Free Dark Witch by Nora Roberts Page B

cook?”
    “Ah . . . sort of. I mean, I can, I just suck at it.”
    “Well now, that’s a real pity. I’m on duty then. Will it be coffee or tea for you?”
    “Oh, coffee, thanks. You don’t have to cook.”
    “I do if I want to eat, and I do. In general, around here Branna’s the cook and I’m the bottle washer, but I can manage breakfast well enough.”
    He punched controls on a very intimidating-looking coffeemaker as he spoke, pulled a basket of eggs, a hunk of butter, a pack of bacon from the fridge.
    “Take off your coat and be at home,” he told her. “Branna says you’re living the life at Ashford for a few days before you’re coming here. How are you finding Ashford?”
    “Like a dream. I slept too much of the day away yesterday. Obviously, I’m making up for it. You don’t mind me moving in?”
    “Why would I? We’ll be taking turns as bottle washers, so that’s one for me.”
    He got down a skillet, set it on the stove top. “Cups up there, and fresh cream if you’re wanting it, and sugar as well.” He gestured here and there before he tossed bacon into the skillet.
    All of it, and all of him, she thought, seemed as casual and miraculous as his wrist-flick fire-starting.
    “I hear you’re after working at the stables.”
    “I’m hoping.”
    “Branna had a word with Boyle. He’ll be talking to you about that today.”
    “Really?” Her heart actually leapt at the prospect. “That’s great. That’s fantastic. A lot of people thought I’d lost my mind, just packing up, coming here without a serious plan, without a ready job or a place to stay.”
    “What’s an adventure if you know all the steps before you take them?”
    “I know!” She grinned at him. “Now I’ve got a job interview, and family to live with. And this morning—certainly it wasn’t my plan last night to walk over at six A.M .—I saw a hawk in the woods. It flew right down, sat on a branch and watched me. I took pictures.”
    She dug out her phone to show him. “I guess you’d know what kind of hawk—falcon—he is.”
    As he lifted the bacon out of the skillet, Connor angled his head to study the image. “A Harris’s hawk—the same we use for our hawk walks. That’s Fin’s Merlin, and a fine bird he is. Finbar Burke,” he added. “He owns the stables with Boyle, and he started the falconry school here at Ashford. He owns quite a bit of this and that, does Fin.”
    “Will I interview with him, too?”
    “Oh, he’d likely leave that to Boyle. Plenty of cream and two sugars in my coffee, if you will.”
    “Same as me.”
    “Branna, she’s one for just a dollop of the cream. Go ahead and fix her up. She’s on her way down, and she’ll need it.”
    “She is? How do you . . . Oh.”
    He only smiled. “She sends out fierce vibrations of a morning before her coffee, and it’s a bit on the early side for her so she may bite.”
    Iona grabbed another cup, hurriedly poured the coffee. She was stirring in that dollop of cream when Branna walked in, dark hair tumbled nearly to her waist, eyes blurry and annoyed.
    She took the cup Iona held out, took two deep swallows as she watched Iona over the rim. “All right then, what happened?”
    “Ah now, don’t poke at her,” Connor said. “She’s had a rough go. Give her a chance to get some food into her.”
    “I doubt she’s come here at dawn for breakfast. You’re going to overcook those eggs, Connor, as always.”
    “I’m not. Slice up some bread for toasting why don’t you, and she’ll tell us once she’s settled.”
    “She’s standing right here,” Iona reminded them.
    “At half-six in the bloody morning,” Branna finished, but she picked up a bread knife, took a cloth off a loaf on a cutting board on the counter.
    “I’m sorry, but—”
    “Every second sentence she utters starts with those two words.” Branna sliced bread, tossed it into the toaster.
    “Jesus, finish your coffee before your black mood ruins my appetite.