With her cheeks pink, her eyes twinkling, and her mouth parted into a delectable grin he wanted to taste, Theo looked like a woman who’d just come from bed after a delicious romp between the sheets, and he couldn’t resist. He helped her from Echo’s back, lowering her to the ground so she stood in front of him. Despite learning she was a widow, despite his own rules and the knowledge he’d never be good enough for her, before he could stop himself, he dipped his head and captured her mouth with his own.
She didn’t stiffen in his arms, nor did she push him away. Instead, she made a small sound in the back of her throat before she wrapped her arms around his neck, Echo’s reins, still in her hand, brushing against his skin. Her lips were softer than he imagined as she returned his kiss with as much enthusiasm and ardor as she’d ridden Echo across the finish line. Eamon pulled her closer, moving his hands from her waist to around her back, crushing her breasts against his chest as his lips slid over hers.
He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. The taste of her was ambrosia for the gods her horses were named after, and he was a man starving for that heady concoction. He wanted more. So much more. Now that he had tasted her, it wasn’t nearly enough. He pulled her closer and teased her lips open, his heart drumming in his chest so hard and loud, he thought she could hear it.
Echo nudged them, her long nose coming between them to force them apart and break the kiss. Theo stared at him, the warm blush on her cheeks spreading to her entire face. Her eyes sparkled, but seemed darker, more like emeralds than the bright green of grass sprouting from the ground. She drew in a shaky breath through lips slightly swollen and took a step back.
“We . . . we shouldn’t.”
“I know.” He lowered his head and stared at the ground for a moment before looking her straight in the eye. “But I’m not sorry.”
“Neither am I.”
Eamon gave a slight nod, touched the brim of his hat with his fingers, and walked away as quickly as he could while maintaining his dignity, forgetting all about recording Echo’s time, but keeping in mind he could never, for his own sanity, kiss her like that again. His original goal to keep far away from her wasn’t possible. He hadn’t been able to before, but now?
Perhaps it was time to leave Morning Mist Farms.
Chapter 8
Eamon didn’t leave, even though he knew he should. He couldn’t force himself to pack his belongings and walk away from the warmth and acceptance he’d found here. He couldn’t stay away from Theo either. He tried to keep himself busy so he’d fall into bed at night too exhausted to think about holding her in his arms, too worn out to remember that kiss in the morning mist, as if fatigue could make him forget the sweetness of her response.
And so he worked. As much and as hard as he could, but none of the physical exertion helped, as it left his mind free to wander. Wanting Theo became a tangible thing, and his body reacted to the visions flashing through his mind at all hours of the day, but most especially at night.
Eamon shook his head to clear the images once more—a futile effort if there ever was one—and dumped the last shovelful of manure into the wheelbarrow. He pushed up his hat with the back of his hand, wiping his brow at the same time, then turned to find Quincy at the barn’s entrance, pitchfork in hand. He seemed intent on whatever was happening outside.
Curious, hoping to catch a glimpse of Theo, Eamon sidled up beside him and glanced outside. A man he’d never seen before had Theo’s full attention as they walked across the yard toward a small top-of-the-line buggy parked near the garden. Not a cowboy. Or a farmer. What Eamon would call a “dude.” A fancy lawyer from back east, perhaps. He might be a buyer, here to purchase one of her horses, or a breeder. She’d said they were coming soon. Dark hair slicked back with a healthy dose of pomade, mustache and goatee carefully trimmed, the man was dressed in a suit that cost more than a year’s salary. “Is that one of Theo’s horse breeders?”
“Hardly.” Quincy scoffed. “That’s AJ Pearce, son of the legendary—at least in his own mind—Aldrich Pearce. AJ rides, but prefers not to. I can’t blame him there. It’s a wonder he knows the back end of a horse from the front end. He acts like the back end more often than not.”
“I’ve heard his name before . . . ”
“Of course you have.” He pointed toward AJ and scoffed again. “The town is named after that buffoon’s father. Richest man in Colorado I’m told. Nastiest, too. For a town benefactor, he leaves a lot to be desired.”
