“Waiting,” he said with a slow nod. “It’s never easy. Iona, I want to—” Mick hailed him, and came down the stalls with quick boot clicks.
“There you are. I wanted to ask if . . .” With his gaze shifting from Iona to Boyle, Mick flushed. “Beg pardon. I’m interrupting.”
“No, that’s fine.” Boyle shuffled his feet, turned. “We’re just finished with Spud here.”
“I’ll dose him, chart it,” Iona offered.
“Thanks for that.”
Alone, Iona leaned against the horse. “He’s been starting conversations,” she realized. “He never does that, but he has been, ever since . . . And he bought me Cokes.” She stepped out, picked up the bottle she’d set outside the stable door, took a long pull.
“Hell, Spud, I think maybe I am being wooed. And I have absolutely no idea how to handle it. Nobody ever really tried before.”
With a sigh, she studied the bottle in her hand, wondered what it said about her that her heart was so easy it could be touched by a damn soft drink.
Just . . . see what happens, she warned herself, then went to get Spud’s medicine.
* * *
NOTHING HAPPENED REALLY—CONVERSATIONS, SMALL ATTENTIONS, casual offers of help. But he made no move toward more. A good thing, Iona reminded herself as she helped Branna prepare the group dinner. She’d meant everything she’d said to him when he’d brought the flowers to her, the apology to her.
For once in her life she intended to be sensible, to be safe, to look—both ways—before she leaped.
“Your thoughts are so loud they’re giving me a headache,” Branna complained.
“Sorry, sorry. I can’t seem to stop the loop. Okay, we’ll put it on pause. I’ve never made scalloped potatoes before. Not even out of a box.”
“Don’t talk of potatoes in a box in this kitchen.”
“Only as an insult. Am I doing it right?”
“Just keep doing the layers as I showed you.” At the stove, Branna stirred the glaze she intended to use on the ham she had baking.
“Fancy meal for a strategy meeting.”
“I was in the mood. And now we’ll have cold ham for days if I’m not in the mood again.”
Conscientiously, Iona sprinkled flour over the next layer of sliced potatoes. “I was thinking about Boyle.”
“Is that a fact? Never would I have guessed.”
Rolling her eyes at Branna’s back, Iona added the salt and pepper, started the butter. “How do you know? I can’t figure out how you know, sensibly, and that’s what I’m working on. Is he just missing the sex, maybe even the companionship on some level? Is he feeling guilty because he hurt me, trying to be nice to make up for it, to be friendly because that’s what I asked? Or, does he, maybe, care more than he thought?”
“I’m the wrong one to ask about matters of the heart. Some say I barely have one.”
“No one who knows you says that.”
Some did, and there were times she wished they had the right of it.
“I don’t know about men, Iona. Whenever I think I do, think I’ve got it all in a box, just as it is, it all scrambles out when I’m not looking. When I get it all back in, it’s something else than it was.
“I know my brother, but a brother’s a different thing.”
“Love shouldn’t be hard.”
“There I think you’re wrong. I think it should be the hardest thing there is, then it’s not so easily given away, or taken away, or just lost.”
Stepping away from the stove, she moved over to check Iona’s progress. “Well, it’s taking you long enough as you’ve all but placed each slice of potato like an explosive, so careful and precise. But you’ve got that done. Take it over and pour that hot milk right over it.”
“Just pour it over it?”
“Yes, and not drop by drop. Dump it on, put on the cover, stick it in the oven. Timed this first part, for thirty minutes.”
“Okay, got it.” And as if it might explode, Iona let out a breath of relief when she had it inside the oven with the ham.
“You know they shouldn’t both fit in there.”
“They fit as I want them to. Now I think we’ll do a side of the green beans I blanched and froze from the garden last year, then we’ll . . . There’s someone coming now,” she said as she heard the sound of cars. “Let’s just see who it is, and how we can put them to use in here.”
“I’m all for it. You know,” Iona continued as they walked to the front of the cottage, “I think my goal should be to be able to put one really good meal together—figure out what that is, make it my thing. Oh, Iona’s making her brisket. I’m not even sure what brisket is, but it could be mine.”
“A fine goal indeed.”
Branna opened the door. Outside Meara stood beside her truck, Fin climbed out of his, and both Connor and Boyle shoehorned their way out of a bright red Mini.
“Isn’t that the cutest thing?” With a laugh, Iona stepped closer. “How did you guys fit in there?”
“It wasn’t a simple matter,” Connor told her. “Nor was driving it, as Boyle’s knees sat at his ears the whole way. But she cleaned up well, and runs fine enough. Seems a better fit for you.”
“Get in and see,” Meara suggested.
Obliging, Iona slid in, put her hands on the wheel. “Much more my size. Is this from the friend you told me about?” she asked Connor. “It’s great. It’s really adorable, but I don’t think I can afford adorable at this point.”
