Home is where his heart is...but what about hers?

Family was always a foreign concept to Liam Delaney. Until research into one of his documentary films brings him to Savannah and Dolley Fitzgerald’s B and B. Dolley’s passion for life and photography is infectious. When she becomes his apprentice, they’re the perfect team in every way. He’s finally found the home he’s always wanted, and it’s all because of her.

The only problem is that his dream is of a home and family, while Dolley craves adventure. They may be at odds, but Liam knows they can make both of their dreams come true together. He just needs to convince her...

Liam pulled her close. They fit perfectly.

He tasted wine and Dolley, all in one spicy kiss.

Someone moaned. Maybe it was him.

The past month had been leading up to this one perfect moment.

Her head tipped back in surrender. Her fingers gripped his hair.

How had they waited this long?

“Wait.” Her word was muffled against his mouth. “Stop.”

He pulled away, gasping. “Incredible.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. That shouldn’t have happened. It can’t happen.”

“But...” His fingers tightened on her arms.

She stepped away, her hand covering her mouth. “If we keep going, everything will be ruined. Ruined.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Fitzgerald House. If you haven’t visited before, Fitzgerald House is a bed-and-breakfast set in Savannah’s wonderful historic district. The three Fitzgerald sisters, Abigail, Bess and Dolley, own and operate the expanding B and B.

In A Savannah Christmas Wish, Fitzgerald House book two, you briefly met Liam Delaney, an Irish photographer and documentary maker. Liam stays at the B and B and shares Christmas with the Fitzgeralds. Through a Magnolia Filter, Fitzgerald House book three, overlaps with book two. Don’t let that worry you. The books can be read as stand-alones! In the beginning of this book, Bess and Daniel aren’t together. I had a blast writing the Christmas scene from Liam’s and Dolley’s perspectives. I’d love to know what you think about seeing the scene through a different set of eyes. You can contact me through my website, www.nandixon.com.

Dolley wants what Liam has: to travel the world for a career in photography. Liam longs for roots, family and a home—everything Dolley has but wants to give up.

This couple is one of my favorites (don’t tell the others!). Liam has a swoon-worthy Irish accent and needs love and family. And spunky, brilliant Dolley deserves love and to have her talent recognized.

If you’d like to see some of the incredible Bonaventure Cemetery statuary, check out my Pinterest page. I create a board for each of my books: www.pinterest.com/nandixonauthor.

Enjoy Savannah!

Nan Dixon

Through a Magnolia Filter
Nan Dixon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NAN DIXON spent her formative years as an actress, singer, dancer and competitive golfer. But the need to eat had her studying accounting in college. Unfortunately, being a successful financial executive didn’t feed her passion to perform. When the pharmaceutical company she worked for was purchased, Nan got the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity to pursue a writing career. She’s a five-time Golden Heart® finalist, lives in the Midwest and is active in her local RWA chapter and on the board of a dance company. She has five children, three sons-in-law, one grandchild, one grandchild on the way and one neurotic cat.

To Mom and Dad always.

Just like Dolley, I never shared my dream of becoming a writer. I hope you would be proud.

Mom, you took a chance and left everything and everyone you loved in England and followed your heart to America. You were amazing. To my wonderful, fabulous family, thank you for supporting my writing. Lily—you are a bright light and I can’t wait to meet Harper!

Thank you to my Harlequin team for believing in this series and guiding me through the publication process: Piya Campana, Megan Long, Victoria Curran, Deirdre McCluskey and all the others whom I don’t even know.

I couldn’t have envisioned this book without my critique group challenging me to dig deeper. Thank you, Ann Hinnenkamp, Leanne Farella, Neroli Lacey and Kathryn Kohorst. And my Golden Heart sisters keep me sane—Dreamcatchers, Lucky 13s, Starcatchers and the Unsinkables. And my writing community—MFW, you’re the best.

And last, this book is for the group that started it all—my sisters. Mo, Sue and Trish.

Contents

COVER

BACK COVER TEXT

INTRODUCTION

Dear Reader

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

EXTRACT

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

Use a picture. It’s worth a thousand words.

Arthur Brisbane

LIAM DELANEY WAS an orphan. Again. He laced his hands together and waited for the priest to bury his godfather. A sigh whistled between his lips. At thirty, being alone shouldn’t matter. But it did. Was it wrong to want a home, a family? To belong?

The wind caught the priest’s deep voice and swirled it round the cemetery. Latin. English. The languages blended in the breeze.

Ignoring the words, Liam listened to the priest’s tone for any hint of sorrow at the passing of the man in the coffin. He heard none. No surprise that. He’d lived with the man for eleven long years.

This day couldn’t end soon enough. He was ready to escape Kilkee for the final time. Leave this reminder of his childhood and catch a plane—anywhere. Just so he wasn’t in Clare, Ireland.

As a distraction, he plotted how he would film Seamus FitzGerald’s funeral. With a wide angle, he’d pan from the crumbling dark stone wall through the gray-and-white crosses and sinking headstones. While the priest droned, he’d linger on the yellow warbler perched on a cherub statue and let its sweet, clear song play. The camera would swing to the Celtic cross marking his godparents’ graves. The towering cross lorded over the monuments of the other FitzGeralds buried near.

Seamus’s wife had died twenty-five years ago. Liam had only known her through pictures he’d found in the manor. Photographic evidence Seamus had once been happy.

When Seamus buried his wife, he’d buried his smile.

After pausing the camera on the cross, he’d pan to the eight mourners gathered round the open grave. The priest. The housekeeper. The mortuary man. The groundskeeper. Three strangers, one young and two who must be Seamus’s chums. And him, the unloved godchild. Standing alone.

Compared to memories of his parents’ funeral, this service was stark. For his da and mum there had been flowers, music, tears and hordes of people. Liam had stood next to his scowling godfather, grieving. He hadn’t realized he would never be hugged again. A lad of eight needed hugs.

He’d learned to expect no affection from the man in the coffin.

A gust of wind fluttered the flower petals in the arrangement straddling the yawning hole. A bee flitted from the single funereal wreath. His camera would follow the bee as it left the daisy to circle Father Patrick’s head.

The priest intoned, “Because God has chosen to call our brother, Seamus James FitzGerald, from this life to himself, we commit his body to the earth, for we are dust and unto dust we shall return.”

Liam would shift the camera frame to the housekeeper’s face. Wind tugged strands of gray hair free from her bun and ruffled her black skirt. He’d track the tear slipping down her lined cheek in a harsh unforgiving close-up.

Why would anyone shed a tear for Seamus?

Cut.

This day was such an un-Irish, un-Seamus fall day. It was a chilly ten degrees for October, but sunlight lit the Kilkee countryside.

The man he’d lived with from the time he was eight until he’d escaped with his cameras at nineteen had just been laid to rest. Instead of sorrow, he felt—empty.

Here lies an unhappy man. Liam wanted to engrave the words on the cross.

The graveside service concluded. The small group waited, the silence broken by the warbler’s joy-filled tune.

Liam refused to add any bitter words to the priest’s platitudes, and the mourners eventually shuffled away from the yawning hole.

A young stranger placed a meaty hand on Liam’s sleeve. He was large enough to play American football. How had he known his godfather?

Squinting against the sun, the man said, “Mr. Delaney, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Liam turned to leave.

The man’s hand tightened on his arm. “I’m Seamus’s solicitor, Ian Lachlan.”

Liam shook Ian’s outstretched hand.

“When you can make the time, I’d like to speak with you,” Ian said.

Behind Ian, the housekeeper, Mrs. Needles, waited. Liam nodded in her direction.

“Are you staying at the manor?” Ian asked.

Absolutely not. He rolled his shoulders. “I’m at the inn.”

Ian tugged out a card. “Please, call me at your earliest convenience.”

Liam tucked the card in his pocket. “I planned to motor back to Galway today.” And find somewhere else to go. Somewhere he felt welcome.

“But Seamus’s will?” The solicitor frowned. “Your godfather has specific requests for you. You must stay.”

Requests? Why should he do anything for that curmudgeon?

Ian glanced back at Mrs. Needles. The priest joined the housekeeper. “Could we meet this afternoon?”

Reluctantly, Liam said, “Aye.”

He accepted condolences and words of sorrow. He listened to a recounting of Seamus’s last days from Mrs. Needles. Apparently, he made the right noises because neither the priest nor the housekeeper looked appalled.

What could his godfather want now?

He wanted to be anywhere but Kilkee.

* * *

“I DON’T WANT IT.” Liam leaned forward in his chair and set his bitter coffee on Ian’s desk. “I don’t want anything from my godfather.”

“But Seamus loved the house.” Mr. Lachlan’s chair squeaked as he leaned forward. “The will stipulates the manor passes to you.”

“My life is no longer here in Clare. I’ve a flat in Galway.” He hadn’t set foot in Kilkee for almost five years.

“But the house was built in 1785. It’s a treasure.”

“The house is drafty and dismal. Unless Seamus loosened his pocketbook, it needs repairs that will cost more than I’ll earn in the next ten years. Sell the bloody place.”

“Oh, no.” Ian’s thumb tapped the papers on the desk. “Why don’t you wait to make that decision? Recover from your grief.”

Liam wasn’t grieving. The only grief remaining was the lingering wisps of sorrow for his parents.

“Mrs. Needles has committed to stay through year end. My office handles Seamus’s financial affairs. We could continue that plan,” Ian added. “And there’s some money that goes along with the manor house.”

“I’ll wait a while.” He didn’t want to deal with decisions on the manor. “But I doubt I’ll change my mind. Keep up his arrangements.”

He could sell the mausoleum next year. Seamus couldn’t have left him enough money to keep him here. There wasn’t enough money in all of Kilkee to tie him to his childhood nightmares. “The only thing I’d like is my godfather’s cameras.”

As a child he’d never been allowed to touch the Hasselblad or Rolleiflex.

Ian shifted in his seat. “About the cameras.”

Liam’s shoulders sank. Were they gone? Had Seamus been that spiteful? “What did he do?”

“It’s not what Seamus did.” Ian rocked forward, and the chair let out a long screech that clawed up Liam’s spine. “He wants you to do something.”

“What?” Liam spit the word out.

“A few years ago, your godfather started working on his family tree.” Ian leaned back and the darn chair squealed again. “I helped him with the software and some research. He traced a branch of the FitzGerald family to Savannah.”

“Savannah?” Where was that?

“Savannah. It’s in Georgia,” Ian said. “The family runs a B and B there.”

“Georgia? By the Black Sea?”

“No. America.”

America? “Did Seamus leave the cameras to these relatives?”

“No. No.” The chair squeaked again.

Liam was bringing an oil can if he met with Ian again.

“He had letters he wanted to give to his American relatives, the Fitzgeralds,” Ian said.

“American relations?” Ian wasn’t making any sense. He’d never heard of any relatives.

“Seamus found letters from his great-great-great-uncle James in America to James’s brother, Michael, who stayed in Ireland. James was the second son and decided to make his fortune somewhere other than at the Irish quarries. Michael stayed here.”

Liam’s head reeled from all the relationships. “I need a road map.”

Ian pulled out a family tree and spread it on the table.

“James moved to America before the famine, around 1830. His brother, Michael, stayed in Clare.”

“Why was Seamus so interested in these... Americans?” He took a sip of his now-cold coffee.

“It seems James did well for himself, first with shipping, then banking and real estate. The family was able to hang on and prosper after their civil war.”

Liam waited. “And?”

“Seamus talked about visiting the family. Showing them the letters, but his doctor said no.”

“My godfather wanted to meet them? He hated people.” Liam couldn’t believe Seamus would pursue something this crazy. “Did he lose his marbles in the last few years?”

Ian shook his head. “He was of sound mind.”

Liam paced to the window and stared at the pub across the street. A pint might help him swallow this strange tale.

“His faculties weren’t impaired.” Ian was being kind.

Liam bet the solicitor had felt the sting of Seamus’s tongue more than once in their working relationship. “This doesn’t affect me. I’m not related.”

Ian frowned. “Seamus wants you to take James’s letters from America back to his relatives.”

“Why bother?”

