The Secret Chord: The Virtuosic Spy - Book 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

not big at all and I'm the last. I had just the one brother. He's dead."    
    Conor took a long sip from his mug, giving her a weary look of appeal. Kate swallowed the reflexive follow-up question and reached for a muffin.
    "I made the butter myself. What do you think?"

    S INCE C ONOR HAD already explored the public rooms on his own—the gift shop near the front door; the living room with its fireplace, Persian rugs and baby grand piano; and the narrow, book-lined library next to the dining room—they began Kate's promised tour with a walk around the grounds. From the screened porch they went out through the perennial garden and down a staircase of widely spaced rocks in the hillside. The stairs ended in a wide grassy plateau running next to the brook, about forty feet below the house. On the opposite bank a tree-covered hill rose from the water line, and further upstream the opening between the two banks narrowed, creating a rock-strewn gorge which could be seen to spectacular effect from above.
    "The last farm manager I had started this project," Kate said as they descended to the brook. "He left, so I tackled the job myself."
    "Did you?" Conor surveyed the line of boulders embedded in the hill and Kate followed his gaze.
    "They don't match, do they? I dragged them over here in a cart and I couldn't manage anything bigger."
    The wind picked up as they walked along the bank downstream and crossed back over the meadow toward the road.  
    "This will need to be mowed soon." She gestured at the grass while trying to grab at the ribbons of hair whipping around her face. "I should get the tractor ready."
    Fishing in her pockets she brought out a barrette that sprang open and flew from her fingers, landing next to Conor's boot. He picked it up and brushed away a piece of grass before handing it back. His face was so expressionless Kate wondered if she was tiring him out, or maybe boring him.
    "You do the mowing as well? With a tractor?" Not waiting for a reply, Conor squatted down to insert a jackknife into the dirt and she bit at the inside of her lip, her concern erased by irritation. Whenever she hinted at any skill with some piece of machinery the skepticism she encountered aggravated her to the point of belligerence.  
    "I'm actually pretty good with the tractor." Kate heard the sharp edge in her voice, but he was rubbing a bit of soil between his fingers, oblivious. "I'm good with a tedder, too. I've even taken a few turns with a gas-powered posthole digger. I suppose you find that hard to believe? Everyone does, until they see me doing it."
    "I find it hard to believe you're not dead on your feet," Conor said absently, then squinted up at her. "That was meant as a compliment. How do you stay busy when you're not making butter, hauling rocks and mowing fields? Oh, right. You manage an inn with a five-star restaurant. It's brilliant, the way you keep everything going. I can't imagine the effort."
    "Oh. Well . . . thanks." In confusion, Kate fiddled with the buttons of her coat. "How did you know it was a five-star restaurant?"
    "I read the brochure in my room." Conor pocketed the jackknife as he rose. His face remained bland, but a tremor shivered along his cheek. "Will we have a peek at your cows, now?"
    They crossed the road and climbed up to the barn. The enormous structure, built in the early 1900s, featured a stately ventilator cupola topped by an antique weathervane. A guest had once informed Kate the artifact might be worth more than the barn, the land it sat on, and the cows inside.
    They picked their way through the softening mud to the barn's sliding door and Kate's spirits abruptly sank. She'd hoped this quiet stranger would be the answer to a prayer but as she heaved on the door and heard it squeal along its rusty track she realized how unappealing the entire operation probably appeared to him.  
    On the strength of Abigail's reputation in culinary circles the inn and restaurant had turned a profit for the