PROLOGUE

Fairhill Farm, Connemara, June

"Katy Conneely, you're the child I never had," wheezed Donal Spillane, handing Kate the empty glass of water he'd used to take his tablets.

"Go on away out of that, Mr. Spillane. If your son heard you say that there'd be war," she said with a grin, taking his glass then moving to tidy the tray that his lunch had been served on.

Donal chuckled as much as his weak lungs would let him. Years of smoking had eaten away at his lungs until he was left with an oxygen tank to help him breath and a delicate body that grew frailer by the day.

Donal was housebound these days. His legs just weren't strong enough to get him around the old farm like they used to. What was left of his lungs used up any remaining energy that was in him just to breathe. He was lucky to make it outside to the chair Kate had set beside the plot where Mary once grew flowers and a few vegetables. Now it was Kate who kept the plots tidy and in bloom with a few easy to grow vegetables. He missed his wife and appreciated that she kept the plots growing. Bless the girl, but she'd even planted a few fruit trees around the plot.

Otherwise Donal's days were spent sitting in his chair in the old parlor watching television and letting Kate dote on him.
Kate was a fine lass. Her father, Liam Conneely, was Donal's closest friend and sent the girl over to help keep his house tidy and cook his dinner. It was more than his own son, Michael, would ever do for him. Michael found the farm claustrophobic. And was in denial about his father's illness.

Michael, Donal sighed.

Mick was a storm quietly contained, whirling around waiting for the right weather conditions to make him erupt. He had a nervous energy that he channeled into the physical activity that was required of him while still home. Mick could be found anywhere there was hard work to be done whether it was mucking out stalls, repairing fences or sheering the sheep. But he liked to work by himself on his own terms and in his own time. The work eventually got done, but it was hell working with the boy. He was so moody.

When Mick wasn't buried in hard labor he could be found with a book in front of him. He craved knowledge. He wasn't a kid that wanted video games or to play sports with his schoolmates. He wanted to fill his mind with facts and figures, history and literature. And when he wasn't working the farm or burying himself in books he was usually over at the Conneely Farm with Kate or up at the old stone circle. Kate seemed to be the only person that could get through to the boy.

It was no surprised that Mick came to him one day and told Donal that he wanted to attend university. He wanted to study literature and history.

Donal could only let him go.

Deep in his heart he hoped that Mick would return home one day to run the farm, as he'd done for his father, and his father before him. But Mick was making no indication that his return was immanent. Or desired.

After graduation Mick had rented a flat, took a job in the National Museum and was making his life in Dublin. He'd been home for his mother's funeral two years previous. Following the funeral, Mick had returned home in August to give Donal the birthday gift of a Border Collie pup to keep him company. After that was Christmas. Father's Day was the last time he'd seen his son.

There were phone calls. Donal cherished those dear though rare occasions, but it wasn't the same as a real visit.

Kate, he sighed to himself.

Kate had helped Donal care for his Mary as she lay dying from the cancer. And when she'd passed, Kate continued to come over to help tidy the house and fix Donal's meals. Truthfully, had it not been for dear, sweet Kate, he would have been sent to his maker from starvation long before now. She'd even trained the pup that he'd named Hairy Molly from all the downy black and white fluff she'd had from day one.

And now that he was dying from emphysema Kate cared for him as she had Mary. Never once complaining about the work.
Donal had no illusions about his illness. He brought it on himself smoking them fags as if they were his life's blood. How ironic life was. It used to be he couldn't live without a light-up. Now his life was cut short because he couldn't live without a light up and was reliant on the ever-present tank to give him the oxygen he needed to live.

59 was a hell of a young age to die. This was not how Donal imagined his death.

He knew he was dying. He just didn't know how long he had. He'd denied the disease as long as he could, but now there was no sense in lying to himself. Donal never let on that he was sick while Mary was alive. She was suffering through her own disease. It would have only upset her. So he kept his illness to himself.

It wasn't long after Mary's death that Donal's energy levels finally dropped as he grieved. It was then that the illness took a firm hold of him. Once the oxygen tank had come into his life there was no more hiding. He'd called Liam over and they shared many pints over the prognosis.

There was no need in asking Kate to continue helping out around the house once her father told her the bad news. She'd come every day and worked around the house and farm all day without complaint. He loved her as dearly as his own child. She was the daughter of his best friend and at one time he'd hoped she'd become his daughter in marriage.

Both Donal and Mary had been confused at Mick's sudden turnabout where Kate was concerned. Mick wouldn't say what had happened between them and Donal never forced an answer from him. He figured it was just one of those things kids go through growing up. He'd hoped things would turn around for them, but so far they were as distant as the sun and Pluto.

Donal's thoughts came back around to Mick and the farm. What would happen to it once he passed on? Mick's life was in Dublin now with is fancy job and fancier friends. He'd never liked life on the farm. It seemed his boy found every excuse he could in order to stay in Dublin.

Had Donal failed his son somehow? If he did, he didn't know where. Was it because as an only child Mick felt so distanced from his family? Donal just couldn't put his finger on it.

He couldn't remember a time when Mick wasn't moody, when he didn't prefer to spend so much time alone, or with Kate. He seemed to come alive when the girl was around.

