“It’ll win you lots of points with the ewes,” someone shouted from the back of the pub.
Laughter erupted at that and Jefferson could only scowl at the whole damn room. Good to know that everyone in the village was having such an entertaining time.
“Great, that’s great.” What the hell was he doing here? Thousands of miles from home, from family, from sanity. He was sitting in the middle of an Irish Briga-doon trying to make sense of a woman who defied logic at every turn.
What woman in her right mind would turn down a proposal that offered her luxury? Every wish granted? He’d offered her a life of comfort and ease and she’d tossed it back in his face as if he’d insulted her.
Money and power, that’s what she’d said, he reminded himself. As if having contacts and financial independence were a bad thing. He didn’t understand real people. He was real people. His brothers were real. What, did she think just because a man had money, he was less than worthy?
“She’s the snob,” he muttered as the crowd around him continued the argument without his input, “not me.”
He’d never judged anyone on the size of their bank balance. He had friends who were mechanics as well as friends who were movie stars. And though his family had money, he hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’d had to work, just as his brothers had. They’d worked the ranch as kids and as they got older, their parents had told them if they wanted something, they’d have to earn it. So they’d each worked part-time jobs so they could afford secondhand cars and the gas and insurance that went with it.
Hell, he had friends who weren’t nearly as well off as his family had been and their parents had paid for everything. The more Jefferson thought about Maura’s accusations and generalizations, the angrier he became. He didn’t need to excuse his life or make apologies for the way he lived it just because she was being self-righteous.
“You could buy her a new house,” someone shouted.
“Or a new roof for the old house. It leaks something fierce in the winter,” Frances said.
“Pay them no mind,” Cara told him, and drew her chair closer to his. Leaning her forearms on the table, she said, “I can tell you how to win my sister.”
He glanced at her and caught the brilliant smile she had aimed at him. Cara, he thought, was the reasonable Donohue sister. She knew what she wanted—to be rich and famous doing what she loved doing—and went after it. She didn’t sneer at him for having money. Why would she? It’s what she wanted for herself.
With an inward sigh, he asked himself why it hadn’t been Cara who made his blood heat. Life would have been a hell of a lot easier.
Instead, he’d become involved with a woman whose head was as hard as the stones in her fields. Just thinking about it irritated him. Damned if he’d take it. Maura thought he was an arrogant, rich American. So he’d prove her right. If she was going to damn him for his money, he might as well make it worth her while.
His mind raced with possibilities. With ideas, notions and plans. And he liked every one of them. Time to pull off the gloves, he told himself. He’d never yet lost an acquisition he was determined to have and this wouldn’t be the first time.
“Jefferson? Are you listening?” Cara gave his arm a nudge. “I said, I’ve a way for you to win my sister round.”
“Thanks,” he said and stood up. Digging into his pocket, he came up with a sheaf of bills and tossed a few of them onto the table, paying not only for his and Cara’s drinks, but for most of those in the bar. “I appreciate it. But this is between me and Maura. And I’ve got a few ideas of my own.”
He left then and never saw Cara shake her head and murmur, “Luck to you, then. I’ve a feeling you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Nine
Bright and early the next morning, Maura stepped outside, braced for the next confrontation with Jefferson. She glanced around and blew out a breath that misted in front of her face in the cold damp. Dawn was just painting the sky with the first of a palette of colors. Gray clouds rolled in from the sea and she smelled another storm on the air.
“Maybe the coming storm will keep him in the trailer,” she told herself, even though she didn’t believe it for a moment, and truth be told, she didn’t wish for it, either. Even as annoying as the man could become, she liked having him about. Which only went to prove she really was a madwoman.
What woman in her right mind would torture herself so willingly by being around a man she couldn’t have?
But what choice did she have? It wasn’t as if asking him to leave her be had gotten her anywhere. Jefferson would stay until he left. Period. Nothing she could say would move him along any faster.
He’d made that clear enough.
There would be no way to escape his company and as long as that were true, she could admit, if only to herself, that she was storing this time up in her memories. Etching each moment with him on her brain so that she could draw the images out later, when he really was gone from her.
So she was prepared to have him riding as a passenger in her battered old lorry as she drove up to the high pasture. She’d even thought of a few things to tell him during the long, sleepless night. She was going to be reasonable, patient and firm. The only way to handle a man like Jefferson King. Temper wouldn’t do it as the man was immune to her shouts and curses. So she’d use practicality as it was his normal weapon of choice. She could explain to him simply and deliberately that he was wasting his time staying on at the farm. She wouldn’t be coerced or convinced to do something she’d no intention of doing.
She smiled to herself, called for King and stepped out of the way when the big dog raced down the hallway and out the back door.
The film crew was already busy in the front, according to the low rumbles of conversation and the sounds of engines and generators. Maura had become so accustomed to the sounds of the film crew that she had the oddest feeling she might actually miss all of the clatter and din they created each day. As she would soon be missing Jefferson, as well.
Her heart ached at the thought, but what else could she do? She couldn’t marry him knowing he had no interest in loving her. She couldn’t be a man’s duty. His penance. Her blood ran cold at the thought. What kind of life would that be? For any of them?
King was barking from the far side of the barn where she’d been parking her lorry since the arrival of the film crew. Musings shattered, Maura quickened her steps, wondering what it was that had set her dog off.