Deirdre's True Desire

by Heather McCorkle

  Tucking the cold metal tool beneath an arm, she tugged the overly large gloves on as best she could. Dylan stepped closer to help with her gloves. His warm hands eased her pinky fingers into the proper places. “They’ll also keep you a bit warmer,” he said in a tone soft enough to almost be intimate.

  Still warm from her irritation with the man, she took a step back. “I plan to work hard enough to stay warm, thank you,” she said a bit curtly.

  Looking from the logs to the device, she turned it over in her hands, trying to figure it out.

  “Like this,” he said as he pushed the metal tool beneath the bark and lifted it away.

  She did her best to duplicate the movement, but couldn’t get the tool jammed all the way into the bark like he had. It slipped, sending her sprawling over the log. Dylan slid an arm under her elbow and helped her to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, breath hot on her cheek.

  She brought her elbow back and turned a bit, forcing him to take a step back. “Quite.”

  She glanced Cat and Sadie’s direction, but they were out of sight. Close as Dylan stood, it occurred to Deirdre that he had chosen to come down here because it was secluded. She moved around the end of the logs a bit, putting a little more distance between them. If only Kinan had come to the worksite…

  “You get under the edge, like this, then push up,” Dylan said, demonstrating how to push the piece of metal under the bark.

  The bark popped away from the trunk. Deirdre imitated his technique and found the manner in which the bark came free oddly satisfying.

  “’Tis easier to start on the end of the log, where you can get under the bark, then work your way down,” he said.

  Grateful as she was to him for his help, his presence still irritated her to no end. He was bold and daring when it came to pushing the limits of physical propriety where a lady was concerned, but old-fashioned in his beliefs on how that lady should act. Not that she wanted him to be more forward with her. Nice as Dylan was in his own way, he was too conflicted in what he wanted. No, she wanted to take that amorous quality from him and instill it in Kinan.

  Deirdre used her frustrations to drive the tool beneath the bark and move her hands along. The work felt good, productive. Dylan worked alongside her, chatting about the quality of the logs and the chilly weather. All the while he came closer and closer, working down the log toward her. She couldn’t exactly move away, not without seeming rude. They were only working, after all. When his conversation shifted to how lovely her hair looked pulled up off her neck and how nice she smelled, she fixed him with a hard look. Words of discouragement stilled on her tongue at the approach of footsteps.

  “You getting the hang of it there, Deirdre?” came Rick’s voice.

  Another chunk of bark popped off. “I believe I am,” she said.

  “All right, then.” He leaned her direction as he walked past. “Keep an eye on Cat for me, will ya? Don’t let her overdo it,” he whispered.

  Deirdre gave him her best salute—which was a far cry from proper military standards. “You can count on me.”

  He winked in a way that managed to look charming instead of inappropriate. “I knew I could. Let’s leave the ladies to it and start hauling these stripped logs, shall we?” he said, turning to Dylan.

  She gave him a relieved smile. Dylan was a nice, attractive man who would no doubt take rejection personally, even though it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Kinan. Thanks to Rick, she wouldn’t have to make things more awkward with Dylan. At least not yet.

  “Aye, let’s,” Dylan said in a bright tone.

  The two men sauntered off and began preparing the team of draft horses. They worked together quickly and efficiently with little conversation. Deirdre took the lack of either voices raised in anger or hushed as a good sign that Rick hadn’t seen how forward Dylan had been with her. She let out a breath. Getting the man in trouble with his employer was the last thing she wanted, even if she was still a little irritated with him. The huge pile of timber before her made it hard to stay irritated at anyone, for any reason. They had the means to build their homes, finally!

  A deep woof alerted her to the approach of Rick’s massive hound a moment before he licked her cheek. Her bloody cheek, for the saints’ sake, without even jumping up! One swipe of that tongue soaked the entire side of her face.

  “Ew! Ugh, hello, Linc,” she said as she gave his head a good scratch.

  Apparently satisfied with the greeting, Lincoln trotted off toward Cat and Sadie. A startled cry told her Sadie received the same greeting. Laughing, Deirdre set to work with a vigor born of determination to ensure that she and her friends had many moments such as this right here on this land.

