“Why aren’t you working?” He spoke without looking over or stopping. “I hear your furnace.”

“I’m going to get to it.” She came closer, resting a hand on the open stall door. “I didn’t come by yesterday because I thought you might want a little breathing space. So I waited till this morning. Shannon looked miserable when she came back after seeing you yesterday.”

“I did my best to put her at ease.” He bit off the words before taking his shovel into the next stall.

“What about your ease, Murphy?” Maggie laid a hand on his back, leaving it lay despite his bad-tempered shrug. “I can see what you feel for her, and I hate to know you’re so upset.”

“Then you’d best be off, as I’m planning on staying this way. Move back, damn it, you’ll have manure in your face.”

Instead she snatched at the handle of the shovel and had an angry and brief wrestle for it. “Fine then.” She let go and brushed her hands together. “You can go on shoveling at shit all you please, but you’ll talk to me.”

“I’m in no mood for company.”

“And since when have I been company?”

“Damn it, Maggie, go away.” He whirled on her, temper hot in his eyes. “I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want any bloody advice.”

She fisted her hands, plopped them on her hips, and went toe to toe with him. “If you think you can shake me off with nasty words and nastier temper, you’re mistaken, lad.”

Of course he couldn’t, and because it would do him no good with her, Murphy did what he could do to bury the fury. “I’m sorry, Maggie Mae. I shouldn’t swipe at you. I need to be alone for a bit.”

“Murphy—”

She’d break him if he didn’t see her off, and quickly. “It’s not that I’m not grateful you’d come by and want to help. I’m not ready for it. I need to lick my wounds on my own. Be a friend, darling, and leave me be.”

Deflated, she did the only thing she knew how, and pressed her cheek to his. “Will you come talk to me when you can?”

“Sure I will. Go on now, be off. I’ve a lot to do today.”

When she left him, Murphy drove his shovel into the straw and cursed softly, viciously, until he ran out of words.

He worked like a man possessed until the sun set, then rose again when it did to repeat the process. Even his well-toned muscles ached by the time he settled down with a cold sandwich and a bottle of beer.

He was already thinking of bed, though it was barely eight, when the back door swung open. Rogan and Gray came through it, followed happily by Con.

“We’re on a mission, Murphy.” Gray slapped him on the back, then turned to the cupboards.

“A mission, is it.” Automatically he scratched Con’s ears when the dog laid his head on his lap. “Of what nature?”