Page 5 of Irish Rose
“At the moment.”
Erin’s lips pursed as she considered. She could picture him at the track, with the noise and the smells of the horses. Try as she might, she couldn’t put him behind a desk, balancing accounts and ledgers. “Travis’s farm is quite successful.”
His lips curved again. “Is that your way of asking about mine?”
Her chin angled as she looked away. “It’s certainly none of my concern.”
“No, it’s not. But I do well enough. I wasn’t born into it like Travis, but I find it suits me—for now. They’d take you back with them if you asked.”
At first it didn’t sink in. Then her lips parted in surprise as she turned to him again.
“I recognize a restless soul when I see one.” Burke blew out smoke so that it trailed through the window and disappeared. “You’re straining at the bit to get out of this little smudge on the map. Though if you ask me, it has its charm.”
“No one asked you.”
“True enough, but it’s hard not to notice when you stand on the curb and look around as though you wished the whole village to hell.”
“That’s not true.” The guilt rose in her because for a moment, just a moment, she’d come close to wishing it so.
“All right, we’ll alter that to you wishing yourself anywhere else. I know the feeling, Irish.”
“You don’t know what I feel. You don’t know me at all.”
“Better than you think,” he murmured. “Feeling trapped, stifled, smothered?” She said nothing this time. “Looking at the same space you saw the day you were born and wondering if it’s the last thing you’ll see before you die? Wondering why you don’t walk out, stick out your thumb and head whichever way the wind’s blowing? How old are you, Erin McKinnon?”
What he was saying hit too close to the bone for comfort. “I’m twenty-five, and what of it?”
“I was five years younger when I stuck my thumb out.” He turned to her, but again she saw only her own reflection. “Can’t say I ever regretted it.”
“Well, it’s happy I am for you, Mr. Logan. Now, if you’ll slow down, the lane’s there. Just pull to the side. I can walk from here.”
“Suit yourself.” When he stopped the van, he put a hand on her arm before she could climb out. He wasn’t sure why he’d offered to drive her or why he’d started this line of conversation. He was following a hunch, as he had for most of his life. “I know ambition when I see it because it looks back at me out of the mirror most mornings. Some consider it a sin. I’ve always thought of it as a blessing.”
What was it about him that made her throat dry up and her nerves stretch? “Have you a point, Mr. Logan?”
“I like your looks, Erin. I’d hate to see them wrinkled up with discontent.” He grinned again and tipped an invisible hat. “Top of the morning to you.”
Unsure whether she was running from him or her own demons, Erin got out of the van, slammed the door, and hurried down the lane.
Chapter Two
She had a great deal to think about. Erin sat through dinner at the inn, with her family talking on top of each other, with laughter rolling into laughter. Voices were raised to be heard over the clatter of tableware, the scrape of chair legs, the occasional shout. Scents were a mixture of good hot food and whiskey. The lights had been turned up high in celebration. The group filled Mrs. Malloy’s dining room at the inn, but wasn’t so very much bigger than a Sunday supper at the farm.
Erin ate little herself, not because one of her brothers seemed to interrupt constantly to have her pass this or that, but because she couldn’t stop thinking about what Burke had said to her that afternoon.
Shewasdissatisfied, though she didn’t like the idea that a stranger could see it as easily as her family had always overlooked it. Years before she’d convinced herself it wasn’t wrong to be so. How could it be wrong to feel what was so natural? True, she’d been taught that envy was a sin, but...
Damn it all, she wasn’t a saint and wouldn’t choose to be one. The envy she felt for Dee sitting cozily beside her husband felt healthy, not sinful. After all, it wasn’t as if she wished her cousin didn’t have; it was only that she wished she had as well. She doubted a body burned in hell for wishes. But she didn’t think they grew wings for them, either.
In truth, she was glad the Grants had come back to visit. For a few days she could listen to their stories of America and picture it. She could ask questions and imagine the big stone house Dee lived in now and almost catch glimpses of the excitement and power of the racing world. When they left again, everything would settle back to routine.
But not forever, Erin promised herself. No, not forever. In a year, maybe two, she would have saved enough, and then it would be off to Dublin. She’d get a job in some big office and have a flat of her own. Of her very own. No one was going to stop her.
Her lips started to curve at the thought, but then her gaze met Burke’s across the table. He wasn’t wearing those concealing glasses now. She almost wished he was. They’d been disturbing, but not nearly as disturbing as his eyes—dark gray, intense eyes. A wolf would have eyes like that, smoky and patient and cunning. He had no business looking at her like that, she thought, then stubbornly stared right back at him.
The noise and confusion of the table continued around them, but she lost track of it. Was it the amusement in his eyes that drew her, or the arrogance? Perhaps it was because both added up to a peculiar kind of knowledge. She wasn’t sure, but she felt something for him at that moment, something she knew she shouldn’t feel and was even more certain she’d regret.
An Irish rose, Burke thought. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen one, but was certain they would have thorns, thick ones with sharp edges. An Irish rose, a wild rose, wouldn’t be fragile or require careful handling. It would be sturdy, strong and stubborn enough to grow through briers. It was a flower he thought he could respect.
