Avril awoke with a start. It was well past dawn. She was disoriented for a moment. She had been dreaming that she was being crucified and could still hear the Roman centurion hammering the nails into her flesh. She sat up and rubbed her arms. What time was it? Why was that hammering still going on? She finally realized that it was someone knocking at the door. Or rather pounding. She stumbled out of bed and quickly padded across the chilly flagstone floor, neglecting even to pull on a dressing gown over her tank top and bikini briefs. Maybe something was wrong with the new filly...or one of the other horses, she quickly added.

 "Avril!" a voice was shouting on the other side of the door. She couldn't place the voice right away, but it did sound familiar.

 Avril unlatched the door and flung it open. Outside was a small clutch of people dressed in riding helmets, jackets, breeches, and boots. Her jumpers! Damn, it was Saturday. She became acutely aware that they were staring at her own clothing, or lack thereof. She decided to brazen it out.

 "What?" she demanded impatiently, as if she had been in the middle of something extremely important that she needed to get back to immediately.

 "It's 7:40," one of the female riders finally ventured.

 "I know that," Avril replied testily. "I just forgot it was Saturday, that's all," she finished somewhat sulkily.

 "We didn't interrupt you at anything, did we?" one of the other riders inquired just a little too innocently.

 Avril did not dignify that with a reply. "I'll be out in five minutes," she responded flatly, then closed the door. She leaned back against the door for a moment and closed her eyes, silently cursing her own stupidity. She shook her head and walked to the bathroom. She must have slept right through the alarm. No wonder, given that she had gone around 40 hours on next to no sleep. When she came out of the bathroom, she glanced at Vincent's room. The door was ajar. He must have been up and about early this morning. She hadn't heard him come in last night, either. Well, she didn't have time to think about him now. She quickly went to her room and pulled on a pair of breeches and a shirt, then into the kitchen for a big gulp of orange juice and a couple of biscuits. Not her usual breakfast, but she knew she'd need the sugar if she didn't want to get lightheaded. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Vincent had left a rosary lying on the table. He must have been in a hurry this morning. She grabbed her jacket and helmet from their hooks by the door and went back outside to pull on her boots and face the music.

 She knew what they were thinking: that she and Vincent had been otherwise occupied. Well let them think what they wanted. She didn't owe any explanations to anyone. Except maybe herself.

 Vincent was enjoying Óonagh's full Irish breakfast. Nothing beat good home cooking in the morning. Or at any other time of the day. He thought back to Father Nolan, his old parish priest in Broken Hill. He had had a great set-up. A roomy old house overlooking the wooded cemetery, a live-in housekeeper, and a secretary at the church. He hadn't had to worry about where he would eat his next meal or whether he had any clean socks or whether he had scheduled catechism instruction for the same time as confession. Vincent considered whether he should take on a housekeeper. Someone like...Kathleen? He shuddered. But first things first. He would need a house. He was getting a little weary of the constant change of venue.

 "Hey Óonagh," he called over into the kitchen.

 Óonagh popped her head out and asked with a smile, "Can I get you anything else, Father?"

 "No, thanks, it's great," he smiled appreciatively. "No, I was just wondering if there was any news on the curate's house."

 Óonagh shook her head ruefully and answered, "Paul's been breaking his back trying to find out who bought it. It's still standing empty."

 Vincent nodded, disappointed. He had hoped that it would be another absentee landlord who would be willing to lease the place back to him. Well, he thought, spearing the last bite of sausage, maybe it still would be. In the meantime, he thought he could get used to three square meals a day at the pub.

 After finishing breakfast, Vincent headed over to Hendley's Market. He wanted to catch up on the latest news, both from the newspapers and from the horse's mouth. And to make sure he wasn't the topic.

 Inside, Kathleen was stocking the shelves as usual. Did she really have such a high turnover? Well, this was the only market in town, Vincent reminded himself. Now there would be an opening for a young entrepreneur.

 "Morning, Kathleen," he greeted her.

 Kathleen glanced over at Vincent and nodded politely. "Morning, Father."

 Vincent sensed that she had been cooler toward him ever since he had moved out of her house. Well, that was to be expected. He certainly hadn't wanted to hurt her feelings, but there had really been no nice way to explain why he was leaving. Brendan's suggestion that Vincent say he wanted to "spread himself around," that "it wouldn't be fair" to spend all his time with just one parishioner, was a white lie that Vincent had used with a twinge of conscience. Wouldn't it have been better to just tell her the truth, that he didn't feel comfortable there? Because he felt sure that Kathleen knew that was the real reason. She was a wise woman. Vincent vowed to be more charitable toward her.