“Because it was a dying man’s wish.” Ian handed him a file. “I’ve copied the pertinent facts for you and included the material Seamus put together on the family.

“The will is specific.” Ian took a deep breath. “If you don’t take the letters to the Savannah Fitzgeralds, you don’t get the cameras.”

“You’re kidding.” This was Seamus’s final payback for Liam refusing to run the quarries. The bastard knew all Liam wanted was the cameras. “Can’t you just mail the letters?”

“They have to be delivered. By you.”

Liam swore. “And if I refuse?”

Ian held up his hands. “I can’t authorize Mrs. Needles to release the cameras.”

Liam pushed away from the desk, pacing the small office. Bugger Seamus. He didn’t need more cameras. He had plenty.

But the cameras were his childhood’s forbidden fruit. The golden apple just out of reach.

“When do I have to bring these letters to my uncle’s relatives?”

Ian smiled. “You have six months.”

Six months. He crossed the pond a couple times a year to meet with his producers in New York. Maybe Savannah was close enough to swing over for a day.

Ian pushed the file across his desk. “Take a look at the information. I certainly wouldn’t mind visiting the family.”

Liam flipped open the file. In front was a printout of an article with the title Fitzgerald Family Expands B and B to Include Carleton House. Four smiling women stood, arm in arm.

Family. He swallowed back his longing. “This is the only way?”

Ian nodded. “Yes.”

He looked at the Fitzgeralds. “Bollocks. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Ian pushed a piece of paper toward Liam. “We’ll make it nice and tidy. Then Mrs. Needles can release the cameras and anything else you want.”

“I just want his cameras.” Liam dashed his signature on the line.

He didn’t want to stay in Kilkee any longer than required. “I’ll go up there now.”

“I’ll notify Mrs. Needles.” Ian loaded Liam down with a box of papers and folders. “The Fitzgeralds’ copies are in this envelope. I’ve had copies made for you, too. There’s also a copy of Seamus’s will.”

Ian held the door and walked Liam to his car. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Sure.” Not if he could help it. He wanted to be free of this place. And he definitely didn’t want to head to the manor. But he turned the car up the cliff road.

The house overlooking Kilkee Bay hadn’t changed. The blue-gray stone manor had dark, tiny inset windows framed with tan limestone. The faded red door wasn’t inviting. The roof was a sorrowful gray slate. Seamus had boasted all the stone had come from FitzGerald quarries.

Liam’s chest tightened as he parked in the drive. The loneliness of his childhood weighed down his shoulders.

The house could have been quaint or even elegant. It was neither. It was his worst horror. A place where he’d grieved his parents and no one had cared.

The flagstone drive, also from the quarries, muffled the strike of his shoes. He stopped in the courtyard, glaring at the house.

The door pulled open with a dull pop.

“Come in, come in.” Mrs. Needles waved him inside. “I’m sorry for your loss, Master Liam.”

“It’s just Liam.” No one had called him Master Liam since boarding school. “Thank you for your sympathy, but you worked for my godfather. You know we weren’t close.”

“Oh, how proud he was whenever one of your books came out.” She eased off his leather jacket and hung it on the tree before he could protest. “Mr. FitzGerald bragged on how he’d taught you everything you knew about photography.”

“He followed my career?” Liam blurted out.

“Oh, he did. Loved to boast about you down at the pub.” She patted his arm. “He wasn’t as keen on the documentaries, but he watched them all the same.”

This didn’t make any sense. When he hadn’t stayed in Kilkee, he and Seamus rarely talked.

“Seamus did love photography,” Liam said. The only thing he’d loved. And his godfather had made him slave long hours in the darkroom.

“He was proud of you. Come on back to the kitchen.” She tugged on his elbow. “I’ve just brewed a pot of tea.”

“I hadn’t planned on staying. I’m only here for the cameras.”

She ignored his reluctance, leading him down the dim, narrow hall. The lemon polish on the shining wood didn’t mask the musty smell of the old house.

“I’ve everything packed in a box and a few of your school things Mr. FitzGerald saved.” Her eyes twinkled. “You must have been a terror in school. There’s a number of notes from headmasters.”

She pushed open the kitchen door. Bright yellow curtains graced the windows.

“I can’t believe Seamus sprang for something new in this mausoleum,” he spat out.

She winked. “My mince pies got me those curtains.”

A peat fire burned on the grate, the pungent scent warming the room. Mrs. Needles poured two mugs as he settled in a chair in front of the hearth. Then she piled a plate with raspberry tarts and shortbread cookies.

This wasn’t the house he remembered. For once he felt...welcomed.

He took a bite of a crisp cookie. Buttery sugar melted in his mouth. Then he popped a tart in his mouth, the crust flaky and the jam sweet. “These are tops. If you’d been housekeeper when I was a child, I don’t think I’d have gotten in so much trouble at school.”

“If I’d been housekeeper, you would have behaved. I raised three boys from lads to men. I’m a grandmother three times.”

He let her ramble on about her children and sipped his strong black tea, feeling strangely at ease in a house he hated.

She walked into the breakfast room and came back with a box. “Are you sure you don’t want to look around the place? Identify things you’d like packed up? Maybe stay the night?”

“Thanks, no. I’m at the inn.” But for once, he was tempted to linger.

She pointed at the empty plate. “How about another cup of tea and a few more biscuits?”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

“ONCE MORE WITH FEELING,” Dolley called, reducing the f-stop on her camera.

Damian, the bar owner, rolled his eyes, but picked up a martini glass and pretended to hand the bright blue drink to Dolley’s coworker, Anne. On the dark wood bar sat two more cocktails, one electric pink and the other neon green.

Dolley made sure Anne, Damian, the drinks and the wall of gleaming bottles behind the bar were in focus. She snapped away. “Smile.”

Anne’s and Damian’s smiles were forced.

“Come on, think of something fun,” she suggested. “Like vacations or...sex.”

They both grinned. Exactly what she wanted. She captured a few more photos and then pulled the camera away. “Perfect.”

“Finally.” Damian dropped his elbows to the counter and heaved a sigh. “I’ve got thirsty customers to serve.”

Dolley caught a few more shots of Damian as he worked. He was so darn cute. And married. Oh, well. “You’ll have more customers once I update your website.”

She hoped the last pictures of Damian turned out. His dimpled grin would pull in tons of female customers.

“I can’t wait to see it.” Damian put the martinis he’d made for the photos on a tray, adding a clear martini. “Here. For your trouble.”

Anne grinned. “Thanks.”

Dolley grabbed her jacket. “I’ll send the website link in a couple of days.”

She and Anne took the tray out to the patio. It was a perfect October night in Savannah.

“I’m jealous you get to design websites and take pictures for them.” Anne sipped the bright blue drink. “Oh, this is delicious.”

“You could, too.”

“Have you seen my client list? Georgia Gravel Company. Chatham Reclamation.” Anne shook her head. “I’ll let them take their own pictures, thank you.”

“You have no sense of adventure. You could climb the gravel piles, wade through garbage.”

“Not happening.” Anne shook her head hard.

Dolley tasted the neon-green drink. “This one’s apple.”

“Let me try.” Anne took a sip. “That’s good.”

“Anything new at the office today?” Dolley asked.

“Be glad you worked from home.” Anne twirled her glass. “Jackson was on a rampage. We weren’t meeting deadlines. Clients were mad.” Anne shoved her gorgeous blond hair over her shoulder.

What Dolley wouldn’t give to have straight hair like her friend. Instead, her curls looked like she was auditioning for the lead role in Annie. “Glad I wasn’t there.”

“There has to be somewhere else to work.” Anne slumped in her chair.

“If you want to leave Savannah.”

Dolley sure did. She wanted to quit her job as website designer at Jackson Promotions and travel the world.

But she couldn’t. Her family’s bed-and-breakfast was a golden shackle around her ankle, chaining her, the invisible sister, to Savannah.

Dolley let Anne complain, nodding and humming in the right spots, but not really listening. Anne had at least spent a semester studying abroad. The farthest Dolley had gotten was a long weekend in New York City to visit her older sister.

The server hustled over with chips and salsa. “Boss says whatever you want is on the house.”

Dolley rubbed her hands together and looked at Anne. “Appetizers?”

“Most excellent idea.” Anne nodded.

They ordered wings, fried zucchini and mozzarella sticks. That ought to cover dinner.

“No more work talk.” Dolley held up her drink.

Anne sighed. “I’m in the mood to bitch.”

“Nope. How was your date last weekend?” Dolley asked.

Anne pouted. “I thought you didn’t want me bitching.”

Dolley laughed. “I told you he wasn’t right for you.”

“You were right.” Anne waved her hand around the patio. “Pick someone.”

Dolley scanned the tables, lingering on a group of men gathered near the patio bar. “Nothing yet. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

“How was your date with Robert?” Anne asked.

Dolley grinned. “Apparently a lot better than yours.”

Anne grabbed her hand. “You slept with him? Tell all.”

“This was only date three.” Dolley shook her head. She’d learned to wait, hoping any man who made it to date four saw her as more than just a computer help desk or a friend with benefits.

“What did you do?”

Dolley tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “I helped him with some computer stuff.”

“That’s not a date.” Anne wrinkled her nose. “That’s work.”

“We were supposed to go to a movie, but he was having trouble loading his students’ artwork to the school’s website.”

“Right.” Anne’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “How do these guys find you?”

“Robert’s not like the others.”

Anne pointed her finger. “You did his work for him.”

“So we could have more time together. Besides, he bought dinner.”

“Let me guess—pizza?”

“I picked the toppings,” Dolley protested.

Anne shook her head. “Didn’t you learn anything from that guy who had you clear the viruses from his computer?”

“John.” Dolley rolled her shoulder. “Never date a guy who spends that much time on porn sites.”

“And there was that other idiot. You built his website—for free.”

“He wasn’t an idiot.” Dolley had been the idiot. “He was an attorney. Gordon.”

“A cheap one—who didn’t pay for the work you did.”

“They all wanted to stay friends,” Dolley said.

“So they could use you again.” Anne snorted.

“Robert’s not like that. I volunteered to help him.”

Anne leaned forward. “Has he called you since you helped him?”

“No.” Dolley chewed her lip. “But he had tests to grade.”

“Right. He teaches at SCAD.” Anne sipped her drink. “Too bad we didn’t have teachers that cute when we went to school.”

She and Anne had met while attending Savannah College of Art and Design. “You might have studied harder.”

Their food arrived, and they dug in, keeping the conversation light.

“Dolley?” a male voice called.

She turned and spotted a familiar face. “Connor?”

Connor’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her out of her chair. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

She hugged him back. “How are you?”

“Good. Great.” Connor pulled away and tugged on her hair. “You look the same. I would have known your mop of red curls anywhere.”

She brushed an offending hank of hair off her face. “Was that a compliment?”

“Absolutely.” He slung an arm around her shoulder and turned to face their table.

“I haven’t seen you before.” Anne set down her drink and smiled. “Are you an old friend of Dolley’s?”

Connor rubbed his knuckles on the top of her head. “We endured high school Advanced Chemistry together. If she hadn’t helped me with my homework, I might have blown my scholarship chances.”

“We got each other through the course.” She elbowed him so he’d stop rubbing her head. “We were the only juniors in the class. The seniors refused to talk to us.”

“The guys always talked to you. You had the textbook memorized.”

Dolley winced. She had a great memory. “What are you doing back in town?” she asked.

“Home for my mom’s birthday weekend. I’m meeting my brother for a beer.” He glanced around. “As usual, he’s late.”

“Do you want to join us until he comes?” Anne smiled.

“Sure.” Connor gave Dolley’s shoulders a squeeze.

Anne kicked Dolley under the table and tilted her head toward Connor.

Dolley shook her head. Connor wasn’t right for Anne. Besides, she’d had a massive crush on him in high school.

All he’d wanted was help in chemistry.

Connor talked about his job while Anne hung on every word.

“You really stayed with chemistry?” Dolley asked.

“Biochemistry. I work up in the triangle.”

Anne frowned. “The Bermuda triangle?”

Connor leaned in to Anne, laughing. “The Research Triangle Park in North Carolina. I live in Raleigh.”

