“Sean’s not going.” Kenna picked up a small sack she’d set down when she came in and headed for the door.
“He is.” Owen stated.
“I am!”
Kenna turned and pierced Sean with a resolute stare. “No,” she said quietly, drawing the word out very slowly. “Ye are not.”
Turning to Owen, she lifted her chin and gave him a pointed look. “He is not.”
“I see.” Owen dragged the sweater from his shoulders.
Puzzled, Sean, watched him pull one arm free and then the other,
“What are ye doing?” Kenna demanded. “Ye’ll need that, after working in this warm kitchen.”
Owen hung the sweater on one hook and pulled his apron from the other. “Ye said we werenae going.”
“That’s not true and ye know it,” Kenna spat out. “I’m going. ’Tis only Sean, who is not.”
Owen shook his head. “The only thing I ken for sure, is that if ye’re going, Sean is going. Despite what ye claim, we all ken ye’re no’ well enough yet tae be out at that old kirk all alone, doin’ whatever ’tis ye do there. I’ll drive ye both out there, and gladly. But ’tis both of ye, or none.”
Lips flattened to a hard line, eyes spitting fire, Kenna turned on Sean. “Ye put him up tae this! The two of ye are in this, together.”
“ ’Tis no’ true, lass,” Sean raised both hands in defense. “Though I dinnae disagree with his logic.”
“Arrrrghh!” She whirled and strode to the door. “I’ll wait in the car.”
Sean watched Kenna’s march to the door, with both amusement and worry. Her temper was showing, but so was the evidence that she wasnae quite as recovered as she wanted them to believe. She couldnae fully straighten her left leg, causing a slight limp.
Plucking Owen’s sweater from the hook, Sean traded for the apron. “Thank ye.”
Chuckling, Owen donned the sweater with ease. “Dinnae thank me. I ken ye’re going tae have a long day if she doesnae cool down some.” He shook his head and grinned. “Feisty, that one.”
“Aye.” Sean laughed and clapped Owen on the back. “Marvelously, so.”
As they walked to the back door, Sean paused and glanced back at the large spool of baker’s string they’d used earlier on some of the lunch items Owen had worked on. “Might I have a wee bit o’ that twine?”
“Of course,” Owen shrugged.
With da’s knife, Sean cut a good length, rolled it up, and added it to the contents of his sporran. He also needed a shovel, but how could he explain ’twas to dig up something that would hopefully send Kenna back a handful of centuries?
“Might ye have a shovel I could borrow? While Kenna does—whatever she does—I thought tae do a wee bit o’ clean-up around some of those old headstones. No need tae waste the day, aye?”
Appearing extremely pleased, Owen grinned. “I’ve a few tools ye could use.”
“Thank ye.” Sean reached for the door handle. “Best we dinnae keep our lass waitin’ any longer.”
Chapter Twelve
Even before Owen stopped the car in front of the kirk, Kenna regretted her shrewish behavior. Owen had done nothing wrong and even though her reasons for not wanting Sean to help her hadnae changed, she dinnae want to waste her last hours arguing with him.
While Sean climbed out of the back seat and busied himself getting something from the trunk, Kenna laid her hand atop Owen’s, giving it a light squeeze. “Thank ye for sparing the time tae bring me out here. I’m grateful.” She tipped her head and gave him an apologetic smile. “And I’m sorry about earlier. I was wrong.”
“Dinnae fash, lass.” Owen patted her hand. “ ’Tis already forgotten.”
She leaned over and kissed his weathered cheek. “I cannae remember my da, but I’d like tae think he’s something like ye. Ye’ve been so kind and have done so much for me. I love ye, Owen McIntyre.”
“And I ye, lass.” Blinking back tears, he patted her hand. “My Janet would have loved ye, too. She always wanted a child—a daughter.”