 He went over to the newsrack and picked up the Wicklow County People. Even though he frowned on their methods of reporting, it was a good source of information on local activities.

 Kathleen walked past Vincent toward the counter. "Did you enjoy your trip to Knock, Father?" she inquired conversationally.

 "What?" He looked up from a story on a horse that had fallen ill in the far north of the county. "Oh, yeah, yeah, it was inspiring," he assured her.

 "It's one of my favorite places," she informed him as she took her place behind the counter. "So beautiful," she added dreamily, gazing off into the distance.

 Vincent replaced the newspaper on the top of the stand. "Why didn't you join us?" he asked kindly.

 Kathleen raised her eyebrows at him and gave him a sharp look. "And who, may I ask, would have minded the store?"

 Vincent grinned. "Right you are, Kathleen." He turned his attention back to the newsrack and picked up the racing form.

 Kathleen watched him for a moment, then commented primly, "I'd have thought you'd get enough of the horses out at Ms. Burke's place." She turned toward the door as it opened. "Good morning, Siobhan," she greeted the vet pleasantly.

 Vincent tore his attention away from his reading again. "What? Oh, I'm not staying there anymore," he said as coolly as possible, then looked back down at the paper, waiting for the next shoe to fall.

 Kathleen raised her eyebrows at this, but Siobhan spoke before Kathleen could make any pointed comments.

 "Morning, Kathleen. Morning, Father." Siobhan greeted both of them, walking over to the counter. "Not staying where?" she asked, glancing from Kathleen to Father Sheahan.

 Vincent folded the racing form under his arm and stepped over to the counter. Now was the time to put any rumours to rest. "A room finally opened up at Fitzgerald's."

 "Now isn't that lucky. For you." Kathleen managed to make it sound like Avril would be disappointed. Or like Vincent was getting out of the lion's den just in the nick of time.

 "Ah now Father. You haven't tried my hospitality yet," complained Siobhan. "Brendan told me how you were playing the itinerant preacher."

 "No, Siobhan, I couldn't," he protested. "You've got your hands full with your practice and the baby."

 "Now, I insist, Father. Otherwise I'll never know what I'm missing. Isn't that right, Kathleen?" she looked slyly at the shopkeeper while suppressing a smile.

 "It was certainly a pleasure having you, Father Sheahan." Kathleen looked down and smiled demurely. "Excuse me," she murmured, and walked back to her shelves.

 Siobhan shook her head and chuckled to herself, watching Kathleen go. Then she looked up at Vincent. "Now I can't offer you full board, but I guess you didn't get that at Avril's place either."

 "A place to rest my head would be plenty, Siobhan," Vincent assured her warmly. "But I'm fine at Fitzgerald's."

 "Didn't your mother teach you to say yes when someone offers to do you a favor? Or are you worried about what the gossips will say?" she teased him, cocking her head to one side and trying not to smile too broadly. She knew she had him backed into a corner.

 Vincent laughed nervously. What should he answer to that? Damn, but she knew how to manipulate him. Good thing she wasn't after anything. Or was she? Was he getting out of the frying pan into the fire? "OK, Siobhan, I'll be there after this afternoon's Mass," he agreed with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

 "Make it early," Siobhan ordered. "Brendan and I want to make it to Cilldargan in time to have dinner before the movie starts." She clapped Vincent on the shoulder as she went past him to pick up her groceries.

 "Right," he agreed with a weak smile, his heart sinking. Babysitting again!

 Avril pushed the horses and riders hard that morning, but no one worked harder than she did. She was so angry with herself for having overslept. A bad impression was a lasting impression. She wanted the stables to be professional, strict, and competitive, and that had to start with her. How did it look to have her show up late to her own training session? If she had been late getting one of the horses to a race, the consequences would have been drastic.

 She realized how much she counted on the stable hands to do their part. She grudgingly had to admit that she even relied on them. It would be completely impossible for her to feed, water, groom, exercise, and clean up after all of the horses in her care. And that on top of ferrying horses to and from competitions, networking with owners, riders, and other stable owners, organizing veterinary care, running practice and training sessions, to say nothing of the neverending stream of paperwork. Who had time for a private life? Or sleep, for that matter? Avril figured the best way to get Vincent out of her mind, which was what she urgently needed to do, was to focus on her work, which is what she should have been doing anyway. Friends, and especially lovers, were nothing more than a nuisance and a distraction.

