Golden Luckenbooth

Sixty-Six

The next morning when he's left for the manor, I shove down the panic rising in my throat. How long will he truly be gone this time? Days have blurred together, so when I look at the calendar, I'm surprised to find it's Friday. What in the world does Harry need to do at the manor over a weekend?

Disappointment roils through me like a dark cloud eclipsing the sun. Don't be selfish, Anna. He has work to do just like you. Get your arse in gear and heal some animals! No one has time for you to wallow in your cloud of loneliness. Especially since you have plenty of companionship, starting with...

The stranger at my kitchen table?

He rises politely when I arrive on the bottom step, looking like he'd been poured into his clothes and left to harden. Broad-shouldered and solidly built in his younger days, he now carries the weight of years and countless burgers in a gentle paunch that softens his imposing frame. His face, a map of weathered lines and faded freckles, is framed by a crop of thinning salt-and-pepper hair. There is an undeniable air of authority about him, but it's tempered by a pair of kind, brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles, as he does now. There's a comforting ordinariness to him, like a well-worn armchair, that makes him seem surprisingly at ease.

"You must be the day shift," I smile, walking forward and holding out my hand to shake his. "I'm Anna."

"Aye, I've heard all about you, Dr. Anna," he says with an Irish lilt. "I'm Conor." Shaking my hand, he gestures to Shortbread who's on the floor at his feet, knocked out cold, her snoring a symphony of canine contentment. "Paddy wore her out on a run this morning. She's a proper lady – except when she snores." He laughs heartily, and I smile at him. "Paddy will work the swing shift, but he's explained everything to me."

I exhale, all of the emotions of my current circumstances flooding back into the forefront of my memories.

He bustles to a chair, pulling it out for me to sit. "Now I'm supposed to prepare a proper breakfast for you, but I'm a horrible cook. Hang on, though," he gently presses on my shoulder when I start to rise. "I've got it all sorted."

In minutes, I've got a bowl of porridge, a cup of black tea, and a piece of buttered toast in front of me on the table along with a collection of fresh fruits. Impressed, I raise my eyebrows at the man as he returns to his seat opposite me.

A blush works its way up to his already-ruddy cheeks as he shrugs. "My mam taught me to make a few decent things. I hope you don't mind."

My first bite of porridge is encouraging enough to keep eating as the dish is delicious. It's not my usual Scottish oats, so they must be Irish oats.

"Did Paddy say that feeding me was part of the job?" I ask between bites, and when he nods, I continue, "It's not really necessary. I can feed myself. I'm a grown, independent woman, you know." The way I say it sounds more like something a five-year-old would say while stamping her feet.

"Of that I have no doubt," Conor grins. "But what I've heard is that you usually spend more time taking care of people's pets than you do taking care of yourself."

I can't argue with that, and this time it's my cheeks that grow warm.

He stirs on his chair before removing his phone from his back pocket before holding it up to show me his screen.

"What a lovely red setter! What's his name?"

"Comet." The grin on the man's face as he shares the name of his dog is wider than what is clearly the depth of his love for the animal.

"Oh, Conor, he looks healthy and happy. You must be a great dog dad."

"My wife says if I cared as much about our marriage as I do the dog, she wouldn't have to read romance novels." His laughter is rich and shakes his belly before he sobers and places his hands on the table as he watches me take a bite of toast (which turns out to be Irish soda bread, one of my favourites). "Comet had a bout of GDV not long ago. Luckily we got him to the vet quickly enough to save his life. I'll forever be grateful to that vet. To all vets."