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Echo blinked. She withdrew from him, more than a little. “Mayor?”
Chapter 9
Duncan sat across the table from her, looking grumpy. He was more than a little annoyed that she hadn’t learned to bring on a vision of the future at will.
“I can’t force it, Mayor Duncan.” And she wouldn’t want to. The goal—her purpose in coming here—was fewer episodes, not more. She didn’t want to learn how to bring them on; she just wanted to control the ones that were going to come whether she liked it or not.
“Let’s get out of here.” Duncan stood, grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet. He didn’t head for the front entrance, but to the rear door. It opened onto a perfectly ordinary alleyway, she knew. Now and then he made her take out the trash. Around the corner there sat a small, rusty-red car that had seen better days. If Duncan ever left town, maybe that was the car he drove. Did he ever leave town? Shoot, did he ever leave the pub?
Apparently so. He walked around the car, then turned down a narrow street. He continued to hold her hand.
The air was not
as cool as it had been earlier that morning. It was perfect. Cool but not cold, sun shining, an occasional gentle breeze. They passed a man working in his garden. Nevan, she saw as he lifted his head and then his hand. When she’d first seen him she’d thought him the ugliest man she’d ever seen, but now...not so much. He was a lovely man, not pretty or handsome in any way, but kind and funny. She waved back. So did Duncan.
He still did not release her hand.
The village was so small, once they’d walked beyond two rows of houses they were, for all intents and purposes, out of town. She had walked this route before, on that afternoon she’d found castle ruins and a fairy fort.
Duncan didn’t lead her in the exact same direction she’d taken that day. Instead, he walked a bit more to the west, though he didn’t go far before stopping and sitting on a gentle green knoll. She sat beside him, and instantly realized why he’d chosen this spot.
The view was like one from a picture postcard. This was the Ireland so many tourists longed to see, but rarely did. The grass was a brilliant green, the sky clear and bright. In the distance a sprinkling of thatched-roof cottages sat. There was no rhyme or reason to the way they were organized, not that she could tell.
She’d come here looking for help, and she’d found it. What she had not come here looking for, what she had not expected, were these intense moments of what could only be called peace. Peace at a bone-deep level. Complete, soul-brightening peace. The sensation never lasted long, but...it was enough. That sensation of peace was like a tonic, like finding beauty where you least expected it and being gently overwhelmed.
Echo now realized that she had never known true peace before coming to Cloughban.
Duncan finally released her hand. Reluctantly, it seemed. Maybe that sensed reluctance was wishful thinking on her part. Maybe he’d only taken her hand to make sure she followed obediently.
It hadn’t taken him long to realize that obedience had never been her strong suit, she knew that much.
She looked at him, studied his profile for a moment and then she asked, “What do you want?”
* * *
He didn’t dare to answer her question honestly. I want you in my bed. I want you gone. I want my life not to be turned upside down by a woman I cannot ever have.
For years he’d been perfectly happy to live single and alone. He had his pub, he had his daughter. It was foolish—and impossible—for him to want anything or anyone else.
“I needed to get out of the pub for a bit,” he said simply. “It’s a nice day. We might as well enjoy it.”
Echo relaxed visibly, her shoulders easing. She smiled. “I had begun to think you never left the pub.” She pointed to a cottage in the distance. “Is one of these houses yours, or do you live above the business?”
No matter how much he liked her, he couldn’t let her in. Couldn’t trust her, couldn’t invite her to be a part of his life. Not even a small one.
“Where do you live?” he asked. “When you’re not traveling the world in search of wizards, where do you lay your head?”
She looked at him, obviously realizing he’d changed the subject. Bless her, she let it slide. “All over. I lay my head in a small apartment in Wilmington, North Carolina. In a big house on Raintree Sanctuary land. In the guest room in Gideon’s house on the beach. With friends, when I need it.”
“Which one of those felt most like home to you?” He wanted to be able to picture her somewhere specific after she left. Why? He could not say. Echo on the beach, in the mountains, in a small room in a crowded building...
She turned her head, looked away, and he knew what her answer would be. Did everyone read her so well, or only him?
“None,” she whispered. “I guess that’s what I’ve been searching for all this time. A place that truly feels like home.” She shook off the mood and looked to him. “Is the pub truly home for you?”
“Cloughban is home,” he said, attempting to be honest with her without saying too much.
“It’s good, to know where you belong.” She bit her bottom lip, continued to look away from him. Did she think he’d see too much in those green eyes? “Do you believe my problems will be easier to solve when I find my place in the world? Or do I have to find this control you insist I need before I can discover home?”
