Irish Rose Read Free Page B

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.

Chapter 2
    She had a great deal to think about. Erin sat through dinner at the inn, with her family talking on top of each other, with laughter rolling into laughter. Voices were raised to be heard over the clatter of tableware, the scrape of chair legs, the occasional shout. Scents were a mixture of good hot food and whiskey. The lights had been turned up high in celebration. The group filled Mrs. Malloy's dining room at the inn, but wasn't so very much bigger than a Sunday supper at the farm.
    Erin ate little herself, not because one of her brothers seemed to interrupt constantly to have her pass this or that, but because she couldn't stop thinking about what