A/N's: Alrighty, here I am again. The idea for this stems from the character Sharni that appeared in my last fic, "Love in the Air." Ok, I'm setting this a sort of a prequel to "Love in the Air," (a very distant prequel) only Mark doesn't own the radio station yet. For now he's just a businessman. Anyway, I'm sure your tired of listening to me rant on and on about Dwayne, so let's get started with Mark. Oh, and I've decided to set this on an Irish island...if that's a problem (I don't if Mr. Calloway has an Irish blood in him or not), please let me know, and I'll be happy to fix it. And I don't know the Undertaker that well, so if I describe him wrong, please, please let me know.

Disclaimers: Same as always, I own no one....blah, blah....don't sue....blah, blah....

Chapter One

Sharni Bruerer pulled her coat more tightly around her. On Mint, as on the other Irish islands, the weather was windy and unpredictable until the year was well advanced, and today was only the last day of March. The rough wind pulled at Sharni, whipping her copper hair round her face. Her heart would be in this lovely place till the end of her life.

She had left the island when she was eighteen to train as a nurse in Dublin, and she had remained at Dublin General for five years. Then Franklin Laidley, the owner of the island, had fallen ill. The island's doctor had told Franklin that he must either live on the mainland, near a hospital, or have a live-in nurse. Franklin had refused to budge from his home. So Sharni had returned.

She had cared for Franklin for a year and knew her job was coming to an end. The old man grew weaker every day.

The ferry had docked now, and the passengers were leaving it. From the top of the harbour road her eyes were drawn to the last man off. He was tall-Sharni would guess well over six foot, perhaps even seven foot-and he moved with a swift, purposeful step. He ignored both the taxis and the cart and headed straight for the steep hill that climbed to the village. Then a bend in the road took him out of sight.

She headed for the antique shop. Maria Stratton, its owner, was not an island girl, but a "foreigner" from Dublin who had visited Mint one summer ten years ago and fallen in love with a farmer. Maria was busy with a customer when Sharni entered.

Sharni plunged into her large bag and brought out something wrapped in soft cloth, which she unwrapped with great care. A small ivory figure came into view. Sharni pulled off her coat and picked up the ivory figure again. It was beautiful, and she knew it had cost the old man a real pang to part with it. Mint Castle had once contained many lovely antiques, but now they were dwindling fast.

The doorbell jangled and she looked up. It was the tall stranger from the boat who stepped inside. Close to, he confirmed all her first impressions. She was five foot four, and he towered over her. His shoulders were very broad and heavy with muscles.

His face might have been attractive but for the grim expression on it. His eyes raked her quickly, impersonally, before dismissing her, flicking instead over the ivory figure that she had set down on a low table as he entered. He came near and lifted the figure, handling it like someone who knew antiques.

"How the devil did this get here?" he said abruptly. His voice held no trace of the lilting burr that gave away island natives.

"I beg your pardon?" she said.

"Never mind. How much? I'll pay whatever you're asking."

"I'm afraid that's not for sale," she said firmly, and reached out her hand for the figure.

He frowned, turning the figure over between his fingers without seeming to hear her. The frown darkened his face still more, emphasizing the hard line of his mouth.

She went on. "It's part of a private transaction-"

His eyes narrowed. "What kind of private transaction?"

"I don't see that's any of your business."

To Sharni's relief Maria came to her side. Her eyes widened when she saw the ivory figure in the man's hand.

"I'm afraid you can't buy that," she said at once.

The man sighed. "This is becoming monotonous. Is this, or is it not, an antique shop?"

Maria answered the man in a brisk voice that matched his own.

"It is. And I'm the owner. But I'm merely acting as broker between the seller and the buyer of that figure. If you want to acquire it, you can do so through-" She reeled of her father's name and address of his Dublin shop. "I'll be pleases to tell him to expect a visit from you after I've delivered it tomorrow."

To Sharni's relief the man placed the figure back on the table and took out a notebook and pencil. As he scribbled the address he said, without looking up, "Tell him to hold if for me. He won't get an offer better than mine."

He didn't wait for an answer, apparently assuming that his command was sufficient. Before departing, he cast a keen glance at Sharni. It was the scrutiny of a man who wanted to commit her to memory.

"The cheek!" Sharni exploded when the door had shut. "I hope your father prices that right out of his range."

"It's not likely," said Maria. "Something tells me that one will be able to afford whatever Father asks. It's work a tidy amount. You can tell Himself not to worry."

Sharni thanked her and took her leave. She gasped as the wind attacked her again the second she stepped outside, and pulled her coat more firmly around her. Despite the cold, she had no qualms about the two-mile walk that she must make to Mint Castle, which lay on the far side of the long, narrow island.

Much of the road home lay across a peat bog, where Sharni could see that the cutting had already started. Arms were waved to her as she passed, and she waved back.

The land began to slope upwards. Seabirds wheeled and screamed overhead, for she was nearing Mint Castle, which was set on top of a cliff. It was nearly two hundred years old.

Franklin was sitting in his wheelchair in the hall when Sharni hurried through the front door. He was small man of nearly eighty, shrunk by age and illness and with a transparent quality to his skin.

Sharni told him about her visit to the shop. She made no mention of the man who had wanted to buy the figure, but she emphasize that Maria expected to get a good price. He grunted.

"That's grand as far as it goes, but that won't be very far, I fear. There was a letter from Ian this morning-"

"Did your son say anything about coming to see you?"

Franklin snorted loudly. "He'll come when I'm in my box, not before. Then he'll drain the rest of you as he's drained me. And then he'll sell the place." He sighed. "Perhaps I should have sold it myself when I had the chance. But I knew only one man who wanted it, and I showed him the door. His name was Mark Calloway. He was going to turn my grandfather's wine cellar into a basement office, with a computer and God-knows-what-else, so that he could keep track of everything that was happening in all his factories." Abruptly he drained his tea and held out the cup to her. "Put some whisky in there," he commanded.

"Franklin, I don't think-"

"Do as you're told! I don't pay you to think, but to keep that meddling doctor quiet so that I can stay in my home. And you needn't, any of you, think I'm done for. I'll not be leaving here till I've seen my friends safe. You can count on that."