Night Of The Blackbird by Heather Graham Page A

right build.”
    â€œWe won’t film you in an apron,” Moira said. “Since you can’t cook, you can do the dishes when we’re done.”
    â€œI’ve got an appointment this morning,” Patrick protested.
    â€œI bet he just thought it up,” Colleen said.
    â€œDo you really have an appointment?” Katy asked him.
    Before he could answer, there was a tap on the inner door. Moira felt an inexplicable wave of tension instantly tighten her muscles.
    Her mother and sister had turned toward the sound. Only Patrick was looking at her.
    â€œSo, it is Danny,” he said softly.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” she murmured. “Should I get it?” she asked her mother.
    â€œNo, it’s just Danny, at this hour,” Katy said. “Come in, Dan!” she called.
    â€œI locked it last night when I came up,” Moira said.
    â€œDanny has a key, of course,” her mother replied impatiently.
    She heard the key twisting in the lock even as her mother spoke.
    She wondered why it bothered her so much that he had a key. To her home. No, not her home, her parents’ home.
    And he had always been welcome here.
    He walked in, freshly showered and scrubbed, as evidenced by the dampness that remained in his combed hair and gleamed on newly shaven cheeks. He was wearing jeans and a gold knit sweater beneath a casual leather jacket. She had to admit that he looked good. A bit of age had given his natural ease a slightly weathered and dignified look. He wasn’t as handsome a man as Michael, she thought, almost analytically, and only partially defensively. Michael had classic good looks. Pitch dark hair, striking blue eyes and a clean-cut face. Daniel was craggier. His chin a bit squarer, cheeks leaner, features more jagged. He had good eyes, though. A strange shade of hazel that made them amber at times, almost gold at others. He saw her studying him but only smiled, addressing her mother.
    â€œI could smell Katy Kelly’s coffee way down in my room,” he told her, slipping his arms around her waist affectionately and kissing her cheek.
    â€œThere’s a coffeepot behind the bar,” Moira said rather sharply. Patrick looked at her. She widened her eyes. “How else would we make Irish coffee?”
    â€œI think we’re all aware that there’s a coffeepot behind the bar,” her brother said.
    â€œI was merely suggesting—” She began.
    â€œAh, but my coffee would never be as good as Katy’s,” Danny interrupted.
    â€œAnd you’d not be wanting to have it alone,” Katy said firmly. “You’ve been up here every morning, and now the girls are here, as well. Naturally you want to spend time together.” Katy said the last casually, but sincerely.
    â€œOf course we want to spend time with him. He’s like another older brother. A nice one,” Colleen teased.
    Patrick groaned audibly.
    â€œJust like a brother,” Moira said sweetly.
    Danny had poured coffee and taken a seat next to Patrick. “Sibling torture this morning, eh?”
    â€œTell me, would you wear an apron so that your sister could humiliate you on national television?” Patrick asked.
    â€œIt’s just a cable show,” Moira murmured.
    â€œA highly rated cable show,” Patrick said. “Well?”
    For a moment, as Danny stared at her, Moira thought that his face had hardened strangely with anger. “I don’t have a sister,” he said.
    â€œBut you’re just like a nicer older brother,” Patrick reminded him.
    â€œOh, right. Well, what does the apron look like?” Danny asked, and the casual conviviality was back in his voice.
    â€œI’m sure Mum has one with a leprechaun on it somewhere,” Colleen said.
    â€œNo one has to wear an apron!” Moira protested.
    â€œRight. We’ll cook neatly,” Danny said.
    â€œI didn’t say anyone but Mum needed to be in the