Page 72 of Valley of Dreams

Under her breath, Maura said, “I swear to you, if that man looked at a pail of milk today, it’d turn instantly to curds.”

At thecéilíthe night before, he’d been a bit sour, but his spirits had improved during their more private time together. “I’m willing to risk his bad humor.”

Maura sent one of the O’Connor grandsons up to the loft to fetch his crotchety uncle.

“Are you hungry, Eliza?” Mrs. O’Connor asked. “We’ve plenty.”

“I ate before I came over, but thank you.”

“You come have Sunday dinner with us anytime.”

A generous offer but one she couldn’t in good conscience accept. “Thank you, but I’ll not intrude.”

Tavish passed by in that moment. “Keep Patrick from chewing everyone’s face, and we’ll feed you every day.”

“Is he so surly as all that?” she asked Maura.

“Tavish is making more of it than there is, but Patrick has been difficult. There’s no denying that.”

If only they all knew what was weighing on Patrick . . . Perhaps some of this tension between them would ease. But it wasn’t her place to tell any of them anything.

The man himself climbed down from the loft. Though his family didn’t give him a wide berth, no one rushed over to him, either. Eliza could think of no better word for what she saw than “discomfort”—and it sat thick in both directions.

Patrick crossed to her. “How are ya?”

“Grand altogether.”

His surprise at her response pulled a broad grin from her. “Where’d you hear that?” he asked.

“Maura says it quite regularly. So does Katie Archer. It’s tossed about all over thecéilí.”

One corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Do you always listen so closely, Eliza?”

Eliza.Not Mrs. Porter.That was a good sign indeed. “I’m a fine listener.”

His expression turned soft. “I know it.”

“Do you mind if I steal you away for a bit?” she asked. “Mr. Archer suggested a particular location for the inn, and I want your evaluation of it.”

Patrick looked back over his shoulder. “Da, may I borrow your wagon? We’ve a jaunt to make, and I’m not for making Eliza walk all that way.”

It was Biddy, however, who answered. “Take our pony cart. It’s quicker to hitch up and not so cumbersome.”

Though he kept still, Patrick’s eyes darted to Ian. Those two brothers’ relationship was more strained than any of the others. “I’d best not,” he said. “I can manage the wagon.”

“Take it,” Biddy insisted. “We’ve not far to go after finishing here. Ours is just the next house.”

Patrick shook his head. “’Tisn’t a—”

“By the goats, Patrick,” Ian muttered. “Take the cart and quit blathering.”

Mrs. O’Connor set her hands on her hips, eying her feuding sons. “The two of you are like a couple of cats in a bag. I’ve half a mind to shake you.”

“No need, Ma,” Patrick said. “I’ll leave the lot of you in peace.”

He grabbed the door handle and pulled it open, motioning for Eliza to step out ahead of him.

“Go ahead and hitch up the pony,” she said. “I’ll just fetch Lydia.”

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