Page 7 of Irish Rose
She laughed again and put a hand on his arm with the simple generosity he’d never quite gotten used to. “If a man doesn’t make a fool of himself now and again, he’s not living.” She took a couple of deep, steadying breaths, but couldn’t keep her foot from tapping. “Oh, it’s like magic when Cullen plays and all the more magic to be here, hearing it.” She brought Travis’s hand to her lips, then rested her cheek on it. “Mary McKinnon can still outdance anyone in the county, but Erin’s wonderful, too, isn’t she?”
Burke took a long sip of whiskey. “It’s not a hardship to watch her.”
Laughing again, Adelia rested her head against her husband’s arm. “I suppose as her elder cousin I should warn her about your reputation with women.”
Burke swirled the whiskey in his glass and gave her a bland look. “What reputation is that?”
With her head still nestled against Travis, she smiled up at him. “Oh, I hear things, Mr. Logan. Fascinating things. The racing world’s a tight little group, you know. I’ve heard murmurs that a man not only has to watch his daughters but his wife when you’re about.”
“If I was interested in another man’s wife, you’d be the first to know.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Her eyes laughed at him.
“Travis, I think Burke’s flirting with me.”
“Apparently,” he agreed, and kissed the top of her head.
“A warning, Mr. Logan. It’s easy enough to flirt with a woman who’s five months along with twins and who knows you’re a scoundrel. But mind your step. The Irish are a clever lot.” She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “If you keep staring at her like that, Matthew McKinnon’s going to load his shotgun.”
He glanced back as Erin stepped away from the group. “No law against looking.”
“There should be when it comes to you.” She snuggled against Travis again. “Looks like Erin’s going outside for a breath of air.” When Burke merely lifted a brow, she smiled. “You’d probably like to light that cigar, maybe take a little walk in the night air yourself.”
“As a matter of fact, I would.” He nodded to her, then sauntered to the door.
“Were you warning him off or egging him on?” Travis wanted to know.
“Just enjoying the view, love.” She turned her mouth up for a kiss.
Erin drew her jacket tightly around her. Nights were coldest in February, but she didn’t mind now. The air was bracing and the moon half-full. She was glad her father had pressured her to dance. It seemed too seldom now that there was time for small celebrations. There was so much work to be done, and not as many hands to do it now that Frank had married and started his own family. And within a year she expected Sean to marry the Hennessy girl. With Cullen more interested in his music than milking, that left only Joe and Brian. And herself.
The family was growing, but at the same time spreading out. The farm had to survive. Erin knew that was indisputable. Her father would simply wither away without it. Just as she knew she would wither away if she stayed much longer. The only solution was to find a way to ensure both.
She hugged herself with her arms to ward off the wind. It brought with it the scent of Mrs. Malloy’s wild roses and rhododendrons. She wouldn’t think of it now. In a short time the Grants would be gone and her own yearnings for more would fade a bit. When the time was right, something would happen. She looked up at the moon and smiled. Hadn’t she promised herself that she’d make something happen?
She heard the scrape and flare of a lighter and braced herself.
“Nice night.”
She didn’t turn. The little jolt to her system teased her. No, she hadn’t wanted him to come out, she told herself. Why should she? Since he had, she would hold her own. “It’s a bit cold.”
“You look warm enough.” She wouldn’t give an inch. It only gave him the pleasure of taking it from her. “I liked the dancing.”
She turned to walk slowly away from the inn. It didn’t surprise her when he fell into step beside her. “You’re missing it.”
“You stopped.” The end of his cigar grew bright and red as he took another puff. “Your brother has a gift.”
“Aye.” She listened now as the music turned from jaunty to sad. “He wrote this one. Hearing it’s like hearing a heart break.” Music like this always made her long, and fear, and wonder what it would be like to feel so strongly about another. “Are you a music lover, Mr. Logan?”
“When the tune’s right.” This one was a waltz, a slow, weepy one. On impulse he slipped his arms around her and picked up the time.
“What are you doing?”
“Dancing,” he said simply.
“A man’s supposed to ask.” But she didn’t pull away, and her steps matched his easily. The motion and the music made her smile. She turned her face up to his. The grass was soft beneath her feet, the moonlight sweet. “You don’t look like the kind of man who can waltz.”
“One of my few cultural accomplishments.” She fit nicely into his arms, slender but not fragile, soft but not malleable. “And it seems to be a night for dancing.”
She said nothing for a moment. There was magic here, starlight, roses and sad music. The flutter in her stomach, the warmth along her skin, warned her that a woman took chances waltzing under the night sky with a stranger. But still she moved with him.
