“Welcome home.”
She found herself enfolded in a big, hard hug that lifted her up to the toes of her boots. The cheerful gesture made her eyes sting, and her nerves vanish.
“I’d be Connor, if you’re wondering. Did Kathel find you and bring you ’round?”
“No, that is, yes. I was already coming here, but he found me.”
“Well then, come in out of the cold. Winter’s still got its teeth in us.”
“Thanks. I know it’s early.”
“That it is. The day will insist on starting that way.” In a gesture she found both casual and miraculous, he flicked a hand at the living room hearth. Flames leaped up to curl around the stacked peat. “We’ll have some breakfast,” he continued, “and you can tell me everything there is to know about Iona Sheehan.”
“That won’t take long.”
“Oh, I’ll wager there’s plenty to tell.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the house.
She had a quick impression of color and jumble and light, the scents of vanilla and smoke. And space, more of it than she’d expected.
Then they were in the kitchen with a pretty stone hearth, long counters the color of slate, walls of lake blue. Pots of herbs thrived on wide windowsills, copper pots hung over a center island. Cabinets of dark gray showed colorful glassware, dishes behind their glass fronts. In a jut ringed with windows stood a beautiful old table and charmingly mismatched chairs.
The combination of farmhouse casual and the modern efficiency of glossy white appliances worked like magick.
“This is really beautiful. Like something out of a really smart magazine.”
“Is it? Well, it’s Branna who has very definite ideas, and this is one of them.” Tilting his head in study, he gave her another quick, charming smile. “Can you cook?”
“Ah... sort of. I mean, I can, I just suck at it.”
“Well now, that’s a real pity. I’m on duty then. Will it be coffee or tea for you?”
“Oh, coffee, thanks. You don’t have to cook.”
“I do if I want to eat, and I do. In general, around here Branna’s the cook and I’m the bottle washer, but I can manage breakfast well enough.”
He punched controls on a very intimidating-looking coffeemaker as he spoke, pulled a basket of eggs, a hunk of butter, a pack of bacon from the fridge.
“Take off your coat and be at home,” he told her. “Branna says you’re living the life at Ashford for a few days before you’re coming here. How are you finding Ashford?”
“Like a dream. I slept too much of the day away yesterday. Obviously, I’m making up for it. You don’t mind me moving in?”
“Why would I? We’ll be taking turns as bottle washers, so that’s one for me.”
He got down a skillet, set it on the stove top. “Cups up there, and fresh cream if you’re wanting it, and sugar as well.” He gestured here and there before he tossed bacon into the skillet.
All of it, and all of him, she thought, seemed as casual and miraculous as his wrist-flick fire-starting.
“I hear you’re after working at the stables.”
“I’m hoping.”
“Branna had a word with Boyle. He’ll be talking to you about that today.”
“Really?” Her heart actually leapt at the prospect. “That’s great. That’s fantastic. A lot of people thought I’d lost my mind, just packing up, coming here without a serious plan, without a ready job or a place to stay.”
“What’s an adventure if you know all the steps before you take them?”
“I know!” She grinned at him. “Now I’ve got a job interview, and family to live with. And this morning—certainly it wasn’t my plan last night to walk over at sixA.M.—I saw a hawk in the woods. It flew right down, sat on a branch and watched me. I took pictures.”
