realized was a soft-sided violin case. He set it down on the window seat next to the bed, and while he was stripping off his wet jacket and peering down at the brook she took the opportunity to examine him more closely.
He stood several inches taller than her—a little over six feet, she estimated. Although disheveled and in need of a bath and a shave, nothing could disguise the essential fact: the man was exceptionally good looking. Kate somehow hadn't expected that, but thought it a nice reward for her generosity toward Phillip Ryan.
He also appeared painfully thin and exhausted. In the midst of a yawn Conor turned and caught her staring at him. He closed his mouth, cleared his throat again and sat down on the window seat with a grunt.
"Sorry. Sort of a long day."
"Of course. My exit cue." Kate hesitated, concerned by his wan appearance. "Can I bring you something to eat? Or at least some hot tea? It sounds like your voice is going and I don't want you getting pneumonia again on the first night." A flush warmed her cheeks as Conor stiffened, his face sobering into watchfulness. "I apologize. I shouldn't make light of your illness."
"No, don't worry." He flashed a cautious smile. "I didn't know Phillip told you. I'm fine, though. My voice just always sounds like it's going." He pulled at the t-shirt under his V-necked sweater, revealing a scar below his Adam's apple, about the length of Kate's little finger. "Emergency surgery. Kept me from suffocating so I can't really complain, but the old vocal cords got a good scrape."
Fascinated, Kate tried not to stare. "Does it hurt?"
Conor inclined his head, appearing curious as well. "Funny how everyone asks that. No, it doesn't hurt." After a short silence he added, "I'm not hungry but I'd love a cup of tea, and I could do with a shower."
Kate gave him some time to shower and get settled before returning with the tea tray. She knocked on the door he'd left ajar, catching a whiff of shaving cream and sandalwood soap as she entered. Without its layer of dark stubble Conor's face looked even more pale and tired. He'd changed into a black t-shirt and jeans, and was studying the fireplace with a thoughtful expression. She lowered the tray, which connected sharply with the glass table. He jumped at the rattle of china and teaspoons.
"Sorry about that." Kate straightened. "The fireplace works, and we've got more wood if you feel like dragging it up the stairs. Now, I'll get out of here and let you get some rest. Leave everything outside after you're finished and I'll pick it up in the morning. I'm at the end of the hall if you need anything." She had a hand on the doorknob when Conor called her back with a question.
"What else did Phillip tell you? About me, I mean."
"Not nearly enough." She grinned, but then remembering, grew serious. "He said your mother died recently. I'm sorry."
He frowned and colored slightly. "Thank you."
"And that you'd sold your property in Ireland."
"Uh-huh. Anything else? I didn't know you had such a long chat about me."
"We didn't chat," Kate said coolly. The conversation was beginning to feel like an interrogation. "We corresponded by email. I still have the messages if you want to read them."
Seeing her irritation, he dropped his head. "No, of course not. I was only curious."
Kate relented, smiling, but before closing the door stuck her face back into the room. "While we're on the subject I should be asking what Phillip told you about me . I guess I can wait until morning."
T HE DOOR CLOSED with a soft click, and Conor stared at it for several seconds before turning away.
“How about—'she's deadly feckin' gorgeous'—Phillip might have told me that about you but he didn't, thanks very much.”
He returned to the window seat and unzipped the insulated violin case, removing the suede-covered version inside. Then, as though unpacking a set of nesting dolls, he opened the second case to lift out the violin itself. After confirming the
He stood several inches taller than her—a little over six feet, she estimated. Although disheveled and in need of a bath and a shave, nothing could disguise the essential fact: the man was exceptionally good looking. Kate somehow hadn't expected that, but thought it a nice reward for her generosity toward Phillip Ryan.
He also appeared painfully thin and exhausted. In the midst of a yawn Conor turned and caught her staring at him. He closed his mouth, cleared his throat again and sat down on the window seat with a grunt.
"Sorry. Sort of a long day."
"Of course. My exit cue." Kate hesitated, concerned by his wan appearance. "Can I bring you something to eat? Or at least some hot tea? It sounds like your voice is going and I don't want you getting pneumonia again on the first night." A flush warmed her cheeks as Conor stiffened, his face sobering into watchfulness. "I apologize. I shouldn't make light of your illness."
"No, don't worry." He flashed a cautious smile. "I didn't know Phillip told you. I'm fine, though. My voice just always sounds like it's going." He pulled at the t-shirt under his V-necked sweater, revealing a scar below his Adam's apple, about the length of Kate's little finger. "Emergency surgery. Kept me from suffocating so I can't really complain, but the old vocal cords got a good scrape."
Fascinated, Kate tried not to stare. "Does it hurt?"
Conor inclined his head, appearing curious as well. "Funny how everyone asks that. No, it doesn't hurt." After a short silence he added, "I'm not hungry but I'd love a cup of tea, and I could do with a shower."
Kate gave him some time to shower and get settled before returning with the tea tray. She knocked on the door he'd left ajar, catching a whiff of shaving cream and sandalwood soap as she entered. Without its layer of dark stubble Conor's face looked even more pale and tired. He'd changed into a black t-shirt and jeans, and was studying the fireplace with a thoughtful expression. She lowered the tray, which connected sharply with the glass table. He jumped at the rattle of china and teaspoons.
"Sorry about that." Kate straightened. "The fireplace works, and we've got more wood if you feel like dragging it up the stairs. Now, I'll get out of here and let you get some rest. Leave everything outside after you're finished and I'll pick it up in the morning. I'm at the end of the hall if you need anything." She had a hand on the doorknob when Conor called her back with a question.
"What else did Phillip tell you? About me, I mean."
"Not nearly enough." She grinned, but then remembering, grew serious. "He said your mother died recently. I'm sorry."
He frowned and colored slightly. "Thank you."
"And that you'd sold your property in Ireland."
"Uh-huh. Anything else? I didn't know you had such a long chat about me."
"We didn't chat," Kate said coolly. The conversation was beginning to feel like an interrogation. "We corresponded by email. I still have the messages if you want to read them."
Seeing her irritation, he dropped his head. "No, of course not. I was only curious."
Kate relented, smiling, but before closing the door stuck her face back into the room. "While we're on the subject I should be asking what Phillip told you about me . I guess I can wait until morning."
T HE DOOR CLOSED with a soft click, and Conor stared at it for several seconds before turning away.
“How about—'she's deadly feckin' gorgeous'—Phillip might have told me that about you but he didn't, thanks very much.”
He returned to the window seat and unzipped the insulated violin case, removing the suede-covered version inside. Then, as though unpacking a set of nesting dolls, he opened the second case to lift out the violin itself. After confirming the
Similar Books
Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset
Edmund Cooper
Courted
Sylvia Ketrie
The Sixth Wife: The Story of Katherine Parr
Jean Plaidy
1177 a. C. El año en que la civilización se derrumbó
Eric H. Cline
Revenge of the Paste Eaters
Cheryl Peck
LZR-1143: Evolution
Bryan James
THE COLLAPSE: Seeking Refuge
Frank Kaminski
Pact of Witches’s Clothes
Pet Torres Books
The China Dogs
Sam Masters
Love and Death in Blue Lake
Cynthia Harrison