Kellie nodded. “What about grocery shopping? Will you do that as well?”

  “I don’t mind giving up the shopping.”

  “And the cooking?”

  “You can start tonight?”

  A genuine smile lit her face. ‘ ‘You really don’t like to cook, do you?”

  He hedged the question. “I have a feeling you’re a talent in the kitchen. Am I right?”

  She looked directly at him, not at all intimidated. “I’m fair. Do you have any food preferences for this evening?”

  “We have what it takes for shepherd’s pie.”

  Heather cupped her hand over her mouth and leaned close to Kellie’s ear. “It’s Da’s favorite.”

  Kellie waited a full minute before answering. Shepherd’s pie. Was there ever a week that her mother hadn’t prepared it? “I think I can manage that.”

  “It’s settled then. I’ll take Lexi for a run and then I’ll work for a while in the study. Come along, Heather.”

  “I want to help Miss Delaney. May I, please?”

  Tom hesitated, obviously torn between his protective instincts and his daughter’s pleading.

  Kellie stepped in. “I would love to have Heather help me. Perhaps you could walk Lexi after dinner?”

  Tom relented. “I could do that.” He reached down to stroke the dog. “You’ll be all right until after dinner, won’t you, girl?”

  Kellie swallowed. It was now or never. If she didn’t take risks, she would end up with nothing to show for her time. All he could say was no. Breathing quickly, she dove in. “May I go with the two of you? I’d like to see some of the town and who better to show me than natives.”

  Tom’s eyes narrowed, but his expression gave nothing away. “Banburren isn’t much to look at, but you’re welcome to come along.”

  “I was hoping to meet your mother. We spoke on the phone.”

  “I suppose we can stop by,” Tom said slowly.

  “Good.” Kellie stood and took Heather’s hand. “Shall we start dinner?”

  Heather nodded and skipped alongside Kellie. In the kitchen, she pulled a chair out from the table, climbed on it and sat down on the edge of the counter. “I like cooking,” she confided. “Da lets me stir the pots and mash praties. What I really like is to crack the eggs, but I’m not allowed.”

  “Why not?”

  “Eggs are dear and I might waste one.”

  “I see.” Kellie thought a minute. “Perhaps we can figure out a recipe where it doesn’t matter if an egg or two is wasted.”

  Heather clapped her hands. “Today? May I crack one today?”

  “You may.”

  “What will we make?”

  “Your father’s favorite.”

  “Da likes shepherd’s pie before anything. Everyone knows that.”

  The child tilted her head thoughtfully. “This is nice. It’s like having a mum, but you’re not like other mothers, are you?”

  A cold fist closed around Kellie’s heart. She wet her lips. “Why do you say that?”

  “Kathleen Mallory’s mum is red-faced and she smokes cigarettes.”

  “Is Kathleen your friend?”

  “She’s my best friend and so is Mollie Malone.”

  “What is Mollie’s mum like?”

  Heather narrowed her eyes, deep in thought. “She’s nice but she doesn’t say much,” she pronounced at last. “She gives us puddings and tea but she never speaks to us, not the way you do. She’s not pretty either, not like you.”

  Kellie’s heart craved these children. “Do your friends come to visit often? I could make a pudding and tea.”

  Heather’s cheeks glowed. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  “Shall I ask Da?”

  “I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  Heather frowned. “I don’t usually have friends over.”

  “Why not?”

  “Da doesn’t make puddings and he needs quiet to work. But I don’t mind,” the child said sunnily. “May I crack an egg now?”

  Kellie laughed and moved toward the refrigerator. “You may. Shepherd’s pie requires an egg and it doesn’t matter in the least if the cracking isn’t perfect.”

  The sound, filtered through the hallway and around several corners, was unmistakable and beautiful, the pipes. Kellie stopped, mesmerized. Another tune from her youth, “Isobel Mackay.” “He’s very good, isn’t he?” she whispered.

  “Da’s one of the best,” confided Heather. “Wait until he’s warmed up.”

  The pie was delicious. Kellie noted with satisfaction the odd look on Tom’s face after he’d tasted the first mouthful.

