The Irish Trilogy by Nora Roberts Page 3

  “I didn’t expect to find a half-pint fairy invading my stables,” Travis returned, grinning once again.

  Adelia straightened her spine and threw him a haughty look. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came for a walk. I was thinking I might look in on Majesty.”

  “Majesty’s a very high-strung animal,” Travis admonished, his gaze roaming over her from top to bottom. “You’d best keep a respectable distance.”

  “And how will I be doing that?” she demanded imperiously, disconcerted by his masculine appraisal. “I’m to be exercising him regularly.”

  “The devil you are!” His eyes rose to hers and narrowed. “If you think I’d let a slip of a thing like you on my prize colt, you’ve lost your senses.”

  “I’ve already been on your prize colt.” Anger returned, and her head tossed with it. “I rode around your track on him in fine time.”

  “I don’t believe it.” He took a step toward her, and her head was forced to tilt still further. “Paddy wouldn’t let you up on Majesty.”

  “I’m not in the habit of lying, Mr. Grant,” Adelia retorted with great dignity. “The boy, Tom, got a kick for his trouble, so I rode Majesty instead.”

  “You rode Majesty?” Travis repeated in slow, even tones.

  “That I did,” she agreed, then, noting the anger hardening the blue eyes, sped on. “He’s a beauty, rides like the wind, but he’s not bad-tempered. He wouldn’t have been kicking Tom if the boy had understood him better.” She was speaking rapidly, not giving Travis an opportunity to comment. “The poor thing just needed someone to talk to him, someone to show him he was loved and appreciated.”

  “And you can talk to horses?” Travis’s lips curved on the question.

  “Aye,” she agreed, unaware of the mocking gleam that lit his eyes. “Anyone can if they’ve a mind to. I know animals, Mr. Grant. I worked with the vet back in Skibbereen, and I know a bit about healing as well. I would never do anything to bring harm to Majesty or any of your other horses. Uncle Paddy trusted me; you mustn’t be angry with him.”

  He said nothing to this, only took his time studying her as her extraordinary eyes unknowingly employed their power. As his silence and intense regard continued, she felt a small tingle of fear, mixed with another sensation, strange and foreign, that she was unable to decipher.

  “Mr. Grant,” she began, swallowing pride to plead. “Please, give me a chance—a fortnight, no more.” She took a deep breath and moistened her lips. “If you don’t want me after that, just tell me, and I’ll abide by your decision. I’ll tell Uncle Paddy I’m not happy with the job, that I want to be doing something else.”

  “Why would you do that?” His head tilted as if to gain a new perspective.

  “It’s what I’d have to do,” she returned with a shrug and a push at her tumbled hair. “Otherwise I’d be putting him in the middle. He’s devoted to you and to this place—I know that from the letters he wrote me—but he’s taken me on as his responsibility now. If I told him you had fired me, his loyalties would be torn in two. I’ll not be the cause of that. Will you give me a two-week trial, Mr. Grant?” Pride goeth before destruction, she quoted silently, trying to remember Aunt Lettie’s lectures on humility.

  She stood, determined not to squirm under his silent contemplation, wishing he would not look at her as if he could read the thoughts running through her brain.

  “All right, Adelia,” he said at length. “You’ll have your two-week trial, just between us.”

  A brilliant smile lit her face and she extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Grant. I’m grateful to you.”

  He accepted her hand, but his returning smile faded, a frown replacing it as he turned her palm up and examined it. Her hand was exquisitely small, fingers long and tapering, but it was rough and calloused from years of the abuse of labor. The continued contact was sending odd tingles through her body, and she looked down helplessly at the hand under his critical scrutiny.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked in a voice she barely recognized.

  He raised his eyes and looked into hers with an expression she could not fathom. “It’s a crime for such a tiny hand to be as hard and rough as any ditchdigger’s.”

  Unaccountably stung by his softly spoken words, she jerked her hand away, holding it behind her back. “I’m sorry they’re not as soft as a lily, Mr. Grant. But it’s not lady’s hands I’ll be needing for the job I’m doing for you. If you’ll excuse me now, I’ll be going in.”