 After the session, Avril brushed The Cat down and saw to it that she was fed and watered. She was looking forward to a hot shower, a thick ham and cheese sandwich, and a cup of piping hot coffee herself. She stepped out of the stall into the yard, unfastened her helmet and pulled it off, allowing the light breeze to cool her head. The slate-gray clouds which had hovered ominously overhead earlier had lightened to a pearly off-white, removing the immediate threat of rain. Avril's dark hair, pulled back into a pony tail, lay flat and heavy on her scalp. She loosed her hair and shook it out, running her hand through her hair to allow the air access to her skin. She felt calmer and more light-hearted now. Spending time with animals, in a metier that she was expert in, had renewed her confidence. She strode across the yard with a bounce in her step. The sight of Father Sheahan wearing sweats, jogging into the yard from the direction of the road, caused her stomach to tighten momentarily, but she quickly recovered, nodded a greeting to him, and continued into the apartment, leaving the door open for him. She meant to be the first one into the shower.

 Vincent saw Avril walking purposefully toward the apartment. He was glad to catch her out of the saddle. He had run out to the stables from town in order to talk to her. But when she didn't stop to greet him, merely nodding and continuing into the apartment, he was slightly taken aback. Was she going to give him the cold shoulder? He wasn't sure whether he should try to talk to her now or give her some more time. But he also wanted to warn her about the sick horse up north. He noticed that she had left the door ajar. Maybe that was her way of inviting him in. He continued across the yard, registering from the corner of his eye that the stable hands and a group of riders standing around outside the stalls had stopped their conversation and were staring at him. He beamed broadly, waved, and called over to them, "Hi, how ya doing?" The riders quickly reconvened their huddle and talked among themselves. Only Eoin was considerate enough to return his greeting.

 Vincent skipped up the steps, knocked on the open door and called tentatively, "Avril?"

 She opened the bathroom door and stuck her head out. "Ladies first," she announced smugly and shut the door again before he had a chance to say anything. What did she mean by that? Vincent wondered. Did she mean that she wanted to take care of herself before giving him the time of day? He figured that was fair. It hadn't actually been very considerate of him to leave like that in the middle of the night, without talking things out with her first. But that's why he was here now. He heard the shower turn on. Well, he would wait then. He entered the house and closed the door.

 Vincent stood in the living room, his hands on his hips. He was still breathing hard from his run. Now that he had stopped moving and was out of the wind, he felt the perspiration gathering on his skin. He licked his salty upper lip and wished he had thought to bring a towel along. He was about to go into the kitchen for a glass of water when he remembered he didn't live here anymore. He didn't want to risk offending Avril by making himself too much at home.

 He turned around and studied the wall of the hallway leading into the kitchen. It was plastered with ribbons, medals and plaques, testifying of Avril's skill and dedication. There were also pictures of her with various racehorses, both standing alongside them and sitting astride them. Others showed Avril posing with famous figures from the racing world: jockeys, owners, managers. He recognized several of them, which said more about his own involvement and interest in racing than about Avril's connections.

 As his inspection of the trophies led him closer to the kitchen, something white on the kitchen table caught his eye. He looked more closely and recognized the card he had left there the night before, with the wooden rosary lying next to it. Had Avril not even seen them? It suddenly dawned on him that that might be the reason for her behavior. She was assuming that he was still living here.

 He stepped over to the table and picked up the card. It was unopened. He heard the shower turn off. Now what? Think fast, Vince, he said to himself. Should he pretend that he was just moving out now? Should he pocket the card and just offer her the rosary as a parting gift? How would she react now, with him breaking the news to her in person? Would her latent anger instinctively flare up again? On the other hand, maybe she would be relieved. Or not even care at all. Vincent realized that he was transferring his own feelings of regret and disappointment onto her. He was disappointed that things hadn't worked out smoothly, and he regretted having put his arm around Avril and kissing her the other night, not because of the motive behind it, but because he saw now how it could have been misinterpreted. He should have been more circumspect, especially knowing how Avril shied away from emotional intimacy. And apparently physical intimacy as well. He resolved to be completely honest with Avril, and not to hide behind half-truths which were meant to shield her from harm but would only end up insulting her intelligence in the end.

 He heard the bathroom door open. He stood in the middle of the kitchen and watched her approach, her wet hair curling down onto the shoulders of her bathrobe. Her face didn't change expression when she caught sight of him, and he found that disappointed him. Was everything really ruined between them?

