Chapter 7 #2
He got in the opposite door, shoved a key in the ignition.
“You didn’t say much in there.”
“Being friends with all parties, I find it best to stay out of it altogether.”
The truck rattled, the rain pattered, and Iona settled back.
“They’re a thing.”
“Who’s a thing?”
“Branna and Fin. They either are, or were, involved. The sexual buzz was so loud my ears are still ringing.”
He shifted, frowned out at the road. “I’m not after gossiping about friends.”
“It’s not gossip. It’s an observation. It must be complicated, for both of them. And it’s clear I need to know what’s going on. You know more about any of it than I do, and I’m in it.”
“Put yourself there from what I can see.”
“Maybe I did. So what? How did you know I’m like them?”
“I’ve known them most of my life, been a part of theirs. I saw it in you, with the horse.”
Brows knit, she shifted to face him. “Most people wouldn’t be so casual about it. Why are you?”
“I’ve known them most of my life,” he repeated.
“I don’t see how it can be that simple. I can do this.” She held out her palm and, focusing hard, managed to flick a small flame in its center.
It was pitiful compared to Branna, but she’d been working on it off and on.
He barely glanced her way. “Convenient if you’re backpacking and misplace the matches.”
“You’re a cool customer.” She had to admire it. “If I’d pulled that on the guy I’d been dating, he’d have gone through the door, leaving a cartoon-guy hole in it.”
“Must not have been much for backpacking.”
She started to laugh, then caught her breath when fog rose up on the road ahead like a wall. Her hands balled into fists as the truck punched through it, tightened as the fog blanketed over them.
“Do you hear that? Can you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“My name. He keeps saying my name.”
Though he was forced to slow to a crawl, Boyle kept his hands steady on the wheel. “Who’s saying your name?”
“Cabhan. He’s in the fog. Maybe he is the fog. Can’t you hear him?”
“I can’t.” And so far, never had. He wouldn’t mind keeping it that way. “I’m thinking you’ll work with Meara again tomorrow.”
“What? What?”
“I’ll want her go-ahead before you take any guests out on your own.
” He spoke easily, drove slowly. He could navigate this road blindfolded, and thought he damn nearly was.
“And I’ll want to see how you handle instruction.
We’ll have you work with Mick there, or with me from time to time. Do you do any jumping?”
He knew she did, and had the blue ribbons and trophies to prove it, the certification to teach it. He’d read her resume.
“Yes. Competitively since I was eight. I wanted to try for the Olympic team, but . . .”
“Too much commitment?”
“No. I mean, yes. In a way. You need a lot of family support for that kind of training. And the financial backing.” While her eyes tracked right and left, she rubbed a hand from between her breasts up to her throat, back again. “Did you hear that? God, can’t you hear that?”
“That I did.” The wild howl shot cold fingers up his spine. And that, he thought, was new, at least to him. “I expect he doesn’t like us talking over him.”
“Why aren’t you afraid?”
“I’m riding with a witch, aren’t I? What have I got to worry about?”
She choked out a laugh, struggled to steady her pulse. “I learned to levitate a feather today. I don’t think that’s going to do a lot of good.”
And he thought he had his two fists, and the utility knife in his pocket, if needed. “It’s more than I can do. See now, the fog’s thinning, and there’s Ashford up ahead.”
So it was, the glamorous fairy-tale spread of it, windows lighted pale gold.
“They went there. The first three. They came back, years after their mother sent them away to save them. They stayed in the castle, walked the woods. I dreamed of the youngest coming back, riding back as she’d ridden away as a child. On a horse named Alastar.”
“Ah, well then. I didn’t know the name of the horse. That explains it, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know what it explains. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“What you must.”
“What I must,” she murmured as he stopped at the hotel’s entrance. “Okay. Okay. Thanks for the ride, and for talking me through the weird.”
“Not a problem. I’ll see you in.”
She started to object. She was only steps from the door. And thinking of the voice in the fog, changed her mind. It was just fine to have a big, strong man walk her in. No shame in it.
With him she walked into the warmth, into the rich colors, the flowers. And the smile of the woman on duty at the lobby table.
“Good evening to you, Ms. Sheehan. And Boyle, it’s good seeing you.”
“Working late, Bridget?”
“I am. A good night for it, as it’s gone wet again. I’ve your key right here, miss. I hope you enjoyed your day.”
“I did, very much. Thanks again, Boyle.”
“I’ll see you to your door.”
“Oh, but—”
He just took the key from her, glanced at the number. “This is in the old part, isn’t it?” So saying, he took Iona’s arm, pulled her along and down the corridor.
“It’s that way now.” Iona made the turn.
