Tears of the Moon Read Free

him with a nod toward the stove. “The part I ordered for it just came in. Do you want me to fix it or not?”
    He made a sound of assent and waved his hand toward it.
    â€œBiscuits?” she said as she walked by the table. “What kind of breakfast is that for a man grown?”
    â€œThey were here.” He smiled at her in a way that made her want to cuddle him. “It’s a bother to cook just for myself most mornings, but if you’re hungry I’ll fix something up for the both of us.”
    â€œNo, I’ve eaten.” She set her toolbox down, opened it, started to rummage through. “You know Ma always fixes more than enough. She’d be happy to have you wander down any morning you like and have a decent meal.”
    â€œYou could send up a flare when she makes her griddle cakes. Will you have some tea in any case? The pot’s still warm.”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind it.” As she chose her tools, got out the new part, she watched his feet moving around the kitchen. “What were you doing? Writing music?”
    â€œFiddling with words for a tune,” he said absently. His eye had caught the flight of a single bird, black and glossy against the dull pewter sky. “Looks bitter out today.”
    â€œ ’Tis, and damp with it. Winter’s barely started and I’m wishing it over.”
    â€œWarm your bones a bit.” He crouched down with a thick mug of tea, fixed as he knew she liked it, strong and heavy on the sugar.
    â€œThanks.” The heat from the mug seeped into her hands as she cupped them around it.
    He stayed where he was, sipping his own tea. Their knees bumped companionably. “So, what will you do about this heap?”
    â€œWhat do you care as long as it works again?”
    He lifted a brow. “If I know what you did, I might fix it myself next time.”
    This made her laugh so hard she had to sit her butt down on the floor to keep from tipping over. “You? Shawn, you can’t even fix your own broken fingernail.”
    â€œSure I can.” Grinning, he mimed just biting one off and made her laugh again.
    â€œDon’t you concern yourself with what I do with the innards of the thing, and I won’t concern myself with the next cake you bake in it. We each have our strengths, after all.”
    â€œIt’s not as if I’ve never used a screwdriver,” he said and plucked one out of her kit.
    â€œAnd I’ve used a stirring spoon. But I know which fits my hand better.”
    She took the tool from him, then shifting her position, stuck her head in the oven to get to work.
    She had little hands, Shawn thought. A man might think of them as delicate if he didn’t know what they were capable of doing. He’d watched her swing a hammer, grip a drill, haul lumber, cinch pipes. More often than not, those little fairy hands of hers were nicked and scratched or bruised around the knuckles.
    She was such a small woman for the work she’d chosen, or the work that had chosen her, he thought as he straightened. He knew how that was. Brenna’s father was a man of all work, and his eldest daughter took straight after him. Just as it was said Shawn took after his mother’s mother, who had often forgotten the wash or the dinner while she played her music.
    As he started to step back, she moved, her butt wriggling as she loosened a bolt. His eyebrows lifted again, in what he considered merely the reflexive interest of a male in an attractive portion of the female form.
    She did, after all, have a trim and tidy little body. The sort a man could scoop up one-handed if he had a mind to. And if a man tried, Shawn imagined Brenna O’Toole would lay him out flat.
    The idea made him grin.
    Still, he’d rather look at her face any day. It was such a study. Her eyes were lively and of a sharp, glass green under elegant brows just slightly darker than her bright red hair. Her mouth was mobile and