Chapter One #3
Inside, the inn was dim but far from quiet.
The excitement of having visitors from America had kept the small staff on their toes all week.
Wood had been polished, floors had been scrubbed.
Even now old Mrs. Malloy was leading Dee up the stairs and keeping up a solid stream of reminiscence.
The children were cooed over, and hot tea and soda bread were offered.
Deciding she’d left her charges in good hands, Erin walked outside again.
The day was cool and clear. The early clouds had long since been blown away by the westerly wind so that the light, as it often was in Ireland, was luminescent and pearly.
Erin took a moment to study the village that had so fascinated her cousin.
It was ordinary, slow, quiet, filled with workingmen and women and often smelling of fish.
From almost any point in town you could see the small harbor where the boats came in with their daily catch.
The storefronts were kept neat. That was a matter of pride.
The doors were left unlocked. That was a matter of custom.
There was no one there who didn’t know her, no one she didn’t know. Whatever secrets there were were never secrets for long, but were passed out like small treasures to be savored and sighed over.
God, she wanted to see something else before her life was done.
She wanted to see big cities where life whirled by, fast and hot and anonymous.
She wanted to walk down a street where no one knew who she was and no one cared.
Just once, just once in her life, she wanted to do something wild and impulsive that wouldn’t echo back to her on the tongues of family and neighbors. Just once.
The van door slammed and jolted her back to reality. Again she found herself looking at Burke Logan. “They’re all settled, then?” she asked, struggling to be polite.
“Looks like.” He leaned back against the van. With his ankles crossed, he pulled out a lighter and lit his cigar. He never smoked around Adelia out of respect for her condition. His eyes never left Erin’s. “Not much family resemblance between you and Mrs. Grant, is there?”
It was the first time he’d spoken more than two words at a time.
Erin noted that his accent wasn’t like Travis’s.
His words came more slowly, as if he saw no reason to hurry them.
“There’s the hair,” he continued when Erin didn’t speak.
“But hers is more like Travis’s prize chestnut colt, and yours”—he took another puff as he deliberated—“yours is something like the mahogany stand in my bedroom.” He grinned, the cigar still clamped between his teeth.
“I thought it was mighty pretty when I bought it.”
“That’s a lovely thought, Mr. Logan, but I’m not a horse or a table.” Reaching into her pocket, she held out the keys. “I’ll be leaving these with you, then.”
Instead of taking them, he simply closed his hand over hers, cradling the keys between them. His palm was hard and rough as the rocks in the cliffs that dropped toward the sea. He enjoyed the way she held her ground, the way she lifted her brow, more in disdain than offense.
“Is there something else you’re wanting, Mr. Logan?”
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said simply.
“It’s not necessary.” She clenched her teeth and nodded as two of the town’s busiest gossips passed behind her. The evening news would have Erin McKinnon holding hands with a stranger in the street, sure as faith. “I’ve only to ask for a ride home to get one.”
“You’ve got one already.” With his hand still on hers, he pushed away from the van. “I told Travis I’d see to it.” After releasing her hand, he gestured toward the door. “Don’t worry, I’ve nearly got the hang on driving on the wrong side of the road.”
“It’s you who drive on the wrong side.” After only a brief hesitation, Erin climbed in. The day was passing her by, and she’d have to make every minute count just to catch up.
Burke settled behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. “You’re losing your pins,” he said mildly.
Erin reached behind her and shoved them into place as he drove out of the village. “You’ll take the left fork when you come to it. After that it’s only four or five kilometers.” Erin folded her hands, deciding she’d granted him enough conversation.
“Pretty country,” Burke commented, glancing out at the green, windswept hills. There were blackthorns, bent a bit from the continual stream of the westerly breeze. Heather grew in a soft purple cloud, while in the distance the mountains rose dark and eerie in the light. “You’re close to the sea.”
“Close enough.”
“Don’t you like Americans?”
With her hands still folded primly, she turned to look at him. “I don’t like men who stare at me.”
Burke tapped his cigar ash out the window. “That would narrow the field considerably.”
“The men I know have manners, Mr. Logan.”
He liked the way she said his name, with just a hint of spit in it. “Too bad. I was taught to take a good long look at something that interested me.”
“I’m sure you consider that a compliment.”
“Just an observation. This the fork?”
“Aye.” She drew a long breath, knowing she had no reason to set her temper loose and every reason to hold it. “Do you work for Travis?”
“No.” He grinned as the van shimmied over ruts. “You might say Travis and I are associates.” He liked the smell here, the rich wet scent of Ireland and the warm earthy scent of the woman beside him. “I own the farm that borders his.”
“You race horses?” She lifted a brow again, compelled to study him.
“At the moment.”
Erin’s lips pursed as she considered. She could picture him at the track, with the noise and the smells of the horses. Try as she might, she couldn’t put him behind a desk, balancing accounts and ledgers. “Travis’s farm is quite successful.”
His lips curved again. “Is that your way of asking about mine?”
Her chin angled as she looked away. “It’s certainly none of my concern.”
“No, it’s not. But I do well enough. I wasn’t born into it like Travis, but I find it suits me—for now. They’d take you back with them if you asked.”
At first it didn’t sink in. Then her lips parted in surprise as she turned to him again.
“I recognize a restless soul when I see one.” Burke blew out smoke so that it trailed through the window and disappeared. “You’re straining at the bit to get out of this little smudge on the map. Though if you ask me, it has its charm.”
“No one asked you.”
“True enough, but it’s hard not to notice when you stand on the curb and look around as though you wished the whole village to hell.”
“That’s not true.” The guilt rose in her because for a moment, just a moment, she’d come close to wishing it so.
“All right, we’ll alter that to you wishing yourself anywhere else. I know the feeling, Irish.”
“You don’t know what I feel. You don’t know me at all.”
“Better than you think,” he murmured. “Feeling trapped, stifled, smothered?” She said nothing this time.
“Looking at the same space you saw the day you were born and wondering if it’s the last thing you’ll see before you die?
Wondering why you don’t walk out, stick out your thumb and head whichever way the wind’s blowing? How old are you, Erin McKinnon?”
What he was saying hit too close to the bone for comfort. “I’m twenty-five, and what of it?”
“I was five years younger when I stuck my thumb out.” He turned to her, but again she saw only her own reflection. “Can’t say I ever regretted it.”
“Well, it’s happy I am for you, Mr. Logan. Now, if you’ll slow down, the lane’s there. Just pull to the side. I can walk from here.”
“Suit yourself.” When he stopped the van, he put a hand on her arm before she could climb out.
He wasn’t sure why he’d offered to drive her or why he’d started this line of conversation.
He was following a hunch, as he had for most of his life.
“I know ambition when I see it because it looks back at me out of the mirror most mornings. Some consider it a sin. I’ve always thought of it as a blessing. ”
What was it about him that made her throat dry up and her nerves stretch? “Have you a point, Mr. Logan?”
“I like your looks, Erin. I’d hate to see them wrinkled up with discontent.” He grinned again and tipped an invisible hat. “Top of the morning to you.”
Unsure whether she was running from him or her own demons, Erin got out of the van, slammed the door, and hurried down the lane.