Night of the Blackbird

  “Or an American woman,” she reminded him.

  He cradled her face in his hands. Studied her eyes, kissed her lips again. “Whichever, I’m thrilled. I’m…God, I’m thrilled.” He smiled and looked up. “Hear that, Mum? A grandchild.” Suddenly he got a questioning look in his eyes.

  “You’re certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Maybe we should test again.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then you can tell me again, in the romantic room, with the music, the champagne….”

  “Danny, I won’t be drinking champagne any time soon,” she told him.

  “I didn’t intend for you to drink it. I think it would be better for you to, oh, wear it,” he told her.

  “Oh.” She smiled. “Shall we go?”

  He put his arm around her, and they started down the street.

  “My God, I’m shaking,” he said. “I’m going to be a dad. To a wee bit of an Irishman.”

  “Or an American girl.”

  “Maybe it will be a lass,” he agreed. “A little Irish lass.”

  “Or an American boy.”

  “Fine. Have it your way—the first time,” he teased. Then he stopped again in the street, cradled her face once more, kissed her and drew her to him.

  “The best of Ireland, and of America, will be in our son or daughter,” he said softly.

  “Oh, Danny, that’s lovely.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then let’s move on. I’m definitely in the mood for champagne.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-2864-5

  NIGHT OF THE BLACKBIRD

  Copyright © 2001 by Heather Graham Pozzessere.

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