Free Born in Fire by Nora Roberts Page B

obliged to me. I might think it’s the best thing you could do for your work, but I won’t have you unhappy because you think I am. Because I’m not.”
    “How many times did you have to serve her a meal in bed this month?”
    “I don’t keep an accounting—”
    “You should,” Maggie interrupted. “In any case, it’s done. I signed his contracts a week ago. I’m now being managed by Rogan Sweeney and Worldwide Galleries. I’ll have a show in his Dublin gallery in two weeks.”
    “Two weeks. That’s so fast.”
    “He doesn’t seem to be a man to waste time. Come with me, Brianna.” Maggie grabbed her sister’s hands. “We’ll make Sweeney pay for a fancy hotel and we’ll eat out in restaurants and buy something foolish.”
    Shops. Food she hadn’t cooked herself. A bed that didn’t have to be made. Brianna yearned, but only for a moment. “I’d love to be with you, Maggie. But I can’t leave her like that.”
    “The hell you can’t. Jesus, she can stand her own company for a few days.”
    “I can’t.” Brianna hesitated then sat back wearily on her haunches. “She fell last week.”
    “Was she hurt?” Maggie’s fingers tightened on her sister’s. “Damn it, Brie, why didn’t you tell me? How did it happen?”
    “I didn’t tell you because it turned out to be no great matter. She was outside, went out on her own while I was upstairs tidying rooms. Lost her footing, it seems. She bruised her hip, jarred her shoulder.”
    “You called Dr. Hogan?”
    “Of course I did. He said there was nothing to worry about. She’d lost her balance was all. And if she got more exercise, ate better and all the rest, she’d be stronger.”
    “Who didn’t know that?” Damn the woman, Maggie thought. And damn the constant and incessant guilt that lived in her own heart. “And it’s back to bed she went, I’ll wager. And has stayed there ever since.”
    Brianna’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “I haven’t been able to budge her. She claims she has an inner-ear deficiency and wants to go into Cork to a specialist.”
    “Hah!” Maggie tossed back her head and glared at the sky. “It’s typical. Never have I known anyone with more complaints than Maeve Concannon. And she’s got you on a string, my girl.” She jabbed a finger at Brianna.
    “I won’t deny it, but I haven’t the heart to cut it.”
    “I do.” Maggie stood, brushed at her knees. “The answer’s money, Brie. It’s what she’s always wanted. God knows she made his life a misery because he couldn’t hang on to it.” In a gesture of protection, Maggie laid a hand on her father’s headstone.
    “That’s true, and he made hers a misery as well. Two people less suited I’ve never seen. Marriages aren’t always made in heaven, or in hell. Sometimes they’re just stuck in purgatory.”
    “And sometimes people are too foolish or too righteous to walk away.” The hand on the headstone stroked once, then dropped away. “I prefer fools to martyrs. Put the money by, Brie. There’ll be more coming soon. I’ll see to that in Dublin.”
    “Will you see her before you go?”
    “I will,” Maggie said grimly.
    “I think you’ll enjoy her.” Rogan dipped into the clotted cream for his scone and smiled at his grandmother. “She’s an interesting woman.”
    “Interesting.” Christine Rogan Sweeney lifted one sharp white brow. She knew her grandson well, could interpret every nuance of tone and expression. On the subject of Maggie Concannon, however, he was cryptic. “In what way?”
    He wasn’t sure of that himself and stalled for time by stirring his tea. “She’s a brilliant artist; her vision is extraordinary. Yet she lives alone in a little cottage in Clare, and the decor is anything but aesthetically unique. She’s passionate about her work, but reluctant to show it. She’s by turns charming and rude—and both seem to be true to her nature.”
    “A contradictory woman.”
    “Very.” He settled back, a man