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returned with the two buckets of water, she had cleaned the ceiling and its corners, and was now attacking the windows. After gracing the tall American with a sidling glance, Claire gestured toward the windows. “You can start washing them, if you will. Might as well work our way down to the floor as we go.”
    “Sure thing, ma’am.” He brushed away the cobwebs clinging to one end of the table, and set a bucket on it. Then, after grabbing two rags, Evan flung one over his shoulder and dipped the other into the bucket he carried to the first window. He was soon scrubbing away at the thick grime coating the panes.
    For a long while, both worked in silence. At last, though, as they joined forces to clean out the sooty, ashfilled hearth, Claire ventured a glance at the man kneeling beside her. “You’re a strange one, even for a man, I mean.”
    Evan turned and arched a dark brow. “How so?”
    “Most men would be grabbing their kilts and dashing for the hills by now, rather than shame themselves with woman’s work.”
    He chuckled, the deep, rich sound reverberating most pleasantly around Claire. “Would you rather I pay you for this work and leave it all to you?”
    Her eyes widened in horror. “Nay, I wouldn’t. I’m already in your debt for the money you gave to help Ian yestreen. But if you’d consider that debt paid if I finished cleaning your croft for you …”
    “That debt was paid long ago, in the hospitality you showed me last night, in your willingness to help me with this cottage, and in tracking down my kin. In fact”—Evan grinned—“if I’m not careful, it’ll soon be me deep in your debt once again.”
    Claire eyed him skeptically, then gave an incredulous snort. “Indeed, you really are a strange one.”
    “But a strange one you might eventually come to like?” He cocked his head and wagged his brows. “Maybe even call friend?”
    She pulled the ash bucket, brimming over now with chunks of charred wood and cinders, closer to her. “You can’t stop while you’re ahead, can you?” Then, in spite of her best efforts to keep a straight face, she laughed. “Och, you are strange, but strangely likeable, too.”
    “Then I’m definitely making progress. First with the brother, and now, the sister.”
    His statement gave Claire pause. The cowboy was certainly correct in his assessment of Ian’s feelings for him. From the start, Claire had seen how quickly—and most surprisingly—her brother had warmed to him. Perhaps it was the fact that Evan was a stranger, or because he was an American cowboy. Or perhaps it was just Evan’s engaging, friendly manner.
    Whatever it was, Evan MacKay was the first man, aside from Father MacLaren, whom her brother had shown any warmth toward or interest in. The realization both heartened and disturbed her. It was good Ian was, at long last, beginning to open himself to another in trust. But it was also unfortunate he did so with a man who would soon be gone from his life.
    Still, Claire couldn’t deny the bond already beginning to form between her brother and Evan MacKay. “I can’t thank you enough for your kindness and interest in Ian,” she managed to choke out past the sudden tightness in her throat. “He hasn’t had … well, he doesn’t make friends verra easily these days. Yet I know the lad’s lonely and hurting.”
    “And confused,” Evan offered softly. “It’s to be expected at his age.” As if recalling some poignant memory, he smiled sadly. “I had my share of problems with my pa when I was Ian’s age, and finally ran away from Culdee Creek at seventeen. Took a year of hard living and near starving to death, though, to make me swallow my pride and come home. Even so, we had a lot of fence mending to do, my pa and me, before we finally made our peace.”
    He sighed and shook his head. “Still, if it hadn’t been for Abby, I don’t reckon we would’ve ever made up.”
    “And who is Abby?” Claire couldn’t help it. She