by Nora Roberts
"That's a fact I'm not likely to forget. There's no need to remind me." She tilted her chin in defiance of him and the continuing flutter of her stomach, knowing she should guard her words, and knowing the power to do so was beyond her. "I give you your day's work but maybe you think I'm forgetting my place. Should I be bobbing a curtsy, Mr. Grant?"
"You impudent little wench," Travis muttered, straightening from his relaxed position. "I'm getting a bit weary of being stabbed by that sharp tongue of yours."
"Well, it's sorry I am about that. The best advice I can give is that you not be conversing with me."
"That's the best idea you've had." He grabbed her around the waist, lifting her a foot off the ground as their eyes warred with each other. "I've been wanting to do this since the first time you slashed at me with your sharp Irish tongue."
He crushed her mouth with his, cutting off a heated retort. Too surprised by his action to resist immediately, Adelia began to experience unfamiliar and disturbing sensations, a heat and weakness that she might feel on a day spent working in the field. His hands were like steel around her small waist, holding her body suspended in the air while his lips assaulted hers, entering her mouth with his tongue in a kiss that was both devastating and totally foreign to any she had ever known.
Pressed hard against him, lips joined, she felt his warmth, his essence, seeping into her, demanding and receiving her merging. She could feel the authority in the arms that held her, taste the knowledge on the lips that claimed hers, and body and mind surrendered to both. Unable to combat the turbulence of the unexplored, she felt it whirl her like a cyclone, spinning her toward the sun until the heat threatened to become fire.
And as each of her senses were assaulted and conquered, he continued to explore her mouth, feasting on it as a man who knew a woman's flavor. He took, and she knew nothing of the richness of the banquet she gave him, warm and ripe and fresh.
After a lifetime, he released her, dropping her back to the ground as she stared at him mutely, eyes huge with confusion.
"Well, half-pint, this is the first time I've seen you at a loss for words." He mocked her openly, the lips that had just conquered hers lifted in a smug, satisfied smile.
His taunt broke the strange hold over her mind and tongue, and her eyes lit with molten green fire. "You son of the devil," she began in a rich explosion, and what followed was a raging stream of Irish curses and dire predictions delivered in so strong an accent that it was nearly impossible to comprehend the words.
When her imagination had at last run dry, and she could only stand staring at him breathlessly, he threw back his head and laughed until she thought he would burst.
"Oh, Dee, you're a fabulous sight when you're breathing fire!" He took no trouble to hide his amusement, an infuriating grin glued to his face. "The madder you get, the thicker the brogue. I'm going to have to provoke you more often."
"I'm giving you warning," she returned in an ominous voice, which only widened the grin. "If you ever molest me again, it's more than my tongue you'll be feeling."
Lifting her head, she strode out of the stables, clutching the last threads of her dignity around her.
She said nothing to Paddy about her scene with Travis, and instead banged around the kitchen as she prepared dinner, muttering incoherent sentences about great arrogant beasts and strong-arm bullies. Her fury with Travis was intermingled with fury with herself. The fact that his touch had brought both excitement and unexplained pleasure angered her further, and she berated herself for the uncontrollable attraction she felt for him.
CHAPTER 3
By the next day, Adelia's anger had faded. She was not given to prolonged periods of ill humor; rather, she exploded like a burst of flame, simmered, then slowly cooled down. There remained, however, a disturbing new awareness, an awareness both of herself and the unfamiliar longings of womanhood, and of the frustrating, attractive man who had released them. She managed to avoid any face-to-face contact with Travis during the morning, going about her duties in the normal fashion while she kept a cautious eye alert for his approach. Duties complete, she strolled back for her daily visit with Solomy. Instead of leaning over the low barrier to greet her, as was Solomy's habit, Adelia found her lying on her side in the hay, breathing heavily.
"By all the saints and apostles!" Rushing inside, she knelt beside the raggedly breathing mare. "Your time's come, darlin'," she crooned, running her hands over the large mounded belly. "Just rest easy now. I'll be back." Springing up, she sped from the stables.
