“What?” She shoved her hands through her hair. “What was that?”
“You are an idiot. Of course I’m attracted to you. Any man with blood in him would be. That’s not the issue.”
“It’s not the issue. What is?”
“I’m not interested in doing anything about it. And if you ask one more question, I’m dumping these bags, and you can find your own way to Branna’s.”
“All I did was move in a little,” she said as she dragged on her jacket. “You’re the one who did the grabbing.” She snatched up her laptop case, and sailed out of the room.
“That I did,” he muttered. “And that’s made me an idiot as well.”
She kept her mouth firmly shut on the short drive. She wouldn’t say a word. It took bitter willpower, as she had plenty to say, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.
Better to ignore him. More mature to say nothing.
No, she decided, more powerful to keep silent.
Even as she thought it, the truck jolted, as if it hit an invisible bump on the smooth road.
Boyle spared her one brief, hot look.
Had she done that? Iona gripped her hands together, fighting against a leap of glee. Had she actually lifted an entire truck? Unintentionally, but still a big jump from a pile of feathers.
She considered trying it again, just to see, but fortunately for all involved Boyle pulled up at Branna’s cottage.
She shoved out of the truck, started around to the bed to drag out her suitcases. Then thought the hell with it. He’d carted them out, so he could cart them in. She reversed, strode straight for the cottage door.
A sleepy-eyed Branna opened it before she knocked. “You’re timely.”
“He was early. Thanks again for letting me stay.”
“See if you’re thanking me after a week or two. Good morning to you, Boyle. If you’re after hauling those all the way, it’s the second on the left. I’ll show you your room,” Branna continued, and led the way up the narrow stairs. “Mine’s at the back, and Connor’s the front. I’ve my own bath, as when we added on, that was priority. Sharing a bath with him was a trial, and one you’ll now experience for yourself.”
“I don’t mind, not at all.”
“And if you’re saying the same after that week or two, you’re a liar. But that’s how it has to be.”
The bed with its simple headboard of iron slats painted creamy white faced a window where the view of the woods was framed in lace. The ceiling followed the slant of the roof and formed a cozy nook for a little desk and chair with a needlepointed seat.
The dresser, small scale again, bloomed with painted flowers against the same creamy white as the headboard. A little pot of shamrocks with their pretty white bells blooming sat on the dresser. The same rich green covered the walls and served as a backdrop for colorful prints of the hills, of the woods and gardens.
“Oh, Branna, it’s wonderful. It’s so pretty.” Iona brushed her fingers over the cloud-soft throw, an energetic pop of plums and purples and lavenders, folded at the foot of the bed. “I love it. I’m so grateful.”
This time Branna was a bit more prepared for the enthusiasm of the embrace, if not the quick bounce.
“You’re very welcome of course, and if you’ve a mind to change anything—”
“I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s perfect.”
“Where do you want these?” Boyle demanded from the doorway in a tone that took no trouble to hide aggravation.
/> Iona turned, and eyes that had gone misty dried cool. “Anywhere. Thank you.”
Taking her at her word, he dropped them just over the threshold, and kept the toes of his boots firmly on the other side. “Well, I’ll be off then.”
“You’ve time yet, don’t you?” Branna’s mind might have leapt with questions at the temper, the hot and cold of it, running in the room like open taps, but she kept her smile and tone easy. “I’ll fix you breakfast for your trouble.”
“Thanks for that, but I’ve things to do. Nine’s soon enough to come in this morning. Take time to settle