Irish Rebel

  Cool and water your mounts."

  There was a great deal of chatter and movement now. Though Willy dismounted, he stood, holding the reins and studying Brian. Too cautious a look for one so young, Brian thought. And it tugged at his heart.

  Willy took a breath, seemed to hold it. "I have one that's loose. A tooth."

  "Do you?" Unable to resist, Brian climbed over the fence, hunched down. "Let's have a look."

  Willy obliged by baring his teeth and poking his tongue against a wobbly incisor. "That's a good one. You'll be able to spit through where that was in a day or two."

  "You're not supposed to spit." Willy slanted a look up at Brian as he began to walk.

  "Who says?"

  "Ladies." Bobby added a shrug. "They don't like you to burp, either."

  "Ladies can be fussy about certain things. It's best to spit and burp among the men, I suppose."

  "You're not supposed to run like a wild animal, either." Peeking around to make certain Keeley wasn't frowning in his direction, Willy shoved up the sleeve of his shirt. "This is from running like a wild animal on the playground at school. I skidded forever and scraped lots of skin right off so it got really bloody."

  Understanding his role, Brian pursed his lips, nodded. "That's very impressive, that is."

  "I've got an even better one on my knee. Have you got any?"

  "I've got a pretty good bruise." To play the game properly, Brian glanced around first, then tugged his shirt up to display the yellowing bruise on his ribs.

  "Wow! That musta really hurt. Did you cry?"

  "I couldn't. Miss Keeley was watching. Here she comes," he added in a conspirator's whisper and pulled his shirt down, whistled idly.

  "Willy, you need to water Teddy."

  "Yes, ma'am. I had a dream about Teddy last night."

  "You tell me about it when we're grooming him, okay?"

  "Okay. Bye, mister."

  "Now that's a taking little creature," Brian murmured as Willy led his horse out to the water trough.

  "Yes, he is. What were you talking about?"

  "Man business." Brian hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "I've got to get down to the shedrow or I'd help you with the grooming. I could send you up a hand if you like."

  "Thanks, but it's not necessary."

  "Just ring down if you change your mind." He needed to go, let them both get on with work. But it was so nice to stand here and smell her. Today, the scent was subtle, just a hint of heat. "They looked good at the canter."

  "They'll look better in a few weeks." It was time to get the horses inside, start the grooming session. But… What would another minute hurt? "I heard you took a few pots in the poker game last night."

  "I came away about fifty ahead. Your cousin Burke's a slick one. I'd say he whistled home with double that."

  "And my father?"

  Brian's grin flashed. "I like thinking that's where I got the fifty. I told him he's better off sticking with the horses."

  Keeley's brow rose. "And his response to that?"

  "Isn't something I can repeat in polite company."

  She laughed. "That's what I thought. I've got to get the horses inside. Parents will be trickling along soon."

  "Don't they ever come to watch?"

  "Sometimes. Actually I've asked them to give us a few weeks so the kids aren't distracted or tempted to show off. You were a good test audience."

  "Keeley." He touched her arm as she turned away. "The little boy. Willy. He's got a tooth he'll be losing in a couple of days. It'd be nice if someone remembered to put a coin under his pillow."

  Her heart, which had leaped at his touch, quieted. Melted. "He's with a very good foster family right now. Very nice and caring people. They won't forget."

  "All right then."

  "Brian." This time it was her hand on his arm. Despite the curious eyes of her students, she rose to her toes to brush her lips over his cheek. "I have a soft spot for a man who believes in fairies," she murmured, then walked away to gather her students.

  A very soft spot, she thought, for a man with a cocky grin and a kind heart. She opened the terrace doors of her room, stepped out into the night. There was a chill in the air, and a sky so clear the stars flamed like torches. She could smell the flowers, the spice of the first mums, the poignancy of the last of the roses.

  A breeze had the leaves whispering.

  The three-quarter moon was pale gold, shedding light that gilded the gardens and shimmered over the fields. It seemed she could cup her hands, let that light pour into them and drink it like wine.

  How could anyone sleep on so perfect a night?

  Slowly she shifted and looked toward Brian's quarters. Light gleamed in his windows. And her pulse fluttered in her throat.

  She told herself if his lights were off, she would close the doors again and try to sleep. But there they were, bright against dark, beckoning.

  She closed her eyes on a shiver of anticipation and nerves. She'd prepared herself for this step, this change in her life, in her body. It wasn't an impulse, it wasn't reckless. But she felt impulsive. She felt reckless.

  She was a grown woman, and the decision was hers.

  Quietly she stepped back and closed the doors.

  Brian closed the condition book, pressed his fingers to his tired eyes. Like Paddy, he wasn't quite sure he trusted the computer, but he was willing to fiddle with it a bit. Three times a week he spent an hour trying to figure the damn thing out with the notion that eventually he could use it to generate his charts.