Anne still looked puzzled, so he explained, leaning even closer.

Her friend wasn’t stupid. Dolley expected Anne had heard about the biotech park. Maybe she should leave them alone. “I’ll be right back.”

Heading to the bathroom, she greeted a couple of the locals, waving and smiling.

She spotted a blond at the indoor bar. Her heart picked up a couple of beats. Robert was here.

Hurrying over, she wrapped a hand around his waist. “Hey, handsome.”

Robert whipped around. His eyes widened. “Dolley?”

“I had fun last weekend.” She gave his belly a little poke. “You must have gotten all the tests graded by now.”

His face went blank. “What tests?”

Her shoulders tightened. “You said you had tests to grade.”

“Right. Yes. Lots of tests.” His gaze darted around the room. “I’m taking a break.”

“So you had time to stop in for a drink—” she let out a deep breath “—but didn’t call me?”

“Like I said before—it’s the tests.” His eyes avoided her gaze. “I needed to get grades in.”

Dread settled like a weight on her shoulders. “Did you even give a test this week?”

He finally looked her in the eye. He held up his hands and then let them fall to his thighs with a slap. “A short quiz.”

“A quiz.” The appetizers she’d eaten churned in her stomach.

Based on the way Robert shifted back and forth, she wasn’t dating him again. “Got it.” She turned to go. “I...”

“Dolley.” He grabbed her arm. “We had fun. I appreciate your help last weekend.”

She glared at his hand on her arm until he let her go.

“Were you even interested in me?” she asked. “Or did you endure two dates just to get computer help?”

“Dolley, no.” He caught her hand. “Can we still be...friends?”

She had to get away. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry.” Robert, the jerk, looked relieved.

She stepped backward, then hurried into the hallway.

Why did this always happen to her?

That’s it. She was taking a dating break.

Her phone rang as she exited the bathroom. Unknown number. What now? She answered.

“Is this Dolley Fitzgerald?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations. This is Bridal Party Today. Your photograph won first place in the amateur division of our contest.”

Her heart pounded. “It won?”

“It sure did.”

“My photograph.” She’d entered a picture she’d taken at Mamma’s wedding. She shook her head. “Me?”

“If you’re Dolley Fitzgerald.” The woman on the other end of the call chuckled. “Your picture will be included in our January magazine. I’ll send you interview questions for the article.”

“Sure. Sure.” After confirming her email address, Dolley hung up.

A photograph she’d taken had won. The first contest she’d ever entered. And it was a picture of Mamma dancing with Martin, her groom, at their wedding. Dolley couldn’t stop the grin filling her face. She’d won. Punching the air, she spun in the hallway. Who cared about Robert now?

She rushed out to tell Anne.

Connor and Anne had their heads tucked together. Connor’s younger brother occupied the empty chair at the table.

Her enthusiasm vanished. They wouldn’t understand her excitement. They weren’t the youngest sister of two exceptional siblings. They wouldn’t understand her need to prove herself.

Dolley straightened her shoulders. Spotting an empty chair, she dragged it over to the table. “Hey, Jason. Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Hi, Dolley. Connor said you were here.” Jason grinned. “How’s my favorite babysitter?”

Lord, she’d babysat Jason. “Apparently old. Are you sure you can drink?”

He flipped out his license. “Legal and everything.”

She forced a smile on her face. This wasn’t the time or place to tell people about her silly contest win. She’d get a copy of the magazine, leave it at the B and B and see if anyone read the article. No one would guess a photography career was her secret dream.

* * *

LIAM CLOSED THE folder on the Fitzgeralds and pushed away from the small desk in his room at the inn. He still hadn’t escaped Kilkee.

Seamus’s long-lost relatives and their location sounded too good to be true. A mother who had started the business and three daughters who ran it now. His godfather had collected enough Savannah travel information that Liam wanted to book a flight tomorrow. Did families like this really exist?

All this reading about family had his muscles tightening. He should walk around town to work off this...anxiousness. Maybe grab one of his godfather’s cameras and head to the bay. He never tired of taking pictures of the sunset on the sea.

Instead, he sat, rolled his shoulders and scrolled through the Fitzgerald and Carleton House bed-and-breakfast website. Someone had a nice hand with the photographs. Dolley Fitzgerald.

He flipped open the file to the picture of the Fitzgeralds and wondered which one she was. Their Irish heritage was evident in their fair skin and red hair. Would they care about letters written years ago?

He checked out pictures of Savannah’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. Clicked on a few links. Savannahians celebrated their Irish roots. And this small city had the second largest St. Patrick’s Day parade in America. Why?

He kept clicking. Found a documentary on the Irish building railroads in Georgia, found other sites touting the Irish regiments in their civil war. Well, his country, too. His father had been an American. Seamus had scorned his dual citizenship. Which made this mission to deliver letters even more puzzling.

But the idea of researching Savannah’s Irish roots...took hold. Dug in. He could stay at the Fitzgerald’s B and B and work in Savannah. Pretend he was part of their family for a time.

Once he finished the voice-overs for his Irish Travellers documentary, he needed a new project. Americans were fascinated with their Irish heritage. Why not create a story around the Irish in Savannah?

He kept searching and didn’t come up for air for an hour. “This might work.”

He could deliver the letters, but he would also get a new project out of the task.

He checked the time. His producer should be in her sleek New York office. When her brisk voice came over his mobile, he leaned back.

“Hallo, Barbara.”

“Liam,” she said. “I’m so sorry about your godfather. How was the funeral?”

“Small.” He cut off any additional sympathy.

“It would still hurt to lose the man who brought you up.” She took a breath. “I’m not pushing, but when do you think you’ll be back in the studio?”

He was done here. “I’ll complete the voice-overs next week.”

“Great.”

Liam stared out at Kilkee Bay. The waves were gentle this evening. So different from the racket in his head. He smiled. “I have a proposal for my next project.”

CHAPTER TWO

The single most important component of a camera is the twelve inches behind it.

Ansel Adams

“FITZGERALD HOUSE,” DOLLEY SAID.

“I’m hoping to book a long term stay.” The man on the phone had a delicious Irish accent. “I tried to book online, but wasn’t successful.”

“I can certainly help you.” Dolley closed her eyes. Yum. She could listen to this man’s voice for hours. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she logged in to the reservation system. “When will you arrive?”

“December fifteenth through...the twenty-fifth of March.”

A three-and-a-half month stay? Dolley bit her lip, afraid she’d blurt out hot damn. She loved being the sister who caught these calls. She searched for available rooms, then it hit her. “Oh, dear. We close the week between Christmas and New Year’s.”

“You’re closed?” Papers rustled on the line. “Is there any way I could...incentivize you to let me stay?”

A three-and-a-half month reservation was a pretty big incentive, especially since Carleton House was opening next year. “How many people in your party?” she asked, trying to stall while she figured out what to do.

“Just me until mid-February. Then I’ll bring in my film crew.”

“Film crew?” This guy was in the movies? “How many rooms would you need?”

“Three more, beginning, let’s say, February 20 through March 25.”

If she was a swooning woman, she’d be dropping to the floor. What a perfect way to open Carleton House.

But they weren’t open over Christmas.

After Mamma opened the B and B, she’d always insisted they celebrate Christmas as a family. Dolley drummed her fingers on the desktop. Just last week, she and her sisters had agreed to stick with Mamma’s tradition.

But this was a three-and-a-half month reservation. With more rooms starting in February. Dolley shook her head. This booking was not going to a competitor.

Maybe Abby would make an exception. Bess, their other sister, would agree with Abby.

“I’ll talk with my partners, but I think we can work something out. It might not include breakfast, afternoon tea or wine tasting during the week we’re closed. Would that be a problem?”

“Hmm. Would I be able to eat elsewhere?”

“Absolutely.” She’d personally create a list of open restaurants for him. “I’d be happy to set up reservations for you and your party during the holidays.”

The grandfather clock at the end of the foyer ticked like a slow metronome, filling the long silence.

“I’ll be alone.” His tone was soulful, like he didn’t have anyone in the world.

No family during Christmas? Now she definitely had to convince Abby to make an exception.

“Let me get your information.”

She wrote everything down. Liam Delaney. Even his name was drool-worthy. “After I check with my partners, I’ll call you back.”

Dolley danced down the hallway to the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door. Abby handled all the breakfasts, teas and appetizers offered by the B and B. Eighty percent of the time she could find her sister baking or cooking.

She was in luck. Abby stood next to the counter on her phone.

“Dolley walked in.” Abby waved her closer. “She’ll know.”

Dolley moved to the counter.

Her sister pushed the speaker button and set the phone down. “Mamma wants to know how many more beds we need for Carleton House.”

“Hey, Mamma.” Dolley rested her head on her hand.

“Hi, sweetie. Aunt CeCe and I have been having fun hitting antique stores and estate sales. We found some great Victorian bed frames and one tester, but I couldn’t remember how many more beds we need. Also, are we still looking for lamps?”

The smile in Mamma’s voice had Dolley grinning. Her newlywed mother sounded so excited. “Great-Aunt CeCe is shopping with you?”

“Her arthritis is better in the morning. We’ve gotten in the habit of hitting the stores early.” Mamma lowered her voice. “She loves feeling useful and spending money. If she could, she’d shop all day.”

“Let me think.” Dolley closed her eyes and pictured the inventory spreadsheet on her computer. She’d updated it last week. “Six more beds. Bess added a request for four small bookcases for the upstairs parlors. Two pairs.”

“We did find bookcases.” Mamma’s voice brimmed with energy. “Aunt CeCe, were those bookcases in pairs?”

There was a quiet conversation between Mamma and Cece.

“We’ll go back to that store and put the bookcases on hold. We think there was at least one matching pair. And lamps?”

Dolley scrolled down the spreadsheet in her mind. “We need a dozen table lamps and we’d take floor lamps, too.”

“Good. There was an estate sale today that had wonderful lamps. We put holds on the nice ones. I’ll take pictures and send them to you. Love to all.”

Abby ended the call. She and Dolley looked at each other and laughed.

“I’m glad Mamma volunteered, or we’d be running all over Georgia and the Carolinas looking for furniture,” Abby said.

“It sounds like Aunt CeCe’s having a great time, too.” Dolley spotted a tray of sweets. “Anything to eat in here?”

Abby waved at the counter. “Leftovers from tea.”

Dolley snapped up a sandwich and grabbed a plate off the stack. Deviled ham? Worked for her. Anything her sister made was delicious. She could chew and mull over how to approach Abby.

Abby stood in front of an open fridge with the inventory list Dolley had designed for her. “Did you need something?”

“I stopped in to say hello to the Scrapbooking Sister group I booked.” Dolley dusted the crumbs off her fingers and took a deep breath. “What do you think about another long-term stay?”

Abby wiggled her fingers, engagement ring sparkling. “I sure liked the last one.”

“Yeah, yeah. You got a fiancé out of it.” Dolley moved to the coffeepot and poured a mug. “He’s not asking for dinner, so I don’t think Gray has to worry you’ll fall for another man.”

Abby bumped her shoulder and took a sip of Dolley’s coffee. Her sister’s gaze softened. “Gray never has to worry about that.”

Dolley rolled her eyes. Her sister and Gray were in love. Sickeningly so. She was happy for her sister, but why couldn’t she find her own guy?

“Back to business.” Dolley snapped her fingers in front of Abby’s silly smile. “Three-and-a-half months. He hasn’t asked for a discount. And he’ll need three more rooms starting February 20 until March 25.”

“Four rooms.” Abby straightened. “I say yes. Absolutely.”

“So do I.” Dolley took back her coffee. “It would include the week of Christmas.”

“Christmas?” Abby’s shoulders sank. “We’re closed.”

“I told him. He’s willing to work something out and just wants to make sure he can get meals someplace.”

Abby paced to the sitting area. “One person, or is he bringing someone else?”

“Just him.” Dolley sighed. “The poor man says he’ll be alone during the holidays.”

“Alone during Christmas?” Abby jerked around to look at her.

Dolley nodded.