  “Do you like it, Da?” Heather asked hopefully, her own food forgotten. “Miss Delaney and I made it together.”

  “I like it very much, love,” her father answered slowly. “It’s one of the best I’ve tasted.”

  “I cracked the egg myself.”

  “Did you now?”

  Heather nodded. “Miss Delaney said it didn’t matter if the cracking isn’t perfect. But it was, wasn’t it, Miss Delaney?”

  Kellie nodded, her heart full. She was falling in love with a seven-year-old girl. “Absolutely perfect. Why don’t you call me Kellie?”

  Heather maneuvered her fork loaded with beef, mashed potatoes and vegetables into her mouth. “Tomorrow night we’ll have a pudding. Kellie promised.”

  Tom stared. “Since when will you eat peas and carrots?”

  “I made them myself,” the child said. “It wouldn’t be right if I didn’t eat them.”

  “I see.” Tom reached across the table and ruffled his daughter’s hair. “Perhaps you should make dinner every night.”

  Heather dimpled. “Perhaps I should. But what will Kellie do?”

  “She can supervise,” Tom said smoothly.

  Kellie laughed. “We’ll work something out, I’m sure. Meanwhile, if I have as many takers for doing the dishes, I’ll be in heaven.”

  “I’ll dry,” Heather offered.

  “Thank you, love. That would be wonderful.” She looked at Tom. “And what will you do?”

  He grinned and Kellie’s throat closed. Could a man who smiled like that have something to hide?

  “I’ll check my e-mail,” he said, “read and take a short nap, while you finish. How does that sound?”

  Kellie smiled sweetly. “Self-absorbed.”

  He placed his hand over his heart. “You’ve a quick tongue, Kellie Delaney. Don’t think twice about sparing my feelings.”

  “The idea never crossed my mind.”

  This time he laughed. “I’ll wash and dry,” he said. “I’d intended it all along. My thanks for the tasty meal.”

  Kellie folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “What shall you and I do, Heather, while your da cleans the kitchen?”

  The child looked hopefully at her father. “We can watch the telly for a while.”

  “You have school tomorrow,” Tom reminded her.

  Kellie interrupted. “Shall we read together?”

  Heather wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like to read.”

  Kellie’s eyebrows rose. “How can that possibly be?” She winked at the little girl. “Everyone likes to read. It must be that you’re not reading the right books.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Heather looked doubtful.

  “I’ll tell you a story,” Kellie suggested, “a story that comes from a wonderful book. How does that sound?”

  Heather brightened. “I love stories.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Heather stood and held out her hand. “Come along.”

  Heather slid off her chair and tucked her hand inside Kellie’s. “Sometimes Da tells me stories.”

  “Does he now?”

  Heather nodded. “He knows lots of them.” She looked up. “Do you?”

  “I’ll try to measure up.”

  Tom watched them disappear into the sitting room. Kellie Delaney was definitely not in the common way. On the one hand she appeared vulnerable, almost desperate, yet there was a sophistication about her that wasn’t typical of Irish women from her class. He couldn’t make her out. Not that twenty-four hours was enough time to give the matter any real thought. He frowned, filled the sink with soapy water and began cleaning the plates. Heather didn’t normally warm up to people the way she had to Kellie. The woman had a way with children.

  He finished drying the last of the silverware, hung the towel over the rack, turned down the lights and walked into the sitting room. It was empty. A small tick came to life in Tom’s left cheek. He walked down the hallway toward Heather’s bedroom and stopped in the doorway.

  Heather was asleep; the comforter pulled over her and tucked in. Kellie had dozed off in the chair beside the bed and Lexi was on the floor at her feet, her head resting on her paws.

  Gradually, so as not to wake them, Tom dimmed the lights and motioned to the dog. There would be no walk for Lexi tonight

  Lexi lifted her head and dropped it again. She was going nowhere. A knot formed in Tom’s chest. Heather’s experience with mothers was limited to her grandmother and the mothers of her friends. A young, attractive woman who promised dessert and told stories had suddenly dropped out of the sky into her lap. He didn’t want his child to be hurt.