Eamon straightened, his muscles tightening. He’d never heard Quincy say a mean-spirited thing about anyone, let alone two people in the same breath. He hadn’t thought the big man was capable of harboring an unkind thought or deed, so his obvious dislike of AJ Pearce and his father meant something.
“What’s he want?”
Quincy shrugged but didn’t take his gaze away from the couple in the barnyard, his hands gripping the side of the door so tightly, his knuckles were white. It was a wonder the wood didn’t splinter and crack beneath the pressure. “Probably bringing another offer from his father.”
“An offer? For what?”
“Aldrich Pearce has been trying to get Theo to sell this farm for the better part of six months now. To him. Sent a couple lawyers out here to try to convince Theo the farm is too much for a woman without a husband. When the lawyers failed, Pearce started sending AJ out here.” Quincy chuckled as Theo gave another shake of her head. “As you can see, AJ’s not having any better luck than the lawyers. Our Theo can be a bit stubborn.” He chuckled again, though there wasn’t any humor in the sound. “At least she’s not running him off with a shotgun, though I’m thinkin’ maybe she should.”
A memory clicked for Eamon. The first time they’d met, Theo had held a shotgun on him. He remembered everything about that moment, her words as well as her stance. “And you can tell Mr. Pearce I haven’t changed my mind.” Her voice had dropped an octave, becoming throatier and oddly alluring, but it was her words that came back to him now. “I’m not selling. I’ll never sell. I don’t care how many men he sends to bully me. He’s messing with the wrong woman.”
He shook the memory away, though it took a little effort. “Why does Aldrich want this farm so bad?”
“Can’t rightly say, but I can tell you that he always wants what he can’t have, and the more he can’t have it, the more he wants it. Doesn’t necessarily matter what it is—could be a hotel or a farm like Morning Mist. Or someone else’s woman. If he wants it, Aldrich pursues it with a single-minded persistence that can be impressive. And downright scary at the same time because no one really knows how far he’ll go to get what he wants.” He took a deep breath and forced his hands from the door, flexing his fingers to get the circulation back.
“Should we do something?”
Quincy shook his head and let out a deep breath as his gaze focused on Theo and AJ in the barnyard. “Theo can handle him. This isn’t the first time AJ has come around. I’d bet my last dollar it won’t be the last. The elder Pearce might be interested in the farm, but young AJ there seems to be sweet on our Theo. He is persistent, I’ll say that much, but I’d best keep my distance.” Quincy moved away from the door toward the coolness of the barn’s interior. “Last time he came by, I almost punched him in the mouth.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?” Eamon asked the man’s back.
Quincy stopped and turned around to face him. He took a moment, probably to get his emotions under control, then shrugged. “What’s to like? Sure, he can be charming, like right now, but deep down in his soul, he’s a nasty piece of work. I’ve seen a few things, heard a few more, but at least he isn’t cruel like his father. Now there’s a snake in the grass with his tail rattling, just warning everyone of how mean he can be, and just like a rattlesnake, you don’t want to rile him. I’ve heard how he treated his wife—AJ’s mother—and the women who came after her. It isn’t pretty.”
Eamon didn’t follow Quincy. Instead, he stood in the doorway and con
tinued to watch Theo and her visitor. As Quincy suspected, AJ was sweet on Theo. It was obvious in the way the man stood―shoulders thrown back, smile wide and confident, head tilted as he spoke with her. He reached for her hands and grasped them within his own, his expression one of a man trying to convince someone his intentions were good.
Jealousy, unbidden and surprising, tightened Eamon’s belly, and his hands, like Quincy’s had done, gripped the door frame.
How dare he touch her!
He forced himself to breathe. It wasn’t his business, but telling himself that and making himself believe it were two different things.
He pulled air into his lungs just as Theo shook her head and pulled free of AJ’s grasp, her body tensing. A flush colored the man’s cheeks as he took a step back, his arms folded across his chest, obviously unhappy. He nodded several times as Theo spoke. Though her words did not carry to where he stood, Eamon had the feeling, just by watching them both, that she was dashing AJ’s hopes, but something just didn’t feel right.