She spotted Tom in the far paddock and, cupping her hands, shouted. "Solomy's time's here. Get Travis-call the vet. Be quick!" Without waiting for an answer, she ran back inside to comfort the laboring horse.
She was murmuring and stroking the sweating hide when Travis and Paddy joined her. Soft words and gentle hands had calmed the mare, whose deep brown eyes were riveted on Adelia's dark green ones.
Travis knelt beside her, his hand joining hers on the gleaming skin, and though Adelia spoke to him, her eyes never left the mare's.
"The foal's still the wrong way; it must be turned, and quickly. Where's Dr. Loman?"
"He's had an emergency-can't be here for half an hour." His voice was clipped, his own attention on Solomy.
She turned her head and captured his gaze. "Mr. Grant, I'm telling you she doesn't have that long. The foal has to be turned now, or we'll lose them both. I can do it; I've done it before. It's God's truth, Mr. Grant, she hasn't much time."
They stared at each other for a long moment, Adelia's eyes wide and pleading, his narrowed and intense. Solomy let out an agonizing whinny as a new contraction began.
"There, my love." Adelia switched her attention back to the mare, murmuring words of comfort.
"All right," Travis agreed, a long breath escaping through his teeth. "But I'll turn it. Paddy, call in some of the men to hold her down."
"No!" Adelia's protest caused the mare to start, and she spoke quietly again, using hands and voice to soothe. "You'll not bring a bunch of bruisers in here forcing her down and frightening her." Again she raised her eyes to Travis's and spoke with calm assurance. "She'll hold for me; I know how."
"Travis," Paddy intervened as he started to speak. "Dee knows what she's about." Nodding, Travis moved off to scrub his hands and arms.
"Have a care," she warned as he prepared to begin. "The babe's hooves will be sharp, and the womb can close on your hand quickly." Taking a deep breath, she lay her cheek against the mare's, hands circling the damp flesh in a steady rhythm as she began to croon in quiet Gaelic.
The mare shivered as Travis entered her, but remained still listening to Adelia's comforting voice.
The air seemed to grow closer, heavy with Solomy's breathing and the mystical beauty of the ancient tongue Adelia murmured. It brought a heavy warmth to the spring afternoon, isolating them from all but the struggle for life.
"I've got him," Travis announced, sweat running unheeded down his face. His breath came quickly, and he muttered a steady stream of soft curses, but Adelia heard nothing, giving herself over to the mare. "It's done." He rested back on his heels, turning his attention to the woman at his side. She gave no sign to him, only continued her slow, rhythmic crooning, hands gently caressing, face buried in the mare's neck.
"Here it comes," Paddy cried, and she turned her head to watch the miracle of birth. When the foal finally emerged into the world, both woman and horse sighed and shuddered.
"It's a fine, strong son you have, Solomy. Ah, sure, and there's no more beautiful sight in the world than an innocent new life!"
She turned her glowing face to Travis and gave him a smile that rivaled the sun. Their eyes met, and the look deepened until it seemed to Adelia that time had stopped. She felt herself being drawn into fathoms of dark blue, unable to breathe or speak, as if some invisible shield had descended, insulating them from all but each other.
Can love come in an instant? her numbed brain demanded. Or has it be
en there forever? The answer was forestalled as Robert Loman arrived, shattering the magic that had held her suspended.
She stood up quickly as the vet began to question Travis on the colt's delivery. A wave of giddiness washed over her as she rose, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip to combat the weakness. Keeping the mare calm had been an enormous strain, almost as if she had experienced each pang of labor, and the unexpected rush of emotion when Travis had held her eyes had left her drained and dizzy.
"What is it, Dee?" Paddy's voice was full of concern as he took her arm.
"Nothing." She placed her palm to her spinning head. "Just a bit of a headache."
"Take her home," Travis commanded, regarding her closely. Her eyes were bright and enormous against her pallor, and she appeared suddenly small and helpless. Rising, he moved toward her, and she stepped back, terrified he would touch her.
