Deirdre's True Desire Read online

  Such bales indicated the property owner either owned a hay press, or had borrowed one. To find such a rare device had made its way this far out West surprised her. That surprise swiftly became eclipsed by desire upon seeing the sweaty, muscular body before her. His tan was so dark as to be considered unseemly, working class, by those in high society. Deirdre disagreed. She thought the nearly brown skin made him look like a man who wasn’t afraid to work hard. And it went nicely with the shoulder-length black hair tied back at the nape of his neck. Wiping sweat from his brow with a forearm, the man turned in her direction. A sculpted chest, strong brow, and high cheekbones void of any hair didn’t disappoint, either. Something about him looked decidedly exotic.

  Heat rushed to Deirdre’s core in a deeply visceral reaction that took her completely by surprise. She hadn’t felt this depth of instant attraction since…well, ever. Too late, she remembered to drape her leg back over and sit properly on her sidesaddle. She focused hard on rearranging her skirts, keeping her head down to hide the furious blush that burned her cheeks. Most of the men where she came from would consider a woman riding astride to be quite scandalous. It wasn’t the first impression she wanted to make. She recovered quickly and met the man’s gaze. “Begging your pardon for the interruption, sir, but I’m hoping you might be able to help me locate my friend,” she said.

  The corners of his lips started to turn up as he stared at the bow poking up beyond her shoulder. The smirk reached his eyes, lighting them up and bringing to mind the tigereye gemstones Deirdre had seen Sadie wear on occasion. The sight took her breath away. He grabbed a beige shirt off the wagon and put it on. The meticulous way his fingers worked their way up the buttons—slowly hiding that darkly tanned chest—ensnared Deirdre’s attention. It seemed such a terrible shame to cover up such a work of art. She had to suppress a sigh.

  “I fear I’m the one who needs to beg your pardon, dear lady, for the state of my undress. Despite the mild weather, these heavy bales are quick to make a man sweat,” he said. He had a low, lovely voice that flowed like a singer’s. The barest hint of an accent touched his words, but she couldn’t for the life of her place it.

  As he finished buttoning the shirt, she finally tore her gaze from his body and forced herself to meet his eyes. No longer caring about the blood that heated her cheeks, she let her smile break through. “You are certainly pardoned, since ’tis I who am at fault, arriving unannounced.”

  The man shrugged. “Such is to be expected at an inn. You mentioned a friend you wanted to locate.” His gaze never left her as he took a long drink from a canteen.

  Watching him lick the moisture from his lips nearly made her forget he had prompted her to speak. “Hmm, yes. Catriona O’Brian.”

  Eyes widening, a smile tugged at his wet lips. “You must be one of the friends she’s been expecting from New York.”

  “I am.

  Looking down the road, his brows pinched together. “But where are your escorts, your wagons?” The genuine worry in his tone caused a warm flush to spread through her chest.

  “Not long behind. I grew weary of waiting and decided to forge on ahead since our destination seemed so close,” she admitted.

  Something flashed in his eyes. Was it mirth, amusement? She couldn’t tell. A raise of his eyebrows and a half-hidden smile made her think maybe it was. She liked that his reaction was mirth instead of anger. How very unconventional and unique.

  “I can’t say that I blame you. Wagon trains are frightfully slow things.” His tone didn’t sound at all mocking, and his expression looked quite sincere. Another pleasant surprise.

  She waited a moment for him to mention the dangers of a woman traveling alone or some such thing, but he fell silent. After a long moment, she realized they were both grinning like daft fools at one another.

  Finally, he went on. “The widows’ property lies just over that hill, bordering this one. You’ll know when you’ve reached it by the rock wall that runs partway between them. Most days Miss Catriona and Rick can be found working the southwest corner near the river.” One dark eyebrow rose in a bold display of interest that made her skin tingle. “Would you be one of the widows?”

  She loved how he asked without even the slightest attempt to disguise the question. For a stable hand, he was quite well spoken and perfectly mannered. But that had its drawbacks. Part of her wished he’d been ill-mannered enough to at least leave his shirt off. “I am, in fact.”

