by Nora Roberts
She hesitated, then blurted out quickly, “Something for my hands. Your brother said I’ve hands like a ditchdigger’s.”
“That man!” she exclaimed in disgust. “He’s the epitome of tact and diplomacy.”
“Trish, hello!”
Adelia turned to see a flash of amazing silver-blond hair before Trish was enveloped in an exuberant embrace. Adelia’s first startled impression was of lavish curls and musky scent.
“I’m so glad to see you, darling.” A high, bubbly voice drifted with the scent. “It’s been weeks.”
“Hello, Laura.” With an affectionate smile, Trish disentangled herself. “It’s good to see you too. Laura Bowers—Adelia Cunnane.”
“How do you do, Mistress Bowers.” The greeting was returned with a flash of beautiful white teeth before Laura’s attention returned to Trish.
“Darling, how is that fabulous brother of yours?”
“Fabulous,” Trish returned, giving Adelia a quick grin of mischief.
“Don’t tell me he’s not pining after Margot?” Laura sighed and gave a flutter of extensive lashes. “I was so hoping to offer him my comfort. Not even a tear or two to be dried?”
“He seems to be bearing up under the strain,” Trish returned. Hearing the unexpected sarcasm, Adelia glanced at her in surprise.
“Oh, well, if he doesn’t need comfort,” Laura continued, obviously not affected by Trish’s tone, “he’s still at loose ends, so to speak. If dear Margot overplayed her hand by whisking off to Europe, I for one am not above volunteering to fill the gap. Heard from her lately?”
“Not a peep.”
“Well, then, I’ll take it that no news is good news.” She gave Trish a wink and tossed her brilliant curls. “Such a gorgeous man. Do you know Travis, Adelaide?”
“Adelia,” Trish corrected before Adelia could do so herself. “Yes, Dee knows Travis very well.”
“Charming man,” Laura bubbled. “Now that Margot’s out of the picture, at least temporarily, I’ll just have to give him a ring. Do tell him I’ll call, won’t you?” With another flurry of curls, she pecked both of Trish’s cheeks. “I hate to, darling, but I simply must run. Don’t forget to give Travis my very best. So nice to have met you, Amanda.”
Adelia opened her mouth, then closed it again as Laura scurried off in a wave of musk.
“Sorry, Amanda.” Trish grinned and patted Adelia’s cheek. “Laura’s really very sweet and basically kind, but she’s a bit short of brains.”
“She has such beautiful hair.” Tearing her gaze from Laura’s retreating coiffure, Adelia turned back to Trish. “I’ve never seen hair that color before. She must be very proud of it.”
Trish laughed until she was forced to wipe away tears as Adelia looked on in puzzlement. “Oh, Dee, I adore you! Come on, we’ll get that hand cream; then I’ll buy you a cup of tea.”
Waiting patiently while her mentor weighed the pros and cons of various lotions, Adelia reflected on Laura Bowers’s conversation. Margot, she repeated, nibbling absently on her bottom lip. Who is this Margot, and what is she to Travis? For a moment she struggled with the urge to ask Trish outright, then, remembering her manner, she kept silent. Perhaps he’s in love with her. This thought brought such a sharp, unexpected pain that she nearly gasped aloud. But he’s not, a part of her insisted. If Travis Grant were ever to love a woman, he would never let her go. He would go to the ends of the earth to bring her back. Unless, of course, he had been rejected. His pride would never allow him to pursue a woman who had refused him. But who would ever refuse such a man? It’s not my concern, she told herself fiercely, forcing herself to concentrate on Trish’s detailed description of various hand lotions.
At last Trish was satisfied. Adelia was suitably outfitted and had all the cosmetics that Trish thought were necessary. Laden with parcels, the two women headed back to the car. For once, Adelia was reduced to silence. She sat bolt upright on the front seat as Trish drove swiftly over the winding country roads. She was even too excited to enjoy the rolling hills and the horses grazing in the meadows, now softly outlined by the sinking afternoon sun.
Paddy was there to open the door when Adelia burst in with her new treasures.