"There's no need." She kept her voice calm and even. "I'll just go up and have a wash. I'm fine, Uncle Paddy." She smiled into his frowning face, avoiding Travis's at all costs. "Don't you worry." Stepping from the stall, she moved quickly from the building, filling her lungs with fresh, clean air.
That evening found Adelia quiet and pensive. She was unused to confusion and uncertainty, characteristically knowing what needed to be done and doing it. Her life had always been basic, the fundamental existence of meeting demands as they came. There had been no room for indecision or clouded reasoning in a world that was essentially black or white.
She lingered in the kitchen after dinner, reasoning with herself with firm common sense. The foaling had been difficult, the strain emptying her body of its strength, and the sight of the new colt had fogged her brain. These were the reasons she had reacted so strongly to Travis. She could hardly be in love with him; she barely knew him, and what she did know was not altogether to her taste. He was too big, too strong, too self-confident, and too arrogant. He reminded her of a feudal lord, and Adelia was too Irish to have any liking for landed gentry.
However, after her work was done and self-analysis complete, she remained oddly weary and disturbed. Sitting down on the floor at Paddy's feet, she laid her head in his lap with a deep sigh.
"Little Dee," he murmured, stroking the thick auburn curls. "You're working too hard."
"What nonsense," she disagreed, snuggling deeper into the still newness of comfort. "I haven't worked a full day since I arrived. The day would not nearly be over yet if I was back on the farm."
"Was it hard for you, lass?" he asked, thinking she might now be ready to talk of it.
Again Adelia sighed, moving her shoulders restlessly. "I wouldn't say hard, Uncle Paddy, but everything changed after Mother and Da died."
"Poor little Dee, such a wee thing to be losing so much."
"I thought my world had ended when they died," she whispered, hardly aware she was speaking aloud. "I'm thinking I died myself for a time, so angry and frightened I was, then numb, feeling nothing. But I began remembering how they were together. No two people could have loved each other more. Such a fine, full loving they had, even a child could see it."
So engrossed were the man and woman in the words being spoken that neither heard the sound of feet climbing the stairs. Travis halted in his action of knocking, dropping his hand as he watched the poignant picture, and Adelia's words drifted through the screen.
"The only thing I could give them was the farm, and it was all I had left of them. Poor Aunt Let-tie, she worked so hard, and I was a constant cross for her to bear." She laughed as memory flickered through her mind. "She never could understand why I had to ride so fast. 'Sure and it's your neck you'll be breaking,' she used to call after me, shaking her fist. 'Who'll be helping with the plowing if you bash in your head on the road?' Then when I'd have one of my rages and go off shouting and cursing-and it's often, I'm afraid I did just that-she'd cross herself and start praying for my doomed soul.
"Takers, but we worked." With a long breath she shut her eyes. "But it was too much for one woman and a half-grown girl, and not enough money to hire help, and none to be made without it. Do you know how it is, Uncle Paddy, when you see the thing you need, but the closer you get the further away it is? Always moving away from you, always just out of your reach. Sometimes, when I look back, I can't tell one day from the rest. Then Aunt Lettie had that stroke, and how she hated to be lying there helpless day after day."
"Why did you never let me know how things were?" Paddy questioned, looking down at her dark head. "I could have helped you-sent you money, or come back myself."
She raised her head and smiled at him. "Aye, that's just what you would have done, and to what good? Throwing your money away, taking yourself from the life you'd chosen- I'd not have had that for a minute, and neither would Aunt Lettie, or Mother and Da. The farm's gone, just as they are, and so is Ireland. Now I have you, I'm not needing another thing."
Looking into his eyes, seeing the concern and regret written there, she wished suddenly she had kept her own counsel. "How is it, Padrick Cunnane, that a fine, handsome man like yourself never took a wife?" Her grin turned impish, and devils danced in her eyes. "There must have been dozens of ladies willing. Have you never found a woman to love?"
He touched her cheek, giving her a wistful smile. "Aye, lass, that I did, but she chose your father."
