"She still has to prove she can run in a crowd."
Keeley pointed out. "You might want to put blinders on her."
"Not with this one, I'm thinking. The other horses won't be distractions to her. They'll be competitors."
"We'll see." Keeley dismounted, started to hand Brian the reins, but her father took them.
"I'll walk her back."
And that, Brian thought, absurdly bereft, was the difference between training and owning.
"No need to look so annoyed." Keeley cocked her head as Brian scowled after Betty. "She did very well. Better than I'd expected."
"Hmm? Oh, so she did, yes. I was thinking of something else."
"Ribs hurting?" When he only shrugged, she shook her head. "Let me take a look."
"She barely caught me."
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Impatient, Keeley did what she would have done with one of her brothers: She tugged Brian's T-shirt out of his jeans.
"Well, darling, if I'd known you were so anxious to get me undressed, I'd have cooperated fully, and in private."
"Shut up. God, Brian, you said it was nothing."
"It's not much."
His definition of not much was a softball-size bruise over the ribs in a burst of ugly red and black. "Macho is tedious, so just shut up."
He started to grin, then yelped when she pressed her fingers to the bruise. "Hell, woman, if that's your idea of tender mercies, keep them."
"You could have a cracked rib. You need an X ray."
"I don't need a damned-ouch! Bollocks and bloody hell, stop poking." He tried to pull his shirt down, but she simply yanked it up again.
"Stand still, and don't be a baby."
"A minute ago it was don't be macho, now it's don't be a baby. What do you want?"
"For you to behave sensibly."
"It's difficult for a man to behave sensibly when a woman's taking his clothes off in broad daylight. If you're going to kiss it and make it better, I've several other bruises. I've a dandy one on my ass as it happens."
"I'm sure that's terribly amusing. One of the men can drive you to the emergency room."
"No one's driving me anywhere. I'd know if my ribs are cracked as I've had a few in my time. It's a bruise, and it's throbbing like a bitch now that you've been playing with it."
She spotted another, riding high on his hip, and gave that a poke. This time he groaned.
"Keeley, you're torturing me here."
"I'm just trying..." She trailed off as she lifted her head and saw his eyes. It wasn't pain or annoyance in them now. It was heat, and it was frustration. And it was surprisingly gratifying. "Really?"
It was wrong, and it was foolish, but a sip of power was a heady thing. She trailed her fingers along his hip, up his ribs and down again, and felt his muscles quiver. "Why don't you stop me?"
His throat hurt. "You make my head swim. And you know it."
"Maybe I do. Now. Maybe I like it." She'd never been deliberately provocative before. Had never wanted to be. And she'd never known the thrill of having a strong man turn to putty under her hands. "Maybe I've thought about you, Brian, the way you said I would."
"You pick a fine time to tell me when there's people everywhere, and your father one of them."
"Yeah, maybe that's true, too. I need that buffer, I guess."
"You're a killer, Keeley. You'd tease a man to death."
He didn't mean it as a compliment, but to her it was a revelation. "I've never tried it before. No one's ever attracted me enough. You do, and I don't even know why."
When she dropped her hand, he took her wrist. It surprised him to feel the gallop of her pulse there, when her eyes, her voice had been so cool, so steady. "Then you're a quick learner."
"I'd like to think so. If I come to you, you'd be the first."
"The first what?" Temper wanted to stir, especially when she laughed. Then his mind cleared and the meaning flashed through like a thunderbolt. His hand tightened on her wrist, then dropped it as though she had turned to fire.
"That scared you enough to shut you up," she observed. "I'm surprised anything could render you speechless."
"I've..." But he couldn't think.
"No, don't fumble around for words. You'll spoil your image." She couldn't think just why his dazed expression struck her as so funny, or why the shock in his eyes was endearing somehow.
"We'll just say that, under these circumstances, we both have a lot to consider. And now, I'm way behind in my work, and have to get ready for my afternoon class."
