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realize her woolgathering had almost caused her to push the drinking mugs straight off the table she was wiping down. Owen was a distraction, and if she wasn't careful, he would cost her more than she could afford.
    She glanced over into the corner at a hulking man with fading red hair, intent on his mug of ale. Then she stood and carried the soiled dishes back into the kitchen.
    The inn's two barmaids had both disappeared the day before Iola arrived to seek employment. Hank had hired her on the spot, and she'd been working double-duty ever since. Whenever she wasn't serving food or drink, she spent her time scrubbing dishes and cleaning floors.
    Meanwhile, the missing barmaids were enjoying a free trip to America. Isabel hoped they liked what they found once they arrived. The chance to start over and be something more than they'd been in England would be waiting for them. All they'd have to do was take advantage of it.
    ****
    "There's word."
    Isabel, who had stepped out of the inn to dump some soiled water, wasn't surprised by the familiar voice. She glanced around and saw the hulking form concealed among the the long shadows cast by the afternoon sun. Once she was certain they were alone, she stepped closer and asked, "What?"
    "Another one of Rutherford's ships came in today. They had word the Braying Donkey got delayed because of repairs. It won't be arriving here till late December, maybe early January."
    Isabel nodded. "I'm not sure if the delay is good news or bad for us."
    He shrugged dismissively. "It's neither."
    Isabel dumped the dirty water. "Why do you insist on calling it the Braying Donkey?"
    The man spat into the grass. "I've got no use for the French or their language."
    His sentiment was shared by many who had battled Napoleon's devastation. She didn't share in the vehemence, but she understood it.
    She gave the man a brisk nod before returning to the inn.
    ****
    That night, as Isabel placed a dinner plate in front of Owen, he whispered, "A Rutherford ship came in with news of the Âne Hurlants ."
    Isabel forced her eyes wide in surprise. "We should meet."
    "After dark. Follow the trail toward town. I'll be in the same cleft. Do me a favor, and don't let your friend knock me out again."
    She gave him a saucy grin, the kind that told the other patrons he'd just propositioned her and she was having her sport with him. "Aye, m'lord, what you say is true. I do think I'd rather bed down with the hogs than the likes of you."
    Owen's eyes darkened with irritation. Or was that embarrassment? She could have come up with other ways to justify the length of their conversation, but she'd grabbed on to that one. No man liked his masculine prowess publicly questioned. He would have every right to be angry with her, and she welcomed it. They'd both be better off if he hated her.
    Owen was too honorable a man. Her instincts confirmed what she remembered of him from childhood. He was a man she could trust — if she ever trusted anyone completely. Which she rarely did. Even if it meant making him angry, she needed to keep her distance from Owen. She had a history. Letting her guard down led to devastating results.
    ****
    Darkness fell early, and the inn emptied out before the clock said it was time. Hank let her go, and Isabel began her walk down the trail toward town. As she approached the point where Owen had last surprised her, she heard the caw of a crow, and she slipped off the trail. With one hand on the coarse stone, she followed the rock outcropping around until she came to the cleft where Owen hid.
    He handed her something, a coarse material. "It's a cloak. Put it on. You stand out with that white cap on your head. We'll be concealed this way. We need to talk, but we should get out of the cold first."
    Isabel wasn't sure they had much to talk about, but arguing would serve no purpose other than show Owen she had information she hadn't shared with him. Instead, she did as he asked and put the cloak on. Once she lifted