“Easy, lass, easy,” she soothed, petting the mare’s neck as she spoke.
Fear tried to rise, but she squashed it. Ciaren was a bit of a flighty, high-spirited thing, that was all. Likely nothing more nefarious than a few winter birds lay in wait. A twig cracked off to their right. Ciaren reared up—only a little, but it was enough. The reins slipped through Deirdre’s numb fingers. With nothing to hold on to, she started to fall backward. Legs clenching even tighter, she managed to stay on, but Ciaren lunged to the side and Deirdre began to tumble from the saddle. The pine needle–strewn ground rushed toward her.
Rather than end up in the forest duff, though, she collided with a warm body. Arms wrapped around her back and beneath her legs, cradling her in a catch that was almost perfect. The breath was knocked out of her so abruptly she didn’t even have time to cry out. Pale blue eyes gazed down at her fondly from behind a fringe of hair the color of wheat. She recognized those eyes, and the handsome face they gazed out of. A smile came slowly, almost languidly, to the man’s lips.
When she could finally draw breath into her lungs again, she asked, “Dylan O’Toole?”
“Aye, in the flesh.”
The chiseled chest pressed to her side felt real enough. But he didn’t put her down, and that seemed like a dream. The beginnings of a rather naughty one, the kind you didn’t want to wake up from, but a dream nonetheless.
“But what are you doing way out here?”
“Hunting a cougar, which is why you shouldn’t be out here.”
After a long enough moment that it began to feel awkward, he set her on her feet. His words finally sank in. One hand flew over her pounding heart and she spun away. Ciaren’s dark tail arced into the air in the distance as the mare cantered off the way they had come.
“Ciaren!” she called, though she knew it would be useless until the mare calmed a bit.
Cold swept around her in the absence of Dylan’s arms. She reached up for her shawl, but it was gone. Movement behind her made her turn back around. Visions of jungle cats with huge teeth gleaming in their gaping jaws filled her imagination. But it was only Dylan bending to pick up her shawl. He shook it off, then started to pick pine needles out of the tightly knitted lavender material. Pleasant as Dylan was to look at in his snug breeches and wool jacket, she couldn’t stop her gaze from darting about in search of a cougar. She smiled to hide the fear that choked her.
With a lift of his chin, Dylan indicated the brown stallion standing not far behind him. “We’ll fetch her together,” he said.
As soon as Ciaren calmed down, Deirdre knew she’d be able to call her back. But glancing around the shadowy forest, wondering what might lurk behind each tree, she really didn’t want to be alone. Something had made Ciaren run off, after all. What if it hadn’t been just Dylan’s approach? If it had been the cougar, her horse was in danger.
“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”
Dylan gave her shawl a final shake, then stepped in front of her. All thoughts of cougars and fangs faded as he leaned close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how cold she was. Heat radiated out from his arms when he lifted them up to either side of her. He wrapped her shawl tight around her, gloved hands coming to rest on her arms.
His eyes widened. “Mrs. Quinn, you are so chilled I can feel it clean through the layers between us.” Phrased in such a manner, the words sounded wonderfully intimate, but not nearly as intimate or wonderful as the heat of his hands.
It was a testament to how deeply chilled she was that she allowed him to remain in such close proximity. On the one hand, she couldn’t have him thinking she was interested when she couldn’t stop thinking about Kinan; on the other, she didn’t want to get frostbite.
“Why on earth would you leave the house in such weather without your gloves and cape?” he asked, voice thick with concern. Was that a hint of judgment? She wasn’t sure. Irritation reared within her.
He began to rub her arms vigorously. The impropriety nearly made her protest, but the warmth it caused made her abandon such misgivings. “I am from New York, Mr. O’Toole. I had not imagined a California winter could be so cold, particularly one without snow.” As her body began to warm up, she started to shiver.
“Well, we’re having an unseasonably cold winter already, and this is Northern California, not the warm Southern California they tell you all about over on the East Coast. It gets quite cold here, quite fast.”
