Page 112 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

Jo smiled. Hattie would have a fit to see the two daft mongrels dressed up like fancy baubles.

As she reached the snow-hugged manor, Jo opened the front door, banged her boots on the stone step, untied the laces and slipped her feet out, placing the boots on a rack. She stooped to remove the damp coats from the dogs and shooing them ahead, went into a utility room that led off the hall. She pulled the woolly hat off her head and slipped her coat on a hook above the radiator to dry.

‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ she said as she stroked and soothed, watching Teddy climb into Bunty’s box and settle down.

The manor was strangely quiet.

Finbar and Melissa had joined with James to take guests into Kindale for a Christmas carol service followed by chestnut roasting, mulled wine and a festive fair in the town square and, for once, it was lovely to have the old place to herself. Lights from the huge tree twinkled in the reception area and as the day darkened, Jo flicked table lamps on in the corners of the room.

She padded softly along the corridor, in her thick wool socks, running fingers through her tousled hair. She was going to sit by the fire in the lounge and relax for a while, before getting changed to greet the returning guests. As Jo walked, she thought she heard a melody coming from the music room.

Had Finbar left a radio on?

She approached the door and gently turned the handle. As she stepped in, she thought that the room was empty, but as she looked over to the window, where the grand piano stood, Jo felt her heart stop. Her eyes were wide and mouth half-open as she stared at a man, sitting on a stool, his fingers moving confidently across the keys.

Outside, the wintery sun was falling into the sky. A golden glow, glimmering through the leaded windows, lit the room, silhouetting the man as he continued to play.

A Stetson lay on the lid of the piano and Jo caught a glimpse of intricately-tooled leather cowboy boots, softly touching the pedals.

Dressed in jeans, his hair thick on the collar of his coal-black shirt, Long Tom Hendry looked up. His tanned face was still handsome after all these years and, dark eyes dancing, he smiled.

Jo felt her heart cartwheel in her chest.

‘Hello, Jo,’ Long Tom said. ‘Are you ready to take that leap of faith?’