Her sister twisted her ring. “We agreed to keep our Christmas break just last week.”

“I know.”

“Is there something unusual about him?” Abby pointed a finger at her. “Did you Google him?”

“No.” But she would. She wanted to know about Mr. Liam Delaney of the sexy voice. “He just said he’d be alone.”

She sighed again, trying to tug on Abby’s tender heart. “How sad not to have a place to go during the holidays. I’m so lucky to work with my sisters and have Mamma within spitting distance.”

“Of course we’ll take him.” Abby took Dolley’s hand. “And he’ll have his breakfast, too. For the week we’re closed, he can eat in the kitchen like Gray did.”

“You’re so good-hearted.” Dolley brushed a kiss on Abby’s cheek. “I’ll call him back.”

Abby frowned. “Did you just play me?”

Dolley snagged one more sandwich. “Never.”

Abby’s eyes narrowed. “Just for that, you tell Bess.”

“Will do.” Dolley grinned. She wasn’t looking forward to shoehorning a massive reservation into their clunky booking system. But at least she could listen to Liam Delaney’s gorgeous accent again.

* * *

LIAM TAPPED THE floor with his foot. He knew he would get the go ahead. He had to.

But he’d had project ideas shot down before.

So here he was...waiting...and worrying. The idea of this Savannah documentary had grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.

During the week Barbara was taking his idea for final approval, he’d stopped in New York. Something he’d never done before.

Liam stared out at the silver forest of buildings flanked by turbulent skies. December snowflakes floated through the air, waiting to drop and join the gray slush blanketing New York City. Even standing in his producer’s office, he couldn’t clear the petrol smell from his nose. In Kilkee, at least he’d been able to smell the bay.

He paced from the window to the door. And back again. His anxiousness wasn’t normal.

The office door burst open. Barbara called out, “I’ve got your approval.”

He let out a sigh, sinking into a chair. “I knew you could do it.”

Barbara tossed a red cardigan on her desk. Big red flowers covered her black dress.

“I might have promised them my firstborn.” Her black hair swung around her chin. “I didn’t tell them he was turning thirteen.”

He shook his head in mock horror. She doted on her son, David.

“Can I pick my crew?” he asked.

“You’ve got Jerry. I’m working on the rest.” She leaned against her desk. “Legal revised the consent form we want you to use.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Again?”

“Yes.” Barbara slipped around her desk and slid into her chair. “Make sure to grab copies from Samantha.”

“Lovely.” He hated explaining that people were signing away their rights—forever. “I’d like to take a portable video camera with me.”

“Talk to Samantha.” Barbara fingered the stack of pink phone slips. “Are we still on for lunch with Toni and Mark?”

“Yes, they confirmed.” His agent and manager had both approved the contracts, pending project approval.

He paced in front of the window. This was happening. He had his excuse to head to Savannah.

“You’re pushing hard on this one.” Barbara tipped her head. “Why?”

“The place I’ll stay in Savannah is run by the Fitzgerald family.”

“FitzGerald. Like your godfather?”

“Yes.” Returning to her guest chair, he tapped his fingers on the wooden back. “The only way I could get my hands on Seamus’s cameras was to agree to take some letters to them.”

She frowned, leaning back in her chair. “Is this why you suggested this documentary?”

“Not originally.” Liam stuck his hands in his pockets. “But when I checked the sisters and Savannah out, I was intrigued.”

“Sisters?” His producer raised her eyebrows. “How pretty are they?”

“Not in that way.” Although Dolley’s face was...engaging. He’d toyed with the idea of including her family in the documentary, but didn’t know how the story would unfold or if they would fit his premise. “What did you think of the title, Savannah’s Irish Roots?”

She smiled and nodded. “We’ll test it.”

That was the best he could ask for. “Good.”

“Since you’re this side of the pond, why don’t you spend Christmas with us?” Barbara asked.

“I’d rather be in Savannah than up here in the cold.” He shivered.

Barbara shook her head. “You shouldn’t spend Christmas alone.”

“Holidays don’t mean much to me.” He couldn’t let them. “Even when I was in boarding school, Seamus usually left me there.”

“The old scrooge.” Her tone was incensed. “You deserved better.”

“I survived.” He crossed his legs. He’d learned how to fit in and ingratiate himself with the other students. “School chums invited me home for the holidays.”

“That’s just wrong.” Barbara sighed. “Come to my house. You should be around people who care about you.”

“I’ll think on it.” Now that he had his approval, he wanted to immerse himself in the Irish stories of Savannah and dig into the research.

And he wanted to meet his shirttail relatives, the Fitzgeralds. How should he play this?

It was boarding school all over again.

* * *

DOLLEY PULLED THE cork on another bottle of wine, and it opened with a pop. The tart aroma mingled with the pine of the Christmas tree in the corner. Evergreen boughs on the mantel and the spicy appetizers added to the incredible smells filling the library.

It wasn’t Dolley’s night to host the wine tasting, but since Abby’s fiancé was back in town, she’d volunteered. Abby had jumped at the chance to spend time with Gray. Her sister hadn’t even noticed Dolley’s new dress.

Dolley had planned to volunteer anyway. Mr. Liam Delaney was checking in tonight. The voice. She tugged on her hem. The black dress hugged her curves but kept creeping up. It was probably better for clubbing than for the B and B, but—Liam Delaney. Enough said.

Online, she’d found a wealth of information on their guest. When she grew up, she wanted to be Liam Delaney. He was a documentary filmmaker and a photographer. Envy shot through her. His body of work was amazing. He’d traveled the world, linking his photography to his films. She planned to pick his brain about his career, without being creepy.

She checked the flames under the chafing dish and opened the last bottle of wine.

Her one claim to photography fame was the picture of her mother. And she hadn’t even told her sisters she’d won the contest. Somehow the words just wouldn’t leave her mouth.

Abby and Bess were so talented. One picture was nothing compared to what her sisters had accomplished in their careers, Abby in the kitchen and Bess with her landscaping.

A honeymoon couple walked into the library, arm in arm. The newlyweds had stayed at Fitzgerald House for the last few days.

“How was your day?” Dolley asked.

“We kayaked off Tybee Island.” The bride massaged her upper arm.

“Did you get to the salt marshes?” Dolley asked.

The groom nodded. “Almost had to pull Gretchen across the bay. There was a little chop, but we got there.”

Now she remembered their names. Gretchen and Denny.

The couple headed to the wines and food. Tonight’s offerings were from Germany: a Riesling, a pinot gris and pinot noir. She sampled the red. Not bad. She checked the cards Abby created for the appetizers. Then she took a plate and added pork turnovers, pretzels, warm German potato salad and barbequed kielbasa. She skipped the sauerkraut crepes.

Checking the food layout one more time, she headed to the foyer. Her heels echoed on the marble floor. She would let the guests enjoy their wine and keep an eye out for Liam, the last guest checking in tonight.

She skirted the foyer table. Her sister, Bess, had designed a tower of poinsettias shaped like a Christmas tree. The red-and-pink leaves sparkled with glitter. Another Christmas tree twinkled in the front window. They’d decorated seventeen trees in the House this year, a new record.

She took a seat at the Queen Anne secretary they used as a reception desk.

The front door opened, and she started to stand.

It was another honeymoon couple. They waved and headed toward the library.

Dolley sank back into her chair. What if Mr. Delaney didn’t show? That would hurt. He’d eventually asked for a discount, but they were still going to clear a tidy profit from his stay. She’d held firm that they couldn’t discount rooms during the St. Patrick’s Day festivities. They had to maintain their prices during high season.

Finishing her dinner, she returned the plate to the packed library. Cheryl, a B and B employee, restocked the food. They smiled at each other. Dolley bussed a tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen.

Might as well check the reservation line messages. She put a hold on a room and returned the call, entering the credit card information. Then she pulled this year’s reservation data down into a spreadsheet. For fun, she created a comparison graph with the prior year’s reservations. These cool facts would be nice to show at their next sister meeting.

She pushed back a curl that kept falling in her eye. What next? Pulling out her bag, she settled behind the desk. She would work on photo cards, her creative contribution to the gift shop scheduled to open in January.

She glued pictures on a pale blue fold-over card stock, hoping the result was classy and contemporary. They would sell the cards as six-packs. Each pack included a picture of Fitzgerald House and the rooms the guests saw most: the formal dining room, library and sunroom. All photos she’d shot. The rest of the packet varied, with shots of the gardens or guest rooms. By the time she’d glued all the pictures, she’d made ten packs.

She checked her watch. Almost eight o’clock. Mr. Delaney was supposed to have been here by six. This was getting ridiculous. She’d never waited at the reception desk for a guest.

The front door opened, and there was a swoosh of nylon rubbing nylon. A lean man with dark wavy hair lugged two large suitcases across the foyer. Mr. Delaney?

“Let me help.” She grabbed a roller bag.

“Thank you.” He turned, his gaze catching hers, his eyes a brilliant blue that almost looked purple. “I’m checking in.”

Hurrying around the desk, she asked, “Liam Delaney?”

“Absolutely.” He raised a dark eyebrow. “And would you be Dolley Fitzgerald?”

“Guilty.”

“After all our conversations, it’s lovely to finally meet you.” He reached out a hand, his expression way too serious.

“Oh. Thank you. You, too. Or me, too.” Flustered, she shook his hand, hanging on a little too long.

He dropped her hand and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet.

Shoot, she was supposed to be checking him in. Her fingers danced over the keyboard. “How was your trip?”

She glanced up long enough to see him grimace.

“I raced through the Atlanta airport to catch my flight, then there was some broken widget on our plane, so we all trooped off.” He pushed back his black hair with long artistic fingers. “They sent us to another gate where we sat and sat. When I got to the car rental, they’d let all the cars, so I waited for one to be turned in.”

“I’m so sorry.” She had his reservation in front of her.

“I’m looking forward to sitting someplace where I can stretch my legs.”

Dolley peeked. He had a lot of leg.

Taking his credit card, she said, “We’ll charge your card each week in advance.”

“That works.” He signed the slip.

Handing him a key card, she explained breakfast, tea and wine tastings. “I’m afraid you’ve missed tonight’s wine tasting.”

“Damn.” He huffed out a breath. “I guess I could use a recommendation for a restaurant.”

“I can throw something together in the kitchen.”

Relief filled his deep blue eyes. “I’d be ever so grateful.”

“Sure.” Moving around the desk, she grabbed his bag.

“That’s my cameras,” he said. “I can get it.”

“I’ll be careful. You’re juggling two suitcases.”

She led the way to the elevator. “There’s always coffee, tea and soda in the dining room.” She pointed to the library. “Our evening wine tastings are held there. Feel free to borrow the books and movies.”

He kept glancing at his camera bag. Or was he checking her out?

She tightened her glutes.

“The house is lovely,” he said as they wedged into the elevator.

“It is.” She inhaled, catching a whiff of his scent. Nice. “We just finished the full renovations in August.”

“Your website said you were under construction.”

“That’s Carleton House.” She stepped out of the elevator and stopped at the window overlooking the adjacent mansion. “We’re in the process of restoring the house next door. I’ve booked your crew into Carleton House. It opens in February. If you prefer, we can move you there when they arrive.”

“I’ll think on it.” He stopped in front of his room. “This it?”

“Yes. You’re in the Martha Jefferson room.” Instead of setting the bag down, she handed the strap to him so he wouldn’t worry. “If you use the front stairs and head down the hallway by the reception desk, you’ll find a swinging door. That’s the kitchen.”

He touched her shoulder. His scent wrapped around her. Mint, apples, lemons. Not a fragrance she would associate with a man—but he made it work. She leaned in and took another sniff. Delicious.

His gaze caught hers. “I appreciate the help with my bags. It was a long day.”

She stepped back. Her objective was to learn more about photography, not drool over him or his cologne. She headed to the back stairs. “Let me see what food I can scrounge up.”

She would ply him with food and if there was an opportunity—questions. Find out if she could use her photography for more than selling cards.

* * *

LIAM ROLLED HIS suitcases next to the bedroom door, settling the camera bag on the bed. It was foolish, but he unzipped the bag. The Hasselblad, Rolleiflex, his Canon, Nikon and all his lenses and filters looked undamaged. Barbara had come through with a portable, and it was fine.

