“What do you like to do? Do you have any hobbies?”
Megan looked as if she was about to say something more, but stopped herself.
He placed his finger gently under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me what you were going to say. Please, don’t hold anything back from me.”
She shook her head as her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink.
He laughed. “Come now! It can’t be that bad. Tell me.”
“Oh, no ye don’t.” Megan pulled back, her Irish brogue even more prominent. “Ye won’t be gittin’ no secrets out of me.”
“I bet I can.”
She shook her head.
He took her hand and kissed it, and then began kissing his way up her arm.
“Okay, okay! Ye don’ play fair,” she relented, pulling her arm away. “I was about to say that when ye’re poor, ye don’t have many choices fer hobbies. Surviving becomes yer hobby.” She checked her hat to ensure that it hadn’t become dislodged, and then turned to look out the window. “But of course, ye probably know nothing of that.”
“You’d be surprised.” Dallas squeezed her hand, claiming her attention. “Megan, I grew up poor, too. My father was a sharecropper.”
She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
“No, it’s true. My father didn’t believe in education, but he did believe in hard work.”
“And what do ye believe in?”
Dallas’s eyebrows pulled together in concern. “I believe in both.”