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The sight of James Kinney robbed Sara of speech. He seemed to fill the tiny room, his face a stern mask that gave little doubt of his displeasure at finding his daughter in the slums. With her.

“Pull up a stool and join us.” Granny’s cheerful voice broke into the tense silence. “Put that tray down, Sara, and fetch a chair from the kitchen.”

Sara turned, glad for the excuse to escape James’s accusing gaze.

“My apologies, but we must leave at once.” James’s tone, clipped and icy, made her spine straighten. He could blame Evie’s actions on her all he wanted, but she’d done nothing wrong.

“Come, now, surely you’ve a moment to spare for a lonely old woman.” Granny seemed impervious to his tone. “I promised this girl of yours the rest of the story of Tír na nóg, I did.”

“Yes, Papa, please say we may stay. Just a few minutes.”

He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as Evie pulled over the stool and patted it. Sara suppressed a smile at the sight of James, no more able to deny the two of them than she was.

Safe in the kitchen, she paused and gripped the back of the chair with unsteady fingers.

The sight of James Kinney did strange things to her.

Part of her wanted to rush back in and defend herself.

Explain Evie’s arrival and how she’d planned to ensure Evie got home safely.

The rest of her wanted to never leave the kitchen again.

Sweeping aside her hesitation, she lifted the chair and returned to the room with measured steps. James Kinney was nothing to her. Not an employer, not a friend. His opinion shouldn’t matter in the least.

Sara poured the tea at the rickety side table while Granny told her story.

Although she forced her eyes to stay on the cups in front of her, she knew exactly the moment his shoulders relaxed and James leaned forward, captivated by Granny’s story, as Sara would be herself if she hadn’t heard it countless times before.

Granny paused so Evie could pass the cups around, and Sara took a seat further back, taking in the scene before her.

Evie perched on her father’s knee, and he had one arm around her waist. With the other hand, he sipped weak tea from a battered tin mug, not betraying by a flicker of an eyelid that it was any less than he was used to.

Father and daughter leaned forward as Granny concluded the haunting story of Oisín, the man caught between two worlds.

“Why didn’t he stay with Niamh in Tír na nóg?” Evie asked.

“He missed his home too much. Doesn’t work, trying to leave your world, you ken. Ought to have stayed where he was born.”

Sara bit her lip and looked down. Granny always chose her stories with purpose. Perhaps she wanted to warn Evie of the dangers of wandering too far from home. Then again, her message might be directed at Sara as well.

James sat back with a smile, taking another sip of his tea. “A grand story, Mrs. O’Connor. I fancy I’ll keep my eyes open for fairies next time I drive through the woods.”

The chill had melted from his voice, leaving a warmth that gave Sara pause. She tried to imagine any other man of his position in this room and found she could not. He might disapprove of her, but he’d made himself at home with Granny. She hadn’t expected that.

“Aye, well, I doubt there’s fairies here in Canada. Left them all behind in Ireland, I did.”

Evie straightened, casting off her father’s embrace to lean closer to Granny. “Are you sure, Granny? Have you ever looked?”

“Where would I be finding fairies in Irish Town, my dear? Now, if a body had a chance to get to the woods... well, there’s no telling what you might find.”

Evie turned to her father, her face alight. “Papa, do you think we might see some, next time we drive to the lake?”

“Fairies are mighty shy creatures, I’ve heard.

But it wouldn’t hurt to look.” James rose, pulling Evie to her feet.

“Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am, but it is time we were on our way.

” He shook the old lady’s hand with a warm smile, then turned to Sara.

The smile faded, replaced with the stern lines she recognized.

“Might I have a word with you, Miss O’Connor? ”

Sara inclined her head. “Certainly.” What else could she say? He followed her into the kitchen, still blessedly deserted.

“I am not sure what prompted this foolish start of Evie’s,” he began. “She seems uncommonly fond of you.” He sent her a sharp glance, as though she, and not Evie, had planned the meeting. “I would ask... don’t encourage her in this attachment.”

Sara forced down her ire. Fostering the bond that had sprung up between her and Evie would only cause them both pain in the end, she knew that just as well as he did. “Of course, sir,” she said, her eyes on the floor.

“I should have seen how it would be.” James paced the length of the room in three strides.

“She never knew her mother. Natural she’d latch on to you when you showed her kindness.

” He paused, looking straight into her eyes.