Through chattering teeth, she said, “Aye, I’m starting to realize that.” She didn’t have the energy or ability to enunciate and speak the Queen’s proper English. Hopefully her da—God rest his soul—would forgive her. Her face was so cold it was hard to get even those few words out.
Putting an arm around her, Dylan pulled her in close against his side. How he could be so warm in such frigid weather, she could not fathom, but she was ever so grateful for it. She snuggled in against him with a sigh. He led her to his horse, allowing her to lean on him so much he nearly carried her.
“We’d best get you back to the inn before the weather gets any worse.”
Good as that sounded, she stopped walking. The pressure of his arm tried to urge her forward, but she resisted. “No. I have to get to Mr. Ainsworth’s ranch.”
Dylan drew away just enough to look her in the eye. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”
She lifted her chin. “To try and talk some sense into the man.”
A grunt issued from Dylan. “’Tis impossible, I’m afraid.”
“That may be, but I must try.”
After a long, hard stare at her, he nodded. “All right, then. I’m not one to deny a lass something she has set her mind to. But shall we find your horse first? She’d a mighty fine mare and I’d hate to have her come across that cougar.”
Her throat became tight and her heart thudded harder. She stepped to Dylan’s horse and grabbed the saddle horn. “Aye, please.” The possibility of something happening to Ciaren after the mare had made the long trek from New York was unacceptable. Particularly if it were due to her own stubbornness.
Rather than offer her his hands, as she expected, Dylan gripped her by the waist and lifted her up. She swept her dress beneath her and straddled the horse like a man. Even with the dress all bundled beneath her, it was much more comfortable and secure.
He led the stallion over to a fallen log and used it to help him climb up behind her. The flare of the back of the saddle kept him far enough away that none of his body touched hers, not even his legs. She longed not for his touch, but his body heat. Thankfully, heat radiated from him enough that she felt it against her back. When he reached his arms around her and took up the reins, she leaned back into him with a sigh.
“Forgive me, but you’re so warm,” she said.
Dylan chuckled. “I was about to ask your forgiveness for being so forward as to wrap me arms around you.”
He didn’t draw back, and for that she was grateful. “I think in this situation we can both forgive such forwardness.”
“I’m glad you agree, because you’re absolutely freezing. Ainsworth isn’t worth freezing to death over, that’s for sure,” he said as he spurred his horse forward.
Rather than hold on, she trusted Dylan, and tucked her freezing hands into her armpits. “You’ve no love for Ainsworth, then?” she asked.
“O’ course not. He’s a bloody English bastard who terrorizes this town.”
“And yet you’re hunting down a cougar for him?”
Dylan’s body remained relaxed. “’Tis wise to keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies closer. Besides, a cougar’s territory covers hundreds of miles. One that threatens Ainsworth’s cattle will soon threaten Fergusson’s.”
From what she’d read of cougars, his words rang true enough. Guilt stabbed her over having doubted his motives. But her nat
ure was ever cautious and she couldn’t help that, nor did she want to. It was hard enough for a widowed woman to survive in this man’s world. She had to look out for herself. “True enough, I apologize for asking. I did not mean to offer offense.”
“No apology necessary. I just get…passionate about the English terrorizing our kind.”
While his brows rose and his eyes suggested things at the use of the word “passionate,” he sounded distracted. She latched on to that, using it to deter him from flirtatious behavior she wasn’t sure she wanted to return. “You sound like a man who has suffered directly at the hands of the English.”
He stiffened behind her. “Aye, as have all Irishmen. Irish-American included,” he said in a tone as cold as her numb cheeks.
“Sadly, quite true,” she agreed, happy to have derailed him, but a bit guilty over how much it had clearly upset him.