She walked away, as easily, as casually, Brian thought numbly, as she might have if they'd just finished discussing the proper treatment for windgalls. She left him reeling.
He'd gone and fallen in love with the gentry, and the gentry was his boss's daughter. And his boss's daughter was innocent.
He'd have to be mad to lay a hand on her after this.
He began to wish Betty had just kicked him in the head and gotten it all over with.
Served her right, Keeley decided. Spend the morning indulging herself, spend half the night doing the books. And she hated doing the books.
Sighing, she tipped back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. In another year, maybe two, the school would generate enough income to justify hiring a bookkeeper. But for now, she just couldn't toss the money away for something she could do herself. Not when she could use it to subsidize another student, or buy one of them a pair of riding boots.
It was tempting, particularly at times like these, to dip into her own bank account. But it was a matter of pride to keep the school going on its own merit, as much as she possibly could.
Ledgers and forms and bills and accounts, she thought, were her responsibility. You didn't have to like your responsibilities, you just had to deal with them.
She had two full-tuition students on her waiting list. One more, she calculated-two would be better-but one more and she could justify opening another class. Sunday afternoons.
That would give her eighteen full tuitions. Two years before, she'd had only three. It was working. And so, now, should she.
She swiveled back to the computer and focused on her spreadsheet program. Her eyes were starting to blur again when the door behind her opened.
She caught the scent of hot tea before she turned and saw her mother.
"Ma, what are you doing out here? It's midnight."
"Well, I was up, and I saw your light. I thought to myself, that girl needs some fuel if she's going to run half the night." Adelia set a thermos and a bag on the desk. "Tea and cookies."
"I love you."
"So you'd better. Darling, your eyes are half shut. Why don't you turn this off and come to bed?"
"I'm nearly done, but I can use the break-and the fuel." She ate a cookie before she poured the tea. "I'm only behind because I played this morning."
"From what your father tells me you weren't playing." Adelia took a chair, nudged it closer to the desk. "He's awfully pleased with how Brian's bringing Betty along. Well, he's pleased with Brian altogether, and so am I from what I've seen. But Betty's quite the challenge."
"Hmm." So was Brian, Keeley thought. "He has his own way of doing things, but it seems to work." Considering, she drummed her fingers on the desk. She'd always been able to discuss anything with her mother. Why should that change now?
"I'm attracted to him."
"I'd worry about you if you weren't. He's a fine-looking young man."
"Ma." Keeley laid a hand over her mother's. "I'm very attracted to him."
The amusement faded from Adelia's eyes. "Oh. Well."
"And he's very attracted to me."
"I see."
"I don't want to mention this to Dad. Men don't look at this sort of thing the way we do."
"Darling." At a loss, Adelia sighed out a breath. "Mothers aren't likely to look at this sort of thing the same way their daughters do. You're grown up, and you're a woman who answers to herself first. But you're still my little girl,
aren't you?"
"I haven't been with a man before."
"I know it." Adelia's smile was soft, almost wistful. "Do you think I wouldn't know if that had changed for you? You think too much of yourself to give what you are to something unless it matters. No one's mattered before."
Here the ground was boggy, Keeley thought "I don't know if Brian matters in the way you mean. But I feel different with him. I want him. I haven't wanted anyone before. It's exciting, and a little scary."
Adelia rose, wandered around the little office looking at the ribbons, the medals. The steps and the stages. "We've talked about such matters before, you and I. About the meaning and the precautions, the responsibilities."
"I know about being responsible and sensible."
"Keeley, while it is true that all that is important, it doesn't tell you-it can't tell you-what it is to be with a man. There's such heat." She turned back. "There's such a force you make between you. It's not just an act, though I know it can be for some. But even then it's more than just that. I won't tell you that giving your innocence is a loss, for it shouldn't be, it doesn't need to be. For me it was an opening. Your father was my first," she murmured. "And my only."
