Risky as it was, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Ciaren landed solid and true-footed. The next beat propelled them into the new field. Caught up in the moment, Deirdre let the mare have her head and choose their speed. The wind soon drew tears from her eyes. Vision blurred, she picked up the reins to slow Ciaren down. Before she could even begin to pull back, the mare’s muscles bunched for another jump. A curse in Gaelic slipped from Deirdre’s lips. She did her best to shift her weight and ready herself the second before Ciaren became airborne again.
Beneath them the field opened up into a deep cleft. Water glinted, along with something else. A half-naked man stood waist deep in a creek, a black calf draped over his shoulders. Surely that last bit had been her imagination. She hoped so, for Ciaren’s hooves came dangerously close to the man’s head. The moment they came down on the other side, she brought Ciaren in a circle that helped slow her momentum and allowed Deirdre to pull her to a halt.
At the bottom of the cleft, a creek maybe ten feet wide cut through the land. A few late-blooming orange and red poppies grew along both beds. Crystal-clear water tumbled over smooth pebbles, filling the air with a refreshing scent. After the endless Nevada high desert, she had nearly forgotten how good fresh water smelled. Sure enough, a man stood in the water, a calf over his shoulders. Blond hair framed eyes wide with surprise. Thankfully, no blood marred that lovely hair. Despite the comical look on his face, he was quite handsome, with a squarish jaw speckled by a few days of stubble. Muscles in his chest and arms flexed to perfection beneath the weight of the calf.
Two handsome, shirtless men in one day. She loved California already.
“My most sincere apologies. I didn’t know either the creek, or you, were here. I hope you’re unharmed,” she called down.
Shock slowly drained from his face, his features transforming into a smile as he looked her over. “I’m not sure. I did just see an angel fly through the sky and now she speaks to me.” His confident tone lent well to his easy humor. “You’re all right yourself, I hope. It appears your horse got away from you a bit there.”
Laughing, Deirdre patted Ciaren’s big neck. “She can’t be blamed. I got as carried away as she did.”
Balancing the calf as if it weighed nothing, the man stepped from the creek and made his way up the embankment. Once he reached the top, he hefted the calf from his shoulders and set it on its feet. Bawling, it dashed off to join a small herd of cows not far away. Ciaren tossed her head at the thing and pawed at the ground. Hand tight on the reins, Deirdre held the mare in place. As soon as the calf reached the small herd, Ciaren calmed.
“That’s quite the spirited horse you’ve got there,” the man said.
Deirdre searched his face but found no judgment hiding there. “Aye, she has to be to keep up with me.”
His handsome grin grew. Bending, he began to search along the embankment. Much to her dismay, his hands withdrew a faded blue tunic from the tall grass. “Apologies for my state of undress. Rescuing calves can be a messy endeavor,” he said as he pulled the tunic on.
Breeches turned a dark brown by the water clung to his legs and groin. He pulled his shirt on over his head, slowly lowering it down. The sight of all that flesh disappearing didn’t disappoint her quite as much as when the exotic stable hand at the inn had covered himself, but she was still sad to see it go. That quickly reminded her that she was straddling Ciaren in an improper manner for a lady in the presence of a man, yet again. To move now would only draw attention to the fact, though, so she held her position.
“The name’s Dylan O’Toole. And does me flying fae have a name?” he asked.
“I’m Deirdre Quinn.”
His eyebrows rose. “Ah, one of the widows.”
“Does everyone know of us?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “’Tis a small town.”
“That’s going to be an adjustment,” she said, mostly to herself.
“Indeed. California is a far cry from New York.”
Deirdre’s brows rose, pushing at the strands of hair that had come loose from her braid. “I most sincerely hope so. Am I on the widows’ property now?”
“Aye. You’ll find Miss Catriona and Mr. Fergusson about a mile up the river working on the winery. I’m headed that way meself if you’d like a traveling companion.”
