answer, he touched his brow in a small salute. “Enjoy, Miss Gallagher. And have a good day.”
Kate watched his retreat. For all his rugged handsomeness and wicked teasing, she sensed a devastating sorrow hidden deeply within him. An unshakable conviction she couldn’t explain. Intuition? Compassion? The wisdom of one wounded soul recognizing another, when once she would have been blinded to it? The incredible certainty that no matter that they were strangers, they were no different? In the end, was it knowing in some strange way that, as she, he had not yet found the peace that must come with healing?
Surprised by that bit of wisdom, touched by his kindness in the throes of trouble, Kate called out, “A question, Mr. O’Hara.”
He stopped at the end of the deck, his hand on the railing, one foot on the first step. A stance that rippled the shirt clinging to his shoulders, emphasizing the flat plane of his midriff. His arms and face were tanned, the brand of a life spent out of doors.
In wind and water? Sun or snow? If she were to guess his age, she would say thirty-six. Maybe thirty-eight. Would that mean he was a veteran sailor? Aging surfer? Jaded ski bum? As her mind formed the thoughts, she was discarding them. No doubt any of the three would be too tame for him, even though he waited patiently, as if he had all the time in the world for her. “You don’t really have any extras, do you?”
“Extras?” He lifted an innocent brow. Too innocent.
“Coffee, Mr. O’Hara.” Kate waggled the package. “You don’t have even one extra, do you?”
He took a deep breath, his chest lifting and straining harder against the seams of his shirt. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”
Once Kate would have thought the repetitious title was sly mockery. But given the way he used it, the easy flow of it in his speech, she was almost certain it was an intended courtesy. Ma’am, the contraction of madam, a title of honor for a lady. Something learned long ago, no doubt, and deeply ingrained.
“I make a good cup. Will you join me, Mr. O’Hara?”
“Thanks.” He hesitated. “But I’ve intruded enough.”
Minutes ago, Kate would have agreed. Now, in an about-face, she didn’t want him to go. “You haven’t intruded. In fact, I’d like some company. For one morning, at least.”
Devlin smiled then, the same half smile. The lady was smooth. In one breath she’d been gracious and hospitable, and in the next closed the door firmly against repeat performances.
His decision to stay on the island was unexpected, and he was without a clue how to begin with her. He’d come today out of conscience, but hoping to find a chink in her armor. The invitation had taken him unaware. Yet it was a beginning, and he’d learned a man never won points with a lady by refusing an invitation. “Then it would be my pleasure for one morning. But there is a condition.”
“What would that be, Mr. O’Hara?”
“That you call me Devlin.”
“Only if you call me Kate.”
“Done.” He laughed then. A warm, wonderful sound.
“In that case, Devlin O’Hara, will you join me for coffee?”
Not quite as he asked, but close. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”
“Then it’s settled.” Stepping away from the door, Kate led him to the great room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll start the coffee—while it’s brewing I’ll catch a shower and change.”
“A pity.”
He hadn’t gone into the sitting area, but had followed her closely. So closely that when she faced him, she was exquisitely aware that he smelled pleasantly of soap and sea mists. A thoroughly masculine scent that fit him perfectly. Trying not to stare or breathe, she backed away and found herself hemmed in by cabinets and his lean, virile body. Blinking, she looked up at him. “A pity?”
“You look fetching in your nightclothes.” Catching the neck of her T-shirt between thumb and forefinger, he let the banded fabric roll beneath his touch. “A Clemson University Tiger T-shirt and an orange overshirt.” Moving his hand to the overshirt, he drew the collar closer about her throat. “Silk, unless I miss my guess. A combination I don’t think I’ve seen before.”
Laying the package aside, Kate leaned back, bracing against the counter, creating an inch more space between them. “Should I take that to mean you’re accustomed to spending your mornings with ladies in nightclothes? Elegant, garish, or otherwise.”
“No,” Devlin replied solemnly. “You should assume I have sisters, who would envy you this.”
Kate laughed, suddenly at ease, as he intended. “What you mean is, they would envy my nerve, or faint dead away at the sight.”
“Maybe.” Devlin wondered if she had any idea what the vivid colors did for her eyes. In his mind she was a tigress. Once she had been, in looks and spirit. She would be again. “Tell you what, I’ll make the coffee, you go do whatever…”
“That sounds like a plan.” Relieved without knowing why, she slipped past him. Yet, in her dash for the security of the bath, she paused. “You can find what you need?”
“I’ll muddle my way through.”
“I imagine you’re good at that. Muddling, I mean. Making the best of a situation.”
“I have been. I was.” A shadow crossed his face. “Once.”
Troubled by the quick change, Kate waited for more. When there was none, she hurried away.
“Sorry I took so long,” Kate said as she stepped onto the deck. What she saw there was astonishing. In less than twenty minutes, Devlin had not merely made coffee. He’d plundered the refrigerator, the pantry and the property owner’s linen closet.
In the time she’d been in residence, she’d spared the closets only a cursory glance. She knew there were fine linens of all colors and an assortment of table settings to boggle the mind, but she was reluctant to use them. Obviously, her astonishing and accomplished guest felt no such reluctance.
“Hello.” Looking up from the table he’d set, he let his gaze sweep over her. If orange became her, a turquoise shirt tucked into white slacks was spectacular. If it weren’t for remnants of fatigue marking her features, she could return to the runway of any fashion house in the world.
“You were going to make coffee.” Kate moved to his side.
“I did.”
“But this.” A gesture encompassed the table, crystal and silver glittering in the sun. Napkins—of linen, no less. A salad of fruit she’d stashed in the fridge and forgotten. With what appeared to be a pitcher of mimosas. Best of all, Tessa’s flowers sat in the center of the table. “This looks like a celebration.”
“Maybe.” Drawing out a chair, he waited, silently, until she had no choice but to take the offered seat.
Wondering what the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but with the saddest eyes, would find to celebrate, Kate’s gaze followed as he returned to