  She moved past him quickly, and he watched her run like a rabbit across the grass and out of sight.

  ***

  Birdcalls broke the night’s slumber, and Adelia woke with the sun. She dressed quickly, happy with the anticipation of beginning her job, a job which was to her more of a magic wish granted than labor. She was sure she could prove herself to Travis Grant. A new home, a new life, a new beginning; she stared out at the infant sun and knew it would bring nothing but wonders.

  The scent of frying bacon led Paddy to the kitchen, and he stood for a moment watching her movements while she remained unaware of his presence. She was humming an old tune he remembered from childhood, and she seemed to him the essence of shining, unspoiled youth.

  “Sure and it’s the most beautiful sight these old eyes have awakened to in many a year.”

  She turned to him, her smile dimming the sunlight into insignificance. “Good morning to you, Uncle Paddy. It’s a fine, beautiful day.”

  While they were eating, Adelia casually mentioned that she had met Travis Grant the previous night during her nocturnal wanderings.

  “I was hoping to introduce you myself this morning.” He took a bit of crisp bacon and raised his brows. “What did you think of him?”

  She tactfully kept her opinion to herself and answered with a move of her shoulders. “I’m sure he’s a fine, good man, Uncle Paddy, but I wasn’t with him long enough to make judgments.” Big, arrogant bully, her mind added. “But I did tell him about Tom’s accident, and that I’d been taken on as an exercise boy.”

  “Did you, now?” A slow smile formed as he added jam to his bread. “And what did he say to that?”

  “He’s smart enough to trust Padrick Cunnane’s opinion.” Her fingers crossed under the table, and she wondered if she had earned another black mark in Aunt Lettie’s often mentioned Record Book of the Angels.

  A short time later, Adelia stood in front of Majesty, rubbing his muzzle and holding an intimate conversation, unaware her actions were being observed by a pair of deep blue eyes.

  “Morning, Paddy. I hear you’ve taken on a new hand.”

  Paddy broke off his conversation with Hank and greeted the tall, lean man. “Good morning to you, Travis. Dee told me she met you last night.”

  “Did she?” His lips curved as he continued to regard woman and horse.

  “Wait till you see that little lady ride,” Hank put in, shaking his head. “Could have knocked me over with a feather.”

  Travis inclined his head. “We’ll soon see.” He moved to where Adelia still stood speaking softly to the large Thoroughbred. “Hello again, half-pint. Does your friend ever answer you?”

  She whirled, caught off guard, and regarded his amusement with indignation. “Aye, that he does, Mr. Grant, in his own way.” She brushed past him to mount, and Travis stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

  “Good Lord, did I do that?” He ran a finger over the dark smudge of bruises on her arm, and Adelia followed his glance before raising her eyes to his.

  “That you did.”

  His eyes narrowed a moment, his fingers still light on her wrist. “We’ll have to be more careful with you in the future, won’t we, little Dee?”

  “Not the first bruising I’ve had, nor likely to be the last, but you’ll not be having any more occasion to be grabbing at me, Mr.
Grant.” With this, she swung herself astride Majesty and rode him onto the track. At Paddy’s signal, the pair sprinted forward and galloped around the oval in a clean, steady rhythm.

  “You wouldn’t have been thinking I’d lost my senses hiring my niece, now would you, lad?”

  “I’ll admit when she told me she’d been hired I had a moment of doubt about your sanity,” Travis answered, keeping his eyes on the small woman glued to the speeding horse. “But I’ve always trusted your judgment, Paddy; you’ve never let me down.”

  Later that morning Adelia worked in the stables, insisting over Paddy’s objections that she assist in the grooming of some of the horses. A sound behind her caused her to turn her head, and she encountered two small boys, one the mirror image of the other. She closed her eyes in mock alarm.

  “Saints preserve us, sure and it’s losing my mind, I am! I’m seeing double.”

  The boys collapsed into giggles and spoke in unison. “We’re twins.”

  “Is that the truth?” She breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad to know it. I was afraid a spell had been put on me.”

