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

last three years, but the dairy business was a perennial money pit. The farm survived on her regular personal investments and the sporadic contributions of managers who never lasted more than a season. She couldn't rely on Jared Percy much longer, and doubted a man who'd already told her he didn't want to be a farmer would find anything in the barn to entice him. She followed Conor inside, where he'd pulled up short.
    "Huh. Wasn't expecting that." Arms crossed, he stared at the large corral on their left. Its design was "bedded pack," a gated rectangular space that allowed the cows to roam freely rather than being confined to stalls. "What's under the sawdust?"
    "About eighteen inches of dirt on top of concrete," Kate said.
    He released a low hiss. "Bloody hell. That was a job for somebody. Is this all of them?"
    "The whole gang. We're milking sixteen right now, and two are getting ready to calve."
      "No bulls?"
    "Only the kind in a syringe." Kate's smile faltered. "And no milking parlor. They go through the gate into the tie stall section to be milked."
    Conor was a step ahead of her, heading for the tie-stall area. He peered up at the ceiling and down the aisle at a small tank at the end. "A dumping station? I haven't seen one in years. You've no central milk line either, then?"
    "I'm afraid not."
    The rudimentary methods in place at her farm were only a few steps beyond milking by hand. Heavy portable bucket milkers were emptied into a "dumping station," a cylinder on wheels with a long hose attached to vacuum the milk into a cooling tank. Kate was no expert, but it didn't take a genius to see this was one of the reasons she had such trouble holding on to farm managers.
    "It's not very efficient I guess, and a lot more work."  
    "A little harder on the knees and the back I suppose." Conor strolled down the aisle, giving her a reassuring wink. "But, sure it's only sixteen cows."
    "How many cows did you milk?" she asked.
    "About seventy-five."
    Gently nudging a cow from the gate, he slipped into the pack area. Watching him, Kate felt a twinge of renewed hope. For the first time his guarded diffidence had dropped away and Conor seemed at ease, almost lighthearted. He approached one of the cows and gave her a scratch behind the ears, then crouched beside her. With a light groan, Kate saw this was the cow that had kicked her the previous summer. He probed an area around the front leg.
    "Is she hurt?" She reluctantly moved closer.
    "A cut just above her shank, not too bad. Have you got some disinfectant?"
    She found the medical kit in the milk room but stopped outside the gate, fumbling awkwardly in trying to hand it over to him. Without comment, Conor came to take the box from her. He cleaned and bandaged the wound and then slowly circled the animal, looking for further signs of injury. Finally, he stopped with his arms resting on the cow's back and looked at Kate.
    "Are you frightened of them?"
    An unexpected emotion shuddered through her, dreary resignation tinged with shame. "Not really—at least, I didn't used to be. I'm not sure what happened. All of a sudden I seemed to make them nervous, and this one broke my arm with one good kick. I'm afraid they don't like me."
    "That's hard to believe." Conor smiled. "But maybe they're afraid you don't like them."
    "Oh, well." Kate gave a shaky laugh. "I never wanted to be a farmer either, you know. That was Michael's department."
    He nodded, serious again. "Your husband."
    "Yes. He died almost six years ago."
    "I'm sorry."
    "Yes."  
    With a startled horror, Kate realized she was going to cry.

4

    I T HAPPENED SO QUICKLY C ONOR HAD TO STARE to make sure he wasn't mistaken. One minute she'd been laughing and the next she was in tears. He swatted the pockets of his jeans uselessly. His old-fashioned brother would never have been caught without a handkerchief. Thomas had always insisted they served as an invaluable crutch when faced with weeping women, while Conor needled that