Page 37 of Irish Rebel
Brian came to know the roads leading from Maryland into West Virginia as well as he knew those in the county of Kerry. The highways where cars flashed by like little rockets, and the curving back roads where everything meandered were all part of his life now, and what some people would say led to a feeling of home.
There were times the green of the hills, the rise of them, reminded him of Ireland. The pang he felt at those moments surprised him as he didn’t consider himself a sentimental man. At others, he’d drive along a winding road that followed a winding creek and the land was all so very different with its thick woods and walls of rock. Almost exotic. Then he’d feel a sense of contentment that surprised him nearly as much.
He didn’t mind contentment. It just wasn’t what he was looking for.
He liked to move. To travel from place to place. It was all to the good that his position at Royal Meadows gave him that opportunity. He figured in a couple of years, he’d have seen a great deal of America—even if the oval was in the foreground of each view.
He told himself he didn’t think of Ireland as home—or Maryland as home, either. Home was the shedrow, wherever it might be.
Still, he felt a sense of welcome and ease when he drove between the stone pillars at Royal Meadows. And he felt pleasure when he saw Keeley in her paddock with one of her classes. He stopped to watch as she took her group from trot to canter.
It was a pretty sight, not despite the clumsiness and caution of some of the children, but because of it. This was no slick and choreographed competition but the first steps of a new adventure. Fun, she’d said, he remembered. They would learn, take responsibility, but she didn’t forget they were children.
And some of them had been hurt.
Seeing her with them, looking at what she’d built herself when she could have spent her days exactly as he’d once imagined she did, brought him more than respect for what she was. It brought admiration that was a little too bright for comfort.
He could hear the squeals, and Keeley’s calm, firm voice—a pretty sight and a pretty sound. He climbed out of the truck and walked over for a closer view.
There were grins miles wide, and eyes big as platters. There were giggles and there were gasps. As far as Brian could see, the mood ran from screaming nerves to wild delight. Through it all, Keeley gave orders, instruction, encouragement, and used each child’s name.
Her long fire-fall of hair was roped back again. Her jeans were faded to a soft blue-gray like the many-pocketed vest she topped over it. Under that she wore a slim sweater the color of spring daffodils. She liked her bright tones, Keeley did, Brian mused. And her glitters as well, he mused as the light caught the dangle of little stones at her ears.
She’d be wearing perfume. She always had some cagey female scent about her. Sometimes just a drift that you had to get right up beside her to catch. And other times it was a siren call that beckoned you from a distance.
Never knowing which it would be was enough to drive a man mad.
He should stay away from her, Brian told himself. God knew he should stay away from her. And he figured he had as much chance of doing so as one of her riding hacks had of winning the Breeder’s Cup.
She knew he was there. The ripple of heat over her skin told her so. She couldn’t afford to be distracted with six children depending on her full attention. But oh, the awareness of him, of herself and that quick trip of the pulse, was a glorious sensation.
She began to understand why women so often made fools of themselves for men.
When she ordered the class to switch back to a trot, there were a few groans of disappointment. She had them change directions, then took them through all their paces, and back down to walk. Brian waited until she instructed them to stop, then applauded.
“Nicely done,” he said. “Anyone here looking for a job, you just come see me.”
“We have an audience today. This is Mr. Donnelly. He’s head trainer at Royal Meadows. He’s in charge of the racehorses.”
“Indeed I am, and I’ve always got my eyes open for a new jockey.”
“He talks pretty,” one of the girls whispered, but Brian’s ears were keen. He shot her a grin and had her blushing like a rosebud.
“Do you think so?”
“Mr. Donnelly’s from Ireland,” Keeley explained. Amazing, she thought, he even makes ten-year-old girls moon.
“Miss Keeley’s mother’s from Ireland. She talks pretty, too.”
Brian glanced up and saw the boy he remembered as Willy studying him. “No one talks prettier than those from Ireland, lad. It’s because we’ve all been kissed by the fairies.”
“You’re supposed to get money from the Tooth Fairy when you lose a tooth, but I never did.”
“That’s just your mother.” The girl behind Willy rolled her eyes. “There aren’t real fairies.”
“Maybe they don’t live here in America, but we’ve plenty where I come from. I’ll put a word in for you, Willy, next time you lose a tooth.”
His eyes rounded. “How did you know my name?”
