Page 18

Sara sipped a cup of tea, staring unseeing out the kitchen window.

The long night was a blur. Her world had centered on saving Evie’s life.

.. and erasing the look of torment from James Kinney’s face.

Now that the crisis was over, she had the sense she was coming back to reality.

A reality she wasn’t sure she wanted to face.

She drained her cup and smoothed her rumpled skirt, stifling the longing for something pretty to wear.

Something other than coarse linen, stained from years of washing other people’s clothes.

Something that would make a man like James Kinney sit up and notice.

She dragged her fingers through her tangled curls and twisted them under her cap, pushing away foolish yearnings.

Placing Evie’s tea and broth on a tray, she hurried from the kitchen, almost running into James.

“Oh—”

“Pardon me—” James reached out to steady the tray and hot liquid sloshed onto his hand. He winced.

“I’m so sorry,” Sara said. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing.” He cleared his throat but didn’t move. She could see the slight curl in his hair, still damp from a wash, and smell the faint bergamot scent of his shaving soap.

Her eyes dropped to his hand, remembering the moment last night when his fingers, warm and gentle, had wrapped around hers. She’d felt that touch down to her toes. Could still feel it.

She took a step back, needing more space between them. “How is Evie?”

He cleared his throat. “Better. Much better.” His smile and the relief in his voice warmed her. “She’s asking for you.”

James was close on her heels as she headed up the stairs. Probably assessing the frayed fabric of her skirt and the cracked leather of her boots. She straightened her shoulders. She’d long ago accepted her circumstances. So why did James Kinney make her long for things she’d thought forgotten?

“Sara,” Evie said as soon as Sara crossed the threshold. “Papa said you were here. I thought I dreamed it.”

“I’m very real,” Sara said, bending over to press a kiss to Evie’s brow. “How are you feeling?”

Evie grimaced. “I’m a little bored. Can you tell me a story?”

Sara smiled. The little girl was feeling better. “Yes, my love, but first you must take some broth.” Sara set the tray down and took up the bowl of broth while James lifted Evie to sitting.

Evie shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Sara paused, the spoon halfway to Evie’s lips. “You need to eat if you are to regain your strength.”

James met her eyes over Evie’s head. “Perhaps Miss O’Connor could tell you a bit of the story each time you take a spoonful,” he said, with a half smile that was more of a challenge.

Miss O’Connor again, when last night she’d been Sara. Probably for the best. A little distance between them was a good thing. “Splendid idea, Mr. Kinney.”

“All right,” Evie said, her eyes brightening. “The one about Lochinvar.”

Sara loved the poem and had taught it to Evie in the laundry shed.

She sent a self-conscious glance at James.

Would he disapprove of such a wild, romantic tale for a young girl?

But his eyes were as alive with anticipation as Evie’s.

She cleared her throat and dove in before she could think better of it.

“O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west!” She paused and raised an eyebrow until Evie swallowed a spoonful of broth.

“Through all the wide Border his steed was the best.” Evie’s eyes glowed and she swallowed another spoonful, then another.

They emptied the bowl as fearless Lochinvar spirited fair Ellen to safety.

Sara made the mistake of looking up as they reached the last stanza. James’s eyes were still fixed on her, curious and intent. Studying her face in a way that made her aware of his nearness. “So daring in love, and so dauntless in war...” Her voice faltered.

Every word of Scott’s poem left her. James was no impetuous Lochinvar, but his careful concern for his daughter held an attraction all its own, spinning a web around her that froze the words in her throat.

“I’m ready for the next line.” Evie said, breaking the silence that had descended. “It’s the best one!”

“Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?” James finished the stanza, his voice resonant with the faint Scottish lilt she’d come to recognize.

James lowered Evie back to her pillow. “I see you are a devotee of Scott, Miss O’Connor.”

It wasn’t a question, but Sara sensed his probing all the same.

She’d been fortunate to grow up with a governess who loved novels and read her Scott and Burney in the evenings instead of sermons.

But how would a servant know Sir Walter Scott?

She hurried to turn the focus away from herself before he could ask.

“You, as well? You’re from Scotland, I believe.”

“Papa was born in Edinburgh,” Evie said.

“Really? My fam—” Just in time she stopped herself from blurting out more than he needed to know. “Your family, that is, you must miss them.” She set down the empty bowl and busied herself straightening the sheets around Evie’s small form.