"Mama." Moved, Keeley reached for her hands. Her mother's hands were so strong, she thought. Everything about her mother was strong. "That's so lovely."
"I only ask you to be sure, so that if you give yourself to him, you take away a memory that's warn and has heart, not just heat. Heat can chill after time passes."
"I am sure." Smiling now, Keeley brought her mother's hand to her cheek. "But he's not. And, Ma, it's so odd, but the way he backed off when I told him he'd be the first is why I'm sure. You see, I matter to him, too."
Chapter Six
It was amazing, really, how two people could live and work in basically the same place, and one could completely avoid the other. It just took setting your mind to it.
Brian set his mind to it for several days. There was plenty of work to keep him occupied and more than enough reason for him to spend time away from the farm and on the tracks. But he found avoidance scraped his pride. It was too close a kin to cowardice.
Added to that, he'd told Keeley he wanted to help her at the school and had done nothing about it. He wasn't a man to break his word, no matter what it cost him. And, he reminded himself as he walked to Keeley's stables, he was also a man of some self-control. He had no intention of seducing or taking advantage of innocence.
He'd made up his mind on it.
Then he stepped into the stables and saw her. He wouldn't have said his mouth watered, but it was a very close thing.
She was wearing one of those fancy rigs again-jodhpurs the color of dark chocolate and a cream sort of blouse that looked somehow fluid. Her hair was down, all tumbled and wild as if she'd just pulled the pins from it. And indeed, as he watched she flipped it back and looped it through a wide elastic band.
He decided the best place in the universe for his hands to be were in his pockets.
"Lessons over?"
She glanced back, her hands still up in her hair. Ah, she thought. She'd wondered how long it would take him to wander her way again. "Why? Did you want one?"
He frowned, but caught himself before he shifted his feet. "I said I'd give you a hand over here."
"So you did. As it happens I could use one. You did say you could ride, didn't you?"
"I did, and I do."
"Good." Perfect. She gestured toward a big bay. "Mule really needs a workout. If you take him, I'll be able to give Sam some exercise, too. Neither of them has had enough the last couple of days. I'm sure I have tack that'll suit you." She opened a box door and led out the already saddled Sam. "We'll wait in the paddock."
As they clipped out, Brian eyed Mule, Mule eyed Brian. "She's a bossy one, isn't she now?" Then with a shrug, Brian headed to the tack room to find a saddle that suited him.
She was cantering around the paddock when he came out, her body so tuned to the horse they might have been one figure. With the slightest shift in rhythm and angle, she took her mount over three jumps. Cantering still, she started the next circle, then spotted Brian. She slowed, stopped.
"Ready?"
For an answer, he swung into the saddle. "Why are you all done up today?"
"It was picture day. We take photographs of the classes. The kids and the parents like it. Mule's up for a good run, if you are."
"Then let's have at it." With a tap of his heels he sent the horse out of the open gate at an easy trot.
"How are the ribs?" she asked as she came up beside him.
"They're all right." They were driving him mad, because every time he felt a twinge he remembered her hands on him.
"I'm told the yearling training's coming along well, and Betty's one of the star pupils-as predicted."
"She has the thirst. All the training in the world can't give a horse the thirst to race. We'll be giving her a taste of the starting gate shortly, see how she does with it."
Keeley headed up a gentle slope where trees were still lush and green despite the encroaching fall. "I'd use Foxfire with her," she said casually. "He's a sturdy one, with lots of experience. He loves to charge out of the gate. She sees him do it a couple of times, she won't want to be left behind."
He'd already decided on Foxfire as Beth's gate tutor, but shrugged. "I'm thinking about it. So... have I passed the audition here, Miss Grant?"
Keeley lifted a brow, and a smile ghosted around her mouth as she looked Brian over. She'd been checking his form, naturally. "Well, you're competent enough at a trot." With a light tap, she sent Sam into a canter. The minute Brian matched her pace, she headed into a gallop.