She wanted to ask him more, but his clipped tone made her fear he wouldn’t tell her. No sense in pushing things and upsetting the man. He snuggled a bit closer, his arms tightening around her. The warmth of his body seeping into hers kept her from pulling away. They rode in an uncomfortable silence for a bit, speaking only to discuss direction now and then. Though the chill in the shade of the forest deepened, Deirdre stayed warm enough cozied up to Dylan’s hard body. As soon as she stopped shivering, she straightened enough to arch her back away from him and put a bit of distance between them.
After a while, Dylan asked, “Have you considered offering to sell Ainsworth your land instead of risk him forcing you off it?”
“No,” Deirdre snapped, the idea angering her too much to say more.
“Now, I’m not saying sell it all to him. Maybe just a small bit along the river would get him off your back.”
Her jaw clenched so tight she couldn’t have answered if she wanted to. She leaned forward a bit more, not caring about the chilly air that worked its way between them.
“I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I worry about the lengths that blaggard would go to.” The sincerity in his voice cooled some of her anger.
“I appreciate your concern, Dylan, I truly do, but I will not kowtow to a bully,” she said.
“I respect that. But he’s a ruthless and dangerous man who’s not above murder. You must be careful.”
She knew that. Cat had told her all about the hired killers the man had sent after her and Rick. In Deirdre’s fury over the returned calling card, she had allowed herself to forget such things. Foolish and reckless, yes, but such was the burden of pride and righteous anger.
“I know. I suppose coming here was a rash decision. I’m a daft fool.”
“Nonsense.”
His leaned forward, head nearly coming to rest on her shoulder, his warm breath caressing her cheek. “You’re a determined lass, I like that. Besides, we got to see each other again, that makes it worth it, in my opinion.”
His arm slid around her waist. The layers of her shawl, dress, and his coat between them didn’t diminish the intimate feel. Part of his arm brushed the swell of her breasts where they perched above her corset. Only a part, but it was enough to make her jerk upright and set his horse to dancing a nervous jig.
Undeterred by her startled reaction, he whispered, “I find it quite thrilling.”
Tantalizing as the man was, this had gone too far, and she couldn’t risk encouraging him. She suddenly wanted down off the horse. Her mouth opened to tell him exactly that when she spotted something moving in the trees. Rather than speak, she pointed. Going tense, Dylan reined his horse in that direction. The stallion moved with a bit more animation to his steps, but otherwise didn’t seem concerned. His neck arched. Horse hair slapped her leg as he swished his tail from side to side. The reaction told her what she suspected.
“Ciaren!”
The shape emerged from the trees. Equine ears shot forward and the mare went rigid.
“Ciaren, come!” Deirdre commanded, knowing what that look meant she was contemplating.
Letting out a squeal, Ciaren reared up just enough to get her front hooves off the ground, then took off running.
“Bloody hell,” Deirdre cursed.
It had to be the stallion. Rarely was she this full of vinegar.
Dylan’s arm tightened around Deirdre’s waist. “Hang on tight,” he said.
She let out a surprised squeal of her own as they took off after the mare. Wrapped in a handsome man’s arm, galloping through the forest, moved Ainsworth to the back of her mind for the moment. The thrill of the chase was too much not to enjoy.
Chapter 9
The white stallion pranced along at an animated trot, his shod hooves ringing against the frosty ground. Kinan knew to maintain the pace much longer would risk impact damage to the horse’s tendons. Too long at it and the poor creature would end up lame for days. Balder was too loyal to drop out of the pace if it started to hurt. Kinan couldn’t risk him getting hurt, he wouldn’t. Yet, looking above the frosty hills to the sun moving ever closer to the horizon, he couldn’t stop, either. The cold of night would pose just as much danger to Deirdre as Ainsworth. He had to find her, soon. The thought of anything happening to her made him ill.
The very fact she had the tenacity to run off on her own to confront the man impressed Kinan. True, it was foolish and reckless, but it was also bold and daring. Perhaps that was part of why it thrilled him so.