The more Donal tried to spend time with his son the more Mick pulled away. If Donal had taken Mick out on the tractor with him to tend the sheep Mick would always prefer to walk home by himself. If the boy had a choice of helping him during sheering season Mick preferred to muck out the barn.

More than one time Donal wondered about Mick's private life. Being moody, sensitive and preferring the company of girls often made Donal wonder about his son's inclinations. He remembered a time when Mick and Kate were bosom friends. Both he and Mary had hoped that the relationship would blossom. But when that relationship slipped away, Donal's concerns about his son returned tenfold.

Then the family had been shocked by the news that Mary had breast cancer. It had been discovered too late. Even after the radical surgery and months of treatment there was nothing anyone could do but make her comfortable in her last days.

Kate had been a Godsend. With her nurses training she was at the house every day for weeks caring for his beloved. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, watching the love of his life slip away and knowing that there was nothing he could do to save her. Every day he prayed to God that He take Donal in Mary's place. She was too gentile of a woman to suffer such a disease.
Maybe God had listened to him. Donal knew he'd be with Mary again. Soon.

Mick had been closer to his mother than Donal. It was apparent by the time they spent together. He toiled beside her in the garden as much as he did in the kitchen. Donal didn't believe it was a man's place, the kitchen. More often than not the evening meal had been partially prepared, if not all, by Mick, especially as Mary grew more frail. There was nothing Mick wouldn't do for his mother.

When Mary died, Donal suspected something in Mick died too. He was at university when he got the call. When Donal saw his son next it was at the funeral a few days later.

Donal asked Mick if he was staying home this time. He needed him around the place. Truth, he missed his son like hell and now that Mary was gone the house was empty. Even then Donal felt he was just biding his time. But Mick said no and Donal wouldn't use his own illness to make his son stay. Mick had a life in Dublin now and was going back. Donal's heart ripped in half for the second time that year as he watched his son's car pull out of the driveway, leaving him alone.

Mick was close with his mother, but it was no reason to abandon his father and responsibility to the farm. Where was the boy now when he needed him the most?

Donal would be alone in his last days if it weren't for Kate Conneely. She livened up the big empty house and gave him something worth looking forward to each day. She was the daughter he and Mary were never blessed with and the child Mick refused to be, but it did little good to argue his point with Kate. His problems were his own. Though he was certain that Kate understood his frustration.

Would Mick get upset knowing that Donal considered Kate more of a child to him than his own son? Probably. But what did it matter. Mick was in Dublin and would never know how his father felt. He didn't care to ask, and worse, he didn't care to listen when Donal tried to tell him.

Well, whatever time he had left on this green earth he needed to make the most of it. He would not allow his son to lose the farm. Donal spent his whole life toiling over the farm to make a living for his family, to put food in their mouths, a roof over their head. Even to pay for Mick's university tuition. No, he wouldn't let Mick lose the farm. It was his birthright. Whether he wanted it or not.

"Aye, girl, and you're probably right. But ye are the daughter I was never blessed with." Kate only glanced at him, not knowing what to say when Donal grew nostalgic. He was in one of his moods. She could see it in his eyes. His body seemed to slump more when he thought about his son.

Kate called Mick weekly to keep him up to date on his father's condition. That's all Mick seemed to want. Most of the time she only got his answering machine. Mick was too busy to return her calls. And when she did get him on the phone he was barely civil.

There was no love lost between Kate and Mick. Ever since she was fifteen and he sixteen things between them had been strained. She remembered a time when they were best friends. Being from neighboring farms they visited each other every day. They seemed to live in each other's hip pockets from the time they were born.

Something happened suddenly and unexplainably that caused Mick to stop talking to her. When she'd go to Fairhill Farm he refused to see her and he never came over to Conneely Farm unless he absolutely had to. He avoided her at school and often opted for getting off the school bus the stop before or after theirs just to avoid walking home with her. Even as adults and her nursing his parents, Mick was very curt with her. She didn't understand it and he wouldn't talk to her.

Kate looked at Donal Spillane now. She could see Mick in him easily enough at this age. She'd seen pictures of Donal around the house to know she was right. Both men shared the same thick, curly dark hair, though Mick wore his slightly long while Donal kept his trimmed. They shared the same wide smile with full lips and straight white teeth, the same mossy eyes framed with thick, dark brows, the same round boy-like face. They were both of a similar height and weight, lean and athletic.

Because of their ages, the differences between the two men were now stark. Donal's hair had gone almost white, his mossy eyes looked more gray than green and his skin was sallow. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. There was a distinct wheeze in every breath. And his body was so fragile that Kate's heart tightened every time she watched him move around the house. She could still see Mick in Donal but the emphysema had taken its toll.

Because she was at Fairhill Farm daily, Kate saw Donal succumbing to his disease and it broke her heart. How could it not. Besides her own father, Donal Spillane was the kindest man she'd ever met. The love for his late wife still shone in his tired eyes, a love that Kate could only dream of having for herself. He loved his son too. She knew that if he hadn't, Mick's absence wouldn't have continually crept into their conversations.

