Page 51 of Irish Rebel
“Is that supposed to flatter me?”
“No. It just is, and doesn’t flatter either of us.” He moved out of the box to get flannel to heat for a hot fermentation.
No, she thought. She’d be damned if she’d leave it at that. “Is that all there is to it, Brian?” she demanded as she followed him out. “Just sex?”
He ran water, hot as his hand could bear, and soaked a large section of flannel in it. “No.” He spoke without turning around. “I care about you. That just makes it more difficult.”
“It should make it easier.”
“It doesn’t.”
“I don’t understand you. Would you be happier if we just jumped each other, without any connection, any understanding or feelings?”
He hauled up the bucket. “Infinitely. But it’s too late for that, isn’t it?”
Baffled, she walked back into the box behind him, “You’re angry with me because you care about me. This water’s too hot,” she said when she tested it.
“No, it isn’t. And I’m not angry with you at t’all.” Murmuring to the gelding, he lay the heated flannel over the abscess. “A bit with myself, maybe, but it’s more satisfying to take it out on you.”
“That, at least, I can understand. Brian, why are we fighting?” She laid a hand over the one he held pressed to the flannel. “We’re doing the right thing here tonight. The method of how we got the gelding here isn’t as important as what happens to him now.”
“You’re right, of course.” He studied the contrast of their hands. His big, rough from work and hers small and elegant.
“And why we care for each other isn’t as important as what we do about it.”
About that he wasn’t as sure, so he said nothing while she lifted another square of flannel and wrung it out.
Morning dawned misty and cool. As she’d slept poorly, Keeley’s mind refused to click into gear. Her usual rush of morning adrenaline deserted her so that she began her daily chores with her body dragging and her brain fogged.
Brian’s doing, she thought sulkily. This inconsistency of his, this off-and-on insistence to keep a distance between them was baffling. She’d never run into a problem she couldn’t solve, an obstacle she couldn’t overcome. But this one, this one man, might just be the exception.
He hurt her, and she hadn’t been prepared for it. Could they have spent so much time together, been so intimate, and not understand each other? He cared about her, and that made it a problem. What kind of logic was that? she asked herself. Where was the sense in that kind of thinking?
Caring about someone made all the difference. She’d seen that constant well of compassion in him. It was, she admitted, as attractive, as appealing to her as that long, tough body, that thick, unkempt mane of sun-streaked hair.
The look of him, the face of planes and angles, the bold green eyes, might have stirred her blood—and had, though she’d been more annoyed than pleased initially. But it was the heart, the patience, the nurturing side he refused to acknowledge that had won her interest and respect.
Rather than being a problem, it had been, and was, the solution for her.
How could he look at her now, after all they’d shared, and see only the pampered daughter of a privileged home?
How could he, believing that, have feelings for her?
It was baffling, irritating and very close to infuriating. Or would be, she thought with a yawn, if she wasn’t so damned tired.
The lack of energy struck unfairly keen when Mo bounced into the stables. “Just had to come by before I headed off to the eternal hell of school.” She popped right into the box where Keeley was examining the injured knee. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s more comfortable.” Testing, Keeley lifted the gelding’s foot, bending the knee. He snorted, shied. “But you can see there’s still pain.”
“Poor guy. Poor big guy.” Clucking, Mo patted his flank. “You were such a hero last night, Keel. I mean just stepping in and taking right over. I knew you would.”
Keeley’s brows drew together. “I didn’t take over. I don’t take over.”
“Sure you did—you always do. The original take-charge gal. Very cool to watch. And this guy’s grateful, aren’t you, boy? Oh, and the hunk wasn’t hard on the eyes, either.” Grinning, she gave an obvious and deliberate shudder. “The real physical type. I thought he was going to punch that idiot Tarmack right in the face. Was kinda hoping he would. Anyway, the pair of you made a great team.”
“I suppose.”
“So, what about those smoldering looks?”
