Isabel interrupted. “I do look a little like her, don’t I?” she said. “I was just thinking that you look like that beautiful actress . . . I can’t remember her name . . .”
Heather’s hand flew to her chest and she blushed. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Yes, I do. You look so surprised,” she added. “Surely others have complimented you . . . haven’t they?”
Heather took a strand of hair and began to wind it around her finger while she thought about the question. “I’ve been told I resemble that famous French actress with the pouting lips, Monique.”
“Yes,” Isabel responded enthusiastically. “That’s who you look like. Honestly, I think you’re prettier than Monique.”
And the issue of Isabel being a famous singer was forgotten.
Their next stop was at a shop in Kilcory. Isabel learned that a group of outsiders were trying to purchase Glen MacKenna, and there was a fight going on over ownership. The clerk of the woolens shop, after describing his worries about his son’s lack of ambition and his wife’s need to coddle the boy, said that ownership of Glen MacKenna could be tied up in court for years.
At one other stop she learned that someone was running people off Glen MacKenna and claiming the land for himself.
By the time darkness had fallen Isabel and Michael were starving. They stopped at the nearest market and purchased items they would need to remove Isabel’s stitches, then went to the restaurant
next door for dinner. They sat at a back table and ate salmon cakes and steak pie that tasted suspiciously like lamb but was still quite tasty, mounds of whipped potatoes, and biscuits with sweet butter. She didn’t touch the side dish of mushy peas.
It was cold and rainy when they walked out of the restaurant and headed to a nearby hotel. Isabel didn’t realize how tired she was until they checked into the Gleann Inn for the night. It was a small hotel the owner advertised as cozy. It wasn’t. The manager assured them that their room had a brand-new king-size bed. It didn’t. The size was somewhere between a queen and a double. There were square tables with lamps on either side of the bed, a saggy upholstered chair in the corner, and a small round table, which was all the tiny room could hold. The bathroom had been newly remodeled and was almost as large as the bedroom. Isabel showered first, then put on her blue pajama shorts and camisole. She walked back into the bedroom with the tube of body lotion her sister Kate had given her. Isabel loved its scent of camellias because it reminded her of her mother’s flower garden.
Michael barely glanced her way. He had removed the floral coverlet—which matched the floral drapes and floral tablecloth—and now was on the phone having an intense conversation. How was she going to sleep in the same bed with him and not touch him? Ignoring him was impossible in such a tiny room, but she would give it her best try. She sat on the bed, propped a pillow against the headboard, and took her time rubbing the lotion into her arms and legs.
He was on the phone a long time. With his back to her he was speaking so quietly she couldn’t make out the conversation, but she heard him utter agreement several times. Once he finished, he put the phone on his charger and turned to her. “Just as a precaution, I don’t want you to turn your phone on. You can use mine to make calls.”
“But I . . .”
“I don’t want anyone tracking you.”
“Can they do that?”
“We aren’t taking any chances.”
She agreed with a nod. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nick,” he answered. He picked up his shaving kit and headed to the bathroom. “I’ll fill you in after I shower. And Isabel . . .”
“Yes?”
“Put some damn clothes on.”
She looked down at herself. Her clothes hadn’t disappeared.
Closing her eyes, she folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head back to rest on the headboard, trying to clear her mind of everything but happy thoughts. That proved impossible because Michael kept getting in the way. She could hear the shower running and naturally pictured him naked with warm water cascading down his muscular shoulders and arms. She wondered what he would do if she stepped into the shower with him. Probably let her seduce him again. She tried to erase the image from her mind, but it was impossible. Thankfully, the shower ended.
She had the discipline of a nymphomaniac. She told herself to think about tomorrow and what she wanted to accomplish. She came up with a few ideas, but then Michael walked out of the bathroom,