Gil lifted her chin with one finger. “I think you need to fill me in on everything that’s been going on around here.”
Her gaze strayed to the hint of stubble covering his jaw and the beloved cleft in his chin. When at last her eyes met his, the blue intensity, focused with singular purpose on her face, erased every thought from her head.
“After one night back, I can tell you’re not getting along any better with your sister. And there’s a great deal of tension between Adam and your father.”
She wanted to say something—anything—but no words would form. All she could do was stare at his handsome face and the enticing lips so near to hers.
His gaze moved to her mouth and lingered. She swallowed hard, her heart thrumming against her ribs. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he dropped his hands. With a jerk, he stepped back, kicking over a pail in the process. The clatter echoed through the tack room.
“I’d better see to Midnight.” He looked as spooked as a startled horse.
Equal measures of disappointment and relief coursed through her as Gil charged out the door. She bent to pick up the saddle, her grip unsteady.
Resuming their easy relationship was turning out to be much more complicated than she’d anticipated.
Coming back was a huge mistake.
Gil rubbed the brush over Midnight’s rump with a bit more force than necessary. He’d half hoped when he returned that Brianna would be engaged with a wedding in the near future, safely belonging to someone else, so any hint of the inappropriate feelings he’d once experienced would remain safely buried.
Instead they’d roared back to life, bigger and stronger than ever.
No wonder Laura had broken off their relationship. Though Gil had tried to make things work between them, she’d believed his affections belonged to another woman. Deep down, he knew there existed a grain of truth to her accusations.
Gil hung the brush on a hook, swiped at the perspiration on his forehead, and left Midnight happily munching his hay. Pulled by an irresistible force, Gil made his way to the fence surrounding the track. A few of the trainers continued their work with the horses, but one reddish-brown blur claimed his attention. Brianna and Sophie flew around the dirt track, clumps of earth spewing out behind the horse’s hooves. Bree’s long braid flopped up and down as they moved, her split skirt flapping over her ankle boots. The fierce determination on her face made Gil smile. Though sometimes timid in her dealings with her family, Bree’s independent nature shone through when on her horse. If only she could claim that boldness when dealing with her father.
Gil’s thoughts turned to James’s request concerning Aurora Hastings, and he grimaced. Perhaps Gil needed to take his own advice and stand up to the man who expected his orders be obeyed without question.
But how could he deny his mentor this one favor when the O’Learys had given him everything? Taken him into the heart of their family—provided love, shelter, schooling, even a college education. Didn’t he owe them whatever he could give in return?
He certainly owed them more than a misplaced affection for their daughter. He needed to put Brianna O’Leary out of his thoughts—and out of his heart—once and for all.
Gil moved away from the track and headed over to talk to Sam Turnbull. He wanted an update on the horses, to see which ones were top contenders for the racing season in the states where racing hadn’t been banned. And to learn which mares were due to foal in the coming weeks.
Two hours later, Gil felt as though he’d never left Long Island. The sheer joy of being with the magnificent animals and working with Sam under the clear spring skies gave Gil a feeling of freedom he seldom experienced. He stopped for a moment to gaze out over the pastures of green meadows, and a renewed sense of purpose filled his chest. One day, he would make the Whelan name a success in this great country and fulfill his late father’s dreams. The familiar twist of guilt hit Gil’s stomach. Because of Gil, John Whelan had died before seeing his dream realized. If it took Gil’s last breath and his last dime, he would achieve it for him.
“Ready for something to eat?”
Bree’s voice brought him crashing back to reality. She stood beside him, smiling, a large picnic basket looped over the crook of her arm. At the mention of food, his stomach growled.
“I could eat. What did you have in mind?”
“A picnic. So we can catch up like you suggested.” The slight tremor in her voice gave away her uncertainty. “I thought we could sit under the willow by the back pond. It should be shady enough there.”
His gut warned him to avoid being alone with her, but at the vulnerable look in her eyes, he couldn’t refuse. “Let me wash up and meet you there.”
