Page 17 of Irish Thoroughbred (Irish Hearts #1)
“By the saints!” She threw up her hands in dismay, shaking her head.
“You’re all speaking in a muddle.” Pushing the brim of her cap back from her head, she took a deep breath.
“If it’s more information you’re wanting, you’d best ask Mr. Grant or Majesty’s trainer.
” She pushed through them with determination, turning when she felt a hand on her arm and finding herself facing the reporter who had made the personal observation.
“Miss Cunnane, sorry if we were a little rough on you.” He smiled with considerable charm, and Adelia found herself smiling back.
“No harm was done.”
“I’m Jack Gordon. Maybe you’d let me make it up to you by taking you out to dinner tonight.”
She was both surprised and flattered by the invitation, gaining the pure feminine pleasure of having an attractive man pay her specific attention. He was, however, a stranger, and she was opening her mouth to decline when a voice sounded behind her.
“Sorry, my groom’s off limits.”
She whirled around to see Travis watching them, blue eyes cool and direct. Fury bubbled inside her, reflecting plainly in her flashing eyes.
“Don’t you have some work to do, Adelia?” he asked with an imperial lift of brows. The eyes that met his told him without words what she thought of his question before she wheeled around and stalked to the stables.
Some fifteen minutes later, Travis disengaged himself from the avid reporters and joined her. She watched as he strode toward her, hands carelessly thrust in the pockets of slim-fitting jeans.
“Don’t you know better than to make dates with strange men, Adelia?” His tone was deliberate, superior, and infuriating.
“My personal life is my own affair,” she raged at him. “You’ve no right to interfere.”
“As long as you’re in my employ and responsible for my horses, your life is my affair.”
“Aye, Master Grant,” she tossed back, undaunted by the narrowing of his eyes. “I’ll be certain to ask your permission before I take my next breath.” Her foot stomped in temper. “I didn’t arrive on this earth yesterday. I can take care of myself.”
“Were you taking care of yourself in the stables a couple of weeks ago?” She paled at this and turned away. With a muttered curse, he turned her around to face him. “Dee, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“No, it wasn’t.” She jerked away, eyes bright with angry tears.
“But it doesn’t surprise me you’d be saying it.
You’ve a habit of putting me in my place, Master Grant, and I’ve been reminded there’s work to be done.
So be off with you and let me be about it.
” Removing her cap, she dropped a curtsy. “If it please Your Honor.”
“I’ve had just about enough, you green-eyed witch,” he muttered, taking a step toward her. “I’d like to haul you over my knee for the spanking you deserve, but I’ll get more out of this sort of punishment.”
He had her crushed against him with a speed that allowed her only a short gasp of protest before his mouth descended, hard, then demanding, then possessing, in rapid succession. When he lifted his mouth, she felt him drawing her soul through her eyes.
“I’m not going to make a habit of this,” he muttered and took her lips again, his fingers tangling in her hair, then moving over her back until she thought she would perish from the heat.
Feather-light tremors followed the trail of his hand along her spine, touching her with an exquisite fear.
She felt the pressure of his arms bending her back, his mouth hard on hers, demanding not response but submission.
She became aware of her own slightness, a fragility she had never known was part of her, as his strength overpowered even the thought of struggle.
Lucidity drifted from her, leaving only the feel of a hard body and a demanding mouth, which took from her until it was impossible even to breathe.
Drawing away, Travis held Dee steady as she staggered. He stood a moment looking down thoughtfully into her flushed face. “You know, Dee,” he said at length, his voice as calm and unperturbed as she was ruffled and confused, “you’re too little to possess such a dangerous temper.”
Flicking a friendly finger down her nose, he strode out into the sunshine.
The day of the Derby was an advertisement for spring, warm with a soft, scented breeze under a clear, cloudless sky.
The perfection of the weather meant nothing to Adelia, whose nerves were so tightly coiled that it could have easily been midwinter.
Seeing Travis several times during the morning and early afternoon, she was both envious and annoyed by his calm, easygoing manner while she remained a massive bundle of quivering nerves.
Between the lingering sensation of her last encounter with him and the prospect of the race, she found functioning at even borderline normality an effort.
Waiting through the preliminary races was sheer torture.
She found herself beside Travis in the stands, thinking that if the race did not begin soon, she would have to be carted away and locked up until it was over.