She was about to refuse when she realized he had no horse. In good conscience, she couldn’t very well let him walk when she was headed in the same direction. The warmth of the sun high above also served as a reminder that the day was advancing fast. If she got turned around in the wrong direction, she may not find Cat before dark.
“That would be most kind, but as I’m in a bit of a hurry, I hope you don’t mind riding with me.” It really wouldn’t be proper, but that bothered her less than the possibility of the inn’s stable hand seeing them. Hopefully he wasn’t riding after her even now, as gentlemanly code dictated. She had to hurry this up just in case.
Dylan approached. “Don’t mind at all. I appreciate the kindness, as it seems me horse has wandered off while I was down in the creek.”
More to get better leverage than for propriety’s sake, Deirdre threw her leg back over and clamped her thighs onto the sidesaddle bars. She reached a hand back over the right side of the horse, offering it to Dylan. Blond brows rose in a look of doubt that made Deirdre grin at the challenge. His hand gripped hers. Like a good rider, he kicked his leg up and out, using the direction and momentum to vault up. Deirdre’s grip held true and the strength of her arm helped Dylan leverage himself. He landed securely on Ciaren’s dark haunches.
“Don’t know many women who could do that,” he said, sounding impressed.
“Rather, I think you probably don’t know any women who would do so in mixed company. But we are quite capable, I assure you,” she said.
He kept his distance, just barely allowing his left leg to touch her thigh. While it would be best should anyone see them, her horse wouldn’t take kindly to someone sitting on her rear end. “You’d best scoot up, less you aggravate Ciaren and she gets a mind to toss us both,” she warned.
Ciaren was too well trained for such shenanigans, but it would be a bumpy ride. If he fell off, it would only slow them down more and increase the possibility of the stable hand seeing them—should he be riding after her, that was. Why she cared, she didn’t know. If the stable hand was following, that meant he wasn’t quite as forward-thinking as she hoped he was. Should that be the case, it might be best if he saw her with another man to stamp out any interest before it became a problem.
She pointed Ciaren north and started walking her along the river. The only protest the mare made in regards to the second rider was a swishing of her tail. Deirdre found herself both regretting the bow and quiver that kept his chest from touching her back, and glad for it. Attractive as Mr. O’Toole was, she couldn’t stop thinking about the other man’s gemstone-like eyes and chestnut skin.
“Are you from Goldenvale, Mr. O’Toole?” Deirdre asked.
“Of recent, aye. Though I hail from Boston of late, having immigrated there as a lad with me parents.” His warm breath reached her neck, causing bumps to rise along her skin.
The sensation traveled all the way to her breasts. Her eyes fluttered closed to better allow her imagination to conjure up another man behind her, one with an indiscernible accent and eyes that glittered with gold specks. It had been so very long since her husband had gone off to war, leaving her bed and body cold. She had her own devices that she put to good use, but there was nothing quite like the real thing. Thinking about such things while in close proximity to a handsome man made her insides flutter—even if it wasn’t out of desire for him specifically. That didn’t mean she was going to refrain from such indulgent thoughts; quite the contrary.
“What about you?” Dylan asked.
His voice so close to her ear
elicited all kinds of new fantasies, but she managed to keep her mind on track enough to answer. Best not to let him pick up on her desire, lest he think it might be for him. Mr. O’Toole did have a particular air of confidence about him. “I was born and raised in New York, though my grandparents were from North Carolina.”
“Cotton country,” Dylan commented in a tone that was neither judging nor telling.
Not one to hold her tongue, Deirdre nodded and went on. “My family owns a cotton plantation down there, or at least, they did before the war. My grandfather left the plantation to his brothers and moved his new wife to New York to open a tailor’s shop.”
“Is the city truly as grand as they say?” Dylan asked.
She brought her head to her right shoulder in a half-shrug. “As far as cities go.”
The city had long ago lost its luster for her.
“I’d love to hear about it!”
