The other woman, who looked to be seven or eight months along judging from the round belly under her loose-fitting top, made enthusiastic comments about how grand the hat looked. Since she had no handbag, he made a guess she was a salesperson.
He wandered in that direction. The navy hat was a good choice. It complemented the bright waves that cascaded to the woman’s shoulders. As he approached, he caught her reflection in the mirror. His breath stalled. Green eyes, full lips, rosy cheeks.Beautiful.And familiar. As if he’d met her somewhere, which was impossible.
Her startled gaze locked with his and she turned. “Well, hello there. Where’d you come from?” Interest filled her expression. And a hint of delight.
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Eventually he got it to work again. “County Kildare.” She wouldn’t have heard of his tiny village so might as well not mention it.
“You’re from Ireland?”
“That I am.” And she wasn’t from Montana. She didn’t sound like the folks who’d rented him the vehicle in Missoula. Instead her accent put him in mind of the woman at the hotel desk in New York. “Do you live in Wagon Train?”
“No, not me. My two brothers do, though, and they never once mentioned an Irishman. How long have you lived here?”
“I’m visiting. Been in town all of fifteen minutes. I’m looking for a hat.”
“You’ve come to the right place.” The other woman smiled and held out her hand. “Welcome to Wagon Train and welcome to our store. I’m Justine Neubauer.”
“Not Hannigan?”
“I’m Justine Hannigan Neubauer. My mom and dad took over from my grandparents and now my husband Eddie and I run the place. Mostly. My folks still pitch in now and then.”
“And I’m Sara Armstrong.” The beauty with the green eyes reached out her hand.
“Kieran Haggerty.” He enjoyed her firm grip and held on a little longer than was polite, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Where’re you from, Sara?”
“New Jersey.” She grinned. “I don’t sound any more like the locals than you do. Are you with a tour?”
He shook his head. “I’m not. And before I forget—” Which he would if he kept staring at her. Releasing her hand, he turned to Justine. “My granny wants to know if any of the Hannigans came over from Ireland.”
“I think so, way back. I have an aunt in Indiana who’s into genealogy. She could give you the whole scoop. How long will you be staying?”
“A week.”
“Then I’ll have time to contact her and let you know. Did your granny come with you?”
“No, she’s not a traveler. And that’s a massive understatement. She and my grandpa went to Limerick on their honeymoon. Longest trip she’s ever taken.”
“You flew over by yourself?” Sara’s forehead puckered.
He smiled. “I wouldn’t say that. Every flight was jammers.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Just joking. Yes, I’m on my own.”
Justine looked confused, too. “Is Hannigan’s why you settled on coming to Wagon Train?”
That made him laugh. “Not at all. I’d never heard of your shop. It was a surprise to discover an establishment with an Irish name so I texted Granny a picture and she wanted me to ask.”
Sara continued to study him, a slight crease between her eyebrows. “Although it’s none of my business, I’m dying to know. Why Wagon Train?”
Before he could answer, she lit up.
“Oh! I’ll bet it’s M.R. Morrison!”
“Who?”
“The author. The announcement just came out about her.”
