Megan Chance by A Heart Divided Page A

tonight, ja ? Let us just talk. It has been long enough since we have done that."
    "Talk?" Conor closed the book with a mild thump, his eyes shining with challenge.
    "Perhaps that's not stimulating enough for our guest, Onkle ," Sari said. "Our company must be dull after the excitement of Chicago."
    "Chicago has a certain drama," Conor agreed, his lips quirking in a half smile. "But I find Colorado stimulating enough."
    Sari swallowed. It was useless. She didn't have the concentration to watch every word she said. She balled the half-mended shirt in her lap and stuffed it back into her sewing bucket.
    She looked to her uncle, but Charles was ignoring them both, either not understanding Conor's double entendre or choosing not to comment on it. Charles rose from his chair; the rocker creaked back and knocked against the wall. He stretched as he went to the window. "It is a cold night out there," Charles mused softly. "It is very different from home."
    Sari caught his wistfulness. "Tamaqua was freezing," she said.
    "Not like here. The wind does not bite in Tamaqua as sharply as it does here."
    "Do you miss it?" Conor's voice was warm.
    Charles glanced over his shoulder. His face seemed more lined than usual, and she saw the memories in his eyes. " Nein ." He sighed. "Nein, I do not miss it. This place has its own beauty. I wish Bernice could see it."
    "She was a fine woman," Conor said softly. "I was sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral."
    "I know, Roarke." Charles focused on the clear, starlit sky beyond the soddy. "The telegram you sent was enough."
    Sari said nothing, too saddened by Charles's memories and her own to trust herself. She was surprised by the genuine grief in Conor's voice. Her aunt Bernice had liked Conor when he was Jamie O'Brien. "He is a good man, " she'd said the first time she met him.
    The sadness of loss welled in Sari's heart. A good man. Bernice had never had such kind words for Evan. She had never been comfortable around Sari's husband. But it was different with the Pinkerton spy. Sari remembered her aunt's laughter as she traded sallies with Conor, her flushed face when he told her one of his ribald jokes.
    Yes, her aunt had felt a definite affection for Conor, and it had been easy to see that he returned the sentiment. It was easy to see now.
    "They told me she'd caught a fever."
    "Like the one that killed her sister, Mabel—Sari's mother." Charles sighed. "The family is mostly gone now." He turned, focusing on Conor with bright eyes. "Have you brothers and sisters, Roarke?"
    "No."
    The word speared through Sari, reminding her of last night.
    "You were an only child." Charles nodded thoughtfully. "I have always thought an only child would be lonely."
    "You don't miss what you never had." Conor looked down at the book in his hands.
    His bleakness was like a shield. For a moment Sari felt the palpable cloak of his desolation as intently as anything she'd ever felt. And with it came that longing again, the yearning to know who he was, how he felt.
    "Surely there were other children to play with," she prompted.
    The bleakness was gone—so suddenly, she wondered if she'd imagined it. Conor looked up, his eyes as inscrutable as ever. "My childhood was the same as anyone else's," he said—a well-rehearsed answer, a lie she recognized.
    "I see." She licked her lips. "I think I understand. Does William Pinkerton caution all his operatives against telling their secrets?"
    His glance was guarded. "It's a good habit to get into when you never know who your friends are."
    Sari caught her breath. "At least we know where we stand, then."
    He closed his eyes for a moment, then got to his feet, setting the large book down on a crate table. "I think it's time to say good night," he said heavily, swiping a hand through his hair, spiking it. "It's getting late."
    Sari rose as well, taking a step forward. "I see you're not willing to take your own advice."
    His eyes were sharp. "I don't know what you mean."
    "You