Page 15 of Calling on the Matchmaker
Against his will, his mind conjured the image of all the freckles hidden beneath the layers of her gown.
Bother it. He couldn’t let his thoughts go there.
“Playing nun again, I see.” He gave her a once-over, the baggy robe indeed hiding what shouldn’t be hidden.
“Hello, Riley.” She spoke quietly, calmly.
“Are you going to explain to me why you’re dressed as a nun?”
“’Tis none of your business, Riley Rafferty. But if you must know, the good Sisters think I’ll draw less attention covered like this.”
He could see their point. With the Kerry Patch riddled with gangs and a growing population of riffraff, no one would dare touch or harm her if they thought she was a servant of the church. She was safe cloaked in nun’s clothing.
Even as she gave him the excuse, she dropped her attention briefly to the landing, as though she didn’t want him to see the entire truth. Perhaps there was more to the nun’s clothing than she was disclosing.
He took another step up, wanting to span the distance between them, but he was afraid she’d rush off if he came too close.
How was it possible he’d never noticed her in the Kerry Patch before? Of course, he was rarely in these parts during daylight hours since most of the time he was at the wagon shop working and his apartment was above the shop. And he supposed even when out running errands, he wouldn’t have paid a group of nuns any special attention.
She twisted at the simple belt cinching the habit. “A moment ago, I heard you say that your dad is doing better.”
“He is. Thanks be.”
She nodded solemnly. “I’ve been saying prayers for him morning and night. And I’m happy to know he’s recovering, to be sure.”
She’d been praying for his dad? “Thank you, Finola. That’s kind of you.”
“Does the doctor expect him to make a full recovery?”
“He says it’s still too early to tell, but with plenty of rest, it’s possible.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.” Her gaze was sincere, devoid of the spitfire that had been there during previous interactions.
From the genuineness of her tone, he believed she truly cared enough about people that she was glad his dad was alright.
“And you?” Her question dropped a decibel. “How is your injury? Better, I hope?”
“My injury?”
She looked pointedly at his cheek and then his jaw.
Oh, the cut. He lifted a hand and brushed the spot, still tender. “This little thing? I hardly know it’s there.”
She watched him as though searching for the truth.
He let his smile broaden.
“Then you’ve forgiven me?”
“As long as you’ve forgiven me for—well, you know.”
She glanced up toward the second floor where the door to an apartment now stood open with two Sisters just inside. Theywere already distracted by the family within and didn’t seem to be paying any attention to what Finola was doing.
“I propose we forgive each other,” she said in a hushed tone, “and then we never have to think on either incident ever again.”
He doubted he’d be able to forget what he saw, wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Too late for that.” He let his gaze drift over her. What was he doing? He gave himself a mental slap and forced himself to focus on her face.
Her eyes widened, showing her surprise at his admission. What exactly had he admitted? That he found her attractive? That he didn’t want to stop thinking about her? Maybe both? There was nothing wrong with that.
