Seamus leaned back in his seat. More cousins came quietly in the back door. At this rate the Farraday den was going to be standing room only.
“Sean,” Eileen leaned into her husband, “there’s an awful lot of Farraday history up in the attic. Maybe there’s something that can help explain what went wrong?”
“Maybe.” The Farraday patriarch pressed his lips into a tight line. “I just wish this made more sense.”
“Well,” Aunt Eileen pushed to her feet, “we certainly won’t figure it out sitting here with empty stomachs.”
Adam chuckled and turned to his new cousin. “In other words, food fixes everything.”
For the first time since the front door opened, everyone, including Seamus, seemed more relaxed. Not till Nicole went to stand did she realize Ryan was still holding her hand. From the startled look that briefly flashed on his face, she was pretty sure he hadn’t noticed either. What she couldn’t be sure of was if that was a good or bad thing?
Chapter Twelve
Swirling the last of the cream into his second cup of coffee, Ryan let out a long, satisfied breath. Being able to sleep in made Saturday his favorite morning of the week. It wasn’t the best day—that honor belonged to Sundays and the boisterous, crowded tradition of family supper—but the quiet start to a weekend was a luxury he rarely took for granted.
Standing by the kitchen window, he peered out at the yard, wondering where Nicole had disappeared to. He hadn’t seen her at the breakfast table. There had been such chaos at supper last night, they’d barely gotten a chance to say two words to each other. Especially after holding her hand through most of the family history discussion with their newest cousin. Holding her hand had felt so right, so normal, that he hadn’t realized he was doing it until everyone stood up. But the best part of it was that Nicole hadn’t seemed to mind. Now he wished he knew where she was, could chat a bit, make sure that accidental connection hadn’t somehow worked against him.
A high-pitched, metallic screech cut through the morning silence. Coming from the side of the house it sounded like a banshee in a blender. Gray scrambled to his feet, his tail wagging like a metronome on overdrive. The dog trotted toward the screen door, pausing to look back at Ryan with an expectant whine.
“I hear it, big guy.” Ryan stepped out onto the porch. The air held a crisp bite, hinting at the cooler weather creeping closer. Following the eager dog around the corner of the house, Ryan spotted the source of the noise. Nicole stood on the front bumper of her truck, Old Betsy. Just the name made him smile. She leaned so far into the engine bay that her feet were barely touching the chrome. Her head was lost somewhere near the firewall, and the view from behind—the nice, rounded curve of her in those fitted work pants—had Ryan’s mind drifting in a direction he had no business traveling. Giving his head a sharp shake to clear the fog, he hurried his pace, careful not to do something truly embarrassing, like trip over a tree root while watching her derriere and wind up in traction for real.
Gray bolted forward, beating him to the truck. The dog let out a sharp, happy bark and launched himself upward, planting his front paws firmly on the bumper beside Nicole as if he’d been promoted to lead technician.
“That dog is something else,” Ryan murmured to himself, a smile pulling at his lips. He’d give the dog credit for at least one thing, he truly did have excellent taste.
Stepping up to the passenger-side fender, Ryan leaned in to listen to the fading chirp of the engine. “Sounds like the timing belt is crying for mercy.”
Nicole jumped slightly, then leaned back, wiping her hands on a rag tucked in her waistband. She looked down at him, her face flushed from the heat trapped under the hood, a faint smudge of grease marked one cheek. “That’s what I figured. It’s been giving me a little sass since the drive from Oklahoma, but this Texas heat seems to have pushed it over the edge. Problem is, it’s a two-person job to get the tension right on these older models.”
Setting his coffee cup on the flat expanse of the fender, he raised his arms, palms open. “Second man at your disposal.Unless,” he glanced at Gray, who was currently trying to lick Nicole’s ear, “the position has already been filled.”
Nicole chuckled, the sound bright enough to compete with the morning sun. “The dog’s willing, but he has a hard time holding a socket wrench. I think the position is still open.”
Tapping the fender, he nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Slipping away toward the tool shed, Ryan returned a moment later with a heavy metal chest. He set it on the ground and began pulling out the necessary wrenches.
“Pass me the three-quarter inch,” Nicole requested, her voice muffled as she reached deep into the bay.
Ryan handed it over, his fingers brushing hers. “Sleep well last night?” Why did he suddenly feel like that was an inappropriate question? One that momentarily dragged his mind to visions of her snuggled under the covers, her hair fanned out over a bedside pillow.
“Took a while.” Twisting her wrist, the wrench clinked against a bracket. “My mind was reeling with all that family mystery stuff from last night. I kept trying to piece together the dates.” Lifting her chin, she pointed ahead. “Hold that tensioner steady while I tighten this bolt, will you?”
Ryan braced his shoulder against the fender, his hand steady on the metal. “We’ve lived with one version of our history for decades. Finding out there’s a whole other branch… that’s a lot to process.”
“Exactly.” Nicole straightened, her eyes alight with a focus. “I was chatting with Joanna last night. She mentioned how many resources she found at the old library when she was writing her book on the ghost towns of Texas—original town maps, property records, even some old shipping manifests from when Galveston was a major port. I was thinking of heading into town to see what I could dig up.”
“The library’s a good spot.” Ryan nodded, still holding onto the metal. “But I kept thinking about what treasures might be stowed up in the attic. Aunt Eileen decided not to cancel her Saturday social club meeting and go hunting tomorrow after church. Since I don’t have anything else pressing today, I thought I might head up and see what I can find.”
Nicole stilled, her gaze shifting from the engine to the upper windows of the ranch house. “The attic?”
“Probably more dust than data,” Ryan teased, “but it’s a direct source.”
Her head bobbing and a small smile taking over her face, her hand stilled. “As a kid, I loved my Nancy Drew mysteries, which is probably why I had fun piecing together the genealogy of families, but if you don’t mind company, the library can wait.”
Ryan looked at her—grease smudge on her cheek, hair escaping her ponytail, and a spark in her eyes that made his heart give a slow, heavy thump. “All right then. As soon as Betsy stops screeching, we’ll go see what the attic is hiding.”
Gray seemed to think the two conversing meant the repair work was done and playtime had arrived. Having momentarily darted away, he reappeared dropping a slobbered baseball at Nicole’s feet.
Without hesitating, she retrieved the ball and let ’er rip toward the paddocks.