Deep green eyes filled with surprise that melted into sympathy. "Oh, Uncle Paddy!" She flung her arms around him, and Travis turned from the door and walked silently down the stairs.
The next morning the air seemed to sigh with spring, whispering promises of flowers and cool, leafy trees. To Adelia it brought memories of other springs.
Spring was the time the earth asked to be replenished and grew pregnant with new life. Her world had always revolved around the earth, its gifts and hardships, its demands and promises.
From the balcony of Paddy's house she surveyed the land that was Travis's. It seemed to stretch on and on with the easy, gentle roll of a calm sea. Green and brown waves were dotted, not with boats, but with finely sculptured Thoroughbreds. It ran through her mind that she had no conception of what lay over the last hill. This land was still a stranger. From the moment of her arrival in America she had seen little else but what belonged to Travis Grant.
Over the pure, sweet air floated an occasional whinny or the quick call of a bird. But for this, there was silence. There was no strident call of rooster announcing the new day, no fields turned up waiting to receive seed, no weeds demanding uprooting. All at once homesickness washed over her so intensely that she could only shut her eyes and weather the storm.
So much is gone, she thought, and her hands hugged her elbows as if in comfort. I'll never be able to go back, never see the farm again. Sighing, she opened her eyes and tried to shake off the melancholy. There's nothing to be done about it; the bridges are burned. This is home now, and if it's not really mine, it's the closest I'll come.
"Where are you, lass?"
Adelia started slightly as Paddy's arm slipped around her; then she sighed again and rested against his shoulder. "Back on the farm, I suppose. Thinking about spring planting."
"It's a day for it, isn't it? That air's cool, and the sun's warm." He gave her shoulder a small squeeze, then clucked his tongue as if in regret. "I've got to go into town today. It's a pity."
"A pity?"
"I was hoping to get some seeds in around the walkway. Thought I might make a flower bed in front of the house too." He shook his head and sighed. "Just don't know when I'll find the time."
"Oh, I'll do it, Uncle Paddy. I've plenty of time." Drawing away, she looked at him with such innocent acceptance of his trumped-up excuse that he nearly broke into a grin.
"Little Dee, I couldn't ask you to do all that on your day off." He creased his face into doubtful lines and patted her cheek. "No, it's too much. I'll get to it as soon as I find a bit of time."
"Uncle Paddy, don't be silly. I'd love to do it." Her smile was blooming again, chasing th
e clouds from her eyes. "Just show me what you want done."
"Well-" He permitted her to argue a few more minutes before allowing himself to be persuaded.
Armed with a myriad of seed packs and a small spade, Adelia stood on the patch of lawn surrounding Paddy's house and mentally mapped out her landscaping. Petunias along the walk, asters and marigolds against the house, impatiens for the border. And sweet peas, she thought with a smile, for the trellis she had asked Paddy to buy. In the fall, she decided, I'll plant bulbs, as many as the ground will hold. Daffodils and tulips. Satisfied with her planning, she began to turn the earth.
The sun grew warmer, and her sleeves were soon pushed past her elbows. In the distance she could hear the sounds of men and horses going through their daily routine: a shout, laughter, the thud of hooves on dirt. But soon, lost in her planting, she drifted apart. Softly, she began to sing a song remembered from childhood, the words soothing and familiar. The scent of fresh earth eased the ache with which she had awakened.
A shadow fell across her. Twisting her head, she dropped the spade nervously as Travis looked down at her.
"I've made you stop. I'm sorry."
He seemed impossibly tall as he stood over her. She craned her neck and squinted against the sun. It glowed in an aura around his head, and for one fanciful moment she thought he looked like a knight on his way to vanquish dragons.
"No, you just startled me." Picking up the spade, Adelia told herself she was a fool and began to work again.
"I didn't mean the planting." He crouched down beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. "I mean the song. It sounded very old and very sad."
"Aye, it's both." She inched away, carefully patting soil over seeds. "A lot of Gaelic songs are old and sad."