Oh, she missed this. Every day she couldn't fly out across the fields, over the hills, was a sacrifice. There was nothing to match it-the thrill of speed, the power soaring under her, through her, the thunder of hooves and the whip of wind.
She laughed as Brian edged by her. She'd seen the quick grin of challenge, and answered it by letting Sam have his head.
It was like watching magic take wing, Brian thought. The muscular black horse soared over the ground with the woman on his back. They streaked over another rise, moving west, into the dying sun. The sky was a riot of color, a painting slashed with reds and golds. It seemed to him she would ride straight into it, through it.
And he'd have no choice but to follow her.
When she pulled up, turned to wait for him, her face flushed with pleasure, her eyes gleaming with it, he knew he'd never seen the like.
And wanting her was apt to kill him.
"I should've given you a handicap," she called out. "Mule runs like a demon, but he's no match for this one." She leaned over the saddle to pat Sam's neck. She straightened, shook her hair back. "Gorgeous out, isn't it?"
"Hot as blazes," Brian corrected. "How long does summer last around here?"
"As long as it likes. Mornings are getting chilly, though, and once the sun dips down behind the hills, it'll cool off quickly enough. I like the heat. Your Irish blood's not used to it yet."
She turned Sam so she could look down at Royal Meadows. "It's beautiful from up here, isn't it?"
The buildings spread out, neat, elegant, with the white fences of the paddocks, the brown oval, the horses being led to the stable. A trio of weanlings, all legs and energy, raced in the near pasture.
"From down there, too. It's the best I've ever seen."
That made her smile. "Wait till you see it in winter, with snow on the hills and the sky thick and gray with more-or so blue it hurts your eyes to look at it. And the foalings start and there are babies trying out their legs. When I was little, I couldn't wait to run down and see them in the morning."
They began to walk again, companionably now, as the light edged toward dusk. She hadn't expected to be so comfortable with him. Aware, yes, she always seemed aware of him now. But this simple connection, a quiet evening ride, was a pleasure.
"Did you have horses
when you were a boy?"
"No, we never owned them. But it wasn't so far to the track, and my father's a wagering man."
"And are you?"
He tilted his face toward her. "I like playing the odds, and fortunately, have a better feel for them than my father. He loved the look of them, and the rush of a race, but never did he gain any understanding of horses."
"You didn't gain any, either," Keeley said and had him frowning at her. "What you've got you were born with. Just like them,'' she added, gesturing toward the weanlings.
"I think that's a compliment."
"I don't mind giving them when they're fact."
"Well, fact or fiction, horses have been the biggest part of my life. I remember going along with my da and seeing the horses. When he could manage it, he liked to go early, check out the field, talk with the dockers and the grooms, get himself a feel for things-or so he said. He lost his money more often as not. It was the process that appealed to him."
That, and the flask in his pocket, Brian thought, but with tolerance. His father had loved the horses and the whiskey. And his mother had understood neither.
"One of the first times I went along, I saw an exercise boy, very young lad, ponying a sorrel around the track. And I thought, there, that's it. That's what I want to do, for there can't be anything better than doing that for your life and your living. And while I was still young enough, and small enough, I slid out of going to school as often as it could be managed and hitched rides to the track to hustle myself. Walk hots, muck stalls, whatever."
"It's romantic."
He caught himself. He hadn't meant to ramble on that way, but the ride, the evening, the whole of it made him sentimental. When he started to laugh at her statement, she shook her head.
"No, it is. People who aren't a part of the world of it don't understand, really. The hard work, the disappointments, the sweat and blood. Freezing predawn workouts, bruises and pulled muscles."
"And that's romantic."
"You know it is."
This time he did laugh, because she'd pegged him. "As a boy, when I hung around the shedrow, I'd see the horses come back through the mist of morning, steam rising off their backs, the sound of them growing louder, coming at you before ever you could see them. They'd slip out of the fog like something out of a dream. Then, I thought it the most romantic thing in the world."
Books by Nora Roberts Page 41