“Here.” Adelia glanced down at the glass he offered before raising her eyes to his.
“What is it?”
“A mint julep.” Taking her hand, he placed the glass in it and curled her fingers around it.
“Drink it,” he commanded, then smiled at the frown she gave it.
“The pur pose is twofold. One, it’s traditional, and you can keep the glass to remember your first Derby.
And two,” he continued, grinning, “you need something to calm your nerves; I’m afraid you’re going to keel over. ”
“So am I,” she admitted and sipped gingerly from the glass. “Travis, I would swear there are more people here than the last time. Where do they all come from?”
“Everywhere,” he returned easily, following her fascinated gaze. “The Run for the Roses is the most important race of the season.”
“Why do they call it that?” she asked, finding the combination of conversation and mint julep soothing.
“The winner’s draped with a blanket of red roses in the Winner’s Circle, and the jockey gets an armful. So,” he concluded and lifted his own glass, “it’s the Run for the Roses.”
“That’s nice,” she approved, lifting the brim of her cap further on her head. “Majesty will like red roses.”
“I’m sure he’ll be crazy about them,” Travis agreed with suspicious sobriety, and Adelia’s dignified retort was interrupted by the first strains of “My Old Kentucky Home.”
“Oh, Travis, the parade’s starting!” She fastened her eyes on Majesty and the small man on his back, clad in colorful red and gold silks.
The others with their brilliant contrasts of blues and greens and yellows paled before her eyes.
To her there was not another animal to compare in power and beauty with Travis’s Thoroughbred colt—and, judging by the way Majesty pranced, he agreed completely.
“Saints preserve us, Uncle Paddy,” she murmured as he appeared at her side. “My heart’s pounding so I’m sure it’ll burst. I don’t think I’m made for this.”
Her eyes never left Majesty’s form as he was loaded into the gate. Her senses swam with the blare of the trumpets and the roar of the crowd. With a swiftness that took her breath away, the doors were released and the horses sprang forward in a turbulent herd.
Her eyes followed the colt as he galloped with steady assurance around the track.
She was not even aware that as the bell had rung she had grabbed Travis’s hand in a viselike grip, squeezing tighter as each heart-pounding second passed.
The air shivered with the voice of the crowd, individual calls and shouts melding into one trembling roar.
She rode every inch of the track on Majesty’s back, feeling the rush of wind on her face and the strong rhythm of the colt’s gait under her.
As they rounded the second turn, Steve brought Majesty to the inside rail, and the colt took his head and left the field with long, smooth strides.
The gap between the chestnut and his nearest competitor widened with what appeared to be effortless ease as he streaked down the back stretch into the home stretch and under the wire more than four lengths in the lead.
Without hesitation, Adelia threw herself into Travis’s arms, clinging with a joy she could only express physically by babbling incoherent and self-interrupted sentences to both him and her uncle, who was improvising an enthusiastic jig beside her.
“Come on.” Travis tossed an arm around Paddy’s shoulders. “We’ve got to get down to the Winner’s Circle before the crowd’s too thick.”
“I’ll wait for you.” Adelia pulled back, stooping to retrieve her dislodged cap. “I don’t like all those reporters staring and snapping and jumping all over me with their questions. I’ll wait on the outside and take Majesty along when it’s over.”
“All right,” Travis agreed. “But tonight, we celebrate. What do you say, Paddy?”
“I say I’ve just acquired a strong yearning for champagne.” The two men grinned at each other.
That evening, Adelia stared at the reflection in the full-length mirror of her room. Her hair lay full and lush on her shoulders, shining like newly minted copper against the muted greens of her dress.
“Well, Adelia Cunnane, look at you.” She smiled with satisfaction into the mirror. “There’s not a one back in Skibbereen who’d be knowing you in such a dress, and that’s the truth of it.” A knock sounded at her door, and she plucked her key from the dresser. “I’m coming, Uncle Paddy.”
Opening the door with a dazzling smile, she was not greeted by her merry-faced uncle but by an incredibly attractive Travis in a dark dinner suit, the white silk of his shirt startling against his deep tan.
They stood silently for a moment as his gaze roamed over her, from shining hair and deep green eyes to the soft, rounded curves outlined by the clinging jersey.
His gaze rose to her face again, but still he did not smile.
“Well, Adelia, you’re astonishingly beautiful.”