 "It's all yours," Avril said neutrally. She concentrated on suppressing the thoughts that tried to occupy her mind at the sight of him out of uniform, standing in her kitchen, his skin glowing from the heat of his exertion. She avoided looking up at him as she neared him, but caught his scent, the same one she remembered tasting the other night. She gritted her teeth.

 "Um, about that, Avril," Vincent began hesitantly. He could tell that she was trying to keep her distance. He saw her jaw muscles bulge slightly. Was she biting back a hostile reply?

 On hearing his words, Avril was forced by common decency to look at him. She stopped just in front of him. It would be so easy to reach up and touch his cheek...She pulled her bathrobe closed around her neck and stared at him challengingly. She wouldn't let him get to her. Any more than she would let Garrett get to her any more. When he had visited, before she had known about...her...he had twice attempted to get close to her, to embrace her, but she had closed herself off and rebuffed him. Just seeing him again from a distance had been one thing, but to be that close to him again, to feel his physical presence, it had been too painful to know that he wasn't hers anymore. And afterwards, when she had found out, the thought of the two of them, together, it just...well, it made her physically ill.

 Vincent seemed to be searching for the right words. "Maybe this isn't the best time. Do you want to get dressed first?" he suggested.

 "Before what?" Avril was confused. Did they have an appointment or something? Had she forgotten that, too?

 "I'd like to talk to you," he finally said with compassion.

 Avril walked past him to the coffee maker and switched it on. She should have known this would be coming. Now he'd want to analyze everything. "I don't really have time," she said in an irritated tone. "I don't even have time to eat. Grainne will be here any minute for her riding lesson." She took down a plate and set it on the table. As she did so, she noticed the rosary again. "Is that yours?" she asked absentmindedly, already turning toward the fridge. Then she noticed the card also and stopped. She read her name on the envelope and picked it up.

 "It's for you. I brought it back from Knock," he explained solemnly.

 Avril looked at Vincent and saw the warmth in his eyes. She felt a tightness in her throat and a stinging in her nose. She quickly looked down at the table again before her eyes could start to water and picked up the rosary. The many smaller beads were of a dark reddish wood. She rolled them between her fingers. They felt smooth and silky. In the middle was a carved rosette surrounded by the words in Gaelic script, "Our Lady Queen of Ireland". It was plain, but in its plainness it was noble.

 "Why?" The word scratched out of Avril's throat. She swallowed and tried to clear her throat unobtrusively, keeping her eyes fixed on the rosary. She could feel her nose starting to run. Oh no you don't, don't start crying now, she willed herself.

 "Because I promised you," he replied simply.

 She nodded in response, then regained control. "It's nice," she commented and laid it carefully back on the table with the card. "Thanks." She sniffed deeply, went to the refrigerator and got out a packet of ham slices and a chunk of cheese, which she tossed onto the table. "Well what are you still standing there for?" she asked coldly, turning to the bread box for a couple of slices. "You've done your duty."

 "Avril," Vincent began, reaching out one arm toward her, but thinking better of it and letting his hand drop awkwardly onto the tabletop.

 Avril sat down and pretended to be very busy preparing her sandwich.

 "Avril, I've moved out," Vincent stated.

 Avril acknowledged this news by slapping a slice of ham onto the bread. She wasn't really surprised. You know it's better this way, she said to herself. "Back to Kathleen's, is it? Or will I be finding you under my hedges again?" she said coolly, with an edge of sarcasm. She reached behind herself for a knife from the sideboard.

 "I spent last night at Fitzgerald's, and I'll be at Siobhan's tonight. I wrote you a note," he explained, nodding at the card lying on the table.

 Avril sawed at the cheese, her rough motions causing her still damp hair to fall across her face. It's better this way, it's better this way, it's better this way, she repeated to herself, attempting to convince her heart of the truth.

 "I'm sorry, but I thought it would be better this way," he said sincerely.

 Avril snorted out a short laugh at that, as Father Sheahan echoed her own thoughts. She shook the hair back out of her face. "You're right, it is better this way," she said bitterly. But it wasn't what she wanted.

 "Avril," he began sympathetically. He didn't want to ruin all the progress she had made toward healing her soul.

 "No go on, you're right," she threw at him. "It was stupid of me in the first place." She arranged the cheese on top of the meat, shrugged and shook her head again in bitter amusement. "What was I thinking, having a priest under my roof? Now that everybody's had a good laugh at my expense, and yours too, I might add, we can get back to our respective vocations." She put the other slice of bread on top of the sandwich and picked it up. "No hard feelings, eh, Father?" She took a large bite, sat back in her chair, and looked around, avoiding Vincent's face.