His excited questions soon had her going on about everything from the architecture to the shops and factories. Despite her disenchantment with the city and its ever-busy citizens, his enthusiasm was infectious. When he tried to lean into her, she found herself again grateful that her bow and quiver kept his chest from touching her back. She had no doubt it would feel good. But it wasn’t his chest she wanted pressed against her. Such behavior—riding in close proximity to a man, with no escort to boot—would cause quite the scandal in New York. Likely it would here, too. A scandal with a man she wasn’t prepared to allow to court her wasn’t something she wanted just yet. Another, more intriguing option with lustrous black hair needed to be exhausted first.
Not that her own reputation was of great concern to her. She was a widow, a free woman, and she had every intention of enjoying that freedom. But with the right person, at the right time. Her friends’ reputations, however, were of concern to her. She didn’t want others frowning upon them for being associated with her.
Just as she decided to ask Dylan to dismount, he drew away from her. Trained to respond to subtle shifts in weight, Ciaren slowed, ears flicking back to Deirdre. A slight shift of her own weight stopped the mare.
“Thank you kindly for the ride, but I best get down lest Mr. Fergusson sees us and thinks me taking advantage of you,” Dylan said.
“Yes, that is best,” Deirdre agreed a bit too quickly. She cringed inwardly, hoping she hadn’t offended him.
The warmth of his body disappeared as he leaped from Ciaren’s back. The distant thunk of a hammer drew her attention. Not more than half a mile away stood a skeletal structure of logs that had to be the beginnings of the winery. Deirdre had imagined it would be much further along by now. A pang of concern worried at her until she saw two forms near the base of one half-constructed wall. Even from this distance she could see her friend’s long, fiery red hair. It was all she could do not to spur Ciaren into a gallop. But she couldn’t be rude, not if she hoped to see this man again. Which she might do should things with the sweaty stable hand turn out poorly.
“How do you know Mr. Fergusson?” she asked, needing to say something to distract herself from the feel of his touch.
“He’s me boss, and a right good one at that. We’ve nearly reached the spot.”
“This is it? This is my friend’s land?” Deirdre asked. She spun in a slow circle, taking in the rolling hills of thick grass dotted here and there with oak trees and aspen. Gorgeous only began to describe it.
“Aye, from the rock wall to the south, and between the creek and those hills there.” He gestured to pine-covered hills on the horizon.
“So much land,” she murmured. The three parcels combined to equal close to thirty acres, from what the deed said. She had read it enough times before leaving New York to have memorized it word for word. The legal description had seemed like a foreign language at first, but she’d made it her mission to understand it. Looking out over the land now, it all made sense, the degrees, the quarters, the measurements out from the river that ran through it all. An entire neighborhood would fit in such a space. But it was all theirs, hers and her friends’.
“Oh look, that’s me horse!” Sticking his thumb and forefinger in his mouth, he whistled loud and shrill.
The thunder of hooves drew her gaze out across the golden fields. A tall, brown thoroughbred with legs designed for running put them to good use. Tail up in the air, neck arched, he galloped toward them at an impressive speed. Ciaren threw her head and pranced in such an animated manner that Deirdre was forced to shorten the reins and command the mare’s attention. Skill derived from years of riding kept her on the saddle and in control.
Dylan’s thoroughbred slowed to a trot when he grew closer, and eventually to a walk. On his back perched one of the Spanish-style saddles with the large skirting along the back and a horn on the front for tying a rope to. Rather than run straight to Dylan, the horse sauntered over and sniffed Ciaren’s nose. Ciaren let out a squeal and stomped her foot, but that was the extent of her misbehavior. Beneath Deirdre, the horse felt like a simmering teapot ready to blow. A closer look at Dylan’s horse revealed him to be an intact stallion. That explained Ciaren’s response. The stallion shook his head and arched his neck. Before he could do anything more, Dylan snatched the reins and led him away.
Puzzlement filled his eyes as he cast a sheepish smile Deirdre’s way. “Me apologies. He’s usually much better behaved. I think he fancies that gorgeous mare of yours.” The inviting look that accompanied his words made it clear he wasn’t merely talking about horses.
