Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(25)

“Oh, is that all? Well then, no harm done.” He dismounted, shortened the reins. “You’d be the American cousin then, the one Branna sent.”

“Iona Sheehan, and I’m probably as inconvenient to you as this stallion. But I know horses, and this one didn’t like being taken away from all he knew. Everything’s different here. I know what that’s like,” she said to the horse. “What’s his name?”

“Fin’s calling him Alastar.”

“Alastar. You’ll make your place here.” She released the bridal, and the horse flicked his ears. But if he considered trying for a nip, he changed his mind, looked carelessly away.

“I brought my resume,” Iona began. Business, business, business, she reminded herself. And stay out of trouble. And pulled out the flash drive she’d stuck in her pocket that morning.

“I’ve ridden since I was three, and worked with horses—grooming, mucking, trail and guided rides. I’ve given instruction, private and group. I know horses,” she repeated. “And I’m willing to do whatever you need for a chance to work here.”

“I’ve shown her around and about,” Meara began, then took the flash drive from Iona. “I’ll put this on your desk.”

Boyle kept the reins firm in his hand, and his eyes, a burnished gold with hints of green, direct on Iona. “Resumes are just words on paper, aren’t they? They’re not doing. I can give you work, mucking out. We’ll see if you know your way around a horse for grooming before I set you on that. But there’s always tack to clean.”

Riding boot in the door, she reminded herself. “Then I’ll muck and clean.”

“You’d make more walking over to the castle and seeing about work there. Waitresses, housekeeping, clerking.”

“It’s not about making more. It’s about doing what I love, and what I’m meant to do. That’s here. I’m fine with mucking out.”

“Then Meara can get you started on it.” He took the flash drive from Meara, stuck it in his own pocket. “I’ll see to the paperwork once I get this one settled.”

“You’re going to put him in a stall?”

“I’m not after checking him into the hotel.”

“He’d like . . . Couldn’t he use a little more exercise? He’s gotten warmed up.”

Boyle arched his brows, drawing her gaze to the scarred one—the sexy one. “He’s given me near an hour’s fight already this morning.”

“He’s used to being the alpha, aren’t you, Alastar? Now you come along and you’re . . . a challenge. You said a resume’s not doing. Let me do. I can take him around your paddock.”

“What are you? Seven stones soaking wet?”

He was giving her a job, she reminded herself. And compared to him—even compared to Meara—she probably did come off as small and weak. “I don’t know how much seven stones is, but I’m strong, and I’m experienced.”

“He’d rip your arms out, and that’s before he tossed you off his back like a bad mood.”

“I don’t think so. But then, if he did, you’d be right.” She glanced back at the horse. “Think about that,” she told Alastar.

Boyle considered it. The pretty little faerie queen had something to prove, so he’d let her try. And she could nurse her sore arse—or head, depending on which hit the ground first.

“Once around the ring. Inside,” Boyle said, pointing. “If you manage to stay on him that long. Get her a helmet, will you, Meara. It might help her from breaking her head when she lands on it.”

“He’s not the only one who’s pissed off.” Confident now, Iona offered Boyle a smile. “I need to shorten the stirrups.”

“Inside,” he repeated, and led the horse in. “I hope you know how to fall.”

“I do. But I won’t.”

She shortened the stirrups quickly, competently. She knew Boyle watched her, and that was fine, that was good. She would settle, and gratefully, for a job doing no more than mucking out stalls and cleaning tack.

But God, she wanted to ride again. And she wanted, keenly, to ride this horse. To feel him under her, to share that power.

“Thanks.” She strapped on the helmet Meara brought her, and since Meara had carried one over, Iona used the mounting block.

Alastar quivered under her. She tightened her knees, held out a hand for the reins.

Now he reconsidered—she could see it in those tawny eyes.

“Branna won’t be pleased with me if you end up in the hospital.”

“You’re not afraid of Branna.”

She took the reins. Maybe she’d never been sure where she belonged, but she’d always, from the first moment, felt at home in the saddle.

Leaning forward, Iona whispered in Alastar’s ear. “Don’t make a fool out of me, okay? Let’s show off, and show him up.”

He walked cooperatively for four steps. Then kicked up his hind legs, dropped down, reared up.

Stop it. We can play that game another time.

She circled him, changed leads, circled back, changed again before nudging him into a trot.

When the horse danced to the side, tried another kick, she laughed.

“I may not weigh as much as the big guy, but I’m sticking.”