  His smile parted with intent, but a loud crash from within the inn drew his attention. “Ah no, I’d better see to that. I have a feeling you’re quite capable of making it on your own.” His gaze flicked to her bow again, and he smiled. “Nevertheless, it would be my pleasure to escort you, should you desire, if you can wait but a moment,” he said.

  A thrill ignited her blood. Never had a man spoken to her with such respect for her capabilities. She took in the way his biceps bulged beneath the arms of his shirt, the way it stretched taut over his chest. She desired…oh how she desired! Inclining her head and feigning a composure she did not feel, she told him, “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to pull you away from your work any more than I already have. You’ve been most kind. I shall endeavor to repay that kindness at another time. A very good day to you, sir.”

  He tipped an imaginary hat and gave her a slight bow as he started to walk backward toward the inn. “A very good day to you as well, dear lady. I shall see you again soon.” He boldly maintained eye contact as he continued to walk backward.

  The thrills that warmed her blood threatened to make it boil over. Holding his gaze to see how long he would keep at the game, she squeezed Ciaren into a walk. The man’s open-mouthed grin grew. Did his boldness never end? And to assume they would see one another again, she rather liked that. A large part of her wanted quite badly to linger and find out. But she couldn’t, not with her dear friend so close. After four and a half months on the trail, she had no idea how Catriona fared, or how her own trip across the states and territories had gone. The strong concern kept her hands loose on the reins. But this alluring man kept her gaze and thoughts on him. Just before reaching the porch steps, he waved and turned his back to her.

  With a harder squeeze, she urged Ciaren into a brisk trot before she lost her will to do so. It didn’t occur to her until over half a mile through the field that she hadn’t gotten his name.

  Chapter 2

  Fingers working through his freshly washed locks, Kinan slowly tamed them back into the confines of a silk ribbon as coal black as they were. As usual, he bound his hair up and around itself in an attempt to hide how long it truly was. The ribbon helped conceal the knot, but just barely. People in this small town frowned on deviations from popular fashion—which was short hair for an American man—so he did his best to conceal it most days. But he couldn’t cut it. He wouldn’t cut it. To do so would be to disrespect his grandmother’s beliefs and culture. God rest her soul. How much less was the disrespect of hiding it rather than cutting it, was hard to say.

  Guilt nagged at him as he walked from the inn to the stables. The true reason he hid it today was in hopes of making a good second impression on the captivating Mrs. Quinn. Catriona would no doubt be bringing her back to the inn tonight. She had open reservations for her widow friends whom she expected to be arriving any day. Despite their lack of a proper introduction, Kinan knew from Catriona’s description that the black-haired beauty he’d met today had to be Deirdre Quinn. Wouldn’t Cat be surprised when Deirdre rode up on her own? He most certainly had been, but in the most refreshing way.

  He couldn’t get the image of her out of his mind: full lips always on the verge of a smile, full bosom heaving from a mixture of exertion and excitement, and eyes like dark sapphires. Oh, Itzamna, those eyes! One could feel the fiery spirit emanating from that woman. Such a spirit, the likes of which he had never seen. Just thinking of it now pulled at him on a deep level that reached
into his very soul. He had wanted to ride out after her, but he had a feeling not doing so would impress her more. The lovely blue dress she wore indicated she was out of mourning. Whether she was interested in the pursuits of a man again remained to be seen. But he planned on finding out.

  Soft nickers in multiple equine voices welcomed him as he slid the barn door open. Two brown draft-horse heads popped over stall walls as he approached. He patted their noses as he passed. He strode down the long aisle of empty stalls that awaited the upcoming guests, drawing in the scent of fresh straw and oats. Each stall was perfect, just as he had prepared them, but he double-checked just in case. It had been a long time since the inn had seen the number of visitors they were expecting. Everything needed to be just right.