By the time he’d rinsed the dust off his hands and face and made his way across the back pasture to the small pond where they’d loved to swim as kids, Brianna had unfolded a red-plaid blanket under the tree and spread out the contents of the basket.
“That’s quite a feast. Did you have to bribe Mrs. Harrison for all this?”
She chuckled. “Of course not. For you, she’d have come out here and served it herself.”
He sat on the far edge of the blanket, careful to keep as much distance as possible between them. A breeze off the water teased the tendrils of her hair, now swept up on top of her head. She removed the cloth from the sandwiches and handed him one.
“How does it feel to be home?” she asked.
He took a large bite of the roast-beef-and-cheese sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Familiar and strange at the same time.”
“I know what you mean. It’s as though time stood still around us, but we’ve grown up.”
“Exactly.” He reached for a Mason jar and opened the lid. The strong citrus smell of lemonade made his eyes water.
Brianna handed him two cups, and he poured them both some of the pale liquid. Her hands trembled slightly as she grasped her cup. Was it the unfamiliarity of being together again that made her nervous? Or was something more going on in that head of hers?
“So how are you really, Bree?”
She blinked as though surprised by the question. “I’m fine.”
Funny, she didn’t seem fine. His usually relaxed Bree seemed as high strung as a mare cornered by a stallion.
“What do you do for fun when you’re not studying?”
She laid her half-eaten sandwich on the napkin in her lap and shrugged. “I spend time with the horses on the weekends, unless we’re entertaining company.”
He frowned. “What about friends?” He hesitated as the next word stuck in his throat. “Or suitors?”
Her glance slid away. “There are no suitors yet, though I’m sure Daddy has plans to remedy that. I still see a lot of Rebecca Nolan. And church activities keep me busy.”
Her tone sounded wistful, matching the sadness that lurked in her wide eyes.
“Why don’t you seem happy, then? Is it your father?”
She didn’t answer, only fiddled with the fringe of the blanket.
“Bree, you used to confide in me. You still can, you know.”
When she finally looked at him, turbulent emotion made her eyes as vivid green as the waving grass around them. “All Daddy cares about is money. As soon as I graduate, he expects me to marry well and make him proud. But I don’t want to get married—not yet anyway.”
Gil repressed an urge to smooth the furrow from her brow. Instead he plucked a blade of grass and shredded it. “What do you want to do?”
Her expression changed immediately, excitement brightening her features. “I want to go to New York and study, just like you. I’ve been reading up on Barnard Hall, the woman’s college associated with Columbia. It sounds wonderful.”
Gil smiled, but the lemonade soured in his stomach. She wanted to leave just when he’d returned. Yet perhaps that was for the best. With Brianna away, he wouldn’t have to fight the daily temptation to be near her. He could do his job, and when the time came, leave without regret.
S
he sighed. “Unfortunately, Daddy thinks education is a waste of time and money for a girl. In his mind, the only thing a woman needs to do is get married and start a family.”
He leaned back on one elbow. “You should follow your heart, Bree. Don’t marry someone just to please your father. No matter how much you crave his approval.”
Her chin dipped. “I wish I didn’t care what he thinks.”
Gil almost laughed out loud. Caring about James O’Leary’s opinion appeared to be the fate of everyone living at Irish Meadows—Gil included.
She studied him a moment as though about to say something important. Instead she looked away and brushed some crumbs from her skirt. “Enough about my problems. What are your plans now that you’re back?”
For a moment, he considered confiding in her about Aurora Hastings, but then thought better of it. He needed to make that decision on his own. “I guess I’ll be taking over the bookkeeping for your father. At least for a while. I still hope to work with the horses like before I left.”
“Of course you do. You’d be miserable cooped up at a desk all the time.”
