Page 4 of Irish Thoroughbred
She grinned. “Hank.”
“Well, Adelia Cunnane.” Paddy slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Royal Meadows just hired another exercise boy. You’ve got yourself a job.”
Lying in her bed that night, Adelia stared wide-eyed at the ceiling. So many things had happened, in so short a time, that her mind refused to relax and allow her body to rest.
After her ride on the Thoroughbred, she had been taken through the stables, introduced to more hands and more horses, shown into a tackroom that contained more leather than she had ever seen in one place at one time, and exposed to more people and more things than she believed she had ever been exposed to in her life. And all in the course of one day.
Paddy had prepared their dinner, firmly refusing assistance, and she had merely watched as he bustled around the kitchen. The stove, she decided, had more to do with magic than technology. And a machine that washed and dried the dishes at a touch of a button—marvels! Hearing about such things and reading about them was one matter, but seeing them with your own eyes… it was easier to believe in the Pooka and the little people. When, with a sigh, she said as much to her uncle, he threw back his head and laughed until tears flowed down his cheeks, then enveloped her in a hug as crushing as the one he had greeted her with at the airport.
They had eaten at the small dinette set in the kitchen window, and she had answered all his questions about Skibbereen. The meal was full of talking and laughing,and Paddy’s eyes twinkled continually at her colorful descriptions and outrageous stories. She elaborated here and there, her hands working with her words, brows raising over guileless eyes as she stretched truth into an obvious exaggeration. Her uncle had noticed the faint shadows under them, however, and urged her to retire early, overcoming her protests with the deft suggestion that she had needed to be fresh in the morning.
So Adelia had obeyed, drawing a steaming tub and wallowing in unfamiliar luxury for what she knew Aunt Lettie would have considered a sinful amount of time. When at last she lay between the cool, fresh sheets, she found it impossible to relax. Her mind was full, crowded with new sensations, new images; and her body, so used to complete exhaustion before sleep, was unable to cope with the lack of physical exertion. Easing out of bed, she exchanged her nightdress for jeans and shirt and, piling her hair once more under the absurd cap, slipped noiselessly from the sleeping house.
The night was clear, cool, and quiet, a vague breeze sweetening the air, only the bright, insistent call of a whippoorwill breaking the stillness. The light of the half moon guided her toward the stables as she strolled without thought of destination over the smooth new grass. The stillness, the familiar scent of animals, reminded her of home, and suddenly she felt a contentment and peace she had not even known she had lived without.
Hesitating outside the door of the large white stables,she debated whether she dare enter and spend the last of her evening with the horses. Having decided there was no harm in it, she was reaching out for the handle when an iron grip closed around her arm and whirled her around, and she was lifted off her feet for a moment like a rag doll.
“Just what do you think you’re doing? And how did you get in here?”
She stared wordlessly at the owner of the harsh, angry voice, a vague shadow silhouetted in the dim moonlight, looming over her like an avenging giant. She searched for her own voice, but the combination of shock and pain had stolen it. Her words slipped down her throat as she felt herself being dragged into the building.
“Here, let’s have a look at you,” the voice growled as its owner switched on the lights. He spun her around, dislodging her cap, and the glory of her hair escaped its confinement to form a fiery cascade down her back.
“What the… you’re a girl!” He released his firm hold and Adelia stepped back and began to give him both sides of her Irish tongue.
“Sure and it’s observant you are to be noticing that—” She rubbed her arm vigorously while her green eyes glared up at her astonished assailant. “And who are you coming around grabbing innocent people and crushing their bones? A great, hulking bully you are, sneaking up on a body and dragging and pulling them about! A horsewhipping is what you’re deserving for scaringthe life from me and nearly breaking my arm in the process—”
“You may be pint-sized, but you’re packed with dynamite,” the man observed, obviously amused. He wondered as he looked over her softly rounded shape how he could have mistaken her for a boy. “From your accent I could make a guess that you’re little Dee, Paddy’s niece.”
“I’m Adelia Cunnane, but it’s not your little Dee I am.” She regarded him with unconcealed resentment. “And it’s not me who’s having the accent. It’s you!”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter, increasing Adelia’s fury. “Oh, I am glad to have made you so happy.” Folding her arms across her chest, she tossed her head, rich dark curls swinging wildly. “And who in the world are you, I’d like to know?”
“I’m Travis,” he answered, still grinning. “Travis Grant.”
CHAPTER TWO
It was Adelia’s turn to gape at her companion. As the mists of fury cleared from her eyes, she saw him clearly for the first time. He was tall and powerfully built, and the sleeves of his shirt were carelessly rolled above his elbows, revealing deeply tanned muscular arms. He had chiseled features, clear and sharp, and his eyes were so blue against the brown of his skin that they startled the casual onlooker. His hair was rich and full, thick black curls in a disarming disarray to his collar, and the mouth that continued to grin at her was well formed, showing strong white teeth.
This was the man she was to work for, this was the man she needed to impress, Adelia’s brain registered numbly, and she had just raked him clean with her furious tongue. “Jakers,” she whispered, shutting her eyes a moment and wishing she could disappear in a puff of smoke.
“I’m sorry we met under such, uh…”—he hesitated, his mouth twitching again—“confusing circumstances, Adelia. Paddy’s been on top of the world since he made arrangements to bring you over from Ireland.”
“I didn’t expect to be meeting you till tomorrow, Mr. Grant.” She clung desperately to pride and kept her voice even. “Uncle Paddy said you wouldn’t be back.”
“I didn’t expect to find a half-pint fairy invading my stables,” Travis returned, grinning once again.
Adelia straightened her spine and threw him a haughty look. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came for a walk. I was thinking I might look in on Majesty.”
“Majesty’s a very high-strung animal,” Travis admonished, his gaze roaming over her from top to bottom. “You’d best keep a respectable distance.”
“And how will I be doing that?” she demanded imperiously, disconcerted by his masculine appraisal. “I’m to be exercising him regularly.”
“The devil you are!” His eyes rose to hers and narrowed. “If you think I’d let a slip of a thing like you on my prize colt, you’ve lost your senses.”
“I’ve already been on your prize colt.” Anger returned, and her head tossed with it. “I rode around your track on him in fine time.”
“I don’t believe it.” He took a step toward her, and her head was forced to tilt still further. “Paddy wouldn’t let you up on Majesty.”
