair. “Seems to me if someone’s good at going step by step, she’d be able to shift and keep doing just that in another direction. You only have to be alone when you want to be alone. It took me a long time to learn that.” He kissed her, made her smile. “Shannon, me darling, relax and enjoy the ride.”
Chapter Thirteen
In the morning she chose to paint in the garden, putting the final touches on the watercolor of Brianna. From the house came the buzz of activity as a family from County Mayo gathered themselves up to leave the inn for the next leg of their trip south.
She could smell the hot-cross buns Brianna had made for breakfast and the roses that had burst into bloom in their climb up the trellace.
Nibbling on her knuckle, Shannon stepped back to examine the completed canvas.
“Well, that’s lovely.” With Liam in tow, Maggie stepped across the lawn behind her. “Of course, she makes an easy subject, does Brianna.” She bent down and kissed Liam on the nose. “Your aunt Brie has your buns, darling. Go get them.”
When he scrambled off, slamming the kitchen door behind him, Maggie frowned over the painting. “Rogan’s right then,” she decided. “It’s rare that he’s not, which is a trial to me. He took your painting of the stones into the gallery before I had a chance to see.”
“And you wanted to check it out for yourself.”
“Your sketch of Liam was more than good,” Maggie conceded. “But one charcoal isn’t enough to judge. I can tell you now he’ll want this, and he’ll badger you until you agree.”
“He doesn’t badger, he demolishes, bloodlessly.”
Maggie’s laugh was quick and rich. “Oh, that’s the truth. Bless him. What else have you?” Without invitation she picked up Shannon’s sketchbook and flipped through.
“Help yourself,” Shannon said dryly.
Maggie only made noises of approval and interest, then let out another delighted laugh. “You must do this one, Shannon. You must. It’s Murphy to the ground. The man and his horses. Damn, I wish I had the hands to do portraits like this.”
“I’d see him up there sometimes when I was painting the circle.” Shannon tilted her head so that she could see the page herself. “It was irresistible.”
“When you paint it, I’d be pleased to buy it for his mother.” She frowned then. “Unless you’ve signed with Sweeney by then. If he’s any say in it, he’ll charge me half a leg and both arms. The man asks the fiercest prices for things.”
“I wouldn’t think that would bother you.” With care, Shannon took the finished canvas from the easel and laid it on the table. “When I went to your show in New York a couple years ago, I lusted after this piece—it was like a sunburst, all these hot colors exploding out of a central core. Not my usual style, but God, I wanted it.”
“Fired Dreams,” Maggie murmured, deeply flattered.
“Yes, that’s it. I had to weigh desire against a year’s rent—at New York rates. And I needed a roof over my head.”
“He sold that piece. If he hadn’t, I’d have given it to you.” At Shannon’s stunned look, Maggie shrugged. “At the family rate.”
Touched, and not sure how to respond, Shannon set a fresh canvas on her easel. “I’d say you’re lucky to have a shrewd manager looking after your interests.”
As disconcerted as Shannon, Maggie jammed her hands in her pockets. “So he’s always telling me. He’s got his mind set on doing the same for you.”
“I won’t have as much time for painting once I’m back in New York.” Taking up a pencil, Shannon sketched lightly on the canvas.
Maggie only lifted a brow. When a woman was an artist down to the bone, she recognized another. “He’s having contracts drafted up today.”
“He moves fast.”
“Faster than you can spit. He’ll want fifty percent,” she added, grinning wickedly. “But you can drive him down to forty using the family connection.”
Shannon’s throat was suddenly, uncomfortably dry. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“Ah, but you will. He’ll harangue you, and he’ll charm you. He’ll be reasonable and businesslike. You’ll say no, thank you very much, and he’ll skip right over that. If reason doesn’t work, he’ll find some little weakness to twist or some private wish to tweak. And you’ll be signing your name before you realize it. Do you always hold a pencil like that?”
Still frowning over the prediction, Shannon glanced down at her hand. “Yes. I keep the wrist loose.”
“Mmm. I keep a firmer grip, but I might try it. I should give you this before you start mixing paints.” From her pocket she took out a ball of padded paper.
The moment Shannon felt the weight, she knew. “Oh, it’s great.” Once the paper was pulled aside, she held the globe up to the light.
“You made it, for the most part, so you should have it.”
Shannon turned it so that the swirls of deep blue inside changed shape and tone. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Maggie turned back to the canvas. She could see the outline of the man, the horse. “How long will it take you to finish? It’s a nasty question, and I only ask as I’d love to give it to Mrs. Brennan, Murphy’s mother, when she comes up for the ceili.”