“I didn’t realize until today how lonely she must be.

But it won’t do, you know. For her to get attached to you. ”

Sara wished she knew how to stop the words.

They pierced the soft corner of her heart that Evie had warmed, each one hurting more than the last. “Of course not,” she managed.

“Children get over things quickly. I’m sure now she’s seen I’m all right, she won’t give me another thought.

” She wouldn’t stop thinking about the Kinneys, though.

They’d given her a glimpse into a world she thought she’d put behind her.

A world of family, of books and learning. But it wasn’t her world, not anymore.

James studied her for a moment, his gaze so intense a flush of heat rose in her cheeks. “You’re nothing like any washerwoman I’ve ever come across, Miss O’Connor.”

“Indeed? How many laundresses have you come to know, Mr. Kinney?” Her chin rose, the sharp words spilling out before she could hold them back.

James smiled ruefully. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. What other servant would put me in my place so neatly?”

Sara’s lips twisted. “You might be surprised.” Servants were cleverer than their employers gave them credit for, she knew that now.

Instead of taking offense, James laughed. Warmth bloomed around her heart, a sense of shared humor that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“Papa, come back. I think you’ll like this story, too.” Evie called from the other room.

The smile faded from James’s face. “You do agree, though?” He spoke in an undertone, moving to the door. “To keep your distance?”

Sara straightened her shoulders. A moment of shared humor meant nothing.

He still didn’t want his daughter near a laundress.

“I didn’t lure Evie here today, nor have I made any effort to contact her.

” She made a show of tucking the mismatched chairs around the table.

“The problem might be better remedied by your keeping a closer eye on your daughter.” She was instantly ashamed of her words.

They’d slipped out, a visceral impulse to get back at him.

To hurt him with words the way he’d hurt her.

Childish. She sneaked a glance at his face. He wasn’t smiling now.

His eyes narrowed. “Quite right, Miss O’Connor.” He gave her a stiff bow before turning on his heel and leaving the kitchen.

Sara forced her feet to follow him into the front room where James bowed over Granny’s hand in farewell.

“Goodbye, Sara,” Evie said, coming to her side. “Now that I’ve found where you live, I’m sure we can visit.”

Sara refused to look up, but she felt the weight of James’s silent expectation all the same. It was better this way, she consoled herself. Easier for them both to make a clean break.

“I’ll be starting a new job soon, my dear,” Sara said. “You mustn’t come looking for me here. It isn’t safe.”

“Aye, lovey, you listen to Sara now,” Granny chimed in. “Ain’t the neighborhood for a young thing like you.”

Evie chewed her lip. “Well, then you can come to my house. For tea. Mrs. Hobbes makes the best lemon biscuits. Bring Granny, too.” Evie went to Granny’s side and picked up her hand. “You’ll love the lemon biscuits, Granny.”

Sara’s heart cracked. She glanced at James, expecting to see him frown or pull Evie away. But he smiled a soft, sad smile and smoothed his hand over Evie’s head.

“Come, my dear, it’s time we were leaving.” He put his arm around Evie’s shoulder and guided her to the door. His eyes met Sara’s over Evie’s head for a fleeting moment. He hesitated, then sent a brisk nod in her direction before they both disappeared out the door.

Sara stood in the front room, staring after them until the creak of Granny’s rocker recalled her to the present.

“Well, that’s what I call a gentleman,” Granny said, almost to herself. “Mighty attached to that daughter of his, too.” Granny sent Sara a shrewd glance. “Mayhap that’s not all he’s attached to.”

Sara gasped. “Granny, where on earth do you get such thoughts. I’ll never see them again.”

“Hmph.” Granny rocked with renewed vigor, muttering about young people who couldn’t see for looking.

Sometimes it was a trial that Granny knew her so well. Sara gathered the teacups, avoiding Granny’s eyes. “Besides, he is a fine gentleman, just as you said. What would he want with a washerwoman?”

“Yer not a washerwoman, no more than I’m the Queen of England.” Granny shook her head. “God isn’t only a God of blessings. He’s the Man of Sorrows, too, ye ken. He knows how it feels.”

Sara lifted the tray, her eyes lowered so Granny couldn’t read her thoughts. What good was a God who led you into sorrow?

“There’s a time to mourn and a time to rejoice, says so right in the Scriptures. Mayhap your time of mourning is done. Might be time to live again.”