Page 45 of Irish Rebel
“Oh.” Adelia looked up. Her eyes were damp, but she shook her head and smiled. “You startled me. It’s so bloody quiet in this house.”
Keeley stepped in. The room had bright blue walls. The curtains and spread picked up that bold hue and matched it with an equally vivid green in wide stripes. It should have been horrible, Keeley mused, as she often did. But it worked.
And it was completely Sarah.
“Do you and Dad share the same brain?” Keeping her voice light, Keeley sat on the bed. “He was feeling sad this morning over the same thing.”
“I suppose after all these years together, you pick up the same vibrations or whatever. And Sarah called just a bit ago. She’s desperately in need for this particular red sweater, which she can’t think how she forgot to take with her. She sounds so happy and busy and grown up.”
“They’ll all be home next month for Thanksgiving, then again for Christmas.”
“I know. Still, if I could think of a way to get away with it, I’d deliver this sweater myself instead of shipping it. Lord, look at the time. I’ve got to get myself cleaned up and changed for dinner. And so do you.”
“Yeah.” Keeley pursed her lips in thought while her mother smoothed the sweater one more time and rose. “I’m running behind today,” she began. “I seem to be running behind a lot lately.”
“That’s what happens to successful people.”
“I suppose so. And adding on this class is going to crowd my time and energy even more.”
“You know I’ll give you a hand when you need it, and so will your father.” Adelia walked out of the room and into her own to lay Sarah’s sweater aside.
“Yes, I appreciate that. I guess I’m going to have to seriously consider something more formal and permanent, though. I really hate to. I mean, taking on an outsider, it’s difficult for me. But...”
Keeley let the word hang, surprised when her mother—who usually had something to say—remained silent.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in working part-time at the school?”
Adelia turned her head, met Keeley’s eyes in the mirror over the bureau. “Are you offering me a job?”
“It sounds awfully strange when you put it that way, but yes. But don’t do it because you feel obliged. Only if you think you’d have the time or the inclination.”
Adelia spun around, her face brilliant. “What the devil’s taken you so long? I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Really? You really want to?”
“I’ve beendyingto. Oh, it’s taken every bit of my willpower not to come down there every day until you just got so used to me being around you didn’t realize Iwasworking there. This is exciting!” She rushed over to give Keeley a hug. “I can’t wait to tell your father.”
Keeping her arms tight around her daughter, Adelia did a quick dance. “I’m a groom again.”
“If I’d known you were available, Dee, and looking for work, I’d’ve hired you.” Burke Logan settled back in his chair and winked at his wife’s cousin.
“We like to keep the best on at Royal Meadows.” Adelia twinkled at him across the table in the track’s dining room. He was as handsome and as dangerous to look at as he’d been nearly twenty years before when she’d first met him.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Burke trailed a hand over his wife’s shoulder. “We have the best bookkeeper around at Three Aces.”
“In that case, I want a raise.” Erin picked up her wine and sent Burke a challenging look. “A big one. Trevor?” Her voice was smooth, shimmering with Ireland as she addressed her son. “Do you have in mind to eat that pork chop or just use it for decoration?”
“I’m reading theRacing Form, Ma.”
“His father’s son,” Erin muttered and snagged the paper from him. “Eat your dinner.”
He heaved a sigh as only a twelve-year-old boy could. “I think Topeka in the third, with Lonesome in the fifth and Hennessy in the sixth for the trifecta. Dad says Topeka’s generous and a cinch tip.”
At his wife’s long stare, Burke cleared his throat. “Stuff that pork chop in your mouth, Trev. Where’s Jena?”
“She’s fussing with her hair,” Mo announced, and snatched a french fry from Travis’s plate. “As usual,” she added with the worldly air only an older sister could achieve, “the minute she turned fourteen she decided her hair was the bane of her existence. Huh. Like having long, thick, straight-as-a-pin black hair is a problem. This”—she tugged on one of the hundreds of wild red curls that spiraled around her face—“is a problem. If you’re going to worry about something as stupid as hair, which I don’t. Anyway, you guys have to come over and see this weanling I have my eye on. He’s going to be amazing. And if Dad lets me train him...”
She trailed off, slanting a look at her father across the table.
