Page 12 of Irish Rose
“Yes, you gave Ma one of the roses from the bush there.” The bush had been her mother’s, Erin remembered, and she linked her fingers briefly with Dee’s. “The roses still bloom every summer.”
She smiled at that. “Such a little place. Smaller now than even I remember. Look, Keeley, see that window there.” She crouched down to show her daughter. “That was my room when I was your age.”
Adelia stood again. There was only her and Travis now as the others strolled down the side of the road. “Dee, I’ve told you before, you can have it back if you want. We can make the Sweeneys a good offer for it.”
She continued to look down, remembering. Then, with a little sigh, she slipped an arm around Travis’s waist. “You know, when I left here all those years ago, I thought I’d lost everything.” She tilted her head back and kissed him. “I was wrong. Let’s walk a little ways. It’s such a beautiful day.”
Erin watched them. There was a small meadow that was green now but would be choked with wildflowers in only a matter of weeks. She heard Burke behind her and spoke without thinking.
“If I were to go, to leave here and find something else, I’d never look back.”
“If you don’t look over your shoulder once in a while, things catch up with you faster than you think.”
“I don’t understand you.” She turned, and her hair fluttered around her face and shoulders, free of bonds. “One minute you sound like a man without any roots at all, and the next you sound as though you’ve just transplanted them where it’s convenient.”
“But not too deep.” He caught the ends of her hair in his fingers. He was becoming more and more fascinated by it. It wasn’t silk; it was too wild and untamed for silk. “Maybe that’s the trick, Irish, not letting them sink too deep. You can yank yours up because you’ll damn well strangle if you don’t, but you’ll take some of this with you.”
He reached down and took up a handful of soil. “Seems like a good enough base.”
“And what’s yours?”
He looked down at the rich dirt in his hand. “Have you ever seen the sand in the desert, Irish? No, no, you haven’t. It’s thin. It’ll slip right out of your hands, no matter how hard you hold on to it.”
“Grains of sand have a habit of clinging to the skin.”
“And are easily brushed away.” He glanced around as Brady let out a squeal of laughter at a gull that had glided in from the sea.
“Why did you kiss me before?” She hadn’t wanted to ask. Rather, she hadn’t wanted him to know it mattered. He smiled at her again, slowly, with the amusement only a hint in his eyes.
“A woman should never wonder why a man kisses her.”
Annoyed with herself, she shrugged and turned away. “It wasn’t a proper one, anyway.”
“You want a proper one?”
“No.” She continued to walk, but the devil on her shoulder took over. She glanced around, a half smile on her face. “I’ll let you know when I do.”
Chapter Three
There was a storm coming. Erin could feel it brewing inside her, just as she could see it brewing in the clouds that buried the sun and hung gloomily over the hills. She worked quickly, routinely, pulling the pins off the line and dropping the dry, billowing clothes in the basket at her feet.
She didn’t mind this kind of monotonous, mindless work. It left her brain free to think and remember and plan. Just now, with the wind tossing sheets away from her and the sky boiling, she liked the simple outside chore. She wanted to see the storm break, to be a part of it when the wind and rain raised hell. When it was over, things would settle back into the quiet routine she knew was slowly driving her mad.
What was wrong with her? Erin yanked one of her brother’s work shirts from the line and, out of ingrained habit, folded it to ward off wrinkles. She loved her family, had friends and work to keep the wolf from the door. So why was she so restless, so edgy? She couldn’t blame it all on her cousin’s visit or on the unexpected appearance of one Burke Logan. She’d been feeling restless before they’d come, but for some reason their presence—his presence—intensified it.
She couldn’t talk to her mother about it. Erin stripped down one of her mother’s aprons and buried her face in the cool, fresh scent of the material. Her mother simply couldn’t understand discontent or yearnings for more, not when there was a sturdy roof over the head and food enough for everyone. Time and again Erin had wished herself as serene a heart as her mother’s. But it wasn’t meant to be.
She couldn’t go to her father, though Erin knew he would understand the storm inside her. He wasn’t a calm, easy man. From the stories she’d heard he’d been a hellion in his youth, and it had taken marriage to his Mary and a couple of babies before he’d begun to take hold. But while her father would understand, Erin knew he would also be distressed. If she wanted more, needed more, he would take it to mean he hadn’t given her enough.
There was Cullen. She’d always been able to talk to Cullen. But he was so busy just now, and her feelings were so mixed, the longings so indistinct, that she wasn’t sure she could articulate them in any case.
So she would wait, let the storm come and the wind blow.
He’d been watching her for some time. Burke never considered that it was rude to stand and observe people without their knowledge. You learned more about people when they thought they were alone.
She moved well. Even doing something so simple, there was an innate sensuality in her movements. She had more fire than showed in her hair. Inside her there was a flame smoldering. He recognized it because he’d been born with one himself. That kind of heat, of passion, could and would break free. It only took the right elements falling into place. Time, place, circumstance.
She didn’t hum as she worked now, but occasionally looked up at the sky as if daring it to open and pour its fury on her. Her hair blew back from her face, fighting against the band that held it. Just as she fought whatever held her. He’d wondered what the results would be when she finally broke free. He’d already decided he wanted to be around to see for himself.