Dolley had been careful. And watching the bag had given him the opportunity to admire a really lovely bum.

He stretched, working a kink out of his lower back. Ms. Dolley Fitzgerald was more interesting in person than in her website photograph. She had...energy. A camera couldn’t capture her gleaming green eyes or the life in that mass of red curls.

He unpacked a few things, plugged in his phone to recharge and set the stack of releases on the desk with his computer.

His stomach rumbled. He pocketed his key card and headed downstairs.

The curved railing was silky smooth under his palm. What a difference between the uncared-for Kilkee manor house and this well-preserved Savannah mansion.

He would get something to eat, take the lay of the land with the first Fitzgerald sister and then fall into bed.

Tomorrow he planned to wander Savannah, get a sense of the city and the historic district. He loved exploring and listening to the natives. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t an aboriginal community in Australia or a small tribe forced out of their hunting grounds in Africa.

Skirting a tower of poinsettias, he found the right hallway and pushed on the swinging door.

Dolley stood in front of a stainless steel counter, containers covering the surface. The worktops, grills and a wall of fridges made this look like a restaurant. But in the back was a small sitting area with a glowing fire and a Christmas tree.

“You found me.” Dolley pointed to the back area. “Grab a chair by the fire. I’ll bring everything over.”

He snatched a chunk of cheese as he passed by the counter. “Thanks ever so much.”

“What would you like to drink? Beer, wine, soda? We have Jameson if you’d prefer.”

He sank into an armchair. “A Jameson, neat, would be appreciated.”

She dropped off a tray of cheese, sausage, crackers and fruit. “I’ll grab your drink.”

She pushed through the swinging door. Her short black dress flirted with her tidy bottom. Nice.

He piled a cracker with cheese and meat and took a bite. Followed up with some cool green grapes. He kept going as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Ever since Seamus’s funeral, his appetite had been—off. His meals had been haphazard at best. He’d do better. He’d comply with the schedule Dolley had rattled off. She’d said the hours were in the pamphlet she’d handed him. He’d make sure he didn’t miss meals like he’d been doing in Ireland.

“Sorry it took so long. Jameson is in the library.” Dolley pushed through the doorway. “It’s always there for guests, FYI.”

The room brightened. Why? He turned his photographic instincts to the question. Dolley? It wasn’t just her hair, it was her—her smile—her sparkle. Being in Kilkee had drained him. Maybe in Savannah he could absorb some of her vitality.

“This is great.” He waved his hand over the half-decimated spread of food.

“I could make you a sandwich,” she offered.

He took the tumbler from her hand and their fingers bumped. Awareness surged through him. “This will hit the spot.”

“Would you like company?” she asked.

“Please.”

She took the armchair across from him, curling her feet underneath her trim bottom. She tipped her wineglass. “Welcome to Savannah. Sláinte.”

Her pronunciation was spot-on. “Sláinte.”

They both stared into the fire. He popped grapes in his mouth, enjoying the silence, so different from the cacophony of airports and planes.

“Did you fly straight from Ireland today?”

He shook his head. “I was in New York for a week. Meetings.”

“My sister, our chef, trained in New York.” Her smile dimmed. “I visited when I was seventeen. Not sure I could live there. I enjoy fresh air too much. But the city—everything moved and breathed. It was alive.”

Weird that she mentioned the one thing that bothered him about the city—the smell. “I can never get the stench of petrol out of my nose. I hate the crowds.”

“I love crowds.” Her grin made her green eyes twinkle. “Savannah smells like life to me. Green and growing. And when you get closer to Tybee, the ocean.” Her shoulders lifted and dropped. “I love it here, but I’d like to see...the world.”

The world? Been there. Done that. “Tybee sounds like Kilkee, but warmer.”

“Kilkee? Is that where you live in Ireland?”

“Only for part of my childhood. Before that I lived in county Kerry.”

“It sounds so—glamorous.”

He shook his head. “It’s a small coastal village.”

“I checked out your website.” She leaned forward. “It’s amazing. I love your Irish landscapes—well, all your landscapes. But the Irish ones made me feel like I was walking a path home to a cottage. Or I’d just stepped into a pub and someone built me a Guinness.”

Her compliment sounded genuine. “Have you been, then?”

“To Ireland? No. Closest I’ve come is Kevin Barry’s pub here in Savannah.” She laughed. “Sad when we’re Irish-Americans, isn’t it?”

“No.” He popped one last cracker in his mouth. “You take the photos for the website, right?”

She nodded, chewing on her lower lip.

“You’ve an excellent hand with the camera.” He tried not to stare at her mouth. He was supposed to be scoping out the territory. But the sight of her lower lip, now wet and slightly pink from her teeth, was...entrancing.

“Me?” Her eyes widened. Her fair skin turned a beautiful peach color with her blush.

“Your photographs are well composed. You use light like an artist.”

“Coming from you, I’m awestruck.” Her hand pressed against her chest. A rather lovely chest, at that.

He forced his gaze up to her face. “Did you study under someone?”

“I took classes in college, but nothing serious.” She shook her head, and her curls danced. “Nothing like what you must have done.”

“I never went to university.”

She leaned forward. “But you’re so good.”

Her frock gapped, and he got a small peek of the valley between her breasts. Devil take his soul, he was having trouble keeping his eyes where they belonged.

“I apprenticed with some wonderful photographers,” he said. “That sounds grander than it really is. I hauled equipment and spent hours in the darkroom, or scrolling and deleting blurred photos, but I watched them work. They critiqued and explained and made me the photographer I am.”

“You were an apprentice.” Her fingernail tapped the cutie-pie curve of her top lip. “I don’t suppose you need one while you’re in Savannah? I really want to learn more.”

“I’ve only had one apprentice.” He exhaled. “It’s a commitment to bring out the artist in a photographer.”

And that hadn’t ended well. Kieran had used him to get ahead. That was expected. But his apprentice had had little patience. He’d falsified a recommendation by using Liam’s own email.

Since Kieran, he’d been reluctant to take on anyone else. His focus in Savannah was his documentary, not training a novice.

But working with Dolley might be another way to absorb the Fitzgerald experience.

“Let me get some sleep.” He stood. “I’ll think on your request.”

CHAPTER THREE

Diligence is the mother of good luck.

Proverb

DOLLEY’S FINGERS BEAT a rhythm on her keyboard. Three o’clock. What was Liam doing? Maybe tea at Fitzgerald House?

She could accidentally run into him there. He might have an answer about taking her on as an apprentice. She rolled her head, easing the tight muscles in her neck.

What would it be like to apprentice with Liam Delaney? Could he be her ticket to showing her family she had creativity, too? She wouldn’t be the youngest Fitzgerald sister anymore. She’d be someone.

Anne poked her head over the cubicle wall. “I’m heading across the street for coffee. Do you want anything?”

“No, but I’ll walk out with you. I need to run over to Fitzgerald House.” She shut down and tucked her laptop in her bag.

Time to stalk Liam Delaney. God, she was sad.

“I heard from Connor,” Anne said, pushing open the door. “He asked me to drive up to North Carolina to visit.”

“You kept in touch?” Dolley would never have put them together.

“We saw each other a couple of times the weekend we met.” Anne started across the street. “Then got together during Thanksgiving.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” She and Anne were friends, close friends.

Anne chewed her thumbnail. “When we met, you didn’t approve of us as a couple.”

“That’s because Connor’s self-absorbed.” Or had been during high school.

“He’s not.” Anne stopped in front of the coffee shop, hands on her hips. “Sure, he likes to talk about his job, but it’s interesting. You should hear what they’re researching. Ways to deliver chemotherapy in fat cells, nanotechnology and injecting tumors with viruses.” Anne shot Dolley a stern look. “What he’s doing could change the world.”

Dolley sighed. “I...I didn’t realize.”

“He’s amazing,” Anne said.

“You don’t need my approval to date Connor.” What did she know about successful relationships?

Anne’s shoulders relaxed. “But he was your friend first. I don’t want this to be between us.”

“Never.” Dolley caught her hand. “I think you’ll be great together.”

Anne squeezed her fingers. “Really?”

“Really.” Dolley hated that her friend had hesitated to tell her about a relationship. Maybe letting her in on her secret might soothe her feathers. “The reason I’m heading to Fitzgerald House is because our long-term guest, the Irishman, is considering whether he’ll take me on as a photography apprentice.”

Anne’s eyes were as big as saucers. “An apprentice?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe he can jump-start my photography career. He must know all the right people. It would be the perfect leg up.”

“You want to change careers?”

“I hope so,” Dolley said. “And Liam could help me hit the fast track.”

“I don’t want to be alone at Jackson.” Anne pouted.

“You won’t be alone. And who knows if I’m any good.” Dolley winced. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Anne turned a key on her mouth. “Is the Irishman as hot as his accent?”

“Hotter.” And Dolley wasn’t kidding. “Total eye candy.”

Anne fanned herself. “Go, girl.”

“It won’t be a hardship to befriend the man.” Dolley grinned. And maybe she could get him to smile.

Dolley cut across Columbia Square and skirted the fountain. Everyone around her was pairing up. Anne and Connor. That was a shock. Abby was engaged. Bess and Daniel had been hot and heavy for a while, but that had ended. Even so, Bess didn’t want to stop for drinks anymore.

Soon there wouldn’t be anyone to go clubbing with her, and she’d sit at home, become a recluse and take in stray cats.

Across the street from the B and B, she stopped and stared at Fitzgerald House. At three full stories plus the attic, it towered above Carleton House. The black wrought iron balconies gave it a feminine look.

Dolley didn’t remember Fitzgerald House ever being her home. She’d been five when Mamma had opened the B and B.

She only remembered Papa through pictures. He’d died when she was four. But whenever she smelled Old Spice, she got a warm, happy feeling. Abby was the one who’d told her it had been Papa’s aftershave.

Sunshine sparkled on the windows. A cascade of red poinsettias flowed across the porch and down the steps. Dolley had wrapped fairy lights around the green garland draped along the low wall running the length of both Fitzgerald and Carleton House. Her fingers clenched, wishing she had her camera.

The day they’d decorated, she’d taken tons of pictures. That B and B blog had gotten the most hits ever. The blog was her small contribution to finding new guests.

She took the Fitzgerald House porch stairs two at a time and pulled open the bright blue door. She sniffed. Ginger molasses cookies? Abby was baking her favorite treat.

She wanted to see if Liam was attending afternoon tea, but she also wanted to grab a warm cookie. She inhaled. Darn it. A career she was passionate about was more important than her sister’s cookies, right? She forced her feet to move down the hall, away from the kitchen.

In the sunroom, guests gathered in groups of two or four, drinking and eating the offerings. She leaned against the door frame.

Liam sat next to the bay window. A group of local women who came to tea each month formed a ring around him. Wouldn’t they love his accent?

His knuckles were white around his plate. His teeth clenched. Poor man.

She entered the room.

His head jerked up. Relief filled his deep blue eyes and he scrambled to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies.”

Pressing her lips together, she held back a laugh.

“Ms. Fitzgerald.” He almost lunged toward her. “Just the person I was hoping to see.”

She smiled. “Good to see you, too.”

“Is there someplace we can talk? Someplace other than—” he looked back at the ladies “—here?”

She took pity on him. “Follow me.”

“Goodbye, Liam,” a woman called.

“Goodbye, Mr. Delaney,” another said.

“Let me know if you need more information on my family,” a woman called as he left.

As soon as they turned the hallway corner, she burst out laughing.

He slumped against the wall. “Devil take me, those women were talking my ears off.”

“I know just what will help, my sister’s molasses and ginger cookies.” She linked their arms. His was firm and muscular. “They’re the best.”

She would be able to talk to Liam and have her favorite cookie. Score.

“As soon as I told the group what I was doing in Savannah, they...they attacked.” He was a little breathless. “And they all looked alike. What are you doing down here, cloning crones?”

She glanced behind her, but they were far enough away from the sunroom that no one could have heard him. “They all went to school together, and they’re wonderful.”