  Half the stack of logs and several hours later, they finally laid their tools down and took a break to view their progress. The frame of the quaint cabin was up, more or less. Two of Rick’s freemen friends had arrived less than an hour into the work to help. The four men had hauled the logs away as fast as she, Cat, and Sadie could strip them. Despite the cabin being little bigger than Kinan’s family cottage, the progress impressed Deirdre. And she felt every chunk of bark chipped away, each placed log, and every nail pound of it. She rubbed at her sore palms, careful of the blisters on both. Even the men, who had been working nonstop, finally put down the massive saw they’d been using to saw the smaller logs in half for the walls.

  Deirdre tried to keep her mind on the house instead of Kinan, she really did. But her thoughts kept returning to how he had looked when they left the inn this morning. The way he had rolled his sleeves up, exposing his biceps, along with how his sweaty shirt clung to his defined chest as he mucked out the stalls, were just too much to resist. She didn’t even mind the scent of sweat and horses that had wafted from him. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant mixture, not at all. In fact, it brought to mind other activities that made one sweat.

  No! Bloody hell, she wasn’t even sure he was right for her. What if he used her secret against her, or at the very least didn’t accept her because of it? She couldn’t allow herself to be attracted to him. Not until she knew for sure. But how to know without telling him and risking everything?

  A delicate fan of wood and silk appeared beneath Deirdre’s nose. “You look like you could use this,” Sadie said in a pointed tone. Her eyes narrowed in disapproval as she looked at Dylan. But Deirdre didn’t miss the little detour Sadie’s gaze took, going swiftly to the two freemen lounging in the grass next to Dylan.

  “Aye, but not for the reason you think. I wasn’t looking at him, but at the river,” Deirdre said. Sadie made an unconvincing affirmative noise.

  Deirdre hadn’t even realized she’d been looking in Dylan’s direction. Oh saints, she hoped he didn’t get the same impression Sadie had. Accepting the fan, Deirdre hid her smile behind it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Sadie admire a man. It was quite encouraging, considering the extended mourning period her friend had taken.

  Sadie had loved her husband—the only one of the three friends who had, though Deirdre had certainly tried to love hers—Deirdre understood that. But it was good to see Sadie realize she was not only still alive, but a woman with needs. She tried not to watch him overly much from behind her fan, which she waved furiously to try and dispel some of the heat rolling off her skin. The day was far from warm, but she had been working so hard it may as well have been midsummer. She began to seriously contemplate a dip in the creek.

  “Seems a shame to build a home no one will live in,” Dylan said.

  Rick took the stalk of wheat he’d been chewing on out of his mouth. “Oh, it’ll be lived in. This’ll be a home for the groundskeeper of the winery,” he said.

  He tossed a large branch off into the bushes for Lincoln, who bounded after it, huge tail swinging. Deirdre could practically feel the ground shake with each step the hound too
k.

  Dylan sat up from where he’d reclined against a log. “You’d let the help live in such a fine home?”

  Cat paused in her rounds of refilling everyone’s glasses of tea. “O’ course we would. I won’t need it as I’ll be living at Rick’s after we’re wed. No sense in it going to waste,” she said.

  Dylan scratched his chin and scrunched up his eyes as if this puzzled him. “Such generosity is a rare thing in this world. You lot inspire a lad to believe in the good of folks.” He looked at Deirdre as he said the last. She looked swiftly away, avoiding eye contact.

  A line of sweat trickled down her back, no doubt wetting the laces of her corset. Being in men’s clothing and all, she probably shouldn’t have bothered wearing it. But, she had felt the need for something familiar. Now she was regretting that decision. The damnable thing would be hell to get off if she didn’t cool down and stop sweating. Not to mention, the sweat would make her cold later. Rising, she clicked the fan closed and handed it back to Sadie. The moment she gained her feet, Lincoln bounded up to her, branch sticking out the side of his mouth. Everyone started to rise as well, eventually making their way back to their tasks.

