Irish Rebel (9 page)

 "So this is how it's to be? You want all the temper and none of the glory? Am I wasting my time with you? Maybe you don't want to run. We'll just wait until you come into season and bring a stallion in to mount you, and set you out to pasture to breed. Then you'll never know, will you, what it is to win."

 Just outside the box, Keeley slipped on the padded jacket and hat. And waited. There was a line of damp down the back of his shirt, his hair was a wild tangle of brown and gold. Muscles rippled in his arms, and his boots were scarred and filthy.

 He looked, she decided, exactly how a horseman should look. Powerful. Confident. And just arrogant enough to believe he could win over an animal more than five times his weight.

 He kept talking, but he'd switched to Gaelic now. Slowly, the rhythm of the words smoothed out, and warmed. Almost like a song, they played in the air, rising, falling. Mesmerizing.

 The filly stood quiet now, her dark brown eyes focused on Brian's green ones.

 Seduced, Keeley thought. She was watching a kind of seduction. She'll do anything for him, Keeley realized. Who wouldn't if he touched you that way, looked at you that way, used his voice on you that way?

 "Come in here," he told Keeley. "Let her get your scent. Touch her so she can feel you."

 "I know how it's done," she murmured. Though she'd never seen it done quite like this.

 She slipped into the stall, ran her hands gently over Betty's neck, her side. She felt the muscles quiver under her hand, but the filly looked at nothing and no one but Brian.

 "I've seen countless people work in countless ways with countless horses." Keeley spoke quietly as she stroked Betty. But like the horse, her eyes were on Brian. "I've never seen anyone like you. You have a gift."

 His eyes shifted, met hers, held for a moment. One timeless moment. "She has the gift. Talk to her."

 "Betty. Not-so-bad Betty. You scared poor Jim, didn't you, but you don't scare me. I think you're beautiful." She saw the filly's ears lay back, felt the slight shift under her hands, but kept talking. "You want to race, don't you? Well, you can't do it alone. I'd tell you this isn't going to hurt, but you don't care about that anyway. It's all pride with you."

 Once again she looked at Brian. "It's all pride," she repeated, understanding both horse and man.

 "But you can't have the pride of winning without this step."

 When Brian tightened the saddle, everyone seemed to hold their breath. Then Keeley let hers out, and put her knee in Brian's hands for a leg up.

 She bellied over the saddle, lay still as Betty shied. She knew just what could happen if the filly wasn't controlled. A wrong move on anyone's part and she could find herself under several hundred pounds of agitated horse.

 But Brian's voice whispered, soft and dreamy, and the light began to go pale gold. Slowly Keeley eased herself up until she sat, her feet sliding into the stirrups.

 The new sensation had Betty fighting to toss her head, dancing back and kicking out. Now Keeley leaned forward, stroking, and added her voice to Brian's.

 "Get used to it," she ordered in a no-nonsense tone directly opposed to his crooning. "You were born for this."

 "There now,cushla ." His lips twitched at the corners as he soothed Betty. "She's not so scary now, is she? She's hardly much of a thing at all up there on your big, beautiful back. She's only a princess, but you, you're a queen, aren't you?"

 "So, I'm outranked?" Keeley wasn't sure if she was amused or insulted.

 Gradually the restless movements stilled. Brian took a chunk of apple from his pocket, fed it to Betty with murmured praise and reassurance. "She's doing well."

 "She'd like to bounce me off the ceiling."

 "Oh aye, that she would, but she's not trying it at the moment. You're doing well, too." His gaze lifted until his eyes met Keeley's. "As natural at this as she is. Blue bloods, both of you."

 "Are we making history, Brian?"

 "Bet on it," he told her and kissed Betty just above the nose.

 She gave him most of the morning. Dismounting, remounting, sitting quietly while he led them around the stall. Betty gave a couple of bucks, but everyone knew it was only for show.

 "Will you try the walking ring with her?"

 Keeley started to decline. She had work, and was already behind for the day. But the feel of the young, fresh horse under her was too much of a pleasure, too much of a challenge. She'd put in a few hours on paperwork that night.