If only he could figure out why she’d been avoiding him lately. When they had first met, he thought for certain the spark he’d felt had been mutual. She had certainly flirted with him enough to support the feeling. In his eagerness, he wondered if he had given her the wrong impression. If she thought he had unscrupulous intentions, he wanted to clear the matter up straight away. Not that he didn’t think about touching, kissing, or even ravaging her (willingly, of course), nearly every waking moment. But he was determined to be a civilized man who possessed the control dictated by propriety. Being from New York, he feared she may have heard the stories about the Wild West and put far more stock in the penny-dreadfuls than they deserved. The damnable things made all men in the West out to be rogues and outlaws.
A rhythm differing from that of his own horse’s hooves drew his gaze to the northwest. From the distant tree line a horse without a rider approached. The shadows of late afternoon made it impossible to be sure, but he thought the horse might be black. Wild horses weren’t uncommon in this area. The idea did not placate his hammering heart, not when he knew Deirdre’s mare was coal black. He made to steer Balder in that direction, but had no need to do so. The horse came straight for them. Kinan held tight to the reins. A wild stallion would charge them if it felt they threatened his territory. But Kinan’s pounding heart was still not convinced it was a wild horse. Before he even saw the sidesaddle and loosely flapping reins, he knew it was Deirdre’s mare.
“Bloody hell.” He uttered one of his papa’s favorite sayings. Such an expletive didn’t often pass his lips, but he felt this warranted it.
Balder started to prance about and it was all Kinan could do to keep him under control. A rein so taut he feared the leather might snap was all that kept the stallion from bounding up to meet the mare.
“Manners, Balder, manners! We don’t want to scare her off,” Kinan warned.
The stallion calmed a bit as if he understood. Balder’s ululating whinny pierced the air, drowning out the sound of the mare’s approaching hoofbeats. The excited tone and cadence of the call revealed the stallion’s amorous intentions. An equally excited call from the mare answered. Tail in the air, neck arched, she pranced right up to them and promptly placed her behind under Balder’s nose. Cursing, Kinan wrenched the stallion away and spurred him alongside the mare. Before she could present to him again, Kinan grabbed hold of the reins that dangled over her neck. Balder pranced and whinnied. The two horses sniffed noses, resulting in an excited squeal from the mare.
The stallion snorted and stomped, but otherwise behaved. Kinan praised him, though his heart wasn’t in it. His eyes scanned the open field and distant trees, dreading what he might see. But no ominous shapes lay on the ground. Still, his heart increased its frantic rhythm. He had no doubt this big, fine mare was Deirdre’s. Whether she had fallen somewhere in the woods, or was at the mercy of Ainsworth, the outcome could be equally as dangerous.
Balder settled and started acting like a gentleman. It soothed Kinan a touch as well. His anxiety wasn’t born merely of guilt or a sense of responsibility. That feisty, intriguing woman had survived the long trip from New York. She deserved a chance at a life here. If Ainsworth had harmed her in any way, Kinan would gut the man and read the future in his entrails. Guilt and shame shot little barbs deep into him. While he would never actually do such a thing, merely thinking it gave credence to the rumors about him.
The mare tried to pull away. He turned them in the direction she’d come from and squeezed Balder into a trot. The hard ground hid any sign of the mare’s passage, but he continued in that general direction. It was the best he could do. It took them in the exact direction he hoped it wouldn’t—along the path leading into the trees to Ainsworth’s property. As the cool shadow of the hillside covered him, a mounted figure rode out of the trees at an easy lope. The clop of hooves mingled with the voice of a woman. Not just any woman—Deirdre. He couldn’t forget that scintillating sound.
The big brown stallion loping toward him could be none other than Dylan O’Toole’s. Kinan’s fists clenched tight around the reins when he realized Dylan rode behind Deirdre, one arm around her waist. For a split second, he thought about drawing the .40-caliber Smith & Wesson holstered at his hip. The fingers of his right hand twitched, almost letting go of the rein. But no, rogue that Dylan was, Kinan knew he’d never force a woman. As much as he’d like to believe otherwise, he knew Deirdre was riding with him of her own free will.
Deirdre's True Desire Page 9