  “You talk just like Paddy,” one boy observed, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity.

  “Do I, now?” She smiled down at their identical faces. The boys were about eight, she hazarded, dark as gypsies, with snapping brown eyes. “The reason for that may be I’m his niece, Adelia Cunnane, just arrived from Ireland.”

  Two faced creased in two doubtful frowns. “He calls you little Dee, but you’re not little, you’re all grown up,” one boy complained, the other nodding in agreement.

  “That I am, as far as I ever will be, I’m afraid. But I was just a wee babe when I last saw Uncle Paddy, and I never did grow very tall, so I’m little Dee to him. And what might your names be?” she questioned, putting down the currycomb that she had been using.

  “Mark and Mike,” they announced, again in one voice.

  “Don’t be telling me who’s who,” she commanded, narrowing dark green eyes. “I’ll guess; I’m mighty good at guessing.” She circled them as they resumed giggling. “You’d be Mark, and you’d be Mike,” she pronounced, placing a hand on each head. Two pair of eyes stared at her in amazement.

  “How did you know?” Mark demanded.

  “I’m Irish,” she stated simply, controlling a grin. “There’s many of us from Ireland who’s fey.”

  “Fey—what’s that?” Mike chimed in, eyes wide and curious.

  “That means I have strange, secret powers,” Adelia claimed with a dramatic sweep of her hand. The two boys looked at each other and back at Adelia, suitably impressed.

  “Mark, Mike.” A woman entered the stables and shook her head in despair. “I should have known the pair of you would be here.”

  Adelia stared at the newcomer, stunned by her beauty and elegance. She was tall and slender, clad in a simple but, to Adelia’s untrained eye, overwhelmingly beautiful outfit of dark blue slacks and white silk blouse. Black, silky hair curled back from her face. Soft, rose-tinted lips and a classic straight nose led to a pair of heavily lashed deep blue eyes that Adelia identified as Travis’s.

  “I hope they haven’t been bothering you.” The woman peered down in indulgent exasperation. “They’re impossible to keep track of.”

  “No, missus,” Adelia said, wondering if there had ever been a lovelier woman. “They’re fine lads. We’ve just been getting acquainted.”

  “You must be Paddy’s niece, Adelia.” The generous mouth curved in a smile.

  “Aye, missus.” Adelia managed a smile of her own and wondered what it would be like to be as graceful as a willow limb.

  “I’m Trish Collins, Travis’s sister.” She extended her hand, and Adelia gaped at it in horror. After Travis’s words of the previous night she was self-conscious about the state of her hands, and her mind began to work swiftly.

  How could she put her hard, rough hand into such a lovely soft one! Yet there was no way out without being pointedly rude, so, wiping her palm on her jeans, she joined it with the one Trish offered. The other woman had noted Adelia’s hesitation and concluded the reason for it when their hands met, but she made no comment.

  At that moment, Travis entered the building, along with Paddy and a small, spare man Adelia did not recognize.

  “Paddy!” The twins launched themselves at the stocky figure.

  “Well, if it isn’t Tweedledee and Tweedledum. And what mischief have you been up to this fine day?”

  “We came to meet Dee,” Mark announced. “She guessed which one of us was which.”

  “She’s fey,” Mike added soberly.

  Paddy nodded, equally grave, his eyes twinkling as they met Adelia’s over the two small heads. “Aye, that’s a fact. There’s been many a Cunnane who’s had the sight.”

  “Adelia Cunnane”—Travis made introductions, a light smile playing over his mouth—“Dr. Robert Loman, our vet.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Adelia greeted him, strategically keeping her hands behind her back.

  “Rob’s come to look over Solomy,” Paddy explained. “She’ll be foaling soon.”

  The pixie face lit with pleasure, and, looking down at her, Travis raised his brows. “Would you like to see her, Adelia?”

  “Very much.” She beamed him a smile, previous animosity forgotten.

  “She’s foaling quite late,” Travis commented as the group walked down the long length of stalls. “A Thoroughbred’s official birthday is January the first, and normally we breed with that in mind. We just acquired Solomy six months ago, and of course she was already in foal. She’s from a good line, and the stud she was bred to is by the same sire as Majesty.”