  Deirdre turned to Cat and Sadie. “I’ll be back shortly. I’m going to walk down to the creek to refresh myself,” she said.

  “Would you like company?” Cat asked.

  With a grimace, Deirdre tugged the branch from Lincoln’s mouth. “I’ll take the monster here with me,” she said.

  Cat laughed. “He’ll keep you safer than I could, for sure.”

  Sadie tapped Deirdre’s arm with the fan. “Just don’t take long enough to make me fret over you.”

  Bending, Deirdre pecked the shorter woman on the cheek. “Impossible. You’ve already begun.”

  She left her grumbling happily to stride down the hill toward the creek. Lincoln bounded along beside her, making little puppy noises of excitement despite the fact that he was the size of a black bear. Deirdre knew; she’d seen a few on their wagon trek from New York. Well, in height at least. By breed trait, he was more slender than a bear, but not by much considering the husky mixed in. His behavior reminded her that he was barely a year old. To avoid getting inadvertently stepped on, she tossed the branch down the hill a ways. With a grimace, she wiped a bit of slobber from her hand onto her breeches. Tall, leafless birch trees choked the bottom of the hill, hiding the creek from view. The pure, clean scent of water drew her down the hill and into the trees.

  Lincoln bounded back to her side, branch held up like a trophy. She patted his gray-and-brown head. Something struck her softly across the rear. Eyes shooting wide, she turned, only to almost take Lincoln’s tail in the stomach.

  “You truly have no idea how big you are, do you, you dolt?” she asked the hound.

  The gleam in his eyes told her maybe he did. He lifted his head, presenting the branch to her.

  “Oh, no. I’m not touching that slobbery thing again.”

  As she started walking again, his tail thumped at her back. Yellow and orange leaves cushioned her step, crackling from frost more than being dried out. The frost meant she should be chilled, she knew, but between the day’s hard work and her tolerance of New York winters, it may as well have been September. The meandering silver swath of the creek beckoned to her. Picking the easiest-looking way, she started down the slight embankment to the water. The soft trickling of it tumbling over the rounded rocks nearly made her mouth water. At last, she reached the edge and picked her way along a few big rocks to get close enough. She could hardly wait to splash some on the back of her neck and between her breasts.

  Drawn by the cold wafting up off the water, she crouched down and dipped her hands in. Cool water ran over her fingers, draining away the day’s heat. Sighing in relief, she splashed a bit on her face and chest. The heat that had worked her into a very unladylike sweat slowly started to drain away. Big paws splashed into the river close enough to make droplets splash her right forearm. She opened her mouth to warn Lincoln away when the hound’s tail smacked her in the back with a soft, but very solid, thump. The impact was just enough to throw her off balance. Her right hand shot out to a boulder, stopping her from plunging into the water. Lincoln, on the other hand, walked right into it, the long hairs of his tail skimming the surface and sending droplets flying out to splatter her with each swipe.

  Shaking her head at him, Deirdre stood. “You daft hound, get out of the water before you catch a chill.”

  His tail wagged all the harder. Nose pointing to where she had laid his branch on a rock, he let out a woof.

  “Ah, is that what I have to do to get you out of the water?”

  She eased her way back into a crouch, picked up the branch, and slowly stood again. Lincoln woofed again and wagged his tail faster. Holding up one hand to fend off the spray of water, she threw the branch back to the bank. As she stepped down on the follow-through of the throw, her foot slipped on a new wet spot on the rock. Her foot plunged toward the water and she started to fall backward. Rather than collide with hard rocks and icy water, she fell into warm arms. Those arms quickly righted her, but didn’t withdraw. Deirdre knew those defined muscles exposed by rolled-up sleeves.

  “Mr. O’Toole, you are becoming quite adept at catching me,” she said.

  This close, she could make out the blond stubble that covered his strong, square jaw. She tried to straighten and step away, but her foot slid on a rock again.

  Dylan’s arms slid down to her waist and pulled her a touch closer, making her gasp. “Then you should keep me close,” he said. “And please, call me Dylan. Mr. O’Toole makes me sound like me grandda.” His Irish accent gave her a thrill she couldn’t deny. Too many people worked to hide theirs, herself included.

