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were good signs that he would recover in time.
    Biddy turned her head enough to press a kiss to Ian’s palm before returning his hand to her cheek.
    “Keep singing, woman.” Ian’s hoarse voice had grown ever quieter in the tiny moment since he’d last spoken. “Distract me . . . from . . . the pain.”
    “Your da’s gone for powders,” Biddy said.
    He nodded weakly. “‘Irish Lamentation,’ Biddy.”
    “But that tune’s so sad.”
    Ian took a shallow breath, wincing as he did. “Please.”
    Biddy took up the melody, clinging to his hand. The desperate hope in her expression tugged at Katie’s heart. The past days had been so very hard on Biddy.
    “I’ll see if I can’t find Mr. O’Connor,” Katie said. She was as anxious to get Ian the powders as she was to give Biddy and her husband a moment of privacy. There was something intimately tender in the moment they were sharing. Katie didn’t belong there with them.
    She stepped beyond the hanging quilt. Alone in the open space beyond, she wrapped her arms around herself. The sound of Biddy’s voice humming “Irish Lamentation” filled the silence.
    Katie closed her eyes. Music soothes the soul. She’d said it herself, but she wasn’t feeling very soothed. Weight pressed against her heart. The tunes of home took her thoughts back across the ocean. Did Father have music to calm him in his final illness? Was Mother humming to him?
    Katie had his fiddle there in Wyoming with her. He hadn’t even that instrument to offer solace. She’d meant to take it back to him, but her plans had changed. Her father was dying in Belfast, while she remained where she was.
    She needed her music, needed the feel of the fiddle in her hand and under her chin, the sound of the old tunes echoing inside. She needed quiet and peace. She needed—
    The door opened. Katie looked up.
    Tavish.
    He stepped inside with his father at his side. They both wore nearly identical looks of deep, worried contemplation as they spoke in low voices to one another. Tavish would likely have too many difficulties of his own to see her through her moment of weariness.
    His eyes met hers. She tried to smile. The gesture must have failed miserably. Concern immediately filled his expression.
    “Ian—?”
    Katie cut across him. “He is still awake. He’s even speaking a bit.”
    Such a mingle of emotions flitted across the men’s faces. Amazement. Hope. Wariness.
    Mr. O’Connor crossed quickly to the blanket-hung doorway. Katie fully expected Tavish to do the same. He surprised her by crossing directly to her instead.
    “Seems to me, Sweet Katie, you’re feeling a bit crushed by the weight of all this.”
    “We’ve passed a difficult few days,” she said.
    He pulled her into an embrace. ’Twas his answer for everything, really—a solution she’d come to value. She leaned against his chest, breathing in deep the masculine scent of him. His hand rubbed slow circles over her back, the repetition calming her.
    “Seems I’ve done nothing but fall apart lately.” Katie had been something of a mess in the short weeks since word of her father’s illness arrived.
    “Nonsense.” Tavish’s voice rumbled in his chest. “You’ve held up better than anyone could have expected, considering all that’s happened. And besides, what’s the use of having a man about if he can’t help piece you back together now and then?”
    She could smile at that. “No use at all, I say.”
    She felt him laugh. That sound had lifted her spirits so many times. Her grief ebbed, allowing clear thought to return.
    “Ian’ll be feeling better now that he has something to take for the pain,” she said.
    “Da wasn’t able to get the powders.”
    She pulled back and looked up at him. “Didn’t get any? Was the mercantile out?” That seemed unlikely.
    Tavish shook his head. “The Irish price for medicine’s gone up. Johnson’s asking five dollars a bottle.”
    She took a shocked step backward. “ Five