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K ate tossed in her bed, body aching from the day’s efforts.

The furniture arrival, while marvelous, had caused Kate to use muscles she forgot she had.

True, it was tall, lean, and remarkably strong Rory who’d carried the furniture inside, but it was Kate who’d shoved and shifted until its positioning pleased her.

Next, she had braved her basement, making all her muscles tense, not to mention tromping about in tunnels.

That had done nothing to ease her strain.

Winding through Hazard’s secret underground had been both exhilarating and terrifying.

But finding the score had thrilled her and had then led to her hunching over a piano to get reacquainted with even more muscles long unused.

So much had happened in a day that her mind couldn’t rest. And on top of all that was the nagging sense that she still needed to place where she’d seen Rory before.

It couldn’t have been around town. He hadn’t been back since she’d lived here.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

She was drifting into dreamland when she heard it, the padding of tiny paws on stairs.

Little cat feet moving toward her room. She held her breath.

Would kitty come close enough for her to see more than its shadow?

There, against the wall, a dark form of an arched back with tail high. Finally, the cat trusted her enough to come close. Kate eased her arm out slowly to turn on the bedside lamp.

At the sudden brightness, the shadow on the wall flashed into stark relief and vanished. Kate peered round the room.

No cat.

She threw back the soft billowing covers and dropped to her knees to peer under the bed.

No cat.

But her door was ajar. Kitty had been here.

Kate knew she had closed her door. Had she locked it?

She’d meant to. Not that she was scared of Rory, but privacy was important.

So how had the door come ajar? She must have slept without realizing it.

Ah, a dream. She had dreamed the cat coming into her room.

Except that didn’t explain the open door. Kate rose and walked over to it. She peeked around to glance into the hall. How would a cat open a door?

Surely Rory wouldn’t spy on her while she slept.

Biting her lip, Kate shut and locked her door and dropped back into bed. She pulled the covers up to her neck, turned off her light, and stared, unblinking, into darkness.

*

Golden light streamed through the uneven window glass of Rory’s second floor room facing the town green, casting a lovely morning glow over the downy blue coverlet and spilling across the Aubusson carpet.

Rory sat up, raised his arms high above his head, and stretched as far as he could reach.

He’d slept surprisingly well, despite spending the night at the site of his youthful trauma.

Amazing.

He’d expected his slumber to be fitful, but the bed was comfortable and the Hazard Inn remarkably peaceful.

He had dreamed, of course, of Prudence Worthy and her handsome British soldier, Cyrus Cross.

He had seen them in his mind’s eye, Prudence sneaking along the hall to meet in this very room where Cyrus had tugged her into his arms and stolen a kiss.

They’d spoken in hushed tones, plotting her escape from her unreasonable father, planning to wed secretly and sail back to England.

Cyrus had her convinced that the American Rebellion was futile and would soon be curtailed.

Prudence had dashed out, giggling, Cyrus watching her climb the stairs back up to the third floor.

Rory rubbed his eyes. It was a dream, just a dream, though it had weighed him down through the night. About to toss back the covers, he noticed in them a circular indent as if a cat had curled up next to him as he slept.

“Huh.” So Kate’s mystery cat had made a visitation. If it had snoozed on the bed with him in it, the cat wasn’t feral. But how did it get in? His door was shut and locked, indicating it must still be somewhere in his room.

Rory set about searching: under the bed, behind the highboy and the wingback chair.

No cat anywhere, but he discovered a small opening in the back of his narrow closet where a cat might slip through.

He grabbed up the oversized flashlight he’d used in the tunnel to shine light into the gap.

It looked empty, but he didn’t relish getting scratched if the cat was tucked up in there.

Before reaching in, he grabbed the gloves Kate had supplied him with yesterday and slipped them on.

He eased his hand, then his arm, in carefully and felt around.

All empty space back there. The cat might be traveling through the walls, though, and that could explain what Kate was experiencing. He’d have to share his find with her.

After he’d showered and dressed and was ready to head downstairs, glorious scents had begun to waft up from below.