“But you like it,” he prompted. “The look of it, the color and feel and so on.”
“What’s not to like?” In fact, she could already picture herself driving around like a little red rocket. “It’s just perfect. Do you think he’d consider holding it, letting me pay some now, some later?”
“Well, he might, but it’s already sold.” Connor glanced at Branna, got her nod. “Happy birthday.”
“What?”
“It’s Connor and Boyle who found the car, and we all put in a share to buy it. For your birthday,” Branna added. “Do you think we didn’t know it’s your birthday?”
“I didn’t— I thought with everything that’s going on it was better to— But you can’t just . . . A car? You can’t.”
“Already have,” Connor pointed out. “And whatever else there is, a birthday’s a thing to remember. We’re your circle, Iona. We wouldn’t be forgetting yours.”
“But it’s a car.”
“One that’s over ten years old, and truth be told, wheezes like an asthmatic on damp mornings. Which is nearly daily,” Fin commented. “But she’ll do for you.”
She began to laugh, and to weep. On a combination of both, she scooted out to throw her arms around Connor as he stood closest. Then she spun to each one in turn.
When her body pressed to Boyle’s, her arms squeezed hard around him, he struggled not to make it more. To just let it be.
“I don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to say it. It’s amazing! Beyond amazing. Thank you so much. All of you.”
“There’ll be a bit of paperwork to see to,” Fin put in, “but you can see to it later. Now you should try it out, shouldn’t you?”
“I should drive it. I should drive it.” On another laugh, Iona spun in a circle. “Someone has to go with me on my first voyage. Who wants to go?”
Every man stepped back as one.
“Cowards,” Meara said in disgust. “What do you say, Branna? We could squeeze in.”
“I expect we could, but I’ve dinner on.”
Meara only let out a snort. “Well, I’m not afraid. I’m with you, Iona.”
She jumped in, waited while Iona slid behind the wheel.
Iona started the car, bounced on the seat, wiggled into it. She lurched forward three times. Fit, start, fit, start, fit, start, then zipped down the road weaving like the cloth loop on a potholder loom.
“Ah God,” was all Boyle managed.
“I told you I put a little charm for safety on it,” Connor reminded him. “She just needs a bit of practice as she’s a Yank after all. So Fin here’s contributed bottles of champagne to the birthday feast, and being Fin, it’s fancy and French. I say we have the first bottle waiting for her.”
“We’ve important business to discuss as well,” Branna reminded him. “And should be doing that with clear heads rather that French bubbles.”
“It’s her birthday.”
“Ah well.” On a sigh, Branna relented. “One bottle among us shouldn’t hurt anything.”
* * *
“I SHOULD’VE BEEN AFRAID,” MEARA MUTTERED TO CONNOR on the return as Fin popped the first cork. “She’s a right terrible driver.”
“Only needs practice.”
“Please the gods and be right on that as I thought she’d do us both in the first kilometer. Still, it’s worth it. She never expected such a thing. Not just the gift, but the whole of it. And I think for all my family is f**ked, I’ve never given a thought but there’d be a bit of a fuss for my birthday.”
“We’ve cake as well.”
“I never doubted it.” In the mood, Meara gave him a quick and affectionate one-armed hug.
He linked his arm around her before she could pull away, did a quick step. Laughing, she mimicked the footwork, then reached for the glass Fin held out. “I’ll take that for certain.”
“I’m going to make a toast,” Iona decided. “Because I’ve thought of what I want to say. In addition to thank you, which just doesn’t cover it. All of you, you’re mine, and that’s a gift I’ll always treasure. Every one of you is a gift to me, a blend of friends and family that’s stronger and truer and brighter than anything I ever imagined having. So, to all of us, together.”
She sipped. “Oh God, that’s really good!”
“A fine toast, and fine champagne.” Branna opened a cupboard, took a wrapped gift off a shelf. “And from your grandmother. I put it aside for her as she asked me.”
“Oh, Nan.” Delighted, Iona set the glass aside to open the gift, took out a sweater in dreamy blues. “She’d have made it,” Iona murmured, rubbing it to her cheek. “It’s so soft. She’d have made it for me.”
She took out the card, opened that.
For my Iona. There’s love and charms and hope in every stitch. Wear it when you want to feel most confident and strong. With wishes for your happiness today, and all days.
Love, Nan
“She never forgets.”
“Put it on,” Meara urged her. “I’ve never seen a lovelier jumper.”
“Good idea. I’ll be right back.”
“When you’re back, we’ll begin,” Branna said. “We’ve time before the food’s done to talk of the solstice, and what we’ll do. We do it well and right,” she added, “and on Iona’s next birthday, we’ll have nothing but friends and food and wine. And that’s a gift for all of us.”