“Little Dee, you’re looking as happy as the first time you rode Majesty round the track,” he said, observing her flushed, happy face.
“This was nearly as exciting, Uncle Paddy.” She laughed and stepped through the doorway. “Never have I seen so many clothes, so many people. Do you know, I think everyone in America is in a constant hurry, driving, rushing through the stores—nothing ever seems to move slowly. This place Trish took me was amazing—all these shops in one big building, and it had fountains, right inside.” She sighed, then shrugged and grinned. “I know I should be ashamed for squandering money the way I did, but I’m not. I had a fine time.”
“It was due time, lass, due time.” He kissed her cheek as they entered the living room.
“Well, Paddy, she’s lost her innocence.” Travis rose from an armchair and grinned down at Adelia and her packages. “Trish corrupted her. I knew I shouldn’t have let that sister of mine get hold of her.”
“Your sister is a wonderful lady, Mr. Grant.” Adelia tossed back her head to meet his eyes, chestnut curls falling back from her face. “She has a sweet and generous soul, and a good deal more in the way of manners than some I could name.”
His brow lifted, and he glanced over her head to look at Paddy as the older man struggled not to grin. “It appears Trish has a champion, and one I don’t think I care to challenge.” He shifted his gaze back to Adelia’s irate face. “At least,” he added with a slow, enigmatic smile, “not today. . . .”
Chapter Four
Saturday dawned sunny and unseasonably warm. The trees were now in full leaf, and the air carried the sweet scent of flowers as spring approached midterm. Adelia sang happily as she groomed Fortune, a sturdy three-year-old colt who listened with approval to her high, lilting voice as she brushed him.
“Dee! Dee!” She whirled around to see Mark and Mike scurrying into the stables. “Mom said we could come down and see you, and the new foal too.”
“Good day to you, gentlemen; it’s pleased I am to have you visiting me.”
“Will you show us the foal?” Mike demanded, and she smiled at his enthusiasm.
“That I will, Master Michael, as soon as I’ve finished with my friend here. Now.” She set down the brush and reached a hand into her back pocket. “Where is it that I put that hoof pick?” Her pockets were empty, and she searched the ground, frowning. “It’s the little people at work again.”
“We didn’t take it,” Mark objected.
“People are always blaming kids for everything,” Mike complained righteously.
“Oh, but it’s not children I’m speaking of,” Adelia corrected. “It’s leprechauns.”
“Leprechauns?” the twins chorused. “What’s a leprechaun?”
“Could it be you’re telling me you’ve never heard of leprechauns?” she asked in amazement. The boys shook their identical heads, and she folded her arms across her chest. “Well, your education’s sadly lacking, lads. It’s a sorry thing to remain ignorant of the little people.”
“Tell us, Dee,” they demanded, pulling at her hands in excitement.
“That I will.” She hauled herself up to sit on a bench as the two boys squatted on the floor at her feet. “Now, the leprechaun is a strange fellow, his father being an evil spirit and his mother a fairy fallen from grace. By nature he’s a mischief-maker. He only grows to be about three feet high, no matter how old he happens to be. Some say he likes to be riding on sheep or goats, so a man knows, if his stock is tired and weary of a morning, that the little people have been up to their tricks and using them for some errand where they didn’t want to travel on foot. They can be lazy
when they’ve a mind to.
“They love to be making mischief about the house as well. Why, a leprechaun’ll make a pot boil over on the stove, or keep it from boiling at all, as his whim suits him. Or he’ll steal the bacon or toss the furniture about for the sheer love of the confusion. Other times he’ll drink his fill of the milk or poteen and fill up the bottle with water.
“Now,” she continued, her eyes bright with excitement as the two boys clung to her words, “to catch a leprechaun would bring certain fortune to the one who had the wit to hold him. The only time you can catch him is when he’s sitting down, and he never sits unless his brogues want mending. He’s forever running about so that he wears them out, and when he feels his feet on the ground, he sits behind a hedge or in the tall grass of a meadow and takes them off to mend them. Then”—she lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, and the two heads inched forward—“you creep up, quiet as a cat, and grab him tight in your arms.” She flung her arms around an imaginary leprechaun and shouted, “ ‘Give me your gold,’ you say. ‘I’ve got no gold,’ says he.”
