Page 56 of Irish Rebel
The problem, as she saw it, was nudging him along from affair to commitment and commitment to marriage. She’d been raised to believe in permanency, in family, in the promise two people made to love for a lifetime.
She really had no choice but to marry Brian and make a life with him. And she was going to see to it he had no choice, either.
It was a bit like training a horse, she supposed. There was a lot of repetition, rewards, patience and affection. And a firm hand under it all.
She thought it would be most sensible for them to become engaged at Christmas, and marry the following summer. Certainly it would be most convenient for them to build their life near Royal Meadows as both of them worked there. Nothing could be simpler.
All she had to do was lead Brian to the same conclusions.
Being the kind of man he was, she imagined he’d want to make the moves. It was a little galling, but she loved him enough to wait until he made his declaration. It wouldn’t be with hearts and flowers, she mused as she walked Finnegan around the paddock. Knowing Brian there would be passion, and challenge and just a hint of temper.
She was looking forward to it.
She stopped to check the gelding’s leg for any heat or swelling. Gently she picked up his foot to bend the knee. When he showed no signs of discomfort, she gave him a brisk rub on the neck.
“Yeah,” she said when he blew affectionately on her shoulder, “feeling pretty good these days, aren’t you? I think you’re ready for some exercise.”
His coat looked healthy again, she noted as she saddled him. Time, care and attention had turned the tide for him. Perhaps he’d never be a beauty, and certainly he was no champion, but he had a sweet nature and a willing spirit.
That was more than enough.
When she swung into the saddle, Finnegan tossed his head, then at her signal started out of the paddock in a dignified walk.
She went cautiously for a time, tuning herself to him, checking for any hitch in his gait that would indicate he was favoring his leg. It pleased her so much to feel him slide into a smooth rhythm that after a few moments she relaxed enough to enjoy the quiet ride.
Fall had used a rich and varied pallette this year to paint the trees in bold tones of golds and reds and orange. They swept over the hard blue canvas of sky and flamed under the strong slant of sunlight.
The fields held on to the deep green of high summer. Weanlings danced over the pastures, long legs reaching for speed as they charged their own shadows. Mares, their bellies swollen with the foals they carried, cropped lazily.
On the brown oval, colts and fillies raced in the majestic blur of power that brought thunder to the air.
This painting, Keeley thought, had been hers the whole of her life. The images that came back, repeating season after season. The beauty and strength of it, and the settled knowledge that it would go on year into year.
This she could, and would, pass on to her own children when the time came. The solidity of it, and the responsibilities, the joys and the sweat.
Sitting astride the healing gelding, she felt her throat ache with love. It wasn’t just a place, it was a gift. One that had been treasured and tended by her parents. Her part in it, of it, would never be taken for granted.
When she saw Brian leaning on the fence, his attention riveted on the horses pounding down the backstretch, her aching throat seemed to snap shut.
For a moment she could only blink, stunned by the sudden, vicious pressure in her chest. Her skin tingled. There was no other word to describe how nerves swarmed over her in a wash of chills and heat.
As she fought to catch her breath, her heart pounded, a hammer on an anvil. The gelding shied under her, and had danced in a fretful half circle before she thought to control him.
And her hands trembled.
No, this was wrong. This wasn’t acceptable at all. Where did this come from—how did she get this ball of terror in her stomach? She’d already accepted that she loved him, hadn’t she? And it had been easy, a simple process of steps and study. Her mind was made up, her goals set. Damn it, she’d been pleased by the whole business.
So what was this shaky, dizzy,painfulsensation, this clutch of panic that made her want to turn her mount sharply around and ride as far away as possible?
She’d been wrong, Keeley realized as she pressed an unsteady hand to her jumpy heart. She’d only been falling in love up to now. How foolish of her to be lulled by the smooth slide of it. This was the moment, she understood that now. This was the moment the bottom dropped away and sent her crashing.
Now the wind was knocked out of her, that same shock of sensation that came from losing your seat over a jump and finding yourself flipping through space until the ground reached up and smacked into you. Jolting bones and head and heart.
Love was an outrageous shock to the system, she thought. It was a wonder anyone survived it.
She was a Grant, Keeley reminded herself and straightened in the saddle. She knew how to take a tumble, just as she knew how to pick herself back up and focus mind and energy on the goal. She wouldn’t just survive this knock to the heart. She’d thrive on it. And when she was done with Brian Donnelly, he wouldn’t know what had hit him.
She steadied herself much as she had done before competitions. She took slow and deliberate breaths until her pulse rate slowed, focused her mind until it was calm as lake water, then she rode down to face her goal.
