Page 30 of Valley of Dreams

Patrick pulled gently on the twine, “trapping” Lydia’s finger in it. She giggled. While Eliza loved the sound, it didn’t ease her worry or her guilt.

“What if I never found her?”

He set his now-free hand on hers, the touch gentle and reassuring. “But you did find her. All’s well.”

“What about next time? I don’t know if I can juggle all of this, the work I have hereandnot be a disaster of a mum.”

“My ma lost track of every one of us at one time or another,” he said, “and not a soul would accuse her of being a disaster.”

Eliza pushed out a breath.

Lydia leaned forward and tugged on Patrick’s sleeve. “I-und!”

“Am I neglecting you,mo stóirín?” Patrick reassembled the Cat’s Cradle and presented it to Lydia again.

What an impossibly confusing man he was, leaping from grumpy and grumbly to tender and kind.

“I don’t know how I’m going to tend Lydia and see to my work at the same time.” She rubbed her face, weary and overwhelmed. “I cannot lose this job, but neither can I lose my little girl.”

He pulled the Cat’s Cradle again, earning another giggle from Lydia. “M’ma took Finbarr with her when she cleaned houses in New York. She must’ve discovered some secret to managing it.”

Dare she ask Mrs. O’Connor for advice? “Do you think she’d answer questions or offer ideas?”

“Aye. Ma’s a good sort. You needn’t be worried about chatting with her.”

“Butyoualways seem to be.”

The silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was heavy. It seemed she’d struck at a sensitive spot.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve a knack for saying things I oughtn’t. I can’t seem to help myself.”

“Maybe if you talked a little less.” The muttered response held an unmistakable smile.

“I’ve tried that,” she said. “Didn’t work.”

“Apparently.”

Lydia had fully embraced their version of Cat’s Cradle, hooking her finger in a gap between the strings without prompting. Her giggles were so precious; Eliza loved hearing them.

A shout of “Finbarr” from the direction of the porch pulled all their eyes that way. Ivy was running across the yard directly to—Eliza’s eyes followed her path—Finbarr, approaching from the barn with Aidan beside him and a man she assumed was Mr. Archer on his other side. Ivy tossed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Finbarr! We’re home!”

“So you are.” He set one arm around Ivy, hugging her lightly to him.

“Are you still blind?”

“Ivy.” Mr. Archer’s scold was firm but not heated.

His girl grew instantly repentant. “I wasn’t being mean, Pompah. I was just wondering.”

“Wonder at Aidan a moment,” Mr. Archer said. “Finbarr and I need to have a meeting with his brother.”

“Mr. Tavish is coming?” Ivy lit up at the possibility.

“No,” Finbarr said. “Mr.Patrick.”

Ivy popped her fists on her hips. “You’re funning me. There isn’t a Mr. Patrick.”

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