Page 32 of It Happened in the Highlands
“For heaven’s sake! Not you too?” she scolded. “I don’t need to see Dr. McKendry. I am perfectly well. I’m only trying to catch my breath from running after you.”
“You don’t need to run after me,” he replied gently. “I’m here.”
Jo gazed up at him. A sly smile tugged at his lips, conveying deeper meaning behind his words.
“But what do you need to say that requires private conversation?”
“I wanted to tell you about what happened with Cuffe this afternoon.”
His demeanor hardened. “Was there a problem? Did he leave early? I received a communication about a potential client that I needed to answer immediately. Otherwise I would have been there for his reading.”
“Nothing unpleasant occurred,” she said quickly. “I was about to sing his praises.”
He let out a relieved breath and sat beside her. Although he was a respectable distance away, he was still too close for comfort. She could feel the warmth of his body radiating through the night air.
“Then tell me,” he said softly, as his eyes trapped hers in their spell again. “I like hearing good things; I’m just not accustomed to hearing them of late.”
Memories flickered again and she recalled a bench in a garden, his arm around her waist. In the sweet darkness of that summer night, Wynne drew her onto his lap and kissed her as time ceased to exist.
A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes, and Jo feared he might be thinking of that moment too.
She tore her gaze from his face and forced cool air into her lungs. “Let me see. Cuffe arrived at his appointed time and, as before, stood by the table. Today four patients were waiting.”
“Four?” Wynne asked, obviously delighted.
Jo named them and continued. “He read three stories with the same dramatic flair. At one point he had the entire room silent and waiting to hear the end of the tale.”
“I’m so pleased,” he responded. “I don’t know if Cuffe mentioned it to you, but since you gave your permission, he’s been spending some of his time with Cameron transcribing the tales for himself into a copybook. And he’s making great progress.”
“He told me.” She smiled. “But I have more to tell.”
“More?”
As Jo collected her thoughts before telling Wynne what followed, she recalled the warm flush of happiness that flowed through her that afternoon as she’d imagined herself a part of Cuffe’s future. But it was a foolish thought.
“When he finished reading, Mr. McDonnell approached with a stack of letters in his hand.”
“McDonnell, the blacksmith? He can barely speak.”
“I wasn’t near enough to hear what was said or how the man communicated with him, but the two went over to a table. For quite some time, they sat beside each other as Cuffe quietly read each letter.”
“McDonnell has a mother who is too old to travel to the Abbey,” Wynne said. “I knew he receives letters, but I never thought he might not be reading them.”
This morning, as she sat with Charles Barton, Jo kept an eye on the two at the table. She was impressed with how patient Cuffe was with Mr. McDonnell.
“Your son was there far longer than you required him to stay,” she said, pleased to be able to put Wynne’s mind at ease.
He waited for her to say more but she’d reached the end of her story.
“Thank you for coming out here.”
A window opened in the drawing room and the melodies of a pianoforte drifted through the night air. It was time to go, but she stayed.
“Why did you need to tell me all of this tonight?”
If she were only strong enough to voice the truth of what was in her heart. The denial in the dining room wasn’t for the sake of the McKendrys but for Wynne. Staying out here, she was adding fuel to an inferno that was building between them.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
