Woman of Grace by Kathleen Morgan Page A

began to whistle. Hannah grabbed a dishcloth and hurried to retrieve it.
    “I’d best be heading on out.” Conor backed toward the door where he snagged his black Stetson from a hook, and shoved it on his head. “I’ll return in an hour or so to help Abby upstairs.”
    She watched him leave, then resumed making tea. When the tea leaves had steeped for the proper length of time, she carried the tray into the parlor, served Abby and the priest, then excused herself again.
    An hour later Conor walked in, spent a few minutes visiting with Noah Starr, then politely but firmly informed him Abby needed her rest. Reverend Starr was quick to rise to leave. As his glance caught Hannah’s through the open kitchen doorway, however, she saw him make what appeared to be an excuse to linger. When Conor left with Abby, the priest, a smile on his face, strode over and stuck his head into the kitchen.
    “Mind if I visit with you for a few minutes, Miss Cutler?”
    Hannah glanced up from the bread dough to which she had quickly lowered her gaze. A twinge of irritation flared, but she quickly tamped it down lest it show in her eyes. “Come in, Father,” she said. “Don’t know what we’d have to talk about, but if you haven’t anything better to do with your time …”
    “Can’t see how spending a few minutes with a beautiful lady such as yourself,” he said, pulling out a chair at the table to sit on, “could ever be construed as a waste of time. Even,” he added with a grin, “for a man of the cloth.”
    She shot him a wry glance. Noah Starr was young, attractive, and unwed. In other company, his words to a former prostitute might be misinterpreted. Hannah knew, though, meeting his guileless gaze, that the priest had meant them only as a friendly compliment.
    Still, there was no point served in responding in kind. If anything, Hannah wanted to discourage his interest, however well meant it might be. So she said nothing and turned her attention back to the bread dough.
    Back and forth she worked the pliant mass, her actions expert, effortless. The work was soothing and hypnotic. For a few seconds, she almost forgot she wasn’t alone. Finally, though, when Noah continued to sit there, silently watching her, Hannah paused. Lifting a flour-dusted hand, she pointed toward the big cookstove.
    “There’s water simmering in the teakettle, and some coffee left in the coffeepot. Can’t guarantee the taste of the coffee this late in the morning, but you’re welcome to it, if you want.”
    “I’m fine, but thank you anyway.” The priest eyed her a moment longer, his long, strong fingers drumming a staccato beat on the tabletop. Then he grinned. “I’m heartened to see how well Abby’s doing. The Lord has been good.”
    “Yes. Yes, He has.”
    She didn’t look up as she formed the bread into a softly rounded rectangle and carefully lowered it into a greased loaf pan. After covering the pan with a cotton tea towel and placing it on top of the stove to rise, Hannah next directed her attention to the second half of dough still awaiting her in the bowl.
    Noah Starr’s eyes remained on her, but she refused to look up or ease the tense silence by making social conversation. Let him deal with the situation. He was the one, after all, who had insisted on this awkward and most unnecessary discourse.
    “How are things going between you and Devlin?” the priest asked suddenly.
    Hannah’s hands stilled. She stared down at the dough as, bit by bit, her fingers arched like talons and she sank them into the soft mass. Sank them deep, clutching desperately for control while myriad emotions reeled within her.
    Finally, from within the roiling tumult of emotions, anger rose to the surface. How dare he pry where he had no right to go? Her cheeks flamed with indignation. What business was it of his—?
    “I don’t mean to cause you discomfort, or to appear the nosy gossip,” Noah hastened to explain. “But our conversation that day at