“You want me to teach you?” Branna said before she could stop herself. She had a book to finish by deadline and then revisions, plus several other things that needed her attention, and let’s not mention the fact that she was meant to be the reclusive type.
Jake had done this to her; he’d made heropenup like a bloody flower, and now she was having a hell of a time closing.
You better come back soon, McBride.
She headed to The Hoot after making arrangements with Jilly for her first cooking lesson. She wasn’t feeling social, but then Buster wasn’t big on talk either, so she’d just slip out back and sit and watch the scenery, eat her muffin, and then go home and think some more.
“You bring that face in here and you’ll scare away my customers, O’Donnell.”
Branna forced her lips upward. “Sorry, just thinking, Buster. How you doing?”
“I’m good. You want a muffin and coffee?”
“Thanks, I’ll just go sit out back if that’s okay?”
Buster’s lips tilted, which Branna knew was a smile. “You a paying customer or planning on doing a runner?”
“Paying.”
“Well, you get to sit then.”
She found a table that looked out the big window. Branna refused to acknowledge that she hoped to see Ethan’s helicopter come back into town if she sat here long enough. She was halfway through her muffin, which she was sure had pineapple in it, but Buster refused to confirm or deny that ingredient, when she heard his voice, the deep Irish rumble.
She’d gone to sleep many nights lying on her father’s chest while he’d read her stories and sat at his feet as he sang her songs. It was a voice she still heard in her head, no matter how much she’d tried to remove it.
Looking out the window, Branna willed him away before he saw her. He was talking with Buster, asking about the pies and complimenting the cook. Her father had always been good with people; he could subdue the angry and make anyone smile. It had been his gift. The gift of trust. It was instinctive. He’d charmed her teachers and made every man feel as if they were friends, but like her, all that had changed with the death of his wife.
She looked at the hills in the distance, counted the rises and dips, and knew he was coming toward her even before she heard the sound of his steps.
“Branna, will you let me talk to you?”
“We have nothing to say to each other.” She kept her eyes on the window.
“I think we do, daughter.”
He’d brought her up to respect her elders, and even though she had no wish to look at him, manners dictated to her from birth said she must, so she turned, keeping all expression from her face.
“If we talk, then will you leave Howling?”
“If that’s your wish.”
He stood a few feet from her, dressed in worn jeans and a shirt that had a missing button. He’d always had no idea of the appeal he had to women, and she and her mother had often laughed at the surprise on his face when they’d pointed out a woman looking at him.
But why would I care when the only women I want to look at me are my own.
He was only eighteen years her senior and had aged well, despite the grief he had suffered. His black hair was peppered with more gray now and in need of a cut, and she saw a few lines on his face that had not been there when last they had met, but his green eyes were still clear and bright. He was tall, about Jake’s height, and his body lean. Branna knew he did nothing to keep it that way, but like her, he did not put on weight easily.
“I will talk with you, but have no wish for anyone to over hear us. I have to live in this town, you don’t.” Branna was pleased her voice sounded calm.
“Then I will speak quietly, and if anyone comes in, I shall discuss the weather.”
She didn’t smile as he teased her, instead nodding as he took the seat across from her. She felt his eyes on her as she looked down at her muffin. If she ate any more, the beautiful flavors would now blend together in her mouth and taste like dust.
“Firstly, I want to start with an apology, though God alone knows why you would forgive me. Were I in your stead, I certainly would not.” His accent, like hers, was thicker when he was emotional.
“I turned from you, my only child, at a time when you most needed me. My grief was so consuming, I could see nothing beyond it.”
Branna relaxed the fist she’d formed around the muffin and put her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to relive those days again, dredge up the pain and misery, but she said nothing. Head lowered, she would let him talk. Then she’d get up and walk away and never have to see him again.
