Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(22)

“All right. I promise. But you’ll take me.”

“Not today,” Branna told her. “I have things I have to do, and Connor needs to go to work. And you need to go see Boyle.”

“Now?”

“After breakfast’s soon enough, and after you’ve washed up as payment for getting me out of my bed at this ungodly hour. Come back later. I should be done and ready by about three.”

“I’ll be here.” Settled, confident again, Iona helped herself to another piece of toast.





5





AS SHE FOLLOWED THE PATH, IONA TRIED WORKING ON HER INTERVIEW SKILLS. What to say, how to say it. She hoped she’d dressed appropriately, as she hadn’t expected an immediate job interview when she’d left her hotel room that morning in jeans and her favorite red sweater. Still, she was aiming for a stable job, so she’d hardly need a business suit and a briefcase.

Neither of which she had anyway, she mused, or had ever wanted.

What she did have was the resume she’d put together, the recommendation by her previous employers, all the references from her students or their parents.

She didn’t care what they paid her, not to start. She just needed a riding boot in the door. Then she could, and would, prove herself. And while she proved herself she’d not only have work, she’d have the work she loved.

Her stomach knotted, as it did when she wanted something too much, so she ordered herself not to babble when she met the man who could hire her or just send her on her way.

The minute she turned into the clearing, saw the building, the nerves dropped away. Here was the familiar, a kind of home. The shape of the stables and its weather-faded red paint, the two horses with their heads poking out of the half doors, the trucks, the trailers scattered around the graveled lot.

The scents of hay, horses, manure, leather, oil, grain caught at her heart. It all flooded over her as her boots crunched on the gravel.

She couldn’t help herself. She went straight to the horses.

The chestnut held her gaze steadily, watching her approach. He snorted at her, shifted his weight. He bent his head when she stroked his cheek, then gave her an easy push with his nose.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. Look how handsome you are.”

Clear eyes, clean, glossy coat, well-brushed mane, and a look of the easygoer about him, she noted. Healthy, well-tended horses boosted the as-yet-unmet Boyle McGrath and Finbar Burke in her estimation.

“I’m hoping we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. And who’s your friend?” She turned to the second horse, a sturdy-looking bay who rubbed his neck on the window frame as if he wasn’t the least bit interested in her.

When she stepped toward him, he laid his ears back. Iona just angled her head, sent him soothing thoughts until they perked up again. “That’s better. No need to be nervous. I’m just here to say hello.”

She gave him a quick rub.

“That’s Caesar taking your measure there.”

Iona turned, saw the Amazon in riding boots behind her. The woman’s curvy body filled out snug riding pants and a rough plaid jacket. Her hair, worn in a long, messy braid, reminded Iona of her grandmother’s prized mink coat—rich and luxurious brown. Though Ireland sang in her voice, her golden skin and deep brown eyes spoke of sunny climes and gypsy campfires.

“He generally likes to act fierce on first acquaintance. And can be shy about being touched—usually,” she added when Iona continued to stroke him.

“He’s just careful around strangers. Are they both trail horses?”

“We save Caesar for experienced riders, but they both have a job here, yes.”

“I’m hoping I will, too. I’m Iona Sheehan. I’ve come to talk to Boyle McGrath.”

“Ah, you’d be the Yank, a cousin of Connor’s and Branna’s. I’m Meara Quinn.” She stepped forward, shook Iona’s hand firmly, gave her a quick, no-nonsense appraisal. “You’ve come early today.”

“I’m still adjusting to the time change. I can come back if it’s not a good time.”

“Oh, one time’s as good as another. Boyle’s not here, but will be soon enough. I can show you about if you’d like.”

“I would, thanks.” Like Caesar’s, Iona’s nerves dropped away. “Have you worked here long?”

“Oh, about eight years. Closer to nine, I’m thinking. Well, who’s counting, yeah?”

She led the way in, long strides on long legs that had Iona quickening her pace to keep up. Iona saw a room off to the side, jumbled and crowded with riding hats, leg protectors, some boots. A lean tabby sidled out, gave Iona a look as measuring as Meara’s had been, then strolled outside.

“That was Darby, who graces us with his presence. A fierce mouser is Darby, so we put up with his sullen moods. He earns his kibble, and comes and goes as he pleases.”

“Nice work if you can get it.”

Meara grinned. “That’s the truth. And so, we take bookings for rides, guide the customers between the Lough Corrib and Mask. Usually an hour, but we’ll do longer if they ask and pay for it. And we have the training ring here.”

Iona walked in to watch a woman in her thirties on the back of a compact chestnut, and the fireplug of a man in work jeans putting horse and rider through the paces.