Page 57 of Irish Rebel
Brian turned when he heard her approach. The vague irritation at the interruption vanished when he saw Finnegan. He felt a keen interest there, and passing his clipboard and some instructions to the assistant trainer, moved toward the gelding.
“Well now, you’re looking fit and fine, aren’t you?” Automatically he bent down to check the injured leg. “No heat. That’s good. How long have you had him out?”
“About fifteen minutes, at a walk.”
“He could probably take a canter. He’s looking good as new, no signs of swelling.” Brian straightened, narrowing his eyes against the sun as he looked up at Keeley. “But you? Are you all right? You’re a bit pale.”
“Am I?” Small wonder, she thought, but smiled as she enjoyed the sensation of holding a secret inside her. “I don’t feel pale. But you...” Swimming in the river of discovery, she leaned down. “You look wonderful. Rough and windblown and sexy.”
His narrowed eyes flickered, and he stepped back, a little uneasy when she rubbed a hand over his cheek. There were a half a dozen men milling around, he thought. And every one of them had eyes.
“I was called down to the stables early this morning, didn’t take time to shave.”
She decided to take his evasive move as a challenge rather than an insult. “I like it. Just a little dangerous. If you’ve got time later, I thought you might help me out.”
“With what?”
“Take a ride with me.”
“I could do that.”
“Good. About five?” She leaned down again and this time took a fistful of his shirt to yank him a step closer. “And, Brian? Don’t shave.”
The woman threw him off balance, and he didn’t care for it. Giving him those hot looks and intimate little strokes in the middle of the damn morning so he went through the whole of the day itchy.
Worse yet, the man who was paying him to work through the day, not to be distracted by his glands, was the woman’s father.
It was a situation, Brian thought, and he’d done a great deal to bring it on himself. Still, how could he have known in the beginning that he’d become so involved with her on so many levels inside himself? Falling in love had been a hard knock, but he’d taken knocks before. You got bruised and you went on. A bit of attraction was all right, a little flirtation was harmless enough. And the truth was, he’d enjoyed the risk of it. To a point.
But he was well past that point now. Now he was all wrapped up in her and at the same time had become fond of her family. Travis wasn’t just a good and fair boss, but was on the way to becoming a kind of friend.
And here he was finding ways to make love to his friend’s daughter as often as humanly possible.
Worse than that, he admitted as he strode toward her stables, he was—from time to time—catching himself dreaming. These little fantasies would sneak into his head when he was busy doing something else. He’d find himself wondering how it would all be between Keeley and him if things were different, if they were on the same level, so to speak. And he thought—well, that is if he were the settling-down sort—that she might be just the one to settle down with.
If he were interested in rooting in one place with one person, that is. Which of course, wasn’t in his plans at all. Even if it was—which it wasn’t—it wouldn’t work.
She was clubhouse and he was shedrow, and that was that.
Keeley was just kicking up her heels a bit. He understood about that, couldn’t hold it against her. For all the privilege, she’d had a sheltered life and now was taking a few whacks at the boundaries of it. He’d rebelled himself against the borders of his own upbringing by sliding his way out of school and into the stables when he’d still been a boy. Nothing had stopped him, not the arguments, the threats, the punishments.
As soon as he’d been able, he’d left home, moving from stable to stable, track to track. He’d kept loose, he’d kept free and unfettered. And had never looked back. His brothers and sisters married, raised children, planted gardens, worked in steady jobs. They owned things, he thought now, while he owned nothing that couldn’t easily fit in his traveling bag or be disposed of when he took to the next road.
When you owned things you had to tend them. Before you knew it, you owned more. Then the weight of them kept your feet planted in one spot.
He flicked a glance up at the pretty stone building that was his quarters, and admired the way it stood out against the evening sky. Flowers in colors of rust and scarlet and gold ran along the foundation, and the truck he’d bought from Paddy was parked like it belonged.
He stopped and, much as Keeley had that morning, turned to survey the land. It was a place, he realized, that could hold a man if he wasn’t careful. The openness of it could fool you into believing it wasn’t confining, then it would tempt you to plant things—yourself included—until it had you, heart and soul.
It was smart to remember it wasn’t his land, any more than the horses were his horses. Or Keeley was his woman.
But when he stepped over toward her paddock, that fantasy snuck up on him again. In the long, soft shadows and quiet light of evening she saddled the big buff-colored gelding he knew she called Honey. Her hair was pinned on top of her head in an absentminded, messy knot that was ridiculously sexy. She wore jeans and a sweater of Kelly green.
She looked... reachable, Brian realized. Like the kind of woman a man wanted with him after a long day’s work. There’d be a lot to talk about with this woman, over dinner, in the privacy of bed. Shared loves, shared jokes.
A man could wake up in the morning with a woman like that and not feel trapped, or worry that she did.
Catching himself, Brian shook his head. That was foolish thinking.