Kate had tried talking to Mick but he just wouldn't listen. More often than not, it was the answering machine she talked to than the man himself. She doubted he even listened to her full messages, opting to hit the delete button before the message ended.
"That boy of mine," Donal sighed, shaking his head with obvious sadness.

As if cueing into Donal's mood change, Molly padded over and shoved her nose into the weathered hand that lay on his lap. Kate watched as he lovingly ran his trembling fingers over her head to scratch behind the Collie's ears.

For months, Donal knew he was sick. He just never told anyone. That was his way. He never talked about his problems. He hadn't told anyone that his days were numbered until the doctor put him on the oxygen tank. When it was obvious he was ill he was forced to tell someone. Donal had told Kate's father, his closest friend, before he even told his own son. It made Kate sad to think that Donal didn't think his son loved him enough to tell him himself. More likely than not, Donal had tried to tell Mick but he wouldn't listen.

Liam Conneely had been the one to tell Mick. Over the phone. That's when Mick had come home with the beautiful little black and white puppy, using Donal's birthday as the excuse, as if he needed one. Donal explained that Mick had handpicked her out of the litter because he liked the white blaze on her snout and the heart shape spot on her forehead. Donal had named her Molly the moment the pup hit his lap. He'd said, "My, and aren't you a hairy Molly." The dog's head perked up at the name and seemed to respond to it, so it stuck.

There was some love between father and son, Kate could tell with the gift of Molly. Although, Kate suspected that there was more love on Donal's side than Mick's.

She loved Donal Spillane as if he was her own father so it was painful to see his body all but given up, his heart breaking with missing his wife and son. Each day was a struggle to return, but she knew she must. She couldn't be that selfish. Donal enjoyed the attention and the company.

Kate felt tears well up in her eyes as she looked at the old man, his fingers trembling as Molly licked them.

"Come, now, Molly," Kate called to the dog, trying to sound joyful. "I think she needs to go out, Mr. Spillane." At the word "outside" Molly rushed to the front door. Taking Molly outside for a while would help dry Kate's eyes. "We'll be back in a jiffy."

Once the door had shut behind Kate, Donal sighed heavily. He meant it when he told Kate that she was the daughter he never had. And he loved her like one too.

Taking as deep a breath as he could, he gripped the arms of the chair and pulled himself to the edge of his seat then struggled to stand. He used the back of the chair to steady himself on his wobbly legs.

Kate had positioned chairs inconspicuously around the parlor and kitchen so that Donal could get around easily. She never told him why she did it, and the unsuspecting visitor would never guess why so many chairs dominated the rooms, but Donal knew that she was saving him from having to use a cane, bless her soul! Even though he knew he was dying he couldn't quite acknowledge that he was sick enough to require a cane.

Using the chair backs for support he shuffled slowly and with much effort, wheeling the oxygen tank with him, to the window that overlooked the farmyard where Kate had taken Molly.

Ignoring the perspiration that came with his efforts he chuckled to himself watching Kate work with Molly to bring the chickens in for the evening. This was routine for Molly now. Kate had seen to the pups training over the last year.

At eleven months old, Molly was showing great promise as a sheepdog. Kate taught her obedience and was now training her to work in the field. The chickens were just for play. Working the sheep was her main job.

Donal watched Molly circling the hens, rounding them up. With her head lowered, her powerful shoulders supporting the front legs that steered her and her eyes never leaving the hens, she came around to drive the birds toward the henhouse.

Donal had known the dog didn't need to go out. This was Kate's way of giving him some time alone with his own thoughts.
He knew she was having a hard time too. How could she not? She'd had dreams of her own. She'd gone to nursing school and was hoping for a job at Galway Hospital when Mary became ill. Kate had dropped everything to come to their sides.

Kate should be out with people her own age having fun, dating, marrying and having a family. Instead, she'd been spending every free moment on his farm caring for Mary and now himself, and training the pup he should be training. She'd wasted two years of her life caring for the parents that Mick should have been caring for and it angered him.

Sighing, he released his angry grip on the oxygen tank handle and continued to watch Kate close the henhouse and call Molly back to her. As they started towards the house again Donal couldn't help but wonder how he could ever repay Kate for everything she'd done for him over the years. She had always refused money. But there had to be something.

She caught sight of him standing at the window and saw concern in her eyes as she waved. Molly rushed through the door ahead of Kate and rushed to Donal's side, nuzzling his pocket where he kept the treats. Molly took the treat delicately from his fingers then wandered over to lay beside his chair to gobble it up.

Kate went to his side and put her arm around his waist for support. "Let me help you now, Mr. Spillane. Would you like to lie down for a while?" she asked, motioning to a small bed in the corner of the room. He'd not been able to negotiate the stairs to his own room in weeks now. Nor the toilet to his embarrassment. Kate did everything within her power to make things as easy for him as possible, while still allowing him to retain his dignity.

"No, girl. I'll just sit for a while. Maybe you'll bring me a pen and paper when you've the time," he suggested as she helped him back to his chair. By the time he sat he was more winded and tired as usual, but he had things to do before he could sleep. He'd sleep enough when he was finally dead.

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