Now Sinead smiled, dashed away a tear that got through. “I was hoping you’d tell me, or show me. I imagine it’s blindingly gorgeous.”
“To me it is. He researched, developed, and is manufacturing what’s called Thin Shield. It’s a lightweight, flexible body armor that can be worn as a lining in a coat, jacket, vest, uniform. He gave them to my entire bullpen. He’s giving the next round of them to the NYPSD.”
For a moment, Sinead said nothing. “He loves you, very much.”
“Yeah, how about that? I’ll never figure out why, so I’ve learned to take it. You’ll never figure out the what-ifs, the if-only, Sinead, so regrets are useless. And they disrespect the man he is. That’s Siobhan’s son.”
“You’ve lifted a weight off my heart. That’s pure truth.”
“Good, because it didn’t belong there.”
“Hearing you say so makes a difference. You trusted us with him.”
After a beat, Sinead’s eyes widened. She grinned as she ticked a finger in the air. “Ah. I see. You looked into us.”
“I’m a cop,” Eve said simply. “And watch out, because Sean’s heading in that direction.”
“So it seems. You … investigated us?”
“You better believe I checked you out. Every one of you. And there are a hell of a lot of you.” Eve nudged her plate aside. “You’re an exceptional family.”
“More exceptional now. I’ll say again.” Reaching out, she gripped one of Eve’s hands. “I’m grateful to you, and for you, Eve.”
“Roarke’s out in some field, probably stepping in cow shit in his five-thousand-dollar boots.”
“Oh Jaysus, not so dear as all that, surely.”
“Conservative estimate.” Rising, she helped herself to another mug of coffee. “And the idea of it really brightens up my day. So gratitude right back.”
“I’ve a mind to go out, cut some flowers. I feel light and happy thanks to our talk here. Will you walk with me?”
“Are you going near any cows?”
“Ah, we’ll keep a good distance there.”
“Then I’m game.”
* * *
Maybe it surprised her how much she enjoyed several days on a farm in the Irish countryside, not far from the wild Irish coast. But the people brought the pleasure. She considered the many dogs and cats normal, even acceptable.
Cows and sheep within a stone’s throw of the house? Not so much. But she learned to sleep through the insistent call of the rooster, and kept her distance from the rest of the stock.
On the other hand, Roarke dived right in, tromping through fields in those five-thousand-dollar boots—they’d never be the same—riding on weird-looking machines.
She wondered, seriously, if he’d gone over the top when he milked a cow.
Machines did the real work, but you still had to get up close and personal. And because he wanted to see how it was done the old-fashioned way, his uncle obliged him.
So she stood, well back, in the doorway of the milking parlor, watching possibly the richest man in the known universe sit on a three-legged stool at the enormous back end of a cow who munched on a bunch of hay.
With his hair tied back in work mode, he used those clever and elegant hands to yank on a cow tit. A huge cow tit, the sort of tit she firmly believed had no place in a civilized world.
When milk squirted out of it and into a pail, she had to hold back a shudder. In contrast, Roarke grinned and kept on going.
“Will you have a go at it then, Eve? Our Gertie here’s gentle as a lamb.”
“Absolutely not. No. Never.” Plus, she’d heard the sounds lambs could make, and didn’t consider them gentle.
“It’s satisfying,” Roarke told her.
“Yeah, I bet. What man wouldn’t want to get his hands on a tit that big?”
When Robbie roared with laughter, she stepped back. “I’ll just leave the two of you to it.”
And when the three weeks away ended, she figured they’d done it all—and more. From the quiet of sun-soaked Greece to the quiet of green-soaked Ireland.
And cows aside, she’d enjoyed every second of it.
Chapter Two
Arriving in New York equaled noise, heat drenched in humidity, snarling, bad-tempered traffic, and sidewalks flooded with people.
A perfect welcome home. Eve loved every grimy or shiny, every rude or welcoming, every high-class or low-class square inch of it.
“It was good,” she said. “Everything was as good as it gets. So’s this.”
“Home’s always best.”
Roarke drove through traffic, the stop and go of it, with the same ease he’d milked a damn cow. They’d sent their luggage ahead, so it was just the two of them for a little while longer.
“And home on a Sunday means neither of us have to get back at it until tomorrow. I vote for pizza, a whole lot of wine, then popcorn and a vid and a whole lot of sex.”
“Do you now?”
“Gotta stretch the vacaying to the last minute.”
“I couldn’t agree more with any and all of that.”
They drove through the gates, and she looked at the towers, the turrets, the spread of the house Roarke built, at the expanse of lawn, the summer green of the trees, the vibrant flowers and shrubs.
“Yeah, home’s best.”
Still best, she thought when they went in, to find Summerset, in his habitual funeral black, waiting in the foyer. Galahad sat beside him, but instead of padding over to greet them, he just gave them the hard eye.
Eve crouched down. “Come on, you know you missed me.”
He looked deliberately away, then back, then sort of sashayed over as if granting a favor.
But when she gave him that first long stroke, he purred, then rubbed his pudgy body against her knees.
“Welcome home,” Summerset said. “You both look as if the time away did you more than good.”
“It did. And all’s well here?”
“Yes, it is. Your family’s well, I hope, one and all.”
“They are, and send you their best.”
“The bags you marked for me are unpacked, and the others upstairs. Except for the lieutenant’s gift to you.” Summerset gestured toward the main parlor. “As you requested.”
Taking Eve’s hand, Roarke walked into the parlor.
The painting hung in a place of prominence over the mantel.
Surprised, Eve turned to him. She’d expected him to hang it in his office, maybe the library. “Here? You’re sure about that?”
“It’s personal, but not private. It’s family, so I’m sure, yes.”
“It’s a precious gift. I’m honored to be included in it,” Summerset added.
Eve just shrugged. “You’re his real father, so…” She scooped up the cat. “See? We didn’t leave you out, either.”
The painted Galahad sat between Eve and Roarke, looking pudgy yet dignified.
“I’m going to head up and unpack.” But she lingered another moment. “It looks good there.”
She set down the cat so he jogged up the steps beside her. The minute she walked into the bedroom, he made a beeline for the bed, leaped up, sprawled out.