Leaving the room, I close the door behind me and give Noah’s door two hard pounds as I pass by and head down the stairs. He needs to get his ass up, too, and the fact that I still need to be my twenty-year-old kid’s alarm clock is ridiculous.

As soon as I hit the living room, though, I smell coffee and know I’m not the only one up. Tiernan works at something on the table, and I glance over, trying to see what she’s doing as I walk to the coffee pot.

Her hair is piled into a messy bun on the top of her head as she appears to glue pieces of something together.

I pour a cup of coffee, swallowing hard. “Thank you for fixing the fridge,” I say, not looking at her.

I felt like an ass yesterday when Noah told me that everything in the fridge was out of its usual order because she had to empty it to fix it.

A huge ass.

And after the surprise wore off, I was impressed. So much of the world simply replaces broken things or hires out to have it fixed, not wanting to trouble themselves to learn things on their own. Even with the plethora of help there is on the Internet.

She’s self-sufficient.

When she still hasn’t responded, I turn around, taking a drink from my mug as I slowly approach.

She pieces together a plate that appears to have broken, gluing each piece carefully together.

It’s one of our green ones. The corner of my mouth turns up in a small smile.

She really didn’t have to bother. It’s a cheap plate, and they’re easy to break.

I shoot my eyes up to her face again—her gaze focused, lips closed, and her breathing even and controlled like I’m not standing right here.

“Tiernan?” I say again.

But she still doesn’t respond. Jesus, it’s like talking to my kids. Are all teenagers like this?

Putting the last piece in place, she holds it for a few moments and then takes a paper towel to clean up any bubbled glue.

“Is there anything I can help with today?” she suddenly asks, finally glancing up at me.

Huh?

She looks up at me, stray strands of hair falling around her face and in her eyes, and again, I’m taken off guard. I’d braced myself for a confrontation after the way I’d acted yesterday, but… she’s ready to move on. Should I push a conversation or let it alone?

I run my hand over my scalp. Whatever. If she’s going to make this easy for me, I won’t complain.

“Yeah,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief.

She rises from her chair, standing up right in front of me, but her eyes immediately land on my chest, and she quickly looks away.

I tighten my lips and pull my T-shirt out of my back pocket to slip it on. Hannes—who was born wearing a suit—and Brynmor—an education that’s comprised of same-sex classmates, I guess she’s not used to this. She’ll get her feet wet here, though.

“Where do you need me?” she asks, looking ready to be anywhere but the kitchen.

I hide my smile. “I have to…um, milk Bernadette,” I tell her as I turn around to grab a cup of coffee.

Her gaze falters.

“The cow,” I explain. “The horses need to be fed, and the stalls need to be cleared. Noah will show you how it’s done.”

“And then?”

And then?

I grip my mug, leaning against the counter. “We have work in the shop to get to, so if you want to do breakfast…that’d be a big help.”

I should’ve asked nicer yesterday.

She simply nods.

I start to walk past her but stop and look down at her. “The bacon exactly like you did it yesterday,” I say. “Got it?”

She keeps her eyes planted on the floor for another moment, but then she looks up and meets my eyes. “Got it.”

I stare down at her.

I wish she’d smile. I don’t expect it, given what’s happened to her, but I have a feeling she doesn’t smile a lot regardless.

She is pretty, though. I’d give her parents that much. Flawless skin that looks almost porcelain. High cheek bones, the hollows rosy. Eyebrows a little darker than her hair, framing long lashes and Amelia’s stormy gray eyes, more piercing that her mother’s because she has the same dark ring around the iris that her father had.

She’s more her mother, though. The slender neck, the curve of the waist, the spine and shoulders that made her seem statuesque sometimes. On Amelia, it looked cold. On Tiernan, it… makes you wonder how she’d bend and move in someone’s arms.

Someone’s.

My body warms, and I hold her gaze for a moment. Amelia and Hannes. Amusement tugs at the corners of my mouth, but I don’t let it show.

I don’t need her to stay. It’s no skin off my nose if she leaves.

But I can forbid her from leaving if I want to.

If for no other reason than to burn off my exceeding supply of frustration with her father. To make her work off his debt to me.

To fuck up her life just a little bit.

To make her…

She wets her pink lips, and my breath catches for a moment.

If I were a worse man...

Setting down my mug, I head to the closet and pull my Rockies cap off the coat rack, fitting it on my head. I need to get out of here. I’m not sure where the hell my mind is going, but it’s not right. She’s my responsibility. Not my opportunity for payback. Not to mention, she’s quiet, boring, and a little pathetic. I can’t torture someone who won’t fight back.

A moment later, I hear Noah’s footfalls on the stairs and watch him head for the coffee pot with his T-shirt slung over his shoulder and no shoes or socks on.

“We’ve got a lot to do today,” I warn him, knowing it takes him at least twenty minutes to get out the door after he wakes up.

I have two sons and neither one of them is entirely present. Kaleb was easier. When he was here. And Noah was always here but never easy.

“Show Tiernan how to do the stalls and feed the horses.”

He nods without looking at me as a yawn stretches across his face.

I pull on my boots and head back into the kitchen, transferring my coffee into a travel mug to take outside with me.

I hear Noah’s voice. “Do you have an undershirt on?”

I look over at him and Tiernan, seeing her nod. She wears jeans and a peasant blouse, not really dressy, but it’s white.

“Take off your shirt then,” he says, taking a drink.

She pinches her eyebrows at him.

“I’m giving you a new one,” he explains, tossing the flannel over his shoulder onto the back of a chair. “And kick off your shoes.”

He heads across the kitchen, opening the shop door and reaching inside. He pulls in a pair of his old muddy, rain boots from when he was thirteen or so and tosses them across the floor at her.

It’s a good idea. She won’t want her expensive clothes ruined.

I dart my eyes to her, expecting her to look uncertain, but she only hesitates a moment before slowly starting to unbutton her blouse.

I clear my throat again and look away. She should be doing that in the privacy of the bathroom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pull off the shirt and fold it over the back of a chair. She has something else white on underneath, and I see Noah approach her, but I keep my eyes averted as I grab an apple to take outside with me.

An invisible hook keeps tugging at my chin—pulling at me to look at her—but I just blink a few times and charge out of the room, biting hard into the apple.