“I’m sure they are, but they’re overwhelming.” His words ran together, a lovely Irish slur of sounds.

She slipped her arm out if his. If she wanted an apprenticeship, she wouldn’t complicate things by acting too familiar.

Photography was her focus.

She pushed open the kitchen door.

Abby slid cookies onto racks. She glanced up, her ponytail bouncing. “Hey, Dolley.”

Liam stepped in next to her. Even through the magnificent smell of molasses, sugar and ginger, his scent came through.

“Abby, have you met Liam Delaney?”

“Not yet.” Abby grabbed a towel and dusted her hands. Moving across the kitchen, she shook his hand. “So glad you chose Fitzgerald House for your stay.”

“Thank you for making an exception during the holiday.”

“You are very welcome.”

“I rescued him. He was corralled by the Saint Peter School ladies.” Dolley raised an eyebrow. “They were overwhelming him.”

“They offered to help with my research.” Liam winced. “Even the women who weren’t Irish.”

“What are you researching?” Abby asked.

“Savannah’s Irish roots. For a combination book and documentary.”

“That sounds like fun,” Abby said.

“It will be.”

“Since your tea was interrupted, would you like a cup in here?” Abby offered.

“Yes, please.” His words rushed out. “I’d kill for one.”

Dolley snatched up a couple of the warm cookies.

Abby smacked her hand. “I’ll serve. Go light the fire.”

“They’re best right out of the oven.” Dolley moved back to the sitting area. Passing Liam a cookie, she whispered, “I filched one for you, too.”

He grinned, a wicked pirate grin that promised adventures and fun. It was the first smile she’d noticed crossing his face.

She frowned. He hadn’t smiled at all last night.

“I won’t rat on you.” He leaned close, his dark, wavy hair brushing next to her ear. “But I’d best get rid of the evidence.”

She couldn’t help inhaling his scent. Could cologne be addictive?

Liam took a bite. His eyes closed. “Oh, my,” he mumbled, his mouth full.

“I know.” Dolley devoured her cookie and then pushed the buttons on the gas fire. It lit with a whoosh.

“I saw that,” Abby scolded, although she was smiling. She set cookies and bars on the coffee table.

“These are incredible.” Liam plucked another cookie from the platter.

It was a sacrifice, but she nudged the cookies closer to him. A sugar high might lull him into agreeing to the apprenticeship.

Abby set a teapot with cream, sugar and mugs on the table. “I’d love to chat, but I need to refresh the tea.”

“Go.” Dolley waved her off. Besides, she didn’t want Abby finding out about her request for a mentorship. Especially if Liam said no.

He poured cream in his mug and added tea. “It’s nice to get a real pot of tea. Some places I stay, I can hardly find a tea bag.”

He prepped a cup for her. She couldn’t think of any man ever making her a cup of tea, or much of anything.

“How was your morning?” She slipped deeper into her chair.

“I took a long ramble around the squares, getting my bearings.” He took another cookie. “Savannah is beautiful.”

“Wait until the azaleas bloom.”

“And when will that be?”

“Early March,” she said. “They peak around the St Patrick’s Day invasion.”

“I can’t wait.” Liam took another cookie. “I want to film the festivities.”

She sipped her tea. How could she steer the conversation to the apprenticeship? “Did you take any pictures?”

“Thought I would scope things out first.” He downed his tea. “But I took a couple.”

“When you’re doing a documentary, do you think in photographs or film?” she asked, not sure how to blurt out her request.

“No one’s ever asked me that question.” He refilled his mug and slid back in his chair. “Both, I guess. I see moments that unfurl into scenes, into movement or a story.” He shook his head. “That sounds thick.”

“I see that.” Her pictures tended to be of the B and B, but it was pictures like the ones of Mamma’s wedding, where Martin was twirling her in a circle, that she loved. It was a story of joy. “I get it.”

“I did do one other thing today.” Liam pushed back his black hair. It was thick and long enough to curl around his shirt collar. What would his hair feel like?

She refocused on his face, although that was distracting, too. “What?”

“Called my producer. I’ve got room in the budget to put you on the payroll.”

Dolley’s feet hit the floor. “You do?”

“You can be my—Savannah guide.” He held up a hand. “I’m not promising an apprenticeship. I’d want to assess your skills before I commit. Are you still interested?”

She juggled her mug, setting it down before she spilled. This didn’t sound like an apprenticeship. “I’d be on trial?”

“Probation. It won’t be much money.” He named an hourly rate that was barely over minimum wage.

Her stomach dropped. She still had to live. “How many hours a week?”

“Let’s say—ten to fifteen to start. If I need more hours, we’d reassess the money.” Liam leaned close enough for her to catch a heady whiff of his cologne. “Is the money a problem?”

Money was always a problem for the Fitzgerald family, but she wouldn’t tell Liam that. She wanted a chance to improve her skills. This might be her big break or it could be a lowly gopher job. How would she pay her bills?

“I’ll see if I can cut back my hours at work.” She kept her tone calm, when inside, everything started to shake.

He frowned. “I thought you and your sisters ran the B and B?”

“We do. I also work for a website design company.” Jackson had always let her flex her hours.

His dark eyebrows almost formed a straight line. “I don’t want to mess up your job.”

“You won’t.” She picked at the pleat in her pants. “I’d planned to cut my hours when Carleton House was up and running.” Not quite this many hours. “It’s no problem. Really. I’ll just do this a little earlier. Really.” Now she was babbling like her sister’s fountain.

“You’re sure?” A puzzled look crossed his face.

“Really.” Had she really said really again? “When do you want me to start?”

“Can you give me a half day tomorrow? Say, in the afternoon.”

“Perfect.” She’d get to the office early, finish the website she was working on and then talk to Jackson. With an early delivery on her current project, she’d soften him up. Then she’d tell him about cutting her hours.

If she survived her probation, this might be the start of a new career and the end of an old one. Her hands shook, and she tucked them under her legs. “Why don’t I meet you here at one thirty? I’ll drive.”

* * *

“THE DUNES’ WEBSITE just went live.” Dolley leaned against Jackson’s doorway.

He glanced up from his array of screens. “When was it due?”

“Next week.”

He smiled. “Wonderful.”

“Hold that thought.” She moved into his office and settled into a guest chair.

“What’s up?”

She cleared her throat. “I need to cut my hours a little earlier than I thought.”

“You and your sisters having problems at the B and B?”

“No.” She took a deep breath. “I have an opportunity to apprentice with a world-class photographer.”

“And that affects your work—how?”

She swallowed. “I need to cut back to ten to fifteen hours a week.”

If Liam took her on, she’d end up working long hours for a while. Somehow she would juggle her job, working with Liam and the B and B. Her stomach churned. Who needed sleep?

“Ten hours?” Jackson was shaking his head. “You’re my best designer. People ask for you.”

“They do?” He’d never told her that.

“Yeah, they do. What’s with the photography bug anyway?”

“I...I like taking pictures.”

“Then you can take more shots like you did for—” he snapped his fingers “—that...that pub last fall.”

“I want more than having my pictures on other people’s websites.” She was tired of fading into the background just like in her family.

Jackson shoved his fingers through his short curly hair. Bad sign. “I’ve given you a lot of leeway.”

She nodded, a chill running down her back.

He aimed his dark brown gaze at her. “When you wanted to flex your hours, I didn’t complain.”

Her hands clasped together in her lap. “I hope you know I appreciate that.”

He waved her statement away. “You have more latitude than any other designer.”

Was there a but in his tone?

“I don’t know if I can let you drop below thirty hours a week. I definitely can’t grant any benefits at the levels you’re talking about.”

“What are you saying?” her voice squeaked.

“You’ll have to become an independent contractor.” He froze her with his stare. “No benefits. And you’d bid each project.”

Bid. Not get a salary. Not even get an hourly wage. If she had problems with a site, she could end up working for pennies. She’d assumed she would be paid hourly from now on.

If Liam didn’t take her on, she’d just burned a major bridge. She wouldn’t have steady income. She wouldn’t have money being set aside for her retirement. She’d have to go on the B and B’s health plan. Sweat trickled down her back.

She let out a shaky breath. “When do you want me to start bidding?”

* * *

LIAM GLANCED AT his watch. The day was crawling. He had another half hour before he saw Dolley again.

She’d accepted his offer, even though he hadn’t committed to mentoring her. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take on the responsibility that came with an apprenticeship. Bonds formed if he worked that close with someone. Kieran, his only apprentice, had betrayed their friendship.

Would Dolley be as ambitious as Kieran? He didn’t have to decide right away, but he couldn’t keep her dangling, either.

He slipped the Savannah history book back on the shelf of the Fitzgerald House library. He hadn’t found anything new in it. Then he checked the grandfather clock in the hall to make sure his watch was correct. 1:10 p.m.

This was odd. He’d never been bored on a project. And he wasn’t bored. He just wanted to see Dolley and soak up some of her sparkling energy.

Guilt had him rolling his shoulders. He’d agreed to work with her because he was toying with the idea of using the Fitzgeralds as the core of his film. The documentary could highlight the difference between James’s journey to America and the poor Irishmen who built canals and railroads and oversaw plantations.

James’s letters might be the carrot to get what he wanted—an exposé on the difference between the Fitzgeralds’ ancestors and the countrymen who fled Ireland during the potato famine. The age-old conflict of rich versus poor. Haves versus have-nots.

Hopefully, spending time with Dolley would determine the perfect approach to integrate their family into his film. He didn’t want the sisters tossing him out on his arse.

The clock read 1:15 p.m. He headed to the dining room to grab one last cup of coffee.

“Hi, Liam.” The newlyweds he’d met at last night’s wine tasting were pouring mugs of coffee.

“Hey, Becca, Hale. Did you have a good time at the fort?”

“We did. Now Becca wants to shop.” Hale rolled his eyes, but was grinning.

“Oh, stop.” She added cream and sugar to a mug and handed it to her husband.

The couple shared an intimate smile that had Liam shifting on his feet.

“Thanks.” Hale touched Becca’s cheek as he took the mug.

What was it like to have someone know how you took your coffee?

“See you at the wine tasting tonight?” Hale asked, taking his bride’s hand and heading out the door.

“I’ll be there.”

Maybe coming to a B and B that catered to newlyweds was not the place for him. Why have what was missing from his life shoved in his face every day?

Quick footsteps echoed out in the foyer. Dolley entered the room and filled it with light.

“Hi.” She took a mug, poured coffee and took a deep drink. Her eyes closed. “I needed that.”

“Tough morning?” he asked.

“Just issues I have to work through.” She smiled, but it wasn’t the joy-filled smile he’d seen before.

“Anything you want to talk about?” His knowledge on website design could fit in a teacup, but he could listen.

“No.” She sipped her coffee and hummed.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her face. He’d never watched someone who was that into the moment. Her peach-colored lips wrapped around the edge of the cup. Her pale throat moved up and down as she swallowed.

If he took her picture, would it translate onto film?

Her green eyes blinked open. “Where would you like to start?”

He shook his head. What she was talking on about?

One corner of her mouth turned up. “Where do you want to go this afternoon?”

“Oh.” He finished his coffee, dredging up his plan. “I’d like to check out cemeteries.”

“Good.” She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. “Which one?”

“The one with all the statues.”

“Bonaventure. I love going out there.”

“And the Catholic Cemetery.” He set his empty mug on the tray set up for dirty dishes.

“Here’s a little-known fact.” She raised an eyebrow. “The colony of Georgia forbade the practice of Catholicism.”

“Really?”

“It didn’t change until after the Revolutionary War.” Her smile was coming back.

“Fascinating.” Having Dolley around was going to help focus his research.

“We can’t do both cemeteries justice in an afternoon.” She set her mug next to his. “You’ll need to choose—statues or Irish?”

“Statues.”

“Grab your cameras. I can’t go there without taking tons of pictures.”

He pointed to his camera bag. “Ready.”

“Okay, then.” Dolley led him to a small Volkswagen.

“I pushed the passenger seat back as far as it could go.” Dolley glanced over at him. “You have a lot of leg.”

He tucked himself into her car. “Next time we take my rental.”

