She thought a moment. “Could we just drive about for a time? I’m nearly desperate to see something other than the walls of this house.”
“I’ll go anywhere you like, Maeve Butler.”
It often happens that a man is caught quite by surprise when he realizes he’s grown unexpectedly attached to a woman.
Sean Kirkpatrick was no exception. And mingled with that surprise was just a tiny bit of fear. For once a man begins to love a woman, his life is never quite whole again without her.
Chapter Six
“Seems to me Desmond is something of a dictator.” Maeve didn’t at all like the idea of any person trying to “break” Sean. Anyone could see that he was strong and independent. She liked him that way. She liked him very much, indeed.
Sean didn’t seem overly concerned, though. “He’ll ease off in time. ’Tis his way of weeding out those who aren’t willing to work.”
There wasn’t much to be seen as they drove along the paths that wove through the family farm. The sun had set, and the land was dark. But she was warm in her coat under the blanket he’d provided, and she was grateful for the fresh air and the joy of Sean’s company. Finley, though he was a dear family friend, hadn’t Sean’s knack for conversation or his quick wit.
“Have you had a good first week at the stables?” she asked. “Or has it been terrible?”
“It’s been grand, actually. Such fine animals, and the stables, Maeve.” He whistled appreciatively. “They’re quite the finest stables I’ve ever seen.”
“So is it the stables you like best or the horses?”
“The horses, to be sure. I’ve always liked animals. Except, perhaps, for Rufus there,” he added with a chuckle.
Upon hearing his name, Rufus let out a quick bark.
“I think Rufus likesyou,” Maeve said.
“Oh, certainly. He’d like me for supper, is what he’d like.”
Maeve moved a bit closer to Sean, and not entirely because the night was growing colder. A week she’d been watching for him, hoping he’d come. And here he was, directly beside her, laughing and talking and lifting her spirits. Little wonder her heart was spinning about inside her.
“Which of the horses is your favorite?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “You don’t truly want to hear about my boring job, do you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I worked at a stable in Mayo, and m’ sisters never did want to hear a single word about what I did.”
She shook her head at his rather thickheaded logic. “They’re sisters. And sisters are quite different from” —she wasn’t sure what to call herself at that point— “fromnotsisters.”
“Well, then,not sister, I’d have to say that my favorite horse is a chestnut the Marquess has named Chestnut.”
She laughed silently. “The Marquess is not particularly creative, it would seem. Now, why is it Chestnut is your favorite?”
They rode on that way for long, enjoyable minutes, the night growing darker and chillier. She learned about the animals in his care, about the family he’d left behind in Mayo. He asked after her work and her joys. He wished to know of her late parents and her childhood.
Theirs was such an easy and natural conversation that one might be excused for thinking they benefited from a long acquaintance. And, seeing how they slowly inched closer and closer together as they drove along, even they began to feel that there was more to the evening than two near-strangers getting acquainted.
Ireland, you must understand, is peopled first and foremost by dreamers. We’ll fight when we must, and we’re not entirely without brains. But the trait that most defines us is the heart of a poet, and it shows most in quiet moments like that one, when a hopeful sort of love is born.
***
The next week, Sean came by for Sunday supper, and again the week after that and the week after that. Desmond, it seemed, felt he’d earned one night a week to himself. The change might’ve also had something to do with the scones Maeve brought to old Desmond whilst emitting a few heartfelt sighs of regret over never being able to see her fine lad. Desmond was a tyrant; there was no denying that. But he was also a man without a wife and in firm possession of a sweet tooth, something Maeve had managed to discover by means of endless questioning of Liam, who had known the man for many years.
Whatever the reason for the hard-nosed stable master’s softening toward his newest stable hand, Maeve saw a great deal of Sean Kirkpatrick as Christmas approached. He came every Sunday without fail, no matter how miserable the weather, and she found herself watching the front windows all the day long, praying he’d come a bit early.
On his sixth Sunday visiting, when the other lads moved from the small kitchen, Sean remained behind. “I can’t promise to be very good at it, but I’m hoping to help with the dishes.”