He had always drawn his own conclusions regarding a man’s character, trusting his gut more often than not. Expressions said a lot about a person. So did the way a person stood and gestured. Someone smiling at you did not necessarily mean that person was happy to see you. Tell Logan had grinned to beat the band before he pulled the trigger and left him for dead.
And perhaps Quincy had tainted his judgment, but it looked like AJ Pearce would not take no for an answer. His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to Theo. She took a step back, like they were in some kind of dance, avoiding the hand that reached for hers, clearly uncomfortable by AJ’s persistence. Eamon’s jaw clenched as his belly tightened even more. Not with jealousy this time, but with something else entirely.
He’d always had a soft spot for damsels in distress, and Theo seemed to fit the description at this moment, though he doubted the dog at her side would allow anything untoward to happen. The cats were there, too, winding around AJ’s ankles while Mallory pulled at the laces of AJ’s shoes.
If he hadn’t been jealous or afraid for her, Eamon would have laughed. Theo’s menagerie would protect her, but still . . .
He left the shelter of the barn and sauntered across the barnyard, tugging the brim of his hat lower on his face to shield his eyes from the sun. He studied Pearce as he approached and his opinion matched Quincy’s, though he really had no reason, except his gut, to dislike the man. It didn’t matter. The urge to get Pearce away from Theo and escort him off the farm couldn’t be denied. Would Theo appreciate his efforts? Would she think he was interfering where he didn’t belong? He reminded himself he was just her hired hand, nothing more.
He slowed his pace as that thought slid into his brain and removed the gloves from his hands, pushing them into the back pocket of his trousers as he decided exactly how he would handle this situation. Brute force wasn’t the answer. Theo was all about kindness—she wouldn’t like him physically removing Pearce from the property simply because the man had the audacity to touch her. No, this required some finesse, some subterfuge.
“Forgive the interruption,” he said as he nodded toward Theo’s guest, then turned his attention to Theo, “but could you take a look at Circe? She’s acting strange. I think she’s about to foal.”
“Of course. Thank you for telling me.” Was that relief flashing in her eyes as she stepped farther away from AJ and closer to him? “Eamon, I’d like you to meet Aldrich Pearce Junior. AJ, this is Eamon MacDermott.”
They shook, AJ’s palm so damp within his grasp, Eamon had to squelch the desire to pull away and wipe his hand on his pants.
“Thank you again for the offer, AJ, but I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly. I have three horses ready to foal . . . Circe might be ready right now. If you’ll excuse me?” She flashed him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, then scurried away, followed, as always, by the dog, the cats, and the duck.
It didn’t surprise Eamon that both of them watched her hurry past the stable toward the corral where the pregnant horses had been brought earlier, the hem of her split skirt flirting with the tops of her boots with each step she took. When she disappeared behind the building, he turned toward their unwelcome guest, then held out his hand once more, though he hated to touch the man again. “Nice to meet you, AJ.”
Without a word, AJ shook his hand, then turned and walked to his waiting buggy . . . or perhaps slogged would be a better description, as if each foot weighed a ton and became heavier with every step. If he noticed that one of his shoes was untied, he gave no clue. He turned once, his gaze searching the last place he’d seen Theo, the look in his eyes enough to make Eamon feel almost dirty, as if that single glance summed up the way the man truly felt. Brazen. Lustful. His intentions impure.
Quincy had been wrong . . . at least the senior Pearce had a rattle to warn of his true nature. The junior Pearce had no such thing.
AJ climbed into his buggy. Eamon squelched the desire to smile as the man grabbed the hat on the seat beside him with quick, jerky movements and jammed it on his head before he reached for the reins. Wrapping the leather straps around his wrists, he flicked them with a well-practiced twist and drove out of the yard. Eamon grinned. That man was angry enough to bend an iron poker with his bare hands. He stayed right where he was, standing sentinel as it were, and waited until he could no longer hear the buggy’s wheels before he walked around the stable to the paddock behind the building. Galatea and Electra stood in the shade provided by several trees, their sides bulging with life, but no Circe.
