It was early for visitors, so she peeked out the window. Seeing Brady with a bulging pouch, she immediately opened the front door and showed him into the parlor. "Here, Brady, let me help you." She reached for the pouch, but Brady clutched it close, shaking his head. "No, but thank you kindly, lass." He looked around the room. "Would Riley be about, or is he off in the fields already this morn'?" "He's just finishing breakfast." She motioned Brady toward the kitchen. "The kettle's warm. I'll fix you a cup of—" Brady shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, lass, I'll wait here." At least a day's growth of beard covered his face. "I have personal business with Riley." Bewildered, Bridget made sure Brady was comfortable and went to the kitchen, where Riley lingered over his third cup of tea. She hadn't seen him this relaxed since her arrival. He looked younger, somehow. The sight of his unruly black hair falling across his forehead made her burn to push it back and kiss the newly exposed skin.
