A Woman's Heart. JoAnn Ross

your boat and catch a shimmering glimpse of the turrets of the queen’s castle and the townspeople busily going about their daily work.”

      Quinn found the idea of a hidden Atlantis-like city almost as appealing as the magical silent site itself.

      “You know,” he said, “although this place isn’t nearly as wild, it reminds me a bit of my home on the California coast.” It was the solitude, he decided. A quietness that was both inspiring and comforting at the same time.

      Nora smiled, seeming pleased he was enjoying her gift. “If it’s wild scenery you’re wanting, Mr. Gallagher, I’ll take you to our seacoast on our next outing.”

      Quinn tensed at her casual mention of another sight-seeing trip. Instincts kicked in, the primordial knee-jerk behavior Laura had, only yesterday, teasingly compared to a wolf sniffing out a trap.

      He knew he should refuse further excursions before he got in any deeper. “I think I just might like that,” he heard himself saying, instead.

      In a gesture too natural to be contrived, Nora slipped her hand in Quinn’s as they gazed down at the lake.

      The crystal-clear sapphire water reflected every cloud, even a passing gull. Two white swans, looking as if they’d just flown in from Sleeping Beauty’s castle, floated serenely on the glassy surface.

      “I wish I’d seen this before I wrote my book,” he said.

      “Would you have changed something?”

      “Yeah. I would have set the story in Scotland, since they already have Nessie. Or Wales. Or even California.” He shook his head. “It almost seems a sacrilege to invade this place with a movie crew.”

      “It’s not a church.”

      “Not now. But I’ll bet that the Celts—and before them, the people who built that burial mound—felt differently.”

      He shifted his gaze to the ruins of the castle. “It’s a strange thought.”

      “What?”

      “Thinking of people once living here. Loving and laughing and warring behind those walls. Lord, the stories those stones could tell if they would talk.”

      “I believe I owe John an apology,” Nora said suddenly.

      “John? Your brother?”

      “Aye. He’s been telling me I should read your books, but I haven’t. Oh, I’m sure you’re a fine writer,” she said quickly, as if afraid she might have insulted him. “But I’ll admit to preferring stories that don’t give me nightmares.”

      Having heard that remark countless times, it no longer bothered him. “Horror has its own reality,” he said, twisting her earlier words concerning myths.

      As a lone cloud came from behind the velvety mountain to move across the sun, Nora looked up at him, studying him in that solemn way she sometimes had. The way that made Quinn feel as if she were seeing all the way to his soul. Not that she’d be able to see anything but darkness, he thought grimly, unable to remember when he’d last believed he even possessed a soul.

      “I suspect that’s true enough.” She reached up as if to touch his cheek, apparently thought better of it and lowered her hand. “But any man who can feel the magic and the mystery of this place is a man whose books I want to read.”

      She was suddenly too close. Quinn felt in danger of suffocating. “If you’re looking for a way in to who I am,” he said, sensing she might actually be naive enough to believe she could steal into his sealed-off private places by reading his books, “you’ll be disappointed. Because there isn’t any.” His fingers tightened on the hand he was still holding. “And even if there was, believe me, baby, you wouldn’t want to go there.”

      “And you’d be knowing where I want to go?” Her lilting tone remained soft, but she lifted her chin in an obvious challenge.

      “I’d be knowing where you damn well shouldn’t want to go,” he practically growled. How the hell had they ever gotten on this subject? “It’s a dark place, Nora. Teeming with things you could never understand.”