Page 8 of Irish Thoroughbred
“Did you really see a horse being born, Dee?” The twins tagged after her full of excitement.
“Many a time, and cows and pigs and the like.” She took a small hand in each of hers and continued over the concrete floor. “There was a time I birthed twin lambs, and that was the prettiest sight.…”
Travis continued to stare after her as her voice trailed off in the distance.
The next few days passed easily for Adelia as she became accustomed to a new life and new surroundings. On the occasions she spoke to Travis, she continually struggled to hold back the tongue he seemed to have a habit of provoking. He stirred strange feelings in her, feelings shecould neither comprehend nor prevent, and her defense against them took shape in a quick retort and flashing eyes. Though she gave herself nightly lectures on the evils of temper, when confronted with him during the daylight hours her vow of restraint slipped through her fingers.
She found herself watching him once as he strode toward the stables, his blue denim work shirt straining over broad shoulders as he moved over the grass. He seemed to eat up the ground with a careless vitality. There was a strange pull at her heart, and she sighed, then bit her lip in annoyance. It was only that he was such a fine, strongly built man, she told herself, lean and powerful. She dismounted from the Thoroughbred she had been exercising and rubbed his neck vigorously. She had always admired strength and power, the same way she admired this strong, well-proportioned animal. Everyone she had met held Travis Grant in great respect and admiration. When he gave an order, it was carried out without question. Only Paddy, it seemed, had the right to advise or question.
But she was Adelia Cunnane, she reminded herself, and no man would get the better of her. She would not play peasant to his squire and pull her forelock when he passed by. She did her job, and did it well. He would have no cause to complain in that field. But she would speak her piece if she’d a mind to, and the devil take him if he didn’t like it!
Late each afternoon, Adelia visited Solomy. She was sure the mare would deliver any day, and, knowing the birth would be a difficult one, she spent her visits comforting the mare and gaining her confidence.
“Soon you’ll be having a fine, strong son or daughter,” Adelia told her as she closed the stall door after her visit. “I’d like to take you and the babe and bundle you off with me. What do you think himself would do about that?”
“He might be tempted to have you hanged for horse thieving.”
She spun around, her eyes encountering Travis’s powerful form resting idly against the next stall. “It’s a bad habit you have of sneaking up and scaring a body to death,” she snapped at him, assuming that the uneven beat of her heart was the result of surprise.
“I do happen to own this place, Adelia,” he returned in low, calm tones that only increased her agitation.
“That’s a fact I’m not likely to forget. There’s no need to remind me.” She tilted her chin in defiance of him and the continuing flutter of her stomach, knowing she should guard her words, and knowing the power to do so was beyond her. “I give you your day’s work, but maybe you think I’m forgetting my place. Should I be bobbing a curtsy, Mr. Grant?”
“You impudent little wench,” Travis muttered, straightening from his relaxed position. “I’m getting a bit weary of being stabbed by that sharp tongue of yours.”
“Well, it’s sorry I am about that. The best advice I can give is that you not be conversing with me.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had.” He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her a foot off the ground as their eyes warred with each other. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first time you slashed at me with your sharp Irish tongue.”
He crushed her mouth with his, cutting off a heated retort. Too surprised by his action to resist immediately, Adelia began to experience unfamiliar and disturbing sensations, a heat and weakness that she might feel on a day spent working in the field. His hands were like steel around her small waist, holding her body suspended in the air while his lips assaulted hers, entering her mouth with his tongue in a kiss that was both devastating and totally foreign to any she had ever known.
Pressed hard against him, lips joined, she felt his warmth, his essence, seeping into her, demanding and receiving her merging. She could feel the authority in the arms that held her, taste the knowledge on the lips that claimed hers, and body and mind surrendered to both. Unable to combat the turbulence of the unexplored, she felt it whirl her like a cyclone, spinning her toward the sun until the heat threatened to become fire.
And as each of her senses were assaulted and conquered, he continued to explore her mouth, feasting on it as a man who knew a woman’s flavor. He took, andshe knew nothing of the richness of the banquet she gave him, warm and ripe and fresh.
After a lifetime, he released her, dropping her back to the ground as she stared at him mutely, eyes huge with confusion.
“Well, half-pint, this is the first time I’ve seen you at a loss for words.” He mocked her openly, the lips that had just conquered hers lifted in a smug, satisfied smile.
His taunt broke the strange hold over her mind and tongue, and her eyes lit with molten green fire. “You son of the devil,” she began in a rich explosion, and what followed was a raging stream of Irish curses and dire predictions delivered in so strong an accent that it was nearly impossible to comprehend the words.
When her imagination had at last run dry, and she could only stand staring at him breathlessly, he threw back his head and laughed until she thought he would burst.
“Oh, Dee, you’re a fabulous sight when you’re breathing fire!” He took no trouble to hide his amusement, an infuriating grin glued to his face. “The madder you get, the thicker the brogue. I’m going to have to provoke you more often.”
“I’m giving you warning,” she returned in an ominous voice, which only widened the grin. “If you ever molest me again, it’s more than my tongue you’ll be feeling.”
Lifting her head, she strode out of the stables, clutching the last threads of her dignity around her.
She said nothing to Paddy about her scene with Travis, and instead banged around the kitchen as she prepared dinner, uttering incoherent sentences about great arrogant beasts and strong-arm bullies. Her fury with Travis was intermingled with fury with herself. The fact that his touch had brought both excitement and unexplained pleasure angered her further, and she berated herself for the uncontrollable attraction she felt for him.
CHAPTER THREE
By the next day, Adelia’s anger had faded. She was not given to prolonged periods of ill humor; rather, she exploded like a burst of flame, simmered, then slowly cooled down. There remained, however, a disturbing new awareness, an awareness both of herself and the unfamiliar longings of womanhood, and of the frustrating, attractive man who had released them.
She managed to avoid any face-to-face contact with Travis during the morning, going about her duties in the normal fashion while she kept a cautious eye alert for his approach. Duties complete, she strolled back for her daily visit with Solomy. Instead of leaning over the low barrier to greet her, as was Solomy’s habit, Adelia found her lying on her side in the hay, breathing heavily.
“By all the saints and apostles!” Rushing inside, she knelt beside the raggedly breathing mare. “Your time’s come, darlin’,” she crooned, running her hands over the large mounded belly. “Just rest easy now. I’ll be back.” Springing up, she sped from the stables.
