Shannon wished she hadn’t set her brush aside, and picked up a rag more to keep her hands occupied than to worry off paint.

“So, what do you think?”

“It’s nice.” He couldn’t think of the words. “It looks finished.”

“It is. Just.”

“Well.” He shifted the cartons of eggs he carried. “It’s nice.”

She turned, fiddling with the tubes and brushes on the little stand Gray had rigged for her. “I guess you’ve been busy.”

“I have, yes.” She glanced up, into his face, and his brain seemed to disconnect. “Busy.” Furious with himself, he scowled down at his cartons. “Eggs,” he muttered. “Brianna called for eggs. Said she needed them.”

“Oh.” In turn, Shannon stared at the cartons. “I see.”

From her perch at the inside corner of the kitchen window, Brianna rolled her eyes. “Look at them, the two of them. Acting like ninnies.”

Because they seemed so pathetic, she changed her master plan of leaving them alone and hurried to the door.

“Ah, there you are, Murphy, and you’ve brought the eggs. Bless you. Come in and have a taste of this strudel I’ve made.”

“I need to—” But she had already hurried back into the kitchen, leaving him staring disconcertedly at the door. Shifting the cartons again, he looked at Shannon. “I’ve, ah . . .” Damn his slow wits, he thought. “Why don’t you take them in, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Murphy.” This had to stop, Shannon told herself, and tested her ground by laying a hand on his arm. He stiffened, and she couldn’t blame him. “You haven’t come around in a week, and I know that you’re used to dropping in to see Brianna and Gray often, and easily.”

He looked down at her hand, then back at her face. “I thought it best to stay away.”

“I’m sorry for that. I don’t want you to feel that way. I thought we were friends still.”

His eyes stayed on hers. “You haven’t come into the fields anymore.”

“No, I haven’t. I thought it best to stay away, and I’m sorry for that, too.” She wanted to tell him she’d missed him, and was afraid to. “Are you angry with me?”

“With myself more.” He steadied himself. Her eyes, he thought, and the quiet plea in them, would undo any man. “Do you want some strudel?”

Her smile spread slowly. “Yeah. I do.”

When they went inside, Brianna stopped holding her breath. “Thank you for the eggs, Murphy.” Bustling now, she took the cartons from him and went to the refrigerator. “I need them for a dish I’ll be making for the ceili. Did you see Shannon’s painting? It’s grand, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He took off his cap, hung it on a peg.

“This strudel’s from a recipe a German woman gave me last week when she was here. You remember her, Shannon, Mrs. Metz? The one with the big voice.”

“The Stormtrooper,” Shannon said with a smile. “She lined up her three children in the morning for inspection—her husband, too.”