drink on the bar. "I'm the one to blame for this. I probably needed to register you or file a paper with someone."
Conor rolled the glass between his hands. "Of course you’re not to blame. I am. I'm a bloody fool for not realizing this would happen. Instead of helping I put you in an impossible position."
Abnormally quiet until this point, Abigail snorted. "Listen to the two of you, thrashing yourselves. Personally, I'd like a crack at the busybody who stuck his nose where it didn't belong and called Williston. That's whose fault this is and I've a mind to go tell him so."
"Jesus, don't." Conor looked up sharply at Abigail and she gave a mollifying grimace.
"Oh, I won't do it. Just blowing off steam."
"You're saying you know who called them?" Kate saw a glance pass between them. "Both of you do?"
"Well, we can guess," Abigail said. "Can't you, for God's sake? Jared Percy. He had the most obvious motive."
"Jared Percy?" Kate gaped at her. "What motive? I wanted to keep him on, I told him so. Conor wasn't taking anything away from him."
"I'm betting Jared thought he'd taken something."
Seeing the gimlet gleam in Abigail's eyes, Kate felt a flush spread over her face. "You can't be serious. He must be ten years younger than me."
"He's twenty-two." A wicked grin dimpled Abigail's cheeks.
"Okay, seven years." Mortified, Kate glowered at her and peeked at Conor. "Anyway, you're right. Neither of us is to blame. We didn't do anything wrong."
Conor studied his glass, looking as though he wanted to dive inside and disappear. "Unfortunately, that's not true." He drained his whiskey and set it down. "I've got to go over for the second milking but I'll be back in an hour. I need to talk with you, Kate."
"Are you going to leave?" She hated herself for asking the question, and for the plaintive note in her voice. Conor's brow contracted. He set the barstool neatly in place and stood with his hands gripping its sides.
"That will be up to you, I think. Before long those agents will finish their background check and they'll want to tell you what they found. I've got a criminal record, Kate. Not a very exciting one, for all the grief it's caused, but it's there in black and white for anyone to check."
I T WAS CLOSER to two hours before he got back to the house. After turning the cows into the pasture for the evening Conor walked a few miles up the dirt road, thinking there was something vaguely comedic about the situation if he could get up the energy to laugh. His new life hadn't lasted thirty days before being compromised by a jealous suitor with more imagination than he would have believed. As if he'd needed it, the fiasco was another reminder: he was an amateur at this game and he'd elected to play it on his own.
After being discharged from the hospital and before his brief trip back to Ireland, he'd collected the green card and passports promised to him but had rebuffed any further assistance. In retrospect it might have been wiser to accept, and if he'd had greater faith in the capabilities of those offering help maybe he would have considered it more seriously.
Conor retraced his steps back to the inn, dreading the approaching encounter with Kate. In the kitchen, Abigail had left a covered plate on the counter along with a note giving instructions for re-heating the meal. A line scrawled at the bottom read: Don't do something stupid. You belong here.
He put the plate in the refrigerator and went upstairs to Kate's apartment, where he found her sitting in the living room facing the window. The bottle of whiskey and two fresh glasses had migrated from the bar to her coffee table. She saw his reflection and looked back over her shoulder.
"I was beginning to think you'd already left."
"I'm sorry. I went for a walk." Conor eyed the immaculate wheat-colored carpet and wiped his forehead, realizing how dirty and sweaty he was. "I'll just clean up a bit. I won't be long."
When he returned, his anxiety was tempered by
Conor rolled the glass between his hands. "Of course you’re not to blame. I am. I'm a bloody fool for not realizing this would happen. Instead of helping I put you in an impossible position."
Abnormally quiet until this point, Abigail snorted. "Listen to the two of you, thrashing yourselves. Personally, I'd like a crack at the busybody who stuck his nose where it didn't belong and called Williston. That's whose fault this is and I've a mind to go tell him so."
"Jesus, don't." Conor looked up sharply at Abigail and she gave a mollifying grimace.
"Oh, I won't do it. Just blowing off steam."
"You're saying you know who called them?" Kate saw a glance pass between them. "Both of you do?"
"Well, we can guess," Abigail said. "Can't you, for God's sake? Jared Percy. He had the most obvious motive."
"Jared Percy?" Kate gaped at her. "What motive? I wanted to keep him on, I told him so. Conor wasn't taking anything away from him."
"I'm betting Jared thought he'd taken something."
Seeing the gimlet gleam in Abigail's eyes, Kate felt a flush spread over her face. "You can't be serious. He must be ten years younger than me."
"He's twenty-two." A wicked grin dimpled Abigail's cheeks.
"Okay, seven years." Mortified, Kate glowered at her and peeked at Conor. "Anyway, you're right. Neither of us is to blame. We didn't do anything wrong."
Conor studied his glass, looking as though he wanted to dive inside and disappear. "Unfortunately, that's not true." He drained his whiskey and set it down. "I've got to go over for the second milking but I'll be back in an hour. I need to talk with you, Kate."
"Are you going to leave?" She hated herself for asking the question, and for the plaintive note in her voice. Conor's brow contracted. He set the barstool neatly in place and stood with his hands gripping its sides.
"That will be up to you, I think. Before long those agents will finish their background check and they'll want to tell you what they found. I've got a criminal record, Kate. Not a very exciting one, for all the grief it's caused, but it's there in black and white for anyone to check."
I T WAS CLOSER to two hours before he got back to the house. After turning the cows into the pasture for the evening Conor walked a few miles up the dirt road, thinking there was something vaguely comedic about the situation if he could get up the energy to laugh. His new life hadn't lasted thirty days before being compromised by a jealous suitor with more imagination than he would have believed. As if he'd needed it, the fiasco was another reminder: he was an amateur at this game and he'd elected to play it on his own.
After being discharged from the hospital and before his brief trip back to Ireland, he'd collected the green card and passports promised to him but had rebuffed any further assistance. In retrospect it might have been wiser to accept, and if he'd had greater faith in the capabilities of those offering help maybe he would have considered it more seriously.
Conor retraced his steps back to the inn, dreading the approaching encounter with Kate. In the kitchen, Abigail had left a covered plate on the counter along with a note giving instructions for re-heating the meal. A line scrawled at the bottom read: Don't do something stupid. You belong here.
He put the plate in the refrigerator and went upstairs to Kate's apartment, where he found her sitting in the living room facing the window. The bottle of whiskey and two fresh glasses had migrated from the bar to her coffee table. She saw his reflection and looked back over her shoulder.
"I was beginning to think you'd already left."
"I'm sorry. I went for a walk." Conor eyed the immaculate wheat-colored carpet and wiped his forehead, realizing how dirty and sweaty he was. "I'll just clean up a bit. I won't be long."
When he returned, his anxiety was tempered by
Similar Books