Folding his legs under him, he sat easily on the grass and watched her. "What's it about?"
"Oh, love, of course. The saddest songs are always about love." She lifted her head to smile at him. His face was close, his mouth a breath away. The spade hung suspended in her hand as she only stared, wondering what she would do if the whisper of space was gone and his mouth found hers.
"Is love always sad, Adelia?" His voice was as soft as the breeze that danced around them.
"I don't know. I-" She felt the weakness growing stronger and tore her eyes from his. "We were talking about songs."
"So we were," Travis murmured, then brushed back the hair that curtained her face. She swallowed and began digging with renewed interest. "I never thanked you properly for your help yesterday with Solomy."
"Oh, well-" Moving her shoulders, she kept her eyes on the ground. "I didn't do that much. I'm just glad Solomy and the foal are well. Do you like flowers, Mr. Grant?" she asked, needing to change the subject.
"Yes, I like flowers. What are you planting?" His voice was casual as he lifted a package of seeds.
"All different kinds," she told him, this time able to raise her head and smile. "They'll be a lovely sight by summer. Your soil's rich, Mr. Grant; it wants to give." She squeezed a handful of earth, then held it out in her palm.
"You'd know more about that than I." Taking her fingertips, he studied the soil in her hand. "You're the farmer."
"I was," she amended and tried to free her hand.
"I'm afraid I don't know much about planting-vegetables or flowers." He ignored her attempts to pull her fingers away and brought his eyes to hers. "I suppose it's a gift."
"It just takes time and effort, like anything else. Here." Concluding that if she gave him something to do, her hand would be released, she held out some seeds. "Just drop a few in and cover them up. Don't crowd them," she instructed as he obeyed. "They want room to spread. Now you cover them up and let nature take over." Smiling, she absently brushed a hand across her cheek. "No matter what you do, nature has the last word in any case. A farmer knows that here the same way a farmer knows that in Ireland."
"So, now that I've put them in," he concluded with a grin, "I just sit back and watch them grow."
"Well," she said, tilting her head and giving him a sober stare, "there might be a thing or two more, like watering or weeding. These seeds will take quick, and the flowers will pop up before you know it. I'm putting in sweet peas there." She pointed across the lawn, forgetting that she still held the soil in her other hand. "When the breeze comes up at night, the scent will drift through the windows. There's something special about sweet peas. They start off so small, but they'll just keep climbing as long as there's something to hold on to. There should be a rosebush," she murmured almost to herself. "When the scents mingle together, it's like nothing else on earth. Red roses, just starting to open up."
"Are you homesick, Dee?" The question was low and gentle, but her head whipped back around in surprise.
"I-" Shrugging, she bent her face to her work again, uncomfortable that he had read her emotions so clearly.
"It's quite natural." He lifted her chin with his hand until their eyes met again. "It's not easy to leave behind everything you've ever known."
"No." Moving her shoulders again, she turned away and began to spread marigold seeds. "But I made the choice, and it truly was what I wanted. It's what I want," she amended with more firmness. "I can't say I've been unhappy a moment since I got off the plane. I can't go back, and I don't really know if I'd want to if I could. I've a new life now." Tossing back her hair, she smiled at him. "I like it here. The people, the work, the horses, the land." Her hand made a wide, encompassing gesture. "You've a beautiful home, Mr. Grant; anyone could be happy here."
He brushed a trace of dirt from her cheek and returned her smile. "I'm glad you think so, but it's your home too."
"You're a generous man, Mr. Grant." She kept her gaze level with his, but her smile was suddenly sad and sweet. "There's not many who'd say that and mean it, and I'm grateful to you. But for better or worse, the farm was mine." Sighing, she traced a finger through the soil. "It was mine-"
Late the next morning when Adelia turned one of the Thoroughbreds she had been exercising over to a groom, Trish Collins approached her with a friendly smile. "Hello, Adelia. How are you settling in?"
"Fine, missus, and good morning to you." She regarded Trish's dark beauty