  “Thank you, Dylan. But this is quite…inappropriate,” she said, letting some of her discomfort fill her tone.

  He bent down, but rather than kiss her like she feared, he hooked an arm beneath her legs and picked her up. Only when they were back on the solid ground of the shore did he finally set her on her feet. Fortunately, he let go and stepped back. Motioning to a large boulder in invitation, he sat down. She sat down only when she realized one of the laces of her boots had come untied. Even then, she sat as far from him as the boulder would allow.

  “You’re a fine lady with a wild and free spirit, Deirdre,” he said in a low voice filled with admiration. “What makes such a lass want to put down roots?”

  “I got my fill of adventure on the journey here. You sound like you aren’t sure if putting down roots is a good thing, or a bad thing,” she said.

  “Honestly, I’m not entirely sure. But don’t you miss the thrill of danger at every turn, predators, savages, the excitement of not knowing what the day might bring?”

  If he was so excited by the idea of her enjoying the danger of the unknown, why was he so overprotective? It was as though he couldn’t decide if he wanted his women to be adventurous, or proper ladies. Deirdre liked a man who knew what he wanted, and Dylan most certainly did not.

  “Not at all. I look forward to having a home, a family. You sound like a man who enjoys adventure. What keeps you here?”

  Subtle as it was, it was hard to tell, but she thought he stiffened a little.

  “I take care of the mum of a dear friend of mine. Ainsworth is her landlord and I can’t in good conscience leave her to face his wrath. Without me here, he’d no doubt throw her out into the cold,” he said, voice void of the passion it had contained only a moment before.

  “That’s very noble of you. She’s lucky to have you by her side. What do you miss about the open trail?” she asked in an attempt to lighten his mood again. Though she was still a touch angry at him, she didn’t want him to suffer.

  “Can a man miss what he never had?” he asked in a wistful tone.

  “Certainly. What is it you wish you had?”

  His gaze
cut out over the creek. “Aside from a free Ireland, I wish I had a woman to share the thrill of the open trail with.” His hand slid closer to hers on the boulder. “Someone to share the heart-pounding excitement,” he said in a low voice, emphasizing the word “pounding” so it sounded improper. “The thrill of discovering new things,” he whispered.

  She pulled her hand away before he could touch her. Dylan suddenly sat up straight. It took a moment for Deirdre’s heart to slow and her vision to focus. Dylan, on the other hand, looked about, wide eyes alert. Leaves rustled and crackled as if beneath footfalls. Deirdre’s heart started pounding again. Dylan reached for the pistol belted to his waist. Brows furrowing together, Deirdre put her hand over his so he couldn’t draw the weapon.

  Who on earth did he think it could be that he would draw a pistol?

  She leaned close to him. “’Tis likely Sadie or Cat,” she whispered.

  The noises sounded again, closer this time. Dylan’s hand tensed beneath hers. Glaring, she gripped him tighter. One foolish move could endanger her friends. She wouldn’t allow that. And why, because he was afraid of being caught?

  “It could be Ainsworth’s man,” he whispered.

  Fear pricked away at her anger, leaving her very aware of how chilly the day was. She longed for a return of the heat of passion, the flush of hard work, anything to banish the thought of that spindly man spying on her.

  “He wouldn’t dare,” she whispered, the words more of a question than she had intended.

  The hard look on Dylan’s face was answer enough. A shape lunged from the trees. Dylan tore free of her grasp and drew his pistol so fast his movements were a blur. Nearly as fast, Deirdre threw herself between him and the shape that approached. Eyes wide and white, Dylan froze with the pistol pointed at her chest. A big gray-and-brown head poked itself beneath Deirdre’s arm. Lincoln’s joy-filled eyes glossed over when they turned to Dylan. His lips curled back from sharp teeth and a low growl rumbled from him.

  Dylan let out a long breath and lowered the pistol. Lincoln’s growl lost a bit of its menace, but didn’t stop.