Releasing her invisible captive, she gave the boys a roguish smile. “Now, there’s gold by the ton, and that’s the truth of it, and he can tell you where it’s to be found, but he won’t till you make him. Now, some try choking him or threatening him, but whatever you do, you mustn’t for a moment take your eyes from him. If you do that, he’s gone in a flash, and you’ll not be seeing him again. The scheming devil has a pocketful of tricks for getting away, and he can charm the birds from the trees if he’s a mind to. But if you hold your ground and keep your eye on him, his gold is yours, and your fortune’s made.”
“Did you ever see a leprechaun, Dee?” Mark asked, bouncing with excitement.
“By the saints, I thought I did, a time or two.” She nodded sagely. “But I never got close enough before they had vanished, quick as you please. So”—she jumped from the bench and tousled two dark heads—“unless I’m finding me one who’s traveled to America, I’ll have to be working for my living.” She picked up a hoof pick from the bench. “And that’s what I’m doing now, or I’ll be fired for laziness and be begging for pennies.”
“We wouldn’t let it come to that, would we, boys?”
Adelia spun around, her color rising as she met Travis’s mocking smile. The thumping in her heart she attributed to surprise, and she was forced to swallow nervously before speaking.
“It’s a habit you’re making of creeping up on a body and frightening the wits from them, Mr. Grant.”
“Maybe I mistook you for a leprechaun, Dee.” His grin was annoying, but she refused to be baited and bent to lift Fortune’s hoof.
He led the twins down to visit the new foal, and she set down the horse’s leg and watched his broad back retreat down the passage.
Why did he always send her into a flutter? she wondered. Why did her pulses begin to race at a speed that rivaled Majesty’s whenever she looked up and met those surprisingly blue eyes? She leaned her cheek against Fortune’s sturdy neck and sighed. She’d lost, she conceded. She’d lost the battle, and though she fought against it, she was in love with Travis Grant. It was impossible, she admitted. Nothing could ever develop between the owner of Royal Meadows and an insignificant stablehand.
“Besides,” she whispered to the understanding colt, “he’s an arrogant brute of a man, and I don’t believe I like him one little bit.” Hearing the boys approach, she bent quickly and lifted another hoof for cleaning.
“Run along outside, boys. I want a word with Dee.” At Travis’s command, the twins scrambled past, chattering and exclaiming over the foal. She set down the horse’s leg and straightened to face him, the color fading from her cheeks.
Blast my cursed tongue, she thought in desperate condemnation. Aunt Lettie told me a thousand times where my temper would take me.
“I—have I done something wrong, Mr. Grant?” She stammered slightly and bit her lip in frustration.
“No, Dee,” he answered, slowly searching her troubled face. “Did you think I was going to fire you?” His voice was oddly gentle, and she felt a tremor at the unfamiliar tone.
“You did say I could have a fortnight, and I’ve a few days left before—”
“There’s no need for a trial,” he interrupted. “I’ve already decided to keep you on.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Grant,” she began, overcome with relief. “I’m grateful to you.”
“Your way with horses is quite phenomenal, a strange sort of empathy.” He stroked Fortune’s flank, then fixed his eyes on her again. “It would be impossible to complain about your work, except that there’s too much of it. I don’t want to hear about you cleaning tack at ten o’clock at night anymore.”
“Oh, well . . .” Turning back to the bench, Adelia gave intense concentration to placing the hoof pick in its proper spot. “I just—”
“Don’t argue, and don’t do it again,” he commanded, and she felt his hands descend to her shoulders. “You know, you seem to split your time between working and arguing. We’ll have to see if we can find another outlet for all that energy.”
“I don’t argue, exactly. Well, perhaps sometimes.” She shrugged and wished she had the courage to turn and face him. The decision was taken out of her hands as she found herself being turned, then lifted until she once again sat on the bench.