Ah, bed and breakfast . He headed down to find the dining table elegantly appointed with placemats and china for two.

A pitcher of orange juice collecting condensation awaited.

He spotted Kate in the kitchen at the stove.

Clearly in her element, her thick dark hair pulled back in a long braid, she wielded a spatula, flipping pancakes with panache, before removing a pan of bacon from the oven.

Nothing smelled better in the morning than bacon.

He took a long whiff, breathing it in. She glanced up. “Tell me how you like your eggs.”

“I’m an over easy kind of guy.”

Kate flashed him a grin. “Is that right?”

He grinned back, noticing her eyes looked tired. “Everything okay?”

“Sure.” With one hand, she cracked two eggs into a pan to sizzle, before plating up the bacon and the pancakes with a scoop of blueberry preserves and a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

In moments, they were seated in the dining room, with Kate expertly pouring from a silver coffee urn.

“You have this all down to an art. It looks and smells amazing.”

“This I can do, but baking eludes me. I may need to outsource it. Or get lessons.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m a takeout kind of guy. The cooking gene did not make it to my generation. I think it skipped Seymour’s too.”

“Ah, so your mom…”

“No, not her either.” He knew he’d sounded harsh when Kate fell silent and busied herself with her silverware, no longer meeting his eyes. She hadn’t done anything wrong by mentioning his mom. Feeling like a heel but unwilling to explain, he changed the subject. “What’s your plan for today?”

“Painting a third-floor bathroom.”

“By yourself?”

“I need to cut costs somewhere. After that, I need to review my budget. Are you out and about today? I appreciate all the time you gave me yesterday, but you don’t need to give me more of your time. You must have plans for your visit.”

Rory nodded. “I do, but I could give you a hand with the painting.”

Kate shook her head. “Nope, I’ve got it.”

That left him free to confront his granddad about the tunnel entrance in Agate Point.

How much would Seymour tell him? His alternately upfront and seemingly transparent mien juxtaposed with an unwillingness to share what he knew.

Rory had a sneaking suspicion that neither the tunnel under the town nor the entrance into the family mansion would be a surprise to him.

His granddad was a wily one, and he had an abundance of knowledge about Hazard’s history.

How much would he be willing to share? How hard would Rory have to work to get to the truth?

What Rory really wanted was to do was more research. But perhaps he could enlist Seymour’s help and work in his questions at the same time. He could be sneaky, too. After all, he’d learned from the best.

“Do you mind if I take the tunnel this morning to Agate Point?”

Kate choked on a bite of bacon and blinked at him in surprise. “I don’t own it.”

“I know, but the entrance is in your basement.”

“I…it’s fine. I’m certainly not doing anything about it right away. And it is shorter since you don’t have a car.”

“Well, I do, actually, have a car,” Rory said, amused. “It’s just still at Seymour’s.”

“Ah, so it makes sense to use the tunnel.”

He nodded. “Also, I’d like to show the tunnel to Seymour, although I don’t expect him to be surprised. It’s odd, really, but makes a kind of sense.” Rory shook his head.

Kate nodded. “Do what you need to do. It’s your vacation, right? In a way.” She frowned, “What kind of work do you do?”

Rory hesitated. He was trying to keep his presence on the down low, but he didn’t like to lie to Kate. He decided on a half-truth. “I’m a musician.”

“Oh, what instrument do you play—besides the piano—or are you one of those people who can play anything?”

“I was classically trained on the piano, actually.”

“And you perform? Like, solos?”

He did occasionally have a keyboard solo. That is if he wrote one into his songs, which he was prone to do. “Sure.” There, he hadn’t actually lied.

“It explains how easily you were able to play the score we found last night. So, you play concerts? That’s wonderful.”

Realizing Kate now believed him to be a concert pianist, Rory shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. “It’s a complicated piece.”

“I’m going to learn it,” she said with a nod. “And practice until I can play it perfectly.”

“To guarantee your success?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Can’t hurt.”

*