Page 5 of Irish Rebel
“I enjoyed meeting your family.”
Because he sounded sincere she unbent enough to smile. “You haven’t met them all yet.”
“Your brother in college.”
“Brady, yes, but there’s my aunt and uncle. Erin and Burke Logan, and their three children, from the neighboring Three Aces farm.”
“I’ve heard of the Logans, yes. Seen them ’round the tracks a time or two in Ireland. Don’t they come to functions here?”
“Often, but they’re away just now. If you stay in the area, you’ll see quite a bit of them.”
“And you? Do you still live at home?”
“Yes.” She shifted, glanced back toward the light. “That’s why it’s home.”
Which was where she wanted to be right now, she realized. Home. The thought of going back inside that overwarm and overcrowded room seemed unbearable.
“The music’s better from a distance.”
“Hmm?” She didn’t bother to look at him, wished only that he would go away and give her back her moment of solitude.
“The music,” Brian repeated. “It’s better when you can barely hear it.”
Because she agreed, wholeheartedly, she laughed. “Better yet when you can’t hear it at all.”
It was the laugh that did it. There’d been warmth then. The way smoke brought warmth even as it clogged your brain. He reached for her before he let himself think. “I don’t know about that.”
She went rigid. Not with a jerk as many women would, he noted, but by standing so absolutely still she stiffened every muscle.
“What are you doing?”
The words dripped ice, and left him no choice but to tighten his grip on her waist. Pride rammed against pride and the result was solid steel. “Dancing. You do dance, I saw you. And this is a better spot for it than in there, where you’re jammed elbow to ass, don’t you think?”
Perhaps she agreed. Perhaps she was even amused. Still, she was accustomed to being asked, not just grabbed. “I came out here to get away from the dancing.”
“You didn’t, no. You came out to get away from the crowd.”
She moved with him because to do otherwise was too much like an embrace. And Sarah had been right, he had some lovely moves. Her heels brought her gaze level with his mouth. She’d been right, she decided. Entirely too sensuous. Deliberately she tilted her head back until their eyes met.
“How long have you been working with horses?” It was a safe topic, she thought, and an expected one.
“All my life, one way or another. And you? Are you one for riding, or just for looking from a distance?”
“I can ride.” The question irritated her, and nearly had her tossing her collection of blue ribbons and medals in his face. “Relocating, if you do, would mean a big change for you. Job, country, culture.”
“I like a challenge.” Something about the way he said it, about the way his hand was spread over her back had her eyes narrowing.
“Those that do often wander off looking for the next when the challenge is met. It’s a game, lacking substance or commitment. I think more of people who build something worthwhile where they are.”
Because it was no more than the truth, it shouldn’t have stung. But it did. “As your parents have.”
“Yes.”
“It’s easy isn’t it, to have that sensibility when you’ve never had to build something from the ground up with nothing but your own hands and wits?”
“That may be, but I respect someone who digs in for the long haul more than the one who jumps from opportunity to opportunity—or challenge.”
“And that’s what you think I’m doing here?”