  The empty stalls served as a stark reminder that all the other business had been driven off. A white equine face emerged from the last stall at the end of the barn, ears pricking forward at his approach. Kinan spoke soft words to him in his mother’s native tongue, and the stallion’s ears moved as if trying to capture and hold the sound. He nickered softly in response. Kinan scratched beneath a forelock so long it nearly hid the horse’s eyes. There was a lot to scratch. His head was nearly as big as that of the draft horses’, thanks to his Spanish Lusitano sire.

  Longing drew Kinan’s gaze out to the pink-splashed horizon. Normally, he and the stallion enjoyed an evening ride around this time. But Miss Catriona would be arriving with her guests any time now, and he did not want to miss Deirdre Quinn’s return.

  “Sorry, Balder. Tomorrow, I promise.”

  The stallion tossed his head as if greatly offended by the change in his routine. His white coat twitched as if covered by flies. White tail flying up into the air, he spun and took off out into the attached paddock. Spirited though he was, such a reaction was far from normal. Something had to be amiss. He peered out into his paddock and it became clear.

  A single rider on a brown horse made its way up the south road toward the inn. It couldn’t be one of Miss Catriona’s people. They had passed by in their wagons just a short while ago. When they returned, it would be via the northeastern road that skirted out around the wall to the widows’ property. Both the defeated way the horse hung its head and the outline of the silhouette on its back revealed their identity despite the shadows of sunset that shrouded them.

  Balder hopped about his large paddock, bucking and kicking. The rider’s horse shied away from the fence that his paddock butted up against.

  “Enough, Balder. It’s not the poor horse’s fault that his rider is a culo,” Kinan said.

  The stallion ceased bucking and kicking but continued to prance along the fence line. He couldn’t blame the horse for his reaction. Animals knew when something evil was about.

  Resisting the urge to pick up a pitchfork on his way out, Kinan left the barn and made his way toward the road. The wooden fence lining the road and the closed gate at the inn’s entrance would slow the rider down. Kinan lengthened his stride to reach the gate before the rider. He came around the edge of the barn and found the man’s slowly plodding gelding still several horse lengths away. In two more strides Kinan reached the gate and leaned on it, making his intentions clear without a word.

  Everyone knew a closed gate meant the inn was full. But this man wasn’t coming for a room. The golden light of early dusk surrounded a lanky man sitting tall in the saddle. Brown hair was slicked back from a high forehead to reveal a hawkish nose and slits from which beady eyes peered. An officer’s-issue six-shooter hung on his right hip. Kinan’s teeth ground together. He knew for a fact this man hadn’t been an officer in the war. Carrying a pistol was a new level of threatening for him, one Kinan didn’t like the implications of one bit. Maybe he should have grabbed that pitchfork after all.

  “Did the cattle run you out of your big, empty house up on the hill, Ainsworth?” Kinan asked.

  The man made a dry, hacking sound that passed for a chuckle. “Better a big house I can afford to keep empty than one I have to fill with strangers just to get by,” he said in his raspy voice.

  “Strangers only stay strange if you don’t let them in.”

  Ainsworth’s dark, bushy brows humped together like fornicating caterpillars. “You’re an odd duck, O’Leary.”

  “Well, if you’re looking for a room, I can’t say I’m sorry that we’re full up,” Kinan said.

  The man leaned to the side and hawked a spit-engrossed chunk of chewing tobacco onto the ground. “I wouldn’t stay in the house of a half-breed if it were the only shelter in a blizzard.”

  “Can’t say I’d mourn you freezing to death in that case, or any case, really,” Kinan said.

  Those beady eyes narrowed further. “I wouldn’t expect a half-savage would.”

  Eyes rolling skyward, Kinan refrained from replying. The man knew better than most that the half of him that wasn’t Irish wasn’t Native. Those filled with such inexplicable hate always knew exactly what it was they were hating, they just didn’t know why.

  “What do you want, Ainsworth? You aren’t welcome here if you’ve come to harass Miss Catriona again,” Kinan warned.