  Graphics, they called it, he thought, shifting to give the machine a suspicious glare. Timesaving and efficient, if you believed all the hype. Well, tonight he was too damn tired to spend an hour trying to be timesaving and efficient.

  He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a week. Which had nothing to do with his job, he admitted. And everything to do with his boss's daughter.

  It was a good thing he had that trip to Saratoga coming up, he decided as he pushed away from his desk and rose. A little distance was just what was needed. He didn't care for this unsteady sensation or this worrying ache around the heart.

  He wasn't the type to fret over a woman, he thought. He enjoyed them, and was happy for them to enjoy him, then each moved on without regrets.

  Moving on was always the end plan.

  New York, he remembered, was a fair distance away. It should be far enough. As for tonight, he was going to have a shot of whiskey in his tea to help smooth out the edges. Then by God, he was going to sleep if he had to bash himself over the head to accomplish it.

  And he wasn't going to give Keeley another thought.

  The knock on the door had him cursing under his breath. Though she'd been doing well, his first worry was that the mare with bronchitis had taken a bad turn. He was already reaching for the boots he'd shed when he called out.

  "Come in, it's open. Is it Lucy then?"

  "No, it's Keeley." One brow lifted, she stood framed in the door. "But if you're expecting Lucy, I can go."

  The boots dangled from his fingertips, and those fingertips had gone numb. "Lucy's a horse," he managed to say. "She doesn't often come knocking on my door."

  "Ah, the bronchitis. I thought she was better."

  "She is. Considerably." She'd gone and let her hair loose, he thought. Why did she have to do that? It made his hands hurt, actually hurt with wanting to slide into it.

  "That's good." She stepped in, shut the door. And because it seemed too perfect not to, audibly flipped the lock. Seeing a muscle twitch in his jaw was incredibly satisfying.

  He was a drowning man, and had just gone under the first time. "Keeley, I've had a long day here. I was just about to—"

  "Have a nightcap," she finished. She'd spotted the teapot and the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. "I wouldn't mind one myself." She breezed past him to flip off the burner under the now sputtering kettle.

  She'd put on different perfume, he thought viciously. P
ut it on fresh, too, just to torment him. He was damn sure of it. It snagged his libido like a fishhook.

  "I'm not really fixed for company just now."

  "I don't think I qualify as company." Competently she warmed the pot, measured out the tea and poured the boiling water in. "I certainly won't be after we're lovers."

  He went under the second time without even the chance to gulp in air. "We're not lovers."

  "That's about to change." She set the lid on the pot, turned. "How long do you like it to steep?"

  "I like it strong, so it'll take some time. You should go on home now."

  "I like it strong, too." Amazing, she thought, she didn't feel nervous at all. "And if it's going to take some time, we can have it afterward."

  "This isn't the way for this." He said it more to himself than her. "This is backward, or twisted. I can't get my mind around it. No, just stay back over there and let me think a minute."

  But she was already moving toward him, a siren's smile on her lips. "If you'd rather seduce me, go ahead."

  "That's exactly what I'm not going to do." Though the night was cool and his windows were open to it, he felt sweat slither down his back. "If I'd known the way things were, I'd never have started this."

  That mouth of his, she thought. She really had to have that mouth. "Now we both know the way things are, and I intend to finish it. It's my choice."

  His blood was already swimming. Hot and fast.

  "You don't know anything, which is the whole flaming problem."

  "Are you afraid of innocence?"

  "Damn right."

  "It doesn't stop you from wanting me. Put your hands on me, Brian." She took his wrist, pressed his hand to her breast. "I want your hands on me."

  The boots clattered to the floor as he went under for the third time. "It's a mistake."

  "I don't think so. Touch me."

  His hand closed over her. She was small, delicate, and through some momentary miracle, his. "Doesn't matter if it's a mistake," he said, giving up entirely.

  "We won't let it be one." Her head fell back as his hands began to move.

  "Doesn't matter. But I'll be careful with you."

  Her eyes were blue and brilliant as she lifted her arms, slid her hands into his wildly waving hair. "Not too careful, I hope."

  When he swept her up in his arms she let out a shuddering sigh. "Oh, I was hoping you'd do that." Thrilled, she pressed her lips to the side of his neck. "I was really hoping you'd do that."

  He turned his face into her hair, drew in the scent, held it inside him. "You've only to tell me what you like."

  She tipped her head back to look at him as he carried her into the bedroom. "Show me what I like."

  With moonlight and cool breezes shimmering through the open windows, he laid her on the bed. There had been moonlight the first time he'd kissed her, soft fingers of it then, as there were now. He'd never forget the look of it, or of her.

  There had been few gifts in his life that had mattered, that had stayed in him, in his heart and memory. She would, he knew. She was a gift he would cherish.

  "This," he murmured, nibbling at her lips till they parted for him.