  “Then you must have big hopes for the foal,” Adelia returned, thinking of Majesty’s style and speed.

  “I think,” he said with a smile, “you could safely say we had hopes for this foal.” Placing a hand on her shoulder, he turned her toward an enclosure. “Adelia,” Travis said with amused formality, “meet Solomy.”

  She sighed with delight at the animal, a dark, gleaming bay mare with a mane of flowing black silk. Running her hand down the stark flash of white on the forehead, she looked into dark, intelligent eyes.

  “You’re a fine, beautiful lady.” The caressing of the smooth hide was met with a whinny of approval.

  “I suppose you’d like a closer look,” Travis observed, opening the stall door and gesturing for her to enter.

  She preceded him and the vet into the stall, carrying on a low conversation with Solomy as she explored the swollen belly, probing with gentle, capable fingers. After a few moments she stopped and turned concerned eyes to Travis’s laughing ones.

  “The foal’s turned wrong.”

  The blue eyes lost their laughter and studied her intently.

  “Quite right, Miss Cunnane,” Robert Loman agreed with a professional nod. “A quick diagnosis.” Entering the stall, he too ran hands over the mare’s belly. “We’re hoping the foal will turn before she’s full-term.”

  “But you’re not thinking it’s likely; her time’s almost here.”

  “No, we’re not.” He turned back to her, faintly surprised and greatly curious as to her knowledge. “We have to deal with the possibility of a breech. Have you had any training?”

  “More doing than training.” She shrugged, uncomfortable at having the attention focused on her. “I worked with a vet back in Ireland. I’ve done some birthings and some stitching and splinting.”

  She stepped out of the stall to stand beside Paddy, watching as the vet proceeded with his work. Paddy’s arm slipped around her shoulders, and she rested her head against him.

  “I hate to think what a hard time she’ll be having. We had a mare that carried breech once, and I had to turn the babe.” She sighed with the
memory. “I can still see her poor, trusting eyes on me. How I hated to hurt her.”

  “You turned a foal by yourself?” Travis demanded, drawing her attention from the past. “That’s a difficult enough job for a full-grown man, let alone a little thing like you.”

  She bristled, bringing herself up to the full of her meager height. “It may be that I’m small, Mr. Grant, but I’m strong enough to do what needs to be done.” She glared up at him, her pride under attack, and stuck out her chin. “I’ll tell you this: for all our difference in size, I can work the day through with you!”

  Stifling a snort of laughter, Paddy focused on a spot on the ceiling as Travis regarded her indignation with cool, steady eyes. After a moment, she turned and began to walk toward the front of the building.

  “Did you really see a horse being born, Dee?” The twins tagged after her, full of excitement.

  “Many a time, and cows and pigs and the like.” She took a small hand in each of hers and continued over the concrete floor. “There was a time I birthed twin lambs, and that was the prettiest sight . . .”

  Travis continued to stare after her as her voice trailed off in the distance.

  ***

  The next few days passed easily for Adelia as she became accustomed to a new life and new surroundings. On the occasions she spoke to Travis, she continually struggled to hold back the tongue he seemed to have a habit of provoking. He stirred strange feelings in her, feelings she could neither comprehend nor prevent, and her defense against them took shape in a quick retort and flashing eyes. Though she gave herself nightly lectures on the evils of temper, when confronted with him during the daylight hours, her vow of restraint slipped through her fingers.

  She found herself watching him once as he strode toward the stables, his blue denim work shirt straining over broad shoulders as he moved over the grass. He seemed to eat up the ground with a careless vitality. There was a strange pull at her heart, and she sighed, then bit her lip in annoyance. It was only that he was such a fine, strongly built man, she told herself, lean and powerful. She dismounted from the Thoroughbred she had been exercising and rubbed his neck vigorously. She had always admired strength and power, the same way she admired this strong, well-proportioned animal. Everyone she had met held Travis Grant in great respect and admiration. When he gave an order, it was carried out without question. Only Paddy, it seemed, had the right to advise or question.