Daughter of Joy by Kathleen Morgan Page A

business to settle.”
    “Really, Mr. MacKay,”—she wheeled around to face him—“I don’t think this is the proper time or place—”
    “It is if I say it is, Mrs. Stanton,” he cut her off. “This is still my house, and you are my employee, are you not?”
    It was all Abby could do to choke back a tart response about what he could do with his job. As much as she hated to admit it, though, he was right. It was his house, and she had agreed to be his employee.
    “Fine. Whatever you say.” Abby turned back to the plate of bacon, picked it up and, flinging open the warming oven door, shoved the plate inside. She resisted, however, the urge to slam the oven door shut.
    Conor MacKay pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit. As she did, he walked around to the head of the table and took his own seat.
    “First,” he finally said, “I want to apologize about my less than gentlemanly conduct last evening. I should’ve never come to you in such an inebriated state.”
    Embarrassed, Abby made a motion of dismissal. “It was as much my fault as yours, Mr. MacKay. I should’ve never gone down on my knees to you or touched you. It won’t happen again.”
    He leaned forward, gripping his mug. “I think, Mrs. Stanton, that your actions were far more innocently intended than mine. It was I who chose to interpret them in the wrong light.”
    Abby could not bear to meet the intensity of his gaze. “All I ask is that you not make the same mistake again, Mr. MacKay.” She found sudden interest in her coffee. “If such an incident occurs again, I’ll be compelled immediately to tender my resignation.” She forced herself to look up. “I came to do a job, Mr. MacKay, not warm your bed or win you as a husband. If you’ll forgive my bluntness, you are hardly the kind of man I’d care ever do either with.”
    He leaned back, eyed her quizzically, then laughed. “Well, I suppose I’ve just been set straight. Come, come, Mrs. Stanton, don’t hold back now. Tell me your true feelings about me.”
    Abby frowned, confused by his sudden change in mood. “Really, Mr. MacKay, I don’t see the humor in this. I told you the truth in an effort to ease the misunderstanding of last night. And those are my true feelings.” Or at least all you’ll ever know, she silently added. If you were to guess the complete truth …
    The consideration of what a man like Conor MacKay might do if he realized the extent of her attraction to him was beyond comprehension. It was also a sure road to ruination.
    Her nerves more rattled than she cared to admit, Abby took a sip of her coffee. “Since we seem to have that issue settled,” she then said, deciding it the wisest course to change the topic, “I just want you to know I won’t say another word to you or Beth about God. That is,” she hastened to add, “unless you decide to bring up the subject.”
    He cocked his head and studied her gravely. “That’s quite a concession for you, isn’t it, Mrs. Stanton?”
    “Yes, Mr. MacKay, it is. But I gave you my word, and I’ll stick by it. All I ask in return is that you permit me to worship the Lord as I see fit.”
    “Does that include going to church on Sundays?”
    Abby sucked in a breath. Oh, how she longed to keep holy the Sabbath! “I’d dearly love to attend church every Sunday, Mr. MacKay, but I’ve agreed to your terms of only one day off a month. If you don’t mind, though, I’d at least like to make that one day a Sunday.”
    He took a deep swig from his mug, then set it down. “Has anyone ever told you that you make a fine cup of coffee, Mrs. Stanton?”
    “No, but I thank you for the compliment.” Abby paused. “Now about that day off, Mr. MacKay …”
    He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you like. Take it as a Sunday. It’s a better day than during the week anyway. In fact, as long as your work’s done, you can have every Sunday morning off, too, in case you want to go to church in Grand View. It’s a good