  Mirth flashed in the slits that served as his eyes. “And if I’ve come for another reason, would I be welcome?”

  “No.” It came out sounding tired, instead of menacing like he’d intended.

  “That’s a shame, because I’ve come to offer you a business proposition.”

  “My Irish father taught me never to deal with the devil, as you well know.”

  Dropping his reins, Ainsworth held his hands up in a placating gesture. “All rankling aside, I mean it true. I’m offering to rent out your entire inn for the new crew I’m hiring to watch my cattle this winter.”

  “The inn is full.”

  Ainsworth leaned down a bit. “We both know that ain’t true, and soon as those widows get a bee in their bonnets they’ll be off to stay somewhere else. I’ll pay a third more than what you’re charging them, per room, and that’s guaranteed through the winter and into spring. Of course, we’d need the entire inn.”

  Such a steady income through winter certainly held a powerful attraction. Times had been hard. But they’d been hard because Ainsworth drove a lot of his business away in an attempt to get him to evict Catriona O’Brian.

  “As I said, the inn is full and will be for some time. If you would like to check back when hell freezes over, you’re welcome to do so. But as you said, you wouldn’t stay here if it were the only shelter in a blizzard, so I fail to see why you’d have your men stay somewhere you would not.”

  The chuckle that slid from Ainsworth actually held a bit of mirth. “You’re crafty, man. I like that. We don’t need to be enemies.”

  To that, Kinan dipped his head. “I agree, we do not. However, it’s clear we stand on opposing sides of the matter of the widows’ land, and my stance on that won’t be changing.”

  Ainsworth shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why do you care whether I own the land or the widows do?”

  Fury built inside him. Both his ancestors on his father’s and mother’s sides had been dealing with people with this exact attitude for centuries. Kinan’s answer came through gritted teeth. “Because they own it and you intend to take it from them.”

  Waving a hand, Ainsworth sat back in the saddle. “The strong take from the weak; it’s the nature of things. Women can’t work land. It’s going to remain unimproved and revert back to the county, then it will be mine.” He took up his reins and turned his horse around. “You need to face reality and get on the right side of this. Things tend to end badly for those on the wrong side of a matter.”

  Hands gripping the wooden fence so tight a splinter began to poke at his palm, Kinan fought the urge to jump it. “Threatening me is a very bad idea. You do not want to be doing that.”

  A grin pulled up Ainsworth’s lips as he turned his head b
ack in Kinan’s direction. “Oh but I do.”

  He kicked his horse with the massive spurs that jangled from his boots, launching the poor animal into a gallop. Curses spewed from Kinan’s lips. Halfway up the fence before he realized it, he had to hold himself back from giving chase. For the man’s treatment of his horse alone, he deserved to be pummeled. For the rest, he deserved much worse. In the paddock along the fence, Balder bucked and kicked as if in agreement. But chasing the man down and giving him the confrontation he so desired would do neither Kinan nor the widows any good. Of that he was certain. No, better to outwit the man and beat him at his own game.

  Chapter 3

  After what felt like at least a mile of shorn yellow grass, she finally saw what might be a rock wall in the distance. Throwing her leg over Ciaren, she let the reins out. All it took was a tightening of her thighs and a slight forward lean for Ciaren to launch into a canter. With only one stirrup on the sidesaddle, she couldn’t rise up in stirrups as was proper for a jump. Instead, she gripped tight with her thighs and leaned forward a little more.

  Easily synchronizing her rhythm to that of the horse, she relaxed and let Ciaren do what she did best. The rock wall came closer with each hoofbeat. Only four feet or so high, it presented very little challenge. Still, her heart pounded and she held her breath as the mare’s haunches bunched in preparation. They launched from the ground. Less than a heartbeat later they soared over the wall with ease. The moment of weightlessness shot an explosion of sheer joy through Deirdre. Even as they floated through the air, she eyed the ground, anticipating their landing. Unlike the shorn field they had just come through, tall grass gone to seed covered this side. Her muscles tensed as she prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.