Page 25 of Irish Rose
“What, this? No.”
“Did you use witch hazel?”
He knew better than to laugh again. “I couldn’t put my hands on any.”
“I’d imagine you’d have a case or two of horse liniment down in the stables. Oh, look at the little planes.” When he turned into the airport, she looked over at him. “What are we doing here?”
“Taking a ride on one of the little planes.”
Her stomach did a quick flip-flop. “But I thought we were going to the races.”
“We are. My horse is racing at Hialeah. That’s in Florida.”
“What’s Florida?”
Burke paused in the act of swinging his door closed. On the other side of the car, Erin stared at him. “South,” he told her, and held out a hand.
Too excited to think, too terrified to object, Erin found herself bundled onto a plane. The cabin was so small that even she had to stoop a bit, but when she sat the chair was soft and roomy. Burke sat across from her and indicated the seat belt. Once hers was secured, he flipped the switch on an intercom. “We’re set here, Tom.”
“Okay, Mr. Logan. Looks like smooth sailing. Skies are clear except for a little patch in the Carolinas. We ought to be able to avoid most of them.”
When she heard and felt the engines start, Erin gripped the arms of the chair. “Are you sure this thing’s safe?”
“Life’s a gamble, Irish.”
She nearly babbled before she caught the amusement in his eyes. Deliberately she made her hands relax. “So it is.” As the plane started to roll, she looked out the window. Within minutes the ground was tilting away under them. “It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” She smiled, leaning a little closer to the window. “When all of you landed in Cork, I looked at the plane and wondered what it would be like to sit inside. Now I know.”
“How is it?”
She gave him a sideways smile. “Well, there’s no champagne.”
“There can be.”
“At half past eight in the morning?” With a laugh, she sat back again. “I think not. I should have thanked you for asking me to go today. The Grants have been nothing but kind to me, so I’m really grateful to give them a day to themselves.”
“Is that the only reason you should have thanked me?” He stood and went into a little alcove.
“No. I appreciate the chance to go.”
“You want cream in this coffee?”
“Aye.” He could have said you’re welcome, she thought, then let it pass. Nothing was going to spoil her mood. When he sat, she took the cup but was too wound up to drink. “Will you give me an answer if I ask a question that’s none of my business?”
Burke drew out a cigar and lit it. “I’ll give you an answer, but not necessarily the truth.” He kicked out his legs, then rested his ankles on the seat beside her.
“Did you really win Three Aces in a poker game?”
He blew out smoke. “Yes and no.”
“That’s not an answer at all.”
“Yes, I played poker with Cunningham—quite a bit of poker with Cunningham—and he lost heavily. When you gamble you have to know when to stick and when to walk away. He didn’t.”
“So you won the farm from him.”
She’d like that, he thought, watching her eyes. He imagined she saw a smoky, liquor-scented room with two men bent over five cards each and the deed to the farm between them. “In a manner of speaking. I won money from him, more money than he had to lose. He didn’t have enough cash to pay me, or for that matter to pay certain other parties who were growing tired of holding IOUs. In the end, I bought the farm from him, dirt cheap.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t quite as romantic. “You must have been rich before then.”