Her vehemence surprised him, as did her immediate understanding of his disdain for office work. The only reason he’d agreed to study business was to obtain a solid foundation for his future horse-breeding venture. From what he’d learned here, it took more than an innate connection with horses to make a business thrive.
“You don’t plan on staying here forever, though, do you?” Bree glanced through her golden lashes at him. He couldn’t quite decipher what he saw there. Hope, fear, longing?
He shook his head. “No. I still want to buy my own property, start my own farm. Maybe somewhere upstate. Far enough away that I won’t be competing with your father.”
For a few moments, she remained quiet, looking out over the pond. Only the soft ripples of the water broke the stillness. At last she turned to him, her eyes sad, her voice a whisper. “Mama won’t be happy about you moving so far away.”
His heart thudded heavily in his chest. “And how will you feel, Bree?”
She lowered her gaze to the blanket, a blush spreading over her cheeks. When she didn’t answer, a tense silence hummed between them.
At last, she lifted her head to stare out over the water again, her lips twitching. “Remember the summer you stepped on that nest of yellow jackets? I never saw anyone run so fast in my life. You plunged into the water like a pack of wolves was after you.” Her light laugh floated on the air.
He chuckled. “Took days for the swelling of those stings to go away. Lucky for me I had a pretty nurse to tend my wounds.”
She screwed up her nose. “I was not pretty. Homely and awkward more like.”
Annoyance made him straighten on the blanket. He reached out to cover her fingers with his. “You were never homely, Bree. Not to me. And now you’ve turned into a beautiful woman.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. The sunlight danced over her hair, glinting the red highlights to gold. The yellow flecks in her eyes mesmerized him, and the desire to kiss her burned as brightly as the hot sun beating down on his head.
But that was one line he did not intend to cross. Ever. Because once he did, he could never go back.
Mustering every ounce of willpower, he moved away from her, getting to his feet. “Come on, Bree. We’d better get back. The horses are waiting.”
3
BRIANNA STEPPED OUT of St. Rita’s church after the service, grateful for the slight breeze that rustled her skirts. She paused for a moment on the top step and scanned the gathering of people waiting to greet Reverend Filmore. Like a magnet, her gaze was drawn to Gil under the shade of a tall maple, surrounded by a flock of girls, all giggling and vying for his attention. Bree clutched her prayer book tighter. Of course, the handsome Gilbert Whelan, fresh from college, would be the most eligible bachelor in town. Or at least a novelty for the moment.
With studied casualness, Brianna descended the wooden steps. Manners dictated she shake Reverend Filmore’s hand and thank him for his inspirational message, then join her parents at the cemetery. Every year on the anniversary of her little brother’s death, the family visited his grave to say prayers and remember sweet Danny.
“I’m glad you enjoyed the service, my dear.” Reverend Filmore winked at her. “You must be glad to have Gilbert home.”
A flush heated her cheeks. “We all are. Especially Daddy.”
Reverend Filmore nodded in Gil’s direction and laughed. “It appears the young ladies in town are happy to have him home, as well.”
Brianna schooled her features so she wouldn’t scowl at the man. “So it seems. Excuse me, Reverend. I must find my parents.”
“Good day, Miss O’Leary. I’ll see you next Saturday for Gilbert’s homecoming party.”
She inclined her head, hoping her surprise didn’t show on her face. “See you then.”
Brianna had thought her mother had intended a small dinner with a few friends and neighbors. This sounded like a much grander event, which meant all those silly girls hanging around Gil had likely been invited, too. Brianna pushed away her uncharitable thoughts and instead searched for her mother among the groups of parishioners gathered on the lawn.
“Hello, Brianna.”
She whirled at the masculine voice behind her, hand to her throat. “Oh, Henry. I didn’t see you there.”
Henry Sullivan, immaculate in his brown suit and bowler, took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. Brianna gave a slight curtsey, grateful the glove kept Henry’s mustache from tickling her skin.
“You look particularly lovely today,” he said.