  He made a decision. Gently, he shook Kellie awake. She blinked and would have spoken but he held his finger against his lips, motioning her to stand up. When she did, he tucked the blankets around his daughter.

  “We’ll have to postpone our walk,” he said after he’d closed the door to Heather’s room.

  Kellie yawned. “I’m too tired anyway.” She moved toward the stairs. “Good night Tom,” she said without turning around.

  He was anxious and edgy, not in the mood for a run or a pint Slowly, he walked into his study and opened his pipe case. She said she liked them. Still, he closed the door. Tucking the bag under his arm, he began to squeeze. The melody, slow and smooth, filled the room.

  Five

  Morning light, milky and pale, filtered through the kitchen window. Kellie sighed. Two weeks since she’d come and both of them gray. But then Ireland was always gray, not like England where even in winter the sun had a chance of piercing the cloud cover.

  She cracked another egg into the bowl, added milk and whipped the mixture together. Butter sizzled in the frying pan. She poured in the eggs, set out bread to toast and lifted the streaky bacon from the grill. Coffee perked on the stove. Napkins folded like birds of paradise sat on top of the plates. Silverware gleamed. Lexi lay under the table, her eyes at half- mast.

  A bubble of pleasure welled up in Kellie’s chest. She stopped, motionless, and concentrated on holding it in, muscles tensing, eyes narrowing, keeping the feeling close for as long as it would stay. It happened seldom enough, this sense of pleasure, this cocoon of quiet joy, welling from the mundane routine of performing simple tasks. But at least it came. Not so long ago, Kellie believed she would never feel anything but pain again.

  The toaster popped. Kellie pulled out the bread slices, golden and hot, slid them into the rack and poured the coffee. She didn’t look up when Tom walked into the kitchen.

  “What is it this morning?” he asked.

  “Scrambled eggs with parsley and tomatoes.”

  He was silent and still for a long moment.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “Where did you learn to create culinary masterpieces for every meal?”

  Kellie shook her head. “They’re hardly that.”

  “Do you know you have the most subtle way of evading a direct question, which makes no sense because most of the time you’re not subtle at all.”

  “I wouldn’t call it evading.”

  “What would you call it?”

  She leaned against the counter and sipped her coffee, welcoming the diverting burn of the hot liquid down her throat. “I would call it a sense of reserve,” she said quietly, “a sense of personal space.”

  Tom hooked his leg over the chair and sat backwards facing her. “I might believe that if you weren’t so inquisitive yourself. You want to know everything about me, but you won’t disclose anything about yourself.”

  Kellie’s cheeks burned. “Are you always so blunt?”

  “No, you’ve the patent on bluntness. I’m rarely so, but then I’m not always up against such an immovable force.”

  “Why do you want to know about me?”

  “You’re living in my home. It’s common courtesy to reveal something of your background. It makes one feel insecure to have a mystery woman in his midst. I don’t know if I’m allowing an escaped felon access to my daughter.”

  She gave him the point. “Fair enough,” she said. “What do you want do know?”

  “For a start, how did you come to leave Belfast for Oxford? Why are you here in Banburren?”

  “I earned my degree from Queen’s and left for an employment opportunity in Oxford. It isn’t unusual to move to England from Belfast.”

  “For a Catholic it is.”

  “I’m here because it’s restful,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “Are you satisfied?”

  “I should be.”

  “But you’re not”

  “No. What do you do all day?” He hurried to finish. “I’m just curious, that’s all. What I mean is, why would a woman like you, an educated woman, be content doing a maid’s work in a small town? What keeps your mind busy?”

  Kellie’s cheeks flamed. “What kind of question is that? What do you think I do? I cook and shop and wash and clean. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve picked up just about everything there is to do which wasn’t what I’d planned and it’s worth a great deal more than the complimentary meals I’m receiving. Perhaps we need to renegotiate the terms of my employment because I think I’m doing too much to be paying for my room.” Her hand were on her hips. “You’ve been very preoccupied, hardly coming out of that shed outside to breathe. Quite frankly I don’t know what you did without me. I’ve gone to the library on occasion and I take a walk or two every day with your dog, but other than that I’ve my hands full. My mind and how I keep it busy isn’t any of your business.”

