Dark Witch (The Cousins O'Dwyer Trilogy #1)(89)

He strolled out, determined to pass the calls to her, and to, very casual-like, pump her for information on Iona, as word was she’d stayed over at Branna’s.

So it threw him off stride when Iona hopped out of the passenger’s door, dressed for the workday.

“Morning then,” Meara said with a kind of fierce cheer, and walked right by him into the stables.

He led with: “Ah . . .”

“I’m here to work.” In a clipped voice he’d never heard her use, Iona stopped a foot away to speak to him. “And that’s all. I need the work, I like the work, I’m good at the work. If you intend to fire me—”

“Fire you?” Shocked, and once again off stride, he gaped at her. “Of course I’m not after firing you. Why—”

“Good. Then that’s that.”

“Well now, wait a minute there, we need to talk about—”

“We don’t.” She cut him off in that same tone, cool and dismissive. “I know what you feel and think, and on some level I understand it. You’re entitled to feel what you feel, and I’m responsible for my own feelings. So it’s just work, Boyle, and you have to respect that.”

She turned her back on him, walked to the stables. He could stop her, just pluck her up and haul her off somewhere private where she’d have to talk it out and over. He thought of doing just that for a moment, then let her go.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, stood in the cool morning air, and wished he’d gotten the damn flowers.

He tried it her way. As he was the one who’d fucked up, he was obliged to give her the room she asked for.

She went about her work, but not all brisk business as he’d expected. Oh no, she had plenty to say to Meara, to Mick and the others, a laugh to share, a question to ask. But not a bloody word did she speak to him unless given no choice.

She managed to be cordial and distant at once.

It pissed him off, then when the mad faded, the guilt piled in.

“You’re driving him mad.” Meara watched Iona saddle Spud for a guided ride.

“I’m just doing my job, and leaving the personal out of it.”

“Exactly what’s driving him mad. He’d say, being male, and being especially Boyle, the logical thing to do in such situations is separate the business from the personal, but you doing just that’s squeezing his balls. He doesn’t know whether to yelp or drop.”

“I’m getting through.” After tightening the cinch, Iona put on her riding helmet. “That’s what counts. But I can’t say I’m sorry it’s giving his balls a good squeeze.”

She led the group out—a couple and two teenage girls from America taking advantage of spring break—letting them chatter among themselves. But she did glance back, once, and couldn’t deny a quick twist of satisfaction at catching Boyle watching her ride away.

As they turned into the woods, she brushed her fingers over the amulet she wore, then tapped them to her pocket where she’d put a protection charm that morning.

She wouldn’t fear the woods, she told herself. She wouldn’t fear what came. And she wouldn’t fear living her life alone if that’s what destiny handed her.

Putting her guide’s smile on, she shifted in the saddle, glanced back at the family. “So, how are you enjoying your visit so far?”


*


A BUSY DAY MOVED QUICKLY, AND FOR THAT SHE WAS GRATEFUL. Knowing she did just exactly what she needed to do didn’t make it any easier to do it. She wanted to smile at Boyle, and see him flash her a grin in return. Wanted to feel entitled to touch him, just a hand to his, a hand on his arm, and have him feel entitled to do the same.

She wanted to be easy with him again. Even if they couldn’t be lovers, even if she had to find a way to snuff out the light of the love she felt for him, she wanted him in her life.

Needed him, she corrected as she cleaned up at the big stables after her lesson with Sarah. Until Cabhan was defeated, until what Sorcha had begun so long ago was finished, they all needed one another.

What they faced was so much bigger than a bruised heart and some scarred pride.

They’d find a way. If Branna and Fin could work together, she could certainly work with Boyle. It might take some time to find the right way, to smooth out the bumps—and they’d have to talk it out, she admitted.

But not yet. Too tender yet.

She hugged Alastar’s neck, pleased when he nuzzled her. “I’ve got you, don’t I? My guide, my friend, my partner. I’ve got family who cares about me, and understands me. And I’ve got a home, a place I belong. It’s more than I ever had before.”

She drew back, kissed his nose. “So no complaints, no pity parties. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walked out, noted she timed it well when she spotted Connor strolling toward the stables, his whistled tune leading the way.

The perfect Irish picture, she thought, a good-looking man, all lanky limbs and wicked angel face, hands in the pockets of his rough work pants, and the brown path and green, green woods behind him.

“All done for the day then?” he called out.

“Just now. You?”

“Ready to walk my pretty cousin home, and see if our Branna baked any fresh biscuits today. I’ve a yen for some, and since according to our Branna we’re working tonight, I deserve them as well.”