The Irish Trilogy by Nora Roberts

by Nora Roberts

  Despite his concentration, he was aware when Keeley dismounted behind him. He took out his stopwatch, turning it over and over in his hand as the field was led to the gate.

  “I don’t know the yearling at the rail,” Keeley said conversationally as she looped her reins around the top rung of the fence.

  “Your father named him Tempest in a Teacup, as he’s got a small build, but he’s full of spirit. You don’t often ride this way in the morning.”

  “No, but I wanted to see the progress. And my new assistant is handling things at the office.”

  He glanced over. She’d taken the band out of her hair. It flowed wild over her shoulders, but her face was cool and very serious. “Assistant is it? When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday. My mother’s working with me at the school now. Contrary to some beliefs, I don’t insist on handling all the steps and stages by myself, when help is offered.”

  “Touchy still, are you?”

  “Apparently.”

  “Well, you’ll have to snarl at me later. I’m busy. Jim! Hold him steady now,” Brian called out as Tempest shied a bit at the gate. “That one still objects a bit to being penned in. There, that’s it,” he murmured as the horses were loaded and the back gate shut. He held a finger over the timer, plunging when the gates sprang open.

  The horses flew out.

  He wondered if there was anything that gave his heart more of a knock than that instant, that first rush of speed, that blur of great bodies surging forward on the track.

  But through the thrill of it, his eyes missed nothing. The stretch of legs, the clouds of dirt, the figures riding low over the necks.

  “She wants the lead, right from the start,” he murmured. “Wants the rest tasting her dust.”

  Caught up, Keeley leaned over the rail as the horses made the first turn. The thunder of hoofbeats drummed in her blood. “She runs well in a crowd. You were right about that. Tempest is a little nervy.”

  “We might try a shadow roll on him. He wants the outside. He’s about endurance. The longer the race, the better he’ll like it. There’s Betty now. She wants the rail. Aye, she’ll hug it like a lover.”

  Without thinking, he laid his hand over Keeley’s on the rail. “Just look at her, will you? That’s a champion. She doesn’t need any of us. She knows it.”

  With his hand warm and firm over hers, Keeley watched the horses streak down the backstretch with Betty nearly a length in the lead. Pride and pleasure tangled inside her.

  When Brian let out a shout, clicked his watch again, she started to turn, to indulge the giddy thrill by throwing her arms around him. But he was already drawing away.

  “That’s good time, damn good time. And she’ll do better yet.” He nodded, his eyes tracking as the riders rose high in their stirrups and slowed their mounts. “I’ll find the right race for her, give her a taste of the real thing.”

  Giving Keeley an absent pat on the shoulder, he vaulted the fence.

  She watched him go to the horses, to stroke and compliment Tempest, give the rider a few words before moving on to Betty.

  The filly pranced flirtatiously, then lowered her head to nibble delicately on Brian’s shoulder.

  You’re wrong, Keeley thought. Whatever she knows, whatever she is, she needs you.

  And so, damn it, do I.

  After he’d stroked, nuzzled, praised, and the horses were led away to be cooled down, Brian jumped over the fence again to pick up his clipboard.

  “I’d hoped your father would be down to see her first run with a field.”

  “I’m sure he would have. He must be tied up with something.”

  With a grunt in response, Brian continued to scribble notes. “Well, I’m running more of the yearlings this morning, so he’ll see plenty. How’s the gelding?”

  “Comfortable. The swelling’s down a little. I want to wait until after my class today to drench him. It’s a messy business and I don’t need a half dozen kids coming around once it starts to work on him.”

  “Best to wait till late in the day anyway. You want a good twenty-four hours between his last feeding and the drenching. I can do that for you if you’re busy.”

  The automatic refusal was on the tip of her tongue. She nipped it off, took a breath. “Actually, I was hoping you’d find time to take a look at him later.”

  “I can do that.” He glanced up, saw how set and serious her face was. “What is it? Are you that worried?”