“What are you driving?”

“Audi sedan.”

Her grin was full and happy. “Will you let me drive?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Drat.” She drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on the stick shift. “We’ll circle a lot of the squares. This is Columbia Square. That’s Wormsloe Fountain. It came from the Wormsloe plantation, which was down on the Isle of Hope. It was owned by—” she tapped her nose “—Noble Jones. In the mid-1700s.”

She continued to give him background as they passed through the historic district.

“How do you remember it all?” he asked. “I wouldn’t be this good a guide if you came to Ireland.”

“Oh, I wish I could see Ireland.” Her fingers drummed on the stick shift. “I do the historical write-ups for the B and B’s blog.”

“I’m impressed.”

As Dolley drove, she spouted off information like she was a fountain. She intrigued him. Easy on the eyes, and she smiled—all the time.

He wanted what she had. She and her sisters worked together. Their family owned a mansion their ancestors had built. He wanted to be part of something that—deep. Have roots sunk into bedrock, so no one could yank them free.

What would his life have been like if his parents had survived their car accident? Would he have smiled more? Been happier?

He would never know. He’d been torn away from everything and everyone he loved and forced to live with Seamus.

“Liam?” Dolley jostled his elbow. “Where’d you go? You’re frowning.”

“Sorry.” He forced himself back to the car. “I hope I didn’t miss anything.”

“Maybe I should tape my tour guide talks.”

“Would you?”

She shook her head. “I was kidding.”

“I’m serious.” He turned toward her, their knees bumping. “Do you know much of how your ancestors got here?”

“Us? Our immigration was generations back. I don’t even know how many.” She shook her head. “Well, I do. My four-time great grandfather James Fitzgerald left Ireland in 1830. Came with some money and invested it in warehouses and shipping. Eventually, he was a part owner in the bank.”

“Facts just roll off your tongue. You’re some kind of walking computer, right?”

Her jaw clenched. “Something like that.”

They left the historic district. Squares no longer appeared every few blocks, but Spanish moss still swung from the massive oak trees, sheltering the streets. She pulled under a stone archway and into a small parking lot.

“We’ll walk from here.” She pulled her bag crossways across her chest. The strap molded her sweater to her breasts.

He shouldn’t admire the effect. She was essentially an employee.

He unfolded his legs. Grabbing his bag, he waved. “Lead the way.”

They walked between two weathered rock posts. Roads angled away from a building labeled Information. Avenues of oaks dressed with moss shaded the drives.

The cemetery stretched far as he could see. What a difference from the small graveyard set on a Kilkee hill where he’d buried his godfather.

He should find Michael FitzGerald’s grave in Ireland and see if he could find James Fitzgerald’s grave here in Savannah. He could use the two graves in the documentary.

Dolley led him deep into the cemetery.

Small stone borders, wrought iron fences or rounded tiles separated most of the family plots. There were headstones and markers. Some monuments had piles of stones on the memorials.

“Do they still bury people here?” His voice lowered in respect.

She nodded.

Their tree-lined road narrowed, changing to dirt, shells and sand. Birds serenaded them from the trees. In every direction, statues of angels, people and obelisks had blackened with soot or lichens. Some plots had signs that said Do Not Maintain. In those sections, headstones were tipped and weeds were knee-deep. Others were trimmed and looked like good spots for a garden party with their conveniently placed stone benches.

“When my great-grandmamma was young, they would picnic here. It was a social event.”

“They’d eat lunch in a cemetery?” On second thought, it sounded morbid.

“Over on the banks of the river.” Her smile crinkled her eyes. “We like eccentricities in Savannah.”

At a crossroads, signs pointed to different graves. Dolley stopped in front of a black iron picket fence. “This is Little Gracie Watson, probably the most photographed statue of Bonaventure.”

He knelt to peer through the pickets. The statue of the little girl was beautiful. Gracie sat wearing a dress that looked as if it would ruffle in the breeze. Her hair curled around her shoulders, and her eyes were magnetic.

“She was six when she died from pneumonia. A beloved fixture at Pulaski House Hotel, near Johnson Square.” Dolley’s smile was pensive. “The statue was made from a photograph.”

“It’s lovely.” The little girl’s face was sweet.

“There are rumors her ghost haunted the last people to live on the cemetery property. Of course that story could be made up for visitors.” Her smile was just this side of cheeky. In a deep voice she said, “They say her statue stays warm at night, as though it’s alive.”

Liam had a healthy respect for the spirits. “So you’ve been here at night?”

“Kids in high school would sneak over the fences.”

“Did you?”

“I was pretty studious, and we all needed to help Mamma with the B and B.” She shook her head. “I wish we could get inside the fence, but with so many people visiting her grave, they needed to protect Gracie.”

She pulled out her camera, squatting next to him. Her shutter clicked several times.

“Let me see,” he said.

She handed him a good quality Nikon. Her photos were nicely composed, clear.

“What emotion were you trying to evoke?” he asked.

She winced. “I wasn’t thinking about emotions.”

He tapped her nose, and she blinked. “Always think about what you want a viewer to feel. Even when shooting pictures of inanimate objects.”

“No one ever said that in any of my classes.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you see that branch?”

She nodded.

He pulled out his camera, squatted, angling his body, and waited. The branch swung in the slight breeze and dropped into the frame. Click.

In the next picture he refocused on the bars, giving the photo an ominous feel.

“Depending on whether you’re going for eerie or happy, I’d suggest using black and white or color.” He handed Dolley his camera. “Especially if the branches behind Gracie flower.”

She scrolled through the ones he’d taken. “Your pictures are—sad. Bleak.”

“Good. I was thinking desolate. It would come across better in black and white.”

Her auburn eyebrows snapped together, shadowing her lovely green eyes. “Yes.”

“All great photographs evoke emotions, even when you’re looking at a landscape or cityscape.”

She looked up at him and sighed. “I have a lot to learn.”

“You just have to put your soul into your photos.”

“That’s all.” Her eyes twinkled as she handed back his camera. Their fingers brushed. He pulled away, but he’d felt—something.

“Come on.” She replaced her lens cap and slung the camera over her shoulder. “There’s more to see.”

Dolley kept up a stream of interesting facts, talking about the cemetery and graves they passed and the statues created for the interred Savannahians.

When she talked about bodies that had been moved from another cemetery, he finally asked, “How do you retain all this information?”

“I...just remember things.” She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

He pulled her to a stop and made her face him, holding her hand so she didn’t escape. “You have a photographic memory.”

She stared at their dusty shoes. “Not quite.”

“This is fantastic.” He thought of all the notes he had to take to retain everything she stored easily in her brain. “Do you remember my credit card number?”

“No!” She tried to pull her hand away. “I make sure I don’t.”

“What do you remember of my particulars?” He was really curious.

She bit her lower lip, changing the color from pink to red. “Your phone number.” She rattled it off. And then added his address and the date he’d first called. “It’s kind of a pain.”

“I wish I had your memory.” He slung an arm around her shoulder. “Maybe I need to change your job title to fact checker.”

“I don’t think so.” She nudged his arm away. “I’m hoping you’ll teach me how to be a better photographer.”

Either she didn’t like to be touched or didn’t like him touching her. He forced a professorial tone into his voice. “And your first lesson was emotions.”

“You want emotions? Let me show you Corrine.”

She led him toward a river.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“The Wilmington River. This is where my great-grandmamma would picnic.”

She stopped in front of a large plot. Lawton. The statue was a beautiful woman sitting in front of her headstone. “Corrine was in love with a man who was not of her class. Her family insisted she marry a man she did not love.”

He checked the date of her death, 1877. There would have been class issues at that time.

“The day of her wedding she rode to the Savannah River and drowned herself.” She raised a graceful hand, pointing to the statue of Jesus at the back of the plot. “Her family was so upset, they buried her with her back to Jesus.”

“How sad.”

She grinned. “It’s a ghost teller’s story. Corrine wasn’t engaged. Her parents weren’t forcing her to marry. Based on letters and her obituary, she was ill, possibly yellow fever since Savannah had an epidemic that started in 1876 and continued into 1877. The statue was carved in Sicily.”

She bumped her shoulder into his chest. “I told you the fake story because I want you to be aware that the tales told in our fine city are not always the truth.”

Dolley pulled the lens cap off her camera. “She’s my favorite statue.”

Liam moved next to her, trying to see what she was framing. In the distance, faint streams of lavender and pink threaded through the clouds. He pulled his camera up to his eye. Would the sunset be too far away?

Dolley waited. And waited. Finally, the sky flooded with color. Her camera clicked away. It was a joy to watch her concentration.

He knelt behind her, wanting to see what she’d done.

Pulling the camera away from her eye, she replayed her photos, tipping it so he could look over her shoulder.

The statue was swathed by the soft sunset as if Corrine were an angel caught in the clouds.

“Peace,” he whispered. “I feel it.”

“Yes.” She stared into his eyes. “That’s what I wanted.”

Dolley was talented and took direction.

But Kieran had been talented, too. Kieran’s problem had been insatiable ambition.

A fiery curl blew across Dolley’s eyes. He brushed it away, but his fingers lingered, fingering the silky texture.

Her green eyes grew as big as saucers.

A cart drove up next to them. “Cemetery’s closing, folks.”

He yanked his hand away as she jumped up.

“I lost track of the time.” Dolley stuffed her camera in her bag, her actions clumsy with haste. “I’m sorry. It’s after five? Really?”

“Well past,” the guard said. “Hop in.”

Shoving her hair off her face, she took the passenger seat, leaving him the backseat. She stared straight ahead.

Fingering Dolley’s silky hair had been feckin’ stupid.

“I’ll be your mentor,” he blurted out. He wanted to spend more time with her.

She turned, a frown plowing a furrow in her forehead. “You will?”

He nodded.

A grin ignited her face. “Thank you.”

His motives for helping Dolley mixed with a budding awareness of her as an interesting, exciting woman.

Of course, they might be working together for months.

He would button up this...attraction and concentrate on improving her skills. For now.

CHAPTER FOUR

It is more important to click with people than to click the shutter.

Alfred Eisenstaedt

DOLLEY HANDED THE clean porcelain wall sconce to Bess. “This one has a chip.”

Bess turned the sconce, found the chip and dabbed enamel on the spot. “Not anymore.”

“I hate cleaning lights.” Dolley picked up a rusty sconce and plopped it on the worktable she and Bess had set up in the carriage house.

This mindless work wasn’t enough to keep her from reliving the moment two days ago when Liam had brushed back her hair at Bonaventure. His fingers had rubbed the strands like they were...precious. Was the pull she’d felt between them the reason he’d agreed to mentor her?

She’d almost reached out and touched his hair. Thank goodness the cemetery guard had arrived.

There was too much at stake. She was sticking to her dating hiatus. She’d given up her day job to work with Liam. Just spending an afternoon together had improved her pictures. He could take it away as easily as he’d agreed to work with her. Nothing was going to screw up her apprenticeship.

Dolley shot a glance at Bess. She needed to break the news to her sisters. Not only was she working for Liam, Jackson had changed her employment status. She blew out a big breath. Already this morning, she’d bid on a project for one of her old clients. That sucked.

With a toothbrush, she loosened the dirt around the base and metalwork. “How many more do we have to clean?”

Bess glanced at the boxes. “I don’t want to depress you.”

“Great.” Dolley dipped her cloth in the soapy water and rubbed gently on the bronze fixture. “Should we take off the patina?”

They both stared at the sconce.

“Mamma had us strip all the Fitzgerald House’s lamps.” Bess chewed on her thumbnail.

Dolley touched her hand. “Let’s find out if we have more metal or porcelain.”

They spread everything on the floor, organizing the lamps by type.

Crossing her arms, Dolley said, “Holy cow, that’s a lot of work.”

“Abby’s just finishing up breakfast. She’ll be here soon.” Bess walked around the lamps and sconces laid out on the canvas. “I would like to have everything bright and shiny.”

Dolley sighed. “Okay, we remove the patina just like Fitzgerald House.”

“How come you’re not working today?” Bess settled back into her folding chair.