“The place is a rambling maze.”
“Part of its charm.” She tried not to worry about the desk clerk likely thinking she and Boyle were a thing.
He stopped at the door, unlocked it. After pushing the door open, he took a long, careful look.
“Well, you are messy.”
“As advertised.” Her eyes widened when he walked right in. He couldn’t possibly think—
He picked up the hotel pen on the nightstand, scrawled something on the pad.
“That’s my mobile. If you get nervous, ring me up. Better you ring Branna, but I’m just minutes away if it comes to that.”
“That’s . . . That’s so kind.”
“Don’t get watery about it. I’ve just hired you, haven’t I, and done the bloody paperwork. I can’t have you running back to America. Lock the door and go to bed. Switch on the telly if you need the noise.”
He walked to the door, opened it. “And remember,” he said, looking back at her. “You can hold a flame of your own making in the palm of your hand.”
He shut the door. Even as she started to smile, he rapped hard enough to make her jump.
“Lock the bloody door!”
She dashed to it, locked it. And listened to his boot steps fading away.
* * *
SHE MADE A BARGAIN WITH HERSELF. AT WORK, SHE’D FOCUS ON WORK. She couldn’t and wouldn’t let whatever she might have to face interfere with making a living.
When work was done, she’d take whatever time Branna was willing to give. She’d learn, she’d practice, she’d study.
But she would also demand and get answers.
So she mucked, cleaned, brushed, hauled, fed, and watered. And did her best to stay out of Boyle’s way. Remembering the ride home, and her panic, left a thin layer of embarrassment. She was the one with power, however unrefined, and she’d gone weak and trembly, and let him look after her.
Worse, for just a second—maybe two or three seconds—when he’d come into her room, she’d been the one with the wrong idea. A sad fact she’d been forced to admit when she’d pulled out of a dream. Not of evil sorcerers and shadows, she thought as she brushed Spud’s mane.
But of a sex dream, and a damn good one, involving her and Boyle and a Wizard of Oz field of poppies.
But it sure as hell hadn’t put them to sleep.
That subconscious revelation added a lot of thicker layers to the embarrassment.
Meara poked her head in the stall. She wore a kelly green cap today, with her hair streaming through the back opening in a long tail. “You braided Queen Bee’s mane.”
“Oh, yeah. I just . . . I’ll take it out.”
“No, indeed. It looks charming, and she’s fairly preening with her new do. Just don’t do the fancy work with any of the geldings. Boyle’ll huff about, say we’re making them into dandies when they’re good plain hacks. He’s such a man, is Boyle.”
“I noticed. You’re good together.”
“Well, I should hope. It’s going clear, so the ride’s on for the afternoon.
They shifted to three, hoping for better weather, and it looks like we may get it.
It’s a party of four—two couples, friends from America, so that should be nice for you.
Boyle’s sent off for Rufus, he’s a big, playful gelding.
One of our guests is near to two meters tall. ”
“Which is what?”
“Oh, in Yank?” With a frown, she pushed at her cap, scratched her head. “About six and a half feet, I’m thinking. Otherwise, we’ll saddle up Spud there, and Bee, and Jack. You can take your pick from the rest.”
“Maybe Caesar, unless you want him.”
“Go ahead.” Meara made a little note on her clipboard. “They asked for ninety minutes, so you’ll see more than yesterday.”
“I want to see it all. And, Meara?” The guilt over the dream wouldn’t allow her to just let it go. “I just wanted to say thanks for lending me Boyle last night for the ride home.”
“I’m not in the habit of lending him, but you’re welcome to keep him if you like.”
“Oh, did you have a fight?”
“About what?” The puzzled frown gave way to wide eyes, then a roll of wicked laughter. “Oh! You’re thinking me and Boyle are tangled. No, no, no! I love the man to distraction, but I don’t want him in my bed. It would be like shagging my brother. And that thought’s just put me off my lunch.”
“You’re not . . .” Embarrassment kicked up several notches. “I just assumed.”
“Look like lovebirds, do we?”
“There’s just something, I guess, intimate, between you, so I thought you were together. That way.”
“We’re family.”
“Got it. Good. I guess it’s good. Maybe it’s a problem.”
Now Meara leaned on the side of the stall opening. “You’re a fascination to me, Iona. A problem?”
“It’s just that when I assumed, I had a good reason to ignore the . . .” She wiggled her fingers over her stomach.
“You’ve got”—Meara mimicked the gesture—“for Boyle.”
“He looks really good, on a horse and off. The first minute I saw him, I just . . . whew.” She laid one hand on her heart, the other on her belly, patted both.
“Is that the truth?”