Tonya’s gaze swivelled to his face. ‘I get the impression Mac once had the big hots for her.’

Gently, Grady explained, ‘Erm … I was seeing Laurel,’ certain she’d hear the unspoken, so Mac wouldn’t have felt that way.

His certainty proved misplaced. Though Tonya grinned, she didn’t look entirely convinced. ‘Mac would do almost anything for you but that doesn’t extend to choosing who he fancied. He’d probably have hidden it from you if he did have feelings for her,’ she allowed.

Tonya was family so Grady felt free to take the liberty of slipping his arm around her and giving her a friendly squeeze. ‘Tonya Cassidy, even if you’re right and I’m wrong and Mac did once fancy Laurel, I am absolutely certain that the only woman he fancies now is you. Absolutely,’ he repeated for effect. ‘He loves you to bits.’

She smiled and blushed. ‘I think your Irish ancestry’s coming out. You’ve been kissing the Blarney stone.’

‘Mixed Irish and Scots,’ he reminded her, letting her go. ‘I’m going to learn the bagpipes next.’

It was too cold to hang around chatting in the snow, so Grady was glad to feel as if Tonya’s concerns had been put to rest and he could say goodbye and hurry home, keen to warm up. Had Mac ever had the ‘big hots’ for Laurel? Should Grady ask him? He didn’t think so. Better to leave it filed under ‘that was then’ and just get on with ‘now’.

No way would he ask Laurel. That would really scare her off. His feet slowed, though Mistletoe Cottage was now in sight, with its promise of coffee and a hot bath.

Scare her off …?

Was Laurel scared of something? He pondered. If so, what? Being stuck in the village? Her sister never improving?

Last night he’d had what amounted to an emotional meltdown when compared to his usual comfortable calm. She’d been collected, compassionate and wise. Yet so much of the time she was wary, like a rescue animal encountering kindness but not entirely sure it would continue.

He could only assume it was that bloody bullying that had made her that way. He wished again that he’d known about it. He’d have stopped it, that was for sure.

Chapter Nine

Laurel, half-dressed, gazed through her bedroom window at the morning mist lying over fields covered in a thin layer of snow, thinking about yesterday, when she’d ridden Daybreak along the bridleway that was just out of sight. Rea had looked so pensive when she’d heard about Laurel’s ride, as if counting just one more thing she couldn’t do. Laurel had eulogised over the near solitude of rider and horse – OK, and Grady – but after saying, ‘I used to enjoy riding lessons,’ Rea had changed the subject.