Free Hope Springs by Sarah M. Eden

about the past few afternoons, but that Sunday evening was different. They weren’t making deliveries, weren’t rushed for time. This wasn’t business. ’Twas courting, true and proper, something there’d not been time for before.
    “I still say ’tis a full shame there was no céilí yesterday.” Katie had sorrowed over that a few times during their drive. “I look forward to the music all week.”
    “A fine fiddler such as yourself can have music whenever she pleases.” He kept the horse at a sedate pace. Driving a fair lady about ought to take time, after all.
    Katie tossed him a smile. “Granny and I had plenty of music last evening. Between my fiddle and her talent for tapping spoons, we had tunes all night. Our own little céilí, it was.”
    “And you didn’t invite me?” He scoffed dramatically. “I’m fully offended, Katie Macauley. Fully offended.”
    She rolled her eyes, and he couldn’t help a grin.
    “What would you have contributed to our little party?” Katie asked. “No one was allowed admittance unless he added to the music.”
    “I’d have sung for you, Sweet Katie.” He could see the comment intrigued her.
    “Have you a talent for it, Tavish? Or are you of the sort to frighten off small children?”
    “Perhaps if you’re very nice, dear, you’ll find out one day.”
    He loved that her smile grew when he teased her. In the first weeks of their acquaintance his joking had seemed to only confuse or upset her. She understood him better now.
    “Why is it you don’t toss your voice in at the céilís? Are you more terrible than you’re letting on? Can’t keep a tune in a brand-new bucket, is that it?”
    “Are you trying to trick me into serenading you, you troublesome woman?” He laughed as he clicked the reins, setting the horse going a bit. “I’ll tell you here and now, Sweet Katie, I don’t sing for just anyone, nor for just any occasion.”
    “But you would have graced our tiny little céilí last evening?”
    He shrugged. “Perhaps. But, you should know, my own family can likely count on just one hand how many times I’ve joined in a tune with any of them these past few years.”
    “What’s made you stop?”
    The answer came in a single word: Bridget. He’d sung often with his poor sweetheart before she died. While he wasn’t full mourning her passing any longer, there were some things that still pricked at his heart too much, even after a half-decade.
    “You tell me you have a fine voice, and then you refuse to prove it.” Katie shook her head, a twinkle in her eyes. “You’re terrible, Tavish. Terrible. Terrible.”
    “And you shouldn’t be forced to ride about with a terrible man.” He gave her his most dramatic look of empathy. “I’ll just slow the wagon down enough so you can jump out and walk the rest of the way home.”
    Her face lit with silent laughter. She slipped her arm through his, scooting closer to him. He could grow quite used to having Katie sitting beside him, hugging his arm with hers. Even the ache of thinking back on Bridget tucked itself firmly away when Katie was with him. She leaned her head against him. He wished the Irish Road were longer. Their drive would be over in but a few more minutes.
    “Is there anything else needing attention at your new home?” Between Katie’s bread deliveries and repairs at Granny’s house, Tavish had managed to spend some time with her the last few days, but not near as much as he would have liked. He was strung thin, trying to see to his own farm and Ian’s.
    “Everything is holding up,” Katie answered. “We’re quite snug there.” She slid her hand into his, still managing to keep her arm wrapped around his arm. “Did you know I never had a room all to myself before coming here? Servants share quarters. And my sister and I shared the loft in our home growing up. The boys slept there too before they all left—only a blanket hung up to divide the tiny space in half.”
    A small house