“I’ve cut back my hours.” She opened the bronze cleaner, the smell sharp and unpleasant. Pouring a small amount on a clean cloth, she gently rubbed the metal.

Bess frowned. “I thought you planned to wait until January.”

Dolley’s finger tapped the edge of the table. “I’m helping out Liam. Delaney,” she added in a rush. Just saying his name had her remembering the stroke of his fingers in her hair.

“Delaney?” Bess’s reddish-blond eyebrows popped up. “Is he the long-term guest? The Irishman?”

“Yup.”

“How are you helping him out?”

She focused on bringing the lamp back to its original gleam. “Research. And he agreed to take me on as an apprentice.” The words spilled out in a stream.

“Wait.” Bess laid her hand on Dolley’s arm. “Apprentice?”

Abby walked in. “You’re taking on an apprentice, Bess?”

Dolley rolled her eyes. Of course an apprenticeship wouldn’t be about her, right? She was void of creativity.

“It’s Dolley,” Bess explained.

Abby pulled out a chair next to Dolley. “I didn’t know they used apprentices in website design. Is that a new thing?”

“It’s not for website design.” Dolley huffed out a breath. “Liam Delaney is mentoring me in photography.”

Both sisters’ heads twisted, and they stared at her. Their eyes, variations of green and hazel, were wide with surprise.

Their shock hurt.

Abby placed a hand on her back. “You want to be his apprentice?”

“I want to improve my photography,” she said.

Bess rubbed Dolley’s arm. “Is this just for the website?”

Her sisters, the two people she was closest to in the world, didn’t know she wanted to be a photographer. She swallowed. “I want to be...better.” I want to make it my career.

“Then it’s good Liam is here.” Abby bumped her with her shoulder. “And he’s not bad on the eyes. Does he ever smile?”

Dolley frowned. “Not often. Once? That I caught.” And she’d never heard him laugh.

Did that make him romantically tragic, or just tragic?

She took a deep breath. “And I added myself to the B and B’s health plan.”

Abby grabbed a sconce. “Why?”

Dolley shrugged. “Jackson made me an independent contractor.”

“Oh.” Abby’s eyebrow went up. Censure filled that single syllable.

“Cheryl raves about Liam’s accent.” Bess winked.

Dolley pressed her chest. “I could listen to him for hours.”

“Oh. Ooooh.” Bess drew out the last word, pain twisting her face. “Be careful.”

“It’s not like that.” Dolley hated the sorrow in her sister’s eyes. Daniel Forester had done that. He and Bess had dated, but Daniel had pulled the plug and broken Bess’s heart.

“This is purely professional,” Dolley added. “Besides, I’m on a dating hiatus.”

She should tell her sisters she wanted a new career. Dolley bit her lip. A career change that involved travel would affect the B and B and her family.

Staying in Savannah wasn’t in her future, but she wasn’t ready to break that news to her sisters. “Liam’s helping me improve my pictures.”

“If you’re his apprentice, why aren’t you with him today?” Abby asked.

“It’s part-time. He’s in Statesboro. Georgia Southern has an Irish Studies program, and he’s interviewing the department head.”

“I do have homework.” She pushed away from the desk and dug out her camera. Her assignment was to take pictures of people, inanimate objects and scenery. “I feel like I’m back in school.”

“You always loved school,” Abby said.

“I can also use the shots for the B and B’s blog.” Standing on the opposite side of the table, she said, “Work, slaves.”

Her sisters laughed.

Dolley snapped a series, hoping to capture camaraderie and joy. Then she arranged the sconce she’d polished behind all the dirty lamps. Hope was what she wanted to capture, shining through the tarnished wasteland.

“Our last long-term guest was pretty fantastic.” Abby flashed her ring. “Liam is here through next year. I wonder what will develop.”

“And if it will be in black and white or Technicolor,” Bess said.

“I shutter to think,” Abby replied.

“Good one!” Bess fist-bumped Abby.

“You two should take this act on the road.” Dolley rolled her eyes, but she smiled as she cleaned tarnish. She’d told her sisters about the apprenticeship. Her loss of income could wait until she had a plan to replace the income or reduce her expenses.

* * *

THE SUN WAS setting as Liam parked at the B and B. He pulled his equipment out of the car, tugging on his overcoat. He’d made it back in time to catch the wine tasting. Then he planned to head to his room and review the tapes.

“Hi.” Dolley came out of a carriage house. “How was the interview?”

Her smile warmed him more than his jacket.

“The professor was great.” Professor Aiden had highlighted how different the FitzGerald immigration to America was compared to others. James had come with money. The men who had built canals and railroads had come with little more than the clothes on their backs. His breath caught in his chest. This was the core of his story. The difference between Dolley’s family and the poor immigrants Aiden had described.

Dolley hopped up on an iron table, her legs swinging. “Good info?”

“Fantastic stuff, but the poor man was nervous.”

Her eyes glittered like polished emeralds as if she had joy bubbling inside her. Something fluttered in his chest. What would that feel like? He knew peace when a photo turned out exactly the way he’d planned, but joy? His had died with his parents.

“So, did you have techniques to help him?” she asked.

“Some.” She smelled of—silver polish? “What have you been up to?”

“Cleaning old lamps.” She rolled her eyes. “My least favorite job of a restoration.”

“Ahh.” He sniffed. “You smell of metal cleaner.”

“It’s gross.” Even in the dimming light, he could see her blush. “I’m heading home to scrub off the stench.”

An image of her in the shower, soap lather streaming down her naked body, had him taking in a sharp breath.

“The smell isn’t so bad,” he choked out. “Actually reminds me of helping clean my mum’s tea trolley.”

“That’s a nice memory.” She hopped off the table. “Do you have plans tonight?”

“Trying to catch some of your sister’s offerings, and then I’ll review today’s film.”

“You need to see Savannah.” She touched his shoulder, the heat seeping through his coat. “I’m meeting friends at a pub. Do you want to tag along?”

He should say no. But sitting in his empty room sounded lonely.

“It’s just friends getting together.” When she grinned, her curls danced. “I’ll tell them they can’t mob you.”

“Oh, well—” He should work.

“It’ll be fun.”

Fun? He couldn’t remember the last time his name and fun were mentioned together. “What time?”

* * *

THE WALL OF noise enveloped Dolley as she and Liam entered O’Gara’s pub. The yeasty scent of beer and fried food hit her along with the heat. Lights twinkled above the bar, and glittering snowflakes hung at intervals from the ceiling.

“Fantastic.” She bounced onto her toes. “I didn’t think it would be this busy.”

Liam’s eyes had glazed over, his face frozen in a resigned grimace.

“Smile,” she insisted.

He didn’t.

Tonight she wanted to see him smile at least five times. A happier man would be a better teacher.

“Do you want people to know what you’re doing in Savannah?” She leaned close so he could hear her. Close enough to catch his crazy scent that made her insides melt.

“Yes, that’s all right.” He rubbed his chin, and his seven o’clock shadow rasped under his hand. “Is the pub always so loud?”

“It’s a holiday.” She tugged his arm. “This way to the fun.”

He followed, dragging behind her a little. What was up with that?

“Dolley!” Zach picked her up by the waist and spun her in a circle.

She pounded his shoulders. “Put me down.”

He dropped her to her feet and gave her a smacking kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

She patted his cheek. They’d dated years ago when Zach had needed help on a paper, but Zach had been right. They were better as friends. “Merry Christmas to you.”

Liam hung behind, a frown pushing his sharp black eyebrows together. She towed him to a table filled with people. The more the merrier, right?

“Gang, this is Liam. He’s staying at Fitzgerald House through March.” She introduced the people she knew; others filled in their names. “He’s making a documentary.”

If that didn’t get people talking to him, she didn’t know what would.

Chairs were dragged to the table. Liam slipped along the wall, sitting next to a pretty blonde. He wasn’t frowning, but he wasn’t smiling, either.

Dolley took a spot closer to the middle of the table. She could watch his face but couldn’t hear what he and the blonde were saying. Her chest squeezed a little, but she pushed it away. He was her teacher, and she was on a hiatus.

“How are things?” she asked Zach.

“Pretty damn good.” He wrapped an arm around the brunette sitting next to him. “Meet Erica.”

Erica smiled. “Hi, Dolley.”

After chatting with Erica for a while, she leaned in to Zach. “She’s perfect for you.”

“I know.” He grinned and pressed a kiss to his girlfriend’s cheek.

Zach’s grin reminded her of tonight’s objective. Get Liam to smile.

She looked down the table, and Liam was staring—at Zach and Erica.

When the server came over, she ordered a martini called Santa’s Jollies. Might as well get in the Christmas mood.

Her drink arrived, and she held it up, giving Liam a silent toast. He saluted her with his beer. And smiled. Number one. She wracked it up on her mental spreadsheet.

The blonde leaned in and pointed at his beer. Liam nodded as he responded to her.

“Zach,” she asked. “Who’s the girl at the end of the table?”

He looked over. “Shana?”

“Right.”

“You should worry about your friend.” Zach leaned closer. “She just jettisoned her last boyfriend and is looking for a new conquest.”

Shana pointed to the dance floor, tugging on Liam’s arm.

Dolley’s throat constricted. Would he dance?

He shook his head, and the blonde pouted.

Dolley was stupidly relieved.

Liam tipped his chair back, resting against the wall. Mamma would scold him for balancing on two legs, but it gave her an opportunity to admire his lean form. The man made black jeans look like a work of art. With his black hair and bright blue eyes, he was striking.

She sighed. Not for her. But he sure was easy on the eyes. She stared for a minute, frowning. He wasn’t—engaged. He talked to people next to him, but he didn’t lean in like he was part of the conversation. It was like he was a spectator.

The band changed to playing fifties music, happy songs. The walking bass had her toes tapping.

A friend she hadn’t seen in a couple of years touched her shoulder. “Dolley, how are you?”

“Brad?” She gave him a hug. “I’m great. And you?”

They yelled over the sound, trying to catch up. Finally Brad rolled his eyes. “It’s impossible to talk. Let’s dance.”

“Sure.”

She checked on Liam. He was frowning again. She tried to give him head signals, suggesting he ask someone to dance, but he apparently couldn’t read Savannah sign language.

Maybe she’d have to ask him to dance. A little jolt went through her. What would his arms feel like holding her?

Nope. Being held by Liam wasn’t her objective. She wanted to ease the solemn look off his face and have him participate in the evening. Was that too much to ask when she threw strangers together? He needed to smile four more times. Maybe if he asked Shana to dance, she could accomplish that.

And maybe he would go home with Shana.

She stumbled.

Brad tugged her into the familiar steps of the Lindy. She let the music and Brad spin her into a happy place.

She and Brad had learned how to Lindy from his parents. They’d dated once, but as usual, they’d decided they were better off as friends. Her dating history was pathetic.

Brad pushed her out so their arms extended, then he tugged and she spun back to him. They rocked back and forth to “Rock Around the Clock.”

They settled into the setup of their signature move. Brad grabbed her by the waist, and she swung her legs from one of his hips to the other.

“Do the flip?” he mouthed.

She shook her head. “No!”

They were laughing as the music ended, and he spun her into his arms once more.

“That was great,” Brad gasped.

Dolley twirled around. “I loved it.”

“Thanks.” He walked her back to the table. “Nothing like reliving our youth, but I’ll be stiff tomorrow.”

They talked for a few more minutes, then the people at Brad’s table waved him back.

“You looked good out there,” Zach said.

“You should dance with your girl.”

“I’m holding out for a slow song.” The band finished a song to applause and then broke into a ballad. Zach grabbed his date’s hand. “That’s my cue.”

Dolley grinned as they moved to the dance floor. They looked good together. She took a swig of her drink. Damn. It was gone. She caught the server’s eye, and the woman gave her a nod.

“I’m going to have to call you twinkle toes.” Liam’s deep voice above her head rumbled through her core. He sank into the chair next to her, smiling. There was number two. Only three more to go.

“Abby has the twinkle toes in the family.” Dolley bopped her head to the music. “She used to dance.”

“You could have fooled me.” He set his half-drunk beer next to her empty glass. “Can I get you another?”

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