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Fairhill Farm, Connemara in the west of Ireland
“Mick, we need to talk.”
Those were definitely not the words he wanted
to hear first thing through the door. He’d
put in a full day on the farm, which included
working on the new extension on the house and
the fire-damaged barn. He was hungry, tired, and
smelled worse than well-aged slurry on a hot day.
The last thing he needed was to hear Kate needed
to talk to him. By the tone of her voice, it wasn’t
going to be a good talk.
“Can’t it wait, love? I’m only
just in the door.”
“This is important.”
He made the mistake of meeting her emerald gaze.
The look on her face pleaded with him to relent.
He was already struggling to stay on his feet
and her persistence pecked away at any energy
he had left. Sheer will alone kept him upright—and
the beckoning of a hot shower. It was like one
of the Seven Deadly Sins he couldn’t deny.
His knees almost gave out at the anticipation
of the hot water sluicing over his body.
“At least let me shower first. It’ll
wake me up and you’ll have my undivided attention.
All right?”
Her shoulders slumped. She looked tired too.
He wanted to gather her in his arms and stroke
her hair while soothing away what had upset her.
But his exhausted body cried out for soothing
of its own. He wanted a shower so desperately
he could almost feel it.
“I won’t be long, then I’m all
yours.” He started up the stairs.
“Mick,” she called after him, but he
took the stairs by twos to make a quick escape.
It was an effort that nearly floored him when
he gained the top step. Supporting himself with
a hand on either wall, he made his way into the
bathroom and shut the door behind him.
* * * *
How could he do this to her again? This was
the second time this week he'd dodged her.
Kate watched him disappear up the stairs. Within
seconds she heard the shower switch on. Two thuds
signaled his boots were off and a groan meant
he was nude and in the shower.
She would have liked nothing better than to
race up the stairs after him to soap him down,
but the crying coming from the kitchen reminded
her the days of sharing a shower with her husband
were over. The sound of his boots hitting the
floor must have awakened the twins.
The familiar pain of sadness twisted inside
her. She couldn't cry now. Her babies needed her.
She tried to push her feelings aside and went
back to the kitchen.
Her kitchen. Her domain.
Her prison.
The entire house was her life now. She rarely
stepped out of it unless the pounding of hammers
and whining of electric saws drove her away. Even
then, she only went as far as Conneelly Farm to
see her mother.
Her lips twisted in a derisive grin. Visits to
her mother had originally been to get away from
construction noise. Her mother seemed to suspect
something else was wrong, but Kate didn't want
to air her dirty laundry, and not to her mother-she
didn't care how close they were-yet she certainly
wasn't going to refuse a few hours of child-minding
so she could get a bit of sleep in her old room.
If it weren't for this little bit of rest at home
she was sure she would have gone insane by now.
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