 "If you think she's ready."

 "Oh, she's ready. It's the rest of us who have to catch up." He opened the box and led them out.

 The walking ring was surrounded by a high wall, to give the student privacy and prevent distractions as she took her first steps under the control of a rider. As Brian led them toward it, several of the hands stopped work to watch. Money changed hands.

 "Some of them bet we wouldn't manage her this morning," Brian said casually. "You just earned me fifty dollars."

 "If I'd known there was a pool, I'd have bet myself."

 He glanced up. "Which way?"

 "I always bet to win."

 He stopped inside the ring, handed Keeley the reins. "She's yours now."

 Keeley angled her head. "In a manner of speaking," she said and nudged Betty into a walk.

 They made a picture, Brian mused. A stunning one. The long-legged thoroughbred with her regal head and gleaming coat, and the delicate woman riding her.

 If he'd ever wanted one horse for his own—and he didn't, hadn't—it would be this one.

 If he'd ever wanted one woman for his own…

 Well, that was the same. He'd never wanted the responsibilities that came from having. And neither of these could ever be his in any case. But he'd have something of each of them, and that was better all around.

 For the horse, he'd have the knowledge that part of what he was went into the making of a champion. And the woman, before long he'd have the pleasure of knowing what it was to have her wrapped around him in the night. Maybe only once, but once would be enough.

 Whatever the risks of that were, there was no stopping it. They came a bit closer to it every time they looked at each other. Today, he'd come to understand she knew it, too. Now it was only a matter of the time and place. And that would be up to her.

 "They look good."

 Brian didn't wince, but he wanted to. It was definitely inconvenient to have the father of the woman you were fantasizing about interrupt that particular image. Especially inconvenient when the man was also your employer.

 "That they do. Betty needs a steady hand, and your daughter has one."

 "Always has." Travis slapped a hand on Brian's shoulder and brought on instantaneous guilt. "I ran into Jim, who confessed all. You took a kick."

 "It's nothing." He imagined his ribs would be sore for weeks.

 "Have it looked at." The tone was casual, and carried command.

 "I will shortly. Jim was spooked. I shouldn't have pushed him into it."

 "He's young," Travis agreed. "But this is part of his job. At the moment, he feels bad enough that you could ask him to let Betty sit on him. I'd take advantage of it."

 "And so I will. He's a good lad, Travis. Just a bit green yet. I'm thinking of taking him with me to the track more, letting him get some seasoning."

 "That's a good idea. You have a number of them. Good ideas," Travis added.

 "That's what you pay me for." Brian hesitated, then plunged. "Betty's not just your best shot at your Derby, she's the one who'll do it for you. And I'll wager my full year's contract pay she'll wear the Triple Crown."

 "That's a leap, Brian."

 "Not for her. I say she'll break records, smash them to bits. And when it comes time to breed her, it should be Zeus. I've done the charts," Brian continued. "I know you and Brendon manage the breeding end of the farm yourselves, but—"

 "I'll look at your charts, Brian."

 Brian nodded, shifted to watch Betty. "It's not the charts so much, though they'll bear me out. It's that I know her. Sometimes…" Despite himself, he found himself staring at Keeley. "You just recognize it all."

 "I know it." Eyes narrowed in consideration, Travis scanned Betty's form. "Work out the race schedule you think will work for her—once she's ready. We'll talk about it."

 Keeley walked Betty toward them, pulling her up with a tug of the reins and a quiet vocal command. "She's decided to tolerate me."

 "What do you think?" Travis stroked the filly's neck, ignoring her first instinctive feint at nipping.

 "She's not common," Keeley began, "though she has some behavioral problems that would make her so if they aren't corrected. She's smart. A fast learner. Which means you have to stay a step ahead of her. It's early days yet, of course, but I'd say this isn't a horse that's going to loaf. She'll work hard, and she'll race hard, under the right hand. If I were still competing, I'd want her."

 "She's not meant for the show ring." Brian took out another chunk of apple. "She's for the oval."

 Betty took the reward, then as if to show he was the only one of the three humans who mattered, bumped her head lightly against his shoulder.

 "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.