  Tom stood motionless, stunned and properly redressed. She was right. The lion’s share of work had fallen on her. She was so efficient, he’d relaxed, allowing her to pick up more and more of his responsibilities, even the phone calls and bookings. He’d stepped over the line and he knew it. Embarrassed, he opened his mouth to apologize, but even that was denied him.

  Heather stood in the doorway. “I’m here,” she announced.

  Kellie sighed with relief. “Good morning, darling. Are you hungry?”

  The little girl nodded, crossed the room and pulled out a chair. “I like your food. It’s better than Da’s.”

  “Traitor,” muttered Tom.

  Kellie laughed, her anger dissipated. She was a nurturer at heart and it was lovely being needed. She spooned eggs onto Heather’s plate before reaching for Tom’s.

  Heather picked up her fork and looked at her father. He appeared deep in thought, staring at his plate.

  “Kellie says breakfast is the most important meal,” she announced.

  “Perhaps she’s right,” replied Tom.

  “Well?”

  “Well What?”

  “Why aren’t you eating?”

  Tom sighed. “I’m eating, I’m eating.” He scooped a healthy portion of eggs into his mouth. “Are you happy now?”

  She smiled sunnily. “Yes.”

  Kellie sipped her juice. Between bites of bacon she spoke to Heather. “I’m going into town today to look at the shops. I’ve seen nothing at all except the Superquin, the butcher’s and the bakery. Have you any other suggestions for me?”

  Heather’s forehead wrinkled and she looked at her father. “Da? Where should Kellie go?”

  Tom considered the matter. “We can walk Heather to school together and you can look around a bit. There isn’t much to see in Banburren beyond the harbor and the water. My family is having a dinner tonight. You’re invited if you care to come. My mother particularly asked me to invite you.”

  It was a golden opportunity. It was also a dreadful violation of the heart of a family. Deception was difficult for her. She would not be comfortable conversing and sharing a meal with these people. Still, her motive for coming to Banburren hadn’t changed. Perhaps she would learn something. So far, her quest had been relatively fruitless. She’d gone into his computer files, an easy enough task. He didn’t even have his password secured. Not that she’d had long segments of time to go back into personal correspondence in his e-mail files, but she wasn’t looking for anything that far back. It was frustrating. Her lack of progress after two weeks, and Tom Whelan, the man, hadn’t helped matters. He was so pleasant, so accommodating and open. It was very hard to keep her reserve. Kellie liked him. She liked him very much.

  * * *

  It was odd at first, walking beside Tom with Heather between them, down narrow streets in a small town where everyone knew each other. People were too polite to stare or comment, but she felt their eyes on her back, speculative, wondering. Kellie felt as if she were back in the Falls only this time she was a stranger.

  It was important that she do this, Kellie told herself. It was all for Connor and Danny and, she’d come to realize, herself.

  Tom interrupted her thoughts. “You might take a look at Geary’s Hardware. It’s our claim to fame, a first-rate store with everything one could possibly need for home improvement.”

  “Your rooms could use some bookshelves,” replied Kellie, “nothing complicated.”

  “Why do I need shelves?”

  “People like a homey room and shelves filled with books.”

  He looked thoughtful. “I’d never thought of it.”

  “Think of it now. Don’t you like books?”

  “I do.”

  “Your guests will, too. Small things, like books and a basket of treats with some biscuits and bottled water, a teapot, things like that make a room memorable.”

  “You may be right.” He waved his arm. “What do you think?”

  “Of what?”

  “The town.”

  Kellie glanced briefly around her. Curbs on one side of the road were painted green, white and orange, Catholic colors. The Irish tricolor hung from upstairs windows. Tea shops were filled with men smoking down their breakfasts and reading the daily news. Mothers with prams walked uniformed children to school. There were more pubs than any other business establishment and most had customers at eight-thirty in the morning.