‘I can’t let you do that,’ Rose exclaimed. Her best guess was that Máire’s five strapping lads ate the profits of the bakery as it was, and if her father was as violent as the Garda said he was, would any of them be safe?
‘But you are going back to Spain?’ Máire asked with a worried frown.
‘I don’t see how I can,’ Rose said, shaking her head. ‘He’s my responsibility—’
‘You’ve got your own life to lead,’ Máire said firmly. ‘Your father won’t get into trouble with me,’ she added, wrapping a capable arm around Rose’s shoulders. ‘My boys will keep him in line. If we can’t be neighbourly in a small place like this, what hope is there for the world? And my lads will be only too glad to help you with the horses.’
Great riders, all of them, and kind to their animals, Rose quickly assessed. ‘That would be wonderful—’ All of Máire’s suggestions would be wonderful, but Rose had never turned her back on a problem yet. ‘Maybe in the short term,’ she reluctantly agreed. ‘And I can’t tell you how grateful I am, but I’ll be paying for your time—’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Everyone turned to face the door.
‘Raffa?’
Stunned rigid, Rose’s brain simply refused to compute the fact that Raffa Acosta was framed in the doorway of the ramshackle farmhouse where she’d grown up.
Her face heated up in response to his level black stare. The last time she’d seen him, he was sprawled naked across the bed they’d shared. ‘You’re here,’ she managed lamely.
‘Evidently,’ he agreed blandly.
Private jet.Fast car waiting on the tarmac, Rose’s brain rapidly deduced. The sight of him, hair rumpled as if he’d got out of bed and come straight here, not even bothering to tuck in his top properly, sent a bolt of lust straight to her core. Jeans, boots and a leather jacket with the collar both up and down completed the picture of a man whose world could shift at the speed of light.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ Máire offered, stepping in between them to break the awkward moment. No one else spoke. They were too busy staring at superstar Raffa Acosta, a man of myth and legend in a village where horses, and everything connected to them, were practically a second religion.
‘Would coffee be possible?’ Raffa suggested, his gaze not wavering from Rose’s face for a moment.
‘Why don’t I get you a glass of water while you wait for the coffee to brew?’ Rose suggested, glad of any excuse to escape that burning stare.
‘Did you know he was coming?’ she whispered discreetly to Máire.
‘Declan said—’
‘Declan?’ Rose interrupted with surprise. ‘Raffa’s been speaking to my brothers?’
‘There’s no law against it, as far as I know,’ Máire told her with a shrug. ‘Apparently, your man has business in Ireland.’
‘He’s not my man,’ Rose whispered hotly, and just as fast she regretted the outburst. ‘Sorry, Máire—I just didn’t expect to see him here.’
Was she that business, or did Raffa have other plans? Rose wondered, conscious of his stare on her back. When she handed him the water, he was careful not to touch her, she noticed. She couldn’t blame him. Lifting her chin, she confronted the harshness in his eyes. ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she murmured.
‘Isn’t it?’ he bit out.
‘You read my note?’
‘I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’
‘I’m sorry for the way I left.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
Rose opened her arms in a helpless gesture. ‘What could you have done?’
‘I could have brought you here, for a start,’ Raffa ground out as he backed her into a shadowy corner, out of earshot of the rest.
‘I can—’
‘Manage very well on your own?’ he suggested with impatience. ‘Can you care for your father, when he’s in one of his drunken rages?’