 "Come on, Avril, let's not leave it this way," Vincent cajoled. He wanted to reach out to her, put his arm around her and give her a hug.

 Avril did not respond, but rather chewed her sandwich mercilessly, still keeping her gaze averted.

 "It's not like it was an easy decision for me," he continued. "I've enjoyed staying here. You're probably my best friend here."

 That goes for me, too, Avril thought, but she didn't trust her voice to speak it aloud. And anyway, why give him the satisfaction of admitting it?

  "And I'm not running away from you. I know what you did the other night wasn't a come on."

 Are you sure about that, Padre? Cause I'm not, she thought to herself.

 "Just like you know what I did wasn't a come on either. I just think we both need to take care of our own business for a while."

 Avril started to get fed up with Vincent's explanations. Doth he protest too much? "Hey, Father, come on, it was just a room," she chided him. "No sense dragging it out."

 The coffee machine hissed, indicating that the water was hot.

 "Yeah, right," he agreed with a small smile. Well, it hadn't really been just a room. But he sensed that this wasn't the right time to get into that. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, watching her get up to pour herself a cup. "Well, you know where to find me."

 "Yeah, sure, if the pope calls, I'll let him know," she rejoined sarcastically.

 "OK," he said uncomfortably. He tapped his fingers on the table in punctuation. He didn't really want to leave. Wasn't she going to offer him anything to drink? "Hey, something else," he changed the subject.

 Avril picked up her cup from the counter. Should she offer him some, too? Part of her wanted to, the part she was trying to ignore, but he was the one who was leaving, he was the one who had said that he wanted to take care of his own business, and she was afraid he would say no. Why give him an opening to reject her again? She sat down at the table and looked up at Vincent, silently daring him to say something.

 He said tentatively, "Um, I read there's a sick horse up in Ennisvalley. McKean's stables. Thought you might want to check it out."

 McKean. Avril knew him. One of his horses had been at the track where King Ransom had run last week. She filed the fact away and made a mental note to call him later. "Thanks," she said grudgingly.

 A familiar electronic tune began playing. The William Tell Overture. Vincent and Avril looked involuntarily at each other, the events of the night before last brought even more vividly to their minds. The last time they had heard that melody, Vincent had had to reach into Avril's back jeans pocket to retrieve her cell phone. Avril's stomach tightened at the memory of his hand on her and she looked quickly away toward the desk, where the phone was lying. She'd have to change that ring tone. She darted for the phone and pushed the receive button as quickly as possible.

 It seemed to be something about a delivery of feed that would be delayed. Avril started to get irate. Vincent took that as his cue to leave, remembering also that she had said Grainne would be arriving soon. He signalled to Avril that he was leaving, but mouthed to her, 'I'll see you,' while pointing at her with a questioning look on his face.

 Avril frowned, nodded and waved him away dismissively. He left and went back outside.

 As he closed the door behind himself, he saw Paul's station wagon pulling into the yard. He waved and walked over. As soon as the car stopped, Grainne hopped out and ran over to the stables, calling out a cheerful greeting over her shoulder.

 Vincent stood next to Paul's open window and they both watched Grainne, Paul with pride and Vincent with joy at her youthful exuberance.

 "She's a great kid, Paul," Vincent told him.

 "Yeah, I know," Paul agreed proudly.

 Vincent pointed toward Avril's apartment and said informatively, "Avril'll be out in a minute. She's just got to get dressed."

 Paul slowly turned his gaze from Grainne to Vincent, his smile turning into an expression of curious disbelief.

 Vincent felt Paul's eyes on him and suddenly realized how that must have sounded. He tried to correct himself by saying with an innocent laugh, "No no, not like that, no, she was just in the shower and then we--" but as he said the words he knew that didn't sound much better, so he gave it up, shaking his head and watching Grainne again. "Never mind." People were going to believe what they wanted to anyway.

 Paul asked nonchalantly, "The two of you resolve your quarrel then?"

 Vincent looked at Paul in confusion. "What?"

 Paul explained, "Óonagh says you'll be leaving us again? Coming back here?"

 Vincent found the direction of everyone's mind tiresome. "No, Paul," he explained with exaggerated patience,  "I'll be staying at Siobhan's tonight. Babysitting. So keep that room free." He jogged away back toward the road.

 Paul called after him half-heartedly, "Hey Father, can I give you a lift someplace?"

 But Vincent just waved good-bye.