“We’ve that in common, then.”
“Shared ground at last. Why not let me ride with you up to the high pasture? You can show me the rest of your farm.”
She studied him for a long, quiet moment as the wind buffeted them both. Finally, she asked, “Why do you want to come with me?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I’ve nothing better to do right now. Why is it you don’t want me along?”
“Because I don’t need help,” she pointed out.
“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” he told her.
“And I am,” she assured him.
“Then why should you care if I ride along and help out if I can? Unless you’re worried that you’re going to be seduced by my lethal charisma.”
She laughed. Threw her head back and let loose a loud, delighted roll of laughter that touched something inside him even as it poked at his pride. “Ah, you’re an amusing man, Jefferson.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
“Which only makes it that much more funny, don’t you see?”
Hunching deeper into his overcoat against the cold, Jefferson told himself that she was no doubt trying to reassure herself that he wasn’t getting to her. Because he knew he was. She wasn’t nearly as distant as she had been the first time he’d driven onto the Donohue farm. That day, he’d been half expecting her to pull out a shotgun and force him off her land.
Not exactly the picture of Irish hospitality.
Thankfully, he’d always been the patient one in the family.
Trying a different tack now, he said, “Look at it this way. While you drive me around your place, you can have the chance to elaborate as to why you don’t want to take me up on my offer to rent your farm for an already mentioned exorbitant amount of money.”
She cocked her head to study him and her black hair danced in the cold wind like a battle flag. “Fine then. Come along if you must.”
“A gracious invitation, as always,” he muttered.
“If you want gracious,” she told him, “you should head down to Kerry, go to Dromyland Castle. They’ve fine waiters, lovely food and neatly tended garden paths designed to make sure their visitors’ fine shoes don’t get ruined.”
“I’m not interested in gracious,” he told her, heading for the side of the car. “That’s why I’m here.”
After a moment, she laughed shortly. “You give as good as you get, I’ll say that for you.”
“Thanks.”
She joined him at the door of the truck. “But if you don’t mind, I’ll drive my own lorry.”
“What?” Jefferson realized he’d gone to the right side—what should be the passenger side—but in Ireland, the steering wheel was on the right. “You do realize you guys have the wheel on the wrong side of the car.”
“It’s a matter of perspective, now isn’t it?” She shooed him off and he rounded the front of the small truck, walking to the other door. “Wrong side, right side, makes no difference, as they’re both my side.”
Jefferson leaned his forearms on the roof of the truck. “Believe it or not, Maura, I’m on your side, too.”
“Ah now,” she said, grinning, “that I don’t believe, Jefferson King, as I’m thinking that you’re always on your own side.”
She hopped in, fired up the engine and Jefferson moved fast to climb in himself, since he was sure she’d have no qualms about driving off and leaving him standing where he was. She was hardheaded. And beautiful. As stubborn as the hills here were green.
Watching the big American striding across a sheep-dung-littered rainy field on a blustery day was a fine thing, Maura mused. Even here, where he was so clearly out of his element, Jefferson King walked as if he owned the land. The edges of his gray overcoat flapped in the wind like a ghost’s shroud. His thick black hair ruffled as though spirits were raking their cold fingers through it and his delicious-looking mouth was twisted up into a sneer of distaste. And yet, she thought, he continued on. Carrying sacks of feed across muddy ground to tip and pour the grain into troughs for her sheep.
As the feed hit the bottom of the troughs, the black and white creatures came scampering ever closer, as though they’d been starved for weeks. Greedy beasts, she thought with a smile as they nudged and pushed at the great Jefferson King.
To give him his due, he wasn’t skittish around the animals as most city people were. They tended to look on mountain sheep as they would a hungry tiger, wondering if the beasties were going to turn on them with fangs and the taste for human flesh. For a rich American, he seemed oddly at home in the open country, though for some reason, the man refused to wear stout boots instead of his shiny, no doubt hideously expensive shoes.
He laughed suddenly as a head butt from the sheep nearly sent him sprawling face-first into the muck. Maura smiled at the sound of his laughter and told herself to ignore the swift, nearly debilitating rush of heat that swamped her. An impossible order to obey, she thought as she watched the wide smile on his face lighting up his features.
Her knees went wobbly and she knew her body was not listening to her mind.
Jefferson King was a man meant to be ogled by women, she thought, eyeing his fine physique. Broad shoulders, narrow h*ps and large hands with more calluses on them than she would have imagined a Hollywood type to have. He had long legs, muscular thighs and a fine ass if anyone were to ask her opinion.
And he was only a temporary visitor to the lovely island she called home. She had to remember that. He’d only come to Ireland looking for a place to make a movie. He wasn’t here on the Donohue Farm because he found her fascinating. He was here to rent her land, nothing more. Once she’d signed his bloody papers, he’d be off. Back to his own world that lay so very far from hers.
Well. She didn’t like the thought of that.
And so, she continued to draw out the negotiations.
“They act like they haven’t eaten in weeks,” Jefferson said as he walked toward her.
“Aye, well, it’s cold out. That’ll make for heartier appetites.”
“Speaking of,” he hinted broadly.
They’d fallen into a routine of sorts since his arrival. Maura had hardly noticed it happening, but there it was. Jefferson spent most of the day at her farm, following her about, touting the merits of the deal he was trying to make her and then they ended the afternoon over a bowl of soup and some hot tea in her kitchen. Strange how she’d come to look forward to that time with him.