“Perhaps sometimes,” Travis agreed, and she found it disconcerting that his smile was so close, his hands still circling her waist.
“Mr. Grant,” she began, then swallowed as he reached up to pluck her cap from her hair, freeing the rich cloud of auburn. “Mr. Grant, I’ve work to do.”
“Mmm.” His comment was absent as he became involved with the winding of curls around his fingers. “I’ve always had a fondness for chestnuts.” Grinning, he gave her hair a firm tug until her face lifted to his. “A very particular fondness.”
“Would you like to check my teeth?” Seeking a defense against a swift wave of longing, Adelia stiffened and sent him what she hoped was a lethal glare. His burst of unrestrained laughter caused the glare to light with green fire, and she struggled to slide from the bench.
“Oh, no.” He held her still with minimum effort. “You should realize by now that I find it impossible to restrain myself when you start spitting fire.”
He took her mouth quickly, one hand still tangled in her hair, the other slipping under her shirt to claim the smooth skin of her back. She found her second trip through the storm no less devastating than the first, and while her will melted under its force, her senses sharpened. The scent of leather, horses and masculinity rose and surrounded her, a strange, intoxicating scent she knew she would always associate with him. She could feel his strength as he plunged her deeper into the kiss, demanding every drop of sweetness from her mouth. Hard and seeking, his lips parted hers, his tongue teasing hers into mobility until she was pliant and yielding against him.
For the first time she felt the pain and demand of womanhood, the slow ache growing in the center of her being and spreading to encompass her entirely, until there was nothing but the need and the man who could assuage it. She heard a soft moan as her lips were freed, not aware it was her own weak protest at liberation, and her lids opened slowly to reveal eyes dark and slumberous with desire.
“I find,” Travis commented in a low, lazy voice, “that is a more productive use of time than arguing.”
Adelia watched his eyes drop to the lips still warm from his and felt his hand tighten on her hair. It relaxed slowly, and a smile moved across his face as his eyes rose to hers. “It also appears to be the only way to shut you up for any amount of time.”
He dropped her cap back on her head, then traced her cheek with his finger. “I find Irish tempers have definite advantages.”
He strode away, and Adelia contemplated his long, graceful stride in con
fusion, reaching up one hand to press the cheek his finger had touched.
Pushing away a puzzle she could not solve, she spent the rest of the day in a state of euphoria. She was staying. She had found her place on the mammoth horse farm, and an uncle who wanted as well as needed her, and a job that was a dream realized. And at least, she thought happily, she would be close to Travis, seeing him almost daily, feeding her need on the sight of his tall, powerful form, on a few snatched words of conversation. That was enough for the present, and the future was something to be faced when it arrived. . . .
***
Long after her uncle had retired, Adelia remained wide awake. She had tried to relax with a book, but her spirits were too high for sitting idly, and she closed it and slipped outside.
She decided to walk to the stables, promising herself she would not touch one bridle but merely look in on the horses. The night remained warm; the sky was blanketed with stars, so clear and vivid that she reached up, imagining she could pluck one from the soft, black curtain. At peace with the world, she meandered toward the large white building.
Entering, she switched on a low light to dispel the unrelieved darkness. She had gone no more than twenty feet when a soft moaning sound caught her attention, and she whirled in the direction of an empty stall. A man lay in a crumpled heap, and she caught her breath in alarm.
“Merciful heavens!” She hurried in and bent over him. “What’s happened? Oh!” she uttered in disgust and stood, hands on hips. “You are drunk, George Johnson, and a pitiful sight indeed. You smell like a poteen factory. What do you mean drinking yourself into such a state and lying about in the stables?”
“So, it’s pretty little Dee,” George mumbled thickly, hauling himself into a half-sitting position. “Did you come for a visit? Come to share my bottle?”
Adelia had found herself avoiding the groom. She had often found his eyes on her, and his leering smile had caused her to recoil instinctively. Now, however, she was angry and disgusted, and she took no pains to hide it.