  “No.” She took another breath, ordered herself to relax. “I’m sure everything will be fine.” She’d make sure of it, she told herself. One way or the other. “I’ll feel better when things are under control, that’s all.”

  ***

  She worked it out. She felt better when she had a situation defined and a goal in mind. This one wasn’t really so complicated, after all. She wanted Brian. She was fairly certain she was in love with him. Being certain of that would take a little more time, she imagined, a little more consideration.

  After all this was new territory and needed to be approached with caution and preparation.

  But her feelings for him were strong, and not as one-dimensional as simple attraction.

  If it was love, then she needed to make him fall in love with her. She was perfectly willing to work toward what she wanted, as long as she got it in the end.

  Pleasantly tired after a long day’s work, she gave her horses their evening meal. There was no question about it, she decided. Having her mother help had taken a huge burden of time and effort off her shoulders.

  Was it stubbornness, she wondered, that caused her to pull back from a helping hand so often? She didn’t think so. But it was something nearly as mulish. She wanted the people she loved and who loved her to be proud of her. And she equated that, foolishly, she admitted, with the need to be perfect.

  But she preferred thinking of it as taking responsibility.

  Just as she was doing now with Brian, she mused. If she was in love with him, she was responsible for her own feelings. And it was up to her to try to generate those same feelings in him.

  If she failed . . . No, she wouldn’t consider that. Once you considered failure you were one step farther away from success.

  Moving into the gelding’s box, she hung his hay bag and measured out his feed. “It’s better tonight, isn’t it?” Gently she checked the swelling on his knee. When she heard the footsteps heading down on concrete, she smiled to herself.

  “You’re feeding him?” Brian stepped into the box. “I couldn’t get up here any sooner.”

  “That’s all right. He took the drenching without a quibble. And you can take my word for it, it worked.” She straightened up, smiled. “You can see by the way he’s eating, he’s feeling better.”

  “Knows he’s fallen into roses, he does.” Brian examined the injury himself, nodded. “We have a stallion with the strangles, which is what held me up.”

  “Delicate creatures, aren’t they?” She ran her hand over the gelding’s withers. “Deceptive. The size of them, the speed and strength. It all shouts power. But under it all, there’s the delicacy. You can be fooled by looking at something—at the face, at the form—and judging it without knowing what’s inside.”

  “True enough.”

  “I’m not delicate, Brian. I have iron bred in me.”

  He looked at her. “I know you’re strong, Keeley. And still, you’ve skin like a rosebud.” Gently he ran his thumb over her cheek. “I have big hands, and they’re hard, so I need to take care. It doesn’t mean I think you’re weak.”

  “All right.”

  He turned back to the horse. “Have you named him?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. We had a dog when I was a girl. My mother found him, a very homely stray who started sneaking up to the h
ouse. She fed him, gained his confidence. And before my father knew it, he had a big, sloppy mutt on his hands. His name was Finnegan.” She laid her cheek on the gelding’s, rubbed. “And so now, is his.”

  “You’ve a sentimental streak along with that iron, Keeley.”

  “Yes, I do. And a latent romantic one.”

  “Is that so?” he murmured, a little surprised when she turned and ran her hands up his chest.

  “Apparently. I didn’t thank you for riding to my rescue last night.”

  “I don’t recall riding anywhere.” His lips twitched as she backed him out of the box.

  “In a manner of speaking. You cut a bully down to size for me. I was upset and worried about the gelding, so I didn’t really think about it at the time. But I did later, and I wanted to thank you.”

  “Well, you’re welcome.”

  “I haven’t finished thanking you.” She bit lightly on his bottom lip, heard his quick indrawn breath.

  “If that’s what you have in mind, you could finish thanking me up in my bedroom.”

  “Why don’t I just show you what I have in mind? Right here.”

  She had his shirt unbuttoned before he realized they were standing in an empty stall, freshly bedded with hay. “Here?” He laughed, taking both her hands to tug her out again. “I don’t think so.”

  “Here.” She countered his move by ramming his back against the side wall. “I know so.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” His lungs were clogged, and his mind insisted on following suit. “Anyone could come along.”

  “Live dangerously.” She pulled the stall door shut behind them.

  “I have been, since I first set eyes on you.”

  The thrum of her heart in her throat turned her voice husky. “Why stop now? Seduce me, Brian. I dare you.”

  “I’ve always found it hard to turn aside a dare.” He reached out, tugged the band from her hair. “You cloud my senses, Keeley, like perfume. Before I know it, there’s nothing there but you.” He slid his hand around to cup the back of her neck, to draw her toward him. “And nothing that needs to be.”

  His mouth covered hers, soft, smooth in a kiss silky enough to have her gliding down on that alone. She’d asked for seduction knowing seduction wasn’t needed.

  “I want you, Brian. I wake up wanting you. Kiss me again.”

  And the way her body simply melted into his, the way her lips warmed and parted, inviting him in had every pulse in his body throbbing like a wound.

  “I don’t want to be gentle this time.” He reversed their position until her back was against the wall, and his eyes, so suddenly dark, burned into hers. “I don’t want to be so careful, just this once.”

  The thrill of it was a bolt through the heart. “Then don’t. I’m not fragile like your horses, Brian. Don’t be fooled.”

  “I’ll frighten you.” He couldn’t have said if it was a threat or warning, but her answer was just another dare.

  “Try it.”

  He tore her shirt open, sending buttons flying. He watched her eyes widen in shock even as he crushed his mouth to hers to swallow her gasp. Then his hands were on her, a rough scrape of callus over sensitive skin. Part of him expected her to object, to struggle away, but she only moaned against his savaging mouth, and held on.

  When her knees gave like heated butter, he dragged her down to the mound of hay.

  He used his mouth on her, his teeth, his tongue. A kind of wild fury. His hands raced over her, rough and possessive in their impatience to have more. To take all.

  Her choked cries had the horses moving restlessly in their boxes. As he propelled her over that first breathless edge, she fisted her hands in his hair as if to anchor herself. Or to drag him with her.

  He’d given her tenderness, shown her the beauty of lovemaking with patience and care. Now he showed her the dark glory of it with reckless demands and bruising hands.

  Still she gave. Even with the whirlwind rushing inside him, he felt her give. Flesh dampened until it was slick, hearts pounded until the beat of them seemed to slap the air, but she rolled with him, accepting. Offering.

  Even when her eyes were blind, the blue of them blurred as dark as midnight, she stayed with him. The sound of his name rushing through her lips seemed to sing in his blood.

  She cried out, arching against his busy mouth when her world shattered into shards bright as glass. There was nothing to cling to, no thread to tie her to sanity, and still he drove her harder until the breath tearing from her lungs turned to harsh, primitive pants.

  “It’s me who has you.” Wild to mate, he gripped her hips, jerked them high. “It’s me who’s in you.” And plunged into her as if his life depended on it.

  She heard a scream, high, thin, helpless. But it wasn’t helplessness she felt. She felt power, outrageous power that pumped through her blood like a drug. Drunk on it, she reared up, her eyes locked on his as she fisted her hands in his hair once more.

  She fixed her mouth on his, savaging it as he rode her, hard and fast. And she held on, held on, matching him beat for beat though she thought her body would burst, until she felt him fall.

  “It’s me,” she said on a sob, “who has you.” And still holding fast, let herself leap after him.

  Chapter Ten

  As far as Keeley was concerned it was perfect. She’d fallen in love with a man who suited her. They had a strong foundation of common interests, enjoyed each other’s company, respected each other’s opinions.

  He wasn’t without flaws, of course. He tended to be moody and his confidence very often crossed the line into arrogance. But those qualities made him who he was.

  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.