She removed her hand as soon as it was polite to do so. “Thank you. How is your family?” The Sullivans had been her family’s neighbors since Daddy had built Irish Meadows.
“They’re all well, thank you. And you must be happy. I hear good ol’ Gil is back.”
Brianna didn’t miss the edge to his voice. “He is. I imagine your family will be invited to his homecoming party on Saturday.”
“I believe I heard my parents discussing such an event.” His gray eyes twinkled. “I, for one, am happy to have any excuse to call on you. Perhaps we can share a dance.”
Brianna hesitated. Henry was attractive enough in his own way. He wore his blond hair short, his mustache and sideburns precisely trimmed. And he was charming in a quiet way. Yet he made Brianna uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the intensity of his interest in her she found unnerving. Whatever the reason, her reply froze on her tongue.
The whisper of a touch on her back alerted her to Gil’s presence.
“Hello, Henry,” Gil said. “It’s been a while.”
If she didn’t know Gil so well, she wouldn’t have noticed the chill in his voice.
“Gil.” Henry held out a hand. “You’re looking . . . well.”
“Must be the Long Island air.” Gil’s chuckle seemed forced as he shook Henry’s hand. His fingers returned to grip Brianna’s elbow, sending shivers up her arm. “Brianna, your parents are heading to the cemetery, if you’re ready.”
“Yes, of course. Good day, Henry.”
“I’ll be looking forward to that dance,” he called after her.
Aware of Gil’s gaze on her, Brianna tried to ignore the heat infusing her cheeks. When she dared peer over at him, one dark brow rose over amused eyes.
“I thought you had no suitors.”
She snorted. “Henry’s not a suitor.”
“Seemed pretty interested to me.”
She pulled her elbow free of his hold. “You’re one to talk with half the county’s girls hanging all over you.” She regretted the comment the moment it slipped out.
Gil’s laugh only made her cheeks hotter as she stormed toward the cemetery.
Why should she care if Gil flirted with all the unmarried girls in town? She and Gil were friends, nothing more. She set her jaw, determined to remember that fact come Saturday.
Standing at the back of the
group huddled around her brother’s grave, Colleen O’Leary crossed her arms and tapped a foot on the grass, stifling an impatient sigh.
For pity’s sake. Do we have to perform this maudlin ritual every year?
Mama and Bree would cry as usual, and Daddy would try his best to comfort them. Connor and Deirdre, both too young to remember their brother, would fidget while Mama recited the familiar prayers. It’s not that Colleen wasn’t sad—but Danny had been gone six years now, and Colleen could barely remember his little face.
Colleen turned her head to find Adam leaning against a tall headstone, scowling. He, too, hated this annual pilgrimage to the cemetery. Why they had to drag out their grief, Colleen would never understand.
As the prayers droned on, Colleen peeked under her lashes to study Gil. His handsome profile provided a welcome distraction while she waited for the monotony to end. A prickle of jealousy spread through her system at the way he stood so close to Brianna, as though he were her personal protector. Colleen pursed her lips. Why did Gil find her mousy sister so fascinating when he could be reaping the benefit of Colleen’s attention? Instead of friendship, Colleen could offer him the intoxication of her kisses, which so far no man had been able to resist. No man, that is, except Gilbert Whelan.
She tapped a gloved finger to her cheek, a wicked plot forming. Her current beau, Jared Nolan, had become a bit too boring and predictable for her liking. She needed a challenge—a risk—to keep life from becoming excruciatingly dull.
Perhaps seducing Gil was just the diversion she needed. The fact that it would vex her sister was an added layer of icing on the cake.
The prayers ended, and one by one, the O’Leary clan made their way to the front of the church, where one of the stable hands had their carriage waiting. Colleen far preferred her father’s new Model T “horseless carriage,” but the vehicle couldn’t hold the entire family.
Footsteps scuffed on the church walkway behind her. “Good day, Miss O’Leary. I hoped I hadn’t missed you.”
Irish Meadows Page 3
