It seemed much more inviting to take her up that tea and biscuit and make love with her while she was warm from sleep and soft from dreaming.

He never expected to find her in his kitchen, standing at the stove with the apron his mother used when visiting wrapped around her waist.

“I thought you’d be sleeping.”

She glanced over, smiling at the way he took off his cap when he came in the house. “I heard you outside, laughing with the boy who helps you milk.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” The kitchen smelled gloriously of mornings from his childhood. “What are you doing there?”

“I found some bacon, and the sausages.” She prodded the latter with a kitchen fork. “It’s cholesterol city, but after last night, I thought you deserved it.”

The foolish grin broke over his face. “You’re cooking me breakfast.”

“I figured you’d be hungry after doing whatever you do at dawn, so—Murphy!” She squealed, dropping the fork with a clatter as he grabbed her and swung her around. “Watch what you’re doing.”

He set her down, but couldn’t do anything about the grin as she muttered at him and washed off the fork. “I didn’t even know you could cook.”

“Of course I can cook. I may not be the artist in the kitchen Brie is, but I’m more than adequate. What’s this?” She poked into the bucket he’d set down when he’d come in. “There must be three dozen eggs in here. What do you do with so many?”

“I use what I need, trade away or sell the rest.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re filthy. How did they get so dirty?”

He stared at her a moment, then roared with laughter. “Oh, you’re a darling woman, Shannon Bodine.”

“I can see that was a stupid question. Well, clean them up. I’m not touching them.”

He hauled the bucket to the sink, began to oblige when it suddenly dawned on her just where eggs came from. “Oh.” She winced and flipped bacon. “It’s enough to put you off omelettes. How do you know if they’re just eggs and not going to be little chickies?”

He slid her a look, wanting to make sure she wasn’t joking this time. Poking his tongue in his cheek, he washed off another shell. “If they don’t peep, you’re safe.”

“Very funny.” She decided she was better off in ignorance. She really preferred thinking of eggs as something you took out of nice cartons stacked in the market. “How do you want them cooked?”

“However you like. I’m not fussy. You made tea!” He wanted to kneel at her feet.

“I couldn’t find any coffee.”

“I’ll get some next I’m in the village. It smells grand, Shannon.”

The table was already set, he noted, for two. He poured them both tea, wishing he’d thought to pick her some of the wildflowers that grew alongside the barn. He sat when she carried a platter to the table.

“Thank you.”

There was a humbleness in his voice that made her feel twin edges of guilt and pleasure. “You’re welcome. I never eat sausage,” she commented as she took her seat. “But this looks so good.”

“It should. Mrs. Feeney made it fresh only a few days ago.”

“Made it?”

“Aye.” He offered her the platter first. “They butchered the hog they’d been fattening.” His brow drew together in concern when she paled. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” With hurried movement, she waved the platter away. “There are just certain things I don’t care to visualize.”

“Ah.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I should be getting used to it. The other day I walked in on a discussion Brie was having with some guy about the spring lambs.” She shuddered, knowing now just what happened to cute little lambs in the spring.

“It seems harsh to you, I know. But it’s just the cycle of things. It was one of Tom’s problems.”

Deciding the toast she’d made was safe, Shannon glanced over. “Oh?”

“He couldn’t stand to raise something for the table—for his own or someone else’s. When he had chickens, he gathered the eggs well enough, but his hens died of old age more often than not. He was a tender-hearted man.”

“He let the rabbits go,” Shannon murmured.

“Ah, you heard about the rabbits.” Murphy smiled at the memory. “Going to make a fortune off them, he was—until it came down to the sticking point. He was always after making a fortune.”

“You really loved him.”

“I did. He wasn’t a substitute for my father, nor did he try to be one. It wasn’t the male figure they say a boy needs in his life. He was as much my father from my fifteenth year as the one who made me was before. He was always there for me. When I was grieving, he’d pop up, take me for a ride to the cliffs, or a trip into Galway with the girls. He held my head the first time I sicked up whiskey I’d had no business drinking. And when I’d had my first woman, I—”

He broke off and developed a keen interest in his meal.

Shannon lifted a brow. “Oh, don’t stop now. What happened, when you’d had your first woman?”

“What usually happens, I’d suppose. This is a fine breakfast, Shannon.”

“Don’t change the subject. How old were you?”

He gave her a pained look. “ ’Tisn’t seemly to discuss such matters with the woman you’re currently sharing breakfast with.”

“Coward.”

“Aye,” he agreed heartily and filled his flapping mouth with eggs.

“You’re safe, Murphy.” Her laughter faded. “I’d really like to know what he said to you.”

Because it was important to her, he crawled over his embarrassment. “I was . . . I’d been . . .”

“You don’t have to tell me that part.” She smiled to soothe him. “Now, anyway.”

“After,” he said, relieved to have gotten past that first leap. “I was feeling proud—manly I’d guess you could say. And as confused as a monkey with three tails. Guilty, terrified I might have gotten the girl pregnant because I’d been too hot—young and stupid,” he corrected, “to think of that before the matter. So I was sitting out on the wall, a part of me wondering when I might get back and do the whole thing again, and the other part waiting for God to strike me dead for doing it in the first place. Or for Ma to find out and do the job quicker and with less mercy than God ever would.”