“It’s good you have Rory this summer,” she said.
    The old man took a sip and gazed pensively out the window. “Aye. For now. There’s no tellin’ where that lad’s heart will take him. But it helps that he has every summer off. Gives him ample time to return to me.”
    “He comes every summer? For the whole summer?”
    Patrick met her gaze. “He didn’t tell ya? He’s a teacher. History.” Was it her imagination, or did his eyes twinkle when he said that?
    “H-history? No. He didn’t say.” So he’s a medic-mechanic-teacher…
    “Ach, well, ye’ll likely have lots to discuss in the comin’ months. Ye’re here to research our own Grace O’Malley, aren’t ya?”
    “I am.”
    “Well then, ya have a livin’ breathin’ source right out yonder in our barn. Rory’s been researching ol’ Gracie since he was a lad, given that she’s kin.”
    She considered him a moment. “Kin by what? Fifteen generations?”
    “Give or take,” he said with a nod, sipping more tea.
    She narrowed her eyes. She was beginning to see what the old man might be up to. “Patrick, just so we’re clear. I’m here to finish my dissertation. Not find a boyfriend.”
    His bushy eyebrows rose. “So ye’re against having a boyfriend?”
    Well, not against it. I just don’t need one right now. If you were thinking that Rory and I—”
    “I had no further thought than this…Ye have a shared love of history. Who doesn’t like a new friend who has a similar passion? And my grandson…” He set down his cup on the table, leaned forward and tapped his fingers together. “He’s had a rough go of it for a time.”
    She didn’t want to give the man false hope. Clearly he was matchmaking. But curiosity forced her to delve in a bit. “He’s been injured…”
    “Aye, in more than one way,” he said, rising with his cup in hand to place it in the sink. “But again, that’s my own Rory’s story to tell, not mine.”