“I was orphaned young. Raised by my grandparents, who’ve since passed away.” His voice was clipped as he adjusted Evie’s pillow. He seemed just as reluctant to share his past as she was. “Come, poppet, you’re tired. You should sleep.”

Evie ignored him, turning her attention to Sara. “Do you have family far away?”

James raised his head, looking at her with a faint lift to his brows.

Sara picked up the tray and retreated from the curious eyes of father and daughter.

“There’s only Granny.” Only Granny who loved her, anyway.

Her father had washed his hands of her years ago. To her relief, James turned the topic.

“I meant to tell you both that I’ve sent word to Mrs. Hobbes to ask her to return as soon as she’s able.” James glanced at Sara. “She’s our housekeeper.” His eyes dropped to the tray in her arms. “She’ll take some of the load off you.”

Sara swallowed. Was this James’s way of telling her to leave?

Evie sent a worried look between Sara and James. “But you’ll stay, right, Sara?”

The little girl’s eyes pleaded with her to agree. Half of her wished more than anything to stay. The other half knew she’d be better off leaving now, before she grew more attached.

Sara moved to the door. “You’re so much better already, Evie. You won’t need a nurse much longer.”

“But I need you, Sara.” Evie’s voice rose with each word. She pushed aside the covers Sara had just straightened, as though she would get out of bed.

“Hush now,” James said, guiding her shoulders back to the pillow. He looked at Sara with entreaty just as potent as his daughter’s. “Please stay. At least until Evie is fully recovered.”

Sara nodded, giving in to the temptation. A few more days couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like she had a job to return to.

James smiled and came to take the tray from her hands. He leaned forward and she felt again the distracting pull of his nearness. What was the matter with her? “I must finish my correspondence,” he said, his voice low. “Would you stay here with her?”

“Yes, of course.” He left and Sara breathed a sigh of relief, the tension leaving her shoulders. She couldn’t think straight when James Kinney was in the room.

She washed Evie from head to toe and helped her change into a fresh nightdress. By the time they finished, Evie was drooping with fatigue and Sara tucked her in with the admonition to take a nap.

“ Non. Je ne ... How do you say want again?”

“Veux.”

“Je ne veux pas.”

Sara smiled. Evie’s curious mind was still grasping for knowledge, even when she must be exhausted. “How about another poem while you rest?”

Evie brightened. “‘Lochinvar’ again?”

Sara smiled. “If you like.”

Evie reached out her hand to clasp Sara’s with surprising strength. “I love you, Sara.”

Sara felt a rush of emotion, bittersweet. When Colin died, she’d accepted she’d never be a mother. Then Evie came along, her love ripping the scab from old wounds and leaving Sara raw and aching. Now she knew what she was missing.

“I love you, too, Evie.” Sara leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Evie’s forehead, now cool to the touch.

Evie settled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. “Is this what it feels like?”

“Pardon me?”

Evie yawned. “What it feels like to have a mother.”

Outside Evie’s room, James released a long breath and leaned against the wall. Evie’s words hit him with the force of a blow.

He’d done his best to be father and mother both, but it wasn’t enough.

Evie needed more, and she’d found it in Sara O’Connor, who recited poetry, spoke French and seemed to know on instinct how to love his daughter best. Was there anything Miss O’Connor couldn’t do?

He shook his head. Sara was my teacher. The best teacher in Upper Canada.

Evie had tried to tell him, but he hadn’t wanted to listen.

He crept downstairs to the makeshift office he’d set up in the dining room and collapsed in his chair.

His correspondence was spread out before him, reminding him of the responsibilities he’d put off during Evie’s illness.

It was time for things to return to normal.

For Sara O’Connor to leave before Evie grew so attached that the parting broke her heart all over again. Before he grew attached.

He opened the letter at the top of his pile, a note from Ballantine that verged on the hysterical, claiming Andrew was still in the company of Mackenzie.

James sighed, rubbing his eyes. Was Osgoode the source of Ballantine’s information?

He needed to track down the truth, but how could he leave Evie when her health was still so fragile?

Evie. Andrew. In his weary mind, the problems mounted with no solution in sight. Unless—

Unless he could convince Sara O’Connor to stay.