Read Online The Delaney Woman by Jeanette Baker - Free Book Online Page B

her. Tom Whelan didn’t appear to be the kind of man who harbored dark secrets. But he’d spent time in prison.
    â€œTell me about your loss.”
    â€œI beg your pardon.”
    â€œYou told me you’d suffered a loss. Tell me about it.”
    Kellie tucked her hair behind her ears. Her hands hurt from the cold and the dull sick ache she dreaded rose in her stomach. She couldn’t speak of Connor and Danny, not now, not yet. “I’d rather not. It’s difficult for me.”
    He didn’t press her.
    Ahead of them, Heather turned into a massive gated entrance. Kellie raised her eyebrows. “You must be doing well for yourself.”
    Tom shrugged. “It’s the only Catholic school and it’s not so much more than the others that it makes a difference.”
    â€œWhat about the National School? I imagine most of Banburren attends that one.”
    He nodded. “I want more for Heather. She’s very bright. Besides, there’s none of the Catholic, Protestant garbage here. The focus is on learning, not hatred or politics.”
    They reached the gate where Heather waited. Kellie reached out to hug the little girl and kiss her cheek. “Have a grand day, love,” she said.
    Heather nodded, kissed her father and ran up the stairs, through the double oak doors and into the brick building.
    â€œWell,” Kellie said bracingly, “that’s that.” She looked at Tom. “Now, it’s just the two of us.”
    He ignored her comment and pointed to a long, low building farther down the street. “Geary’s Hardware is new. You’ll find everything there.” They faced each other. The street, wet and gray from recent rain, was empty, the mist shrouding them in silence. “Perhaps we could finish that conversation we started at breakfast.”
    She looked at him, really looked at him , black hair falling over his forehead, blue eyes narrowed, serious, intense, a man too weathered by life and tragedy to be truly handsome, but still quite attractive in his own way, a man whose angles and planes bespoke suffering and character. Who was the real Tom Whelan? A man who shared responsibility for two murders, an ex-felon, or a reformed man, sensitive enough to write poetry, play music and raise a small child?
    Kellie swallowed. “Perhaps,” she said softly.
    The lines around his mouth deepened into a genuine smile.
    With that, he turned and strode purposefully down the street, away from her. He didn’t look back.
    She watched him until he disappeared around the corner. There was more to Tom Whelan than met the eye. Something troubled him. He wasn’t comfortable with women. She could feel his contempt mitigated slightly by a resistant curiosity. He wanted to trust her and yet trust didn’t come easily to him. She didn’t blame him. He was intelligent and there were many things she had left unexplained. Kellie understood his coldness tempered by brief bouts of compassionate remorse. He was like the agnostic who mumbles The Lord’s Prayer, just in case God might really exist.
    She felt strangely bereft standing there in the chill morning air. It was early by Irish standards. Nothing would be open except for small cafés and pubs. Indecision was an unaffordable weakness. She would find a café and nurse a pot of tea until the hardware opened.
    Kellie stepped inside a small corner shop and walked to the counter. A young woman with a lovely face and a serious overbite smiled and approached her. “What can I get for you, miss?”
    Before Kellie could answer, the woman’s eyes widened. “Do I know you?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Kellie replied. “I’ve only just come for a holiday. I’m staying at Tom Whelan’s lodging house.”
    â€œOf course,” the woman said. “I see that now. For a minute I thought—” She smiled brightly. “What would you