Theo must have taken her inside. He entered the stable through the back door. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the cool shadows of the interior and spot Theo. She was inside Circe’s stall, brushing the horse’s smooth sorrel coat, the menagerie calmly watching her every move from the aisle.
By now, she knew he had lied and the mare was not quite about to foal. His heart picked up an extra beat as he strode down the aisle toward her, hoping she wouldn’t be angry.
“Theo?”
She glanced in his direction for a split second before she went back to her task, but in that brief glance, he saw all he needed to see. Her cheeks were pale except for two bright spots of red high on her cheekbones and her cheerful smile was nowhere in sight. She didn’t seem angry at him for lying to her. She seemed sad and lost, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to simply enfold her in his arms, although that’s exactly what he wanted to do. “You all right?”
She didn’t answer, but her body stiffened.
“Theo?” He moved around the dog, cats, and duck sitting guard, passed through the open gate to Circe’s stall, and then closed it to lean against the smooth wood.
“Yes. I’m all right.” Her voice was more hoarse than usual. Tight, as if she suppressed the urge to cry.
“Did he upset you?”
This time, a quick shake of her head instead of words, and though she responded in the negative, he knew she lied by the way she grasped the brush in her hand, her knuckles white. And the fact she wouldn’t look at him, her gaze focused on the horse.
“I think he did.” He pushed away from the gate and reached for her, grasping her upper arms gently, physically forcing her to stop brushing Circe, and pulled her against him.
She trembled, but didn’t move away, and they stood in silence, his hands still grasping her upper arms, her back against his hard chest, her delectable behind pressed against places it shouldn’t. He could wrap his arms around her, instead of just holding her as he was, and pull her closer. He could kiss the side of her neck where it met the curve of her collarbone or nibble at her earlobe.
He didn’t do any of those things, though he wanted to. Instead, he inhaled deeply and let the delicate, intoxicating fragrance of roses linger in his brain before he turned her around to face him.
A hank of whiskey-colored hair escaped the ponytail at the back of her head and he finally gave in to the desire he’d had for a long time. He tucked that erra
nt tress behind her ear, his fingers smoothing over the soft strands. Her eyes were wide and filled with worry, but that wasn’t the only emotion they reflected. There was wonder—and doubt, too.
“Talk to me.”
If possible, her eyes widened even more. Disbelief was added to the other emotions displayed so clearly.
“He really didn’t upset me, Eamon. He just made me remember too many things I’d rather forget. And I can’t help wondering if he’s right. Maybe this farm is too much for me to handle.”
He led her to a bale of hay, then took the brush from her hand. Theo settled herself, bringing one knee up to rest her chin on. Eamon didn’t sit beside her. Instead, he started brushing Circe. Sometimes, it was easier to share when people didn’t look at each other. Side by side, during a task, was often the best, as he’d witnessed since coming here. The children all seemed to be able to whisper confidences while standing at the sink and washing dishes.
But perhaps that only worked with children. As the silence stretched, the only sound in the stable was the brush against Circe’s side and her occasional chuffs.
“I . . . with Henry by my side, I always felt I could do anything, and when he died, I . . . realized I couldn’t. I tried though. I still try. Every day, but things changed, especially when I learned . . . how far in debt we really were. He was a good man. Please don’t think he wasn’t. He didn’t drink. He didn’t . . . he was faithful to me. He did gamble a bit. Racing Pumpkin had been a gamble. Coming out here to breed horses when we could have stayed in Kentucky was an even bigger one, but it wasn’t gambling that got us in trouble.”
She rose from the bale of hay. Eamon didn’t see her do so, but he felt her presence come closer and heard her boots shuffling the straw that covered the stall floor. He wasn’t surprised when she grabbed another currycomb and started working on Circe’s other side. She didn’t stop speaking though.
“What got us in trouble was Henry’s generosity. He was much too giving by far. He never loaned money. He gave it freely with the understanding he’d probably never get it back. And he was right. He never did get it back. It was the one thing—the only thing really—we ever argued about. He’d give you the last penny in his pocket if you needed it, whether we needed it or not.”
A Kiss in the Morning Mist Page 11