Such forward—yet sly—advances made her realize she needed to make her intentions a bit clearer. “Thank you kindly, both for the escort and the compliment. If you’ll excuse me, I see my friend and can’t bear another moment of waiting to greet her. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. O’Toole. Until we meet again.”
His ruggedly handsome visage transformed into a smile that seemed to employ every muscle in his face. Such a youthful, carefree expression coming from a grown man warmed her.
“If that’s your wish, I’ll consider it me command,” he said.
Damn, she had mucked that up.
She shook her head, pointed Ciaren in Cat’s direction and tapped her heel against the mare’s side. Wind whipped the ribbon from her hair, pulling long, black locks out behind her. But she didn’t care. The joy of reaching California and finding it everything she had hoped for and more, carried her to her beloved friend.
Chapter 4
The moment Ciaren came to a stop, Deirdre all but flung herself from the sidesaddle. She flew into her friend’s arms, nearly knocking them both to the ground. “Oh, Cat, I’ve missed you so much!”
After a few moments of squeezing her tight as she could, she drew back and held Cat at arm’s length. Cat’s curly red hair nearly reached her waist now—a waist that had filled out some. It helped her look less like a malnourished widow wasting away to nothing. But that wasn’t the best part. Happiness filled her blue eyes, along with a confidence Deirdre had never expected to see in her again.
“You look absolutely wonderful!” Deirdre proclaimed.
Pink tinged Cat’s cheeks, making her look far younger than her twenty-something years. Cat cupped Deirdre’s cheek in her hand. “You’re a sight for sore eyes as well. A bit skinny, but you seem hale enough,” Cat said, with the hint of an Irish accent coloring her words.
Hearing it stole Deirdre’s ability to respond for a moment. Cat had always worked diligently to keep her accent from her voice. The woman’s oppressive mother had insisted on it, claiming it helped those of high society respect her more if they couldn’t hear the Irish in her. Deirdre had always detested that woman.
“Well, four months on the trail tends to tighten one’s belt. Something is quite different about you, my friend, and I mean that in the very best way,” Deirdre said.
Blue eyes widening, Cat cast a look over her shoulder at the man approaching from the fr
amework of the winery just up the hill. Deirdre recognized him immediately as the man who had escorted Cat to California. Corporal Fergusson. He had shaved and lost the haunted look in his eyes, but it was undoubtedly him. His expression filled with deep tenderness as his gaze caught Cat’s. Deirdre could practically feel the vibrations between the two of them. The adoring look he gave Cat as he came to stand beside her made Deirdre clap and emit a wordless cry of joy. The blush that colored Cat’s cheeks spread down her neck. That look told Deirdre that the two had shared more than just conversation on their trip here.
Clearing her throat and standing up tall enough to make her finishing teacher proud, Deirdre became the image of propriety. “Mr. Fergusson, ’tis good to see you again. Cat, I see we have much to discuss.” She was quite proud that only the hint of a smile slid through.
Mr. Fergusson laughed long and hard. The lighthearted, joyful sound did Deirdre almost as much good as the smile it brought to her friend’s lips. Whatever lay between the two of them, clearly it was good for Cat. “Ah, Mrs. Quinn, you are just as I remember you. We’re quite glad you made it and that you’re in such good health and spirits. I’m off to work again while you lassies get reacquainted. I’ll take your horse for you if you like. We’ve got a paddock over this way,” Mr. Fergusson said.
Nodding, Deirdre handed him Ciaren’s reins. He bowed deeply to her before taking Cat’s right hand and placing a long kiss on the back of it. Her gloveless hand! The very implications nearly made Deirdre cry out with excitement. She restrained the impulse, but only barely. Cheeks flushing impossibly pinker, Cat hid behind her hair as Rick took his leave. But it was Deirdre she hid from, not Mr. Fergusson. When the man was a few paces away, Cat extended her elbow to Deirdre. Working hard at suppressing her grin, Deirdre accepted and allowed Cat to lead her along the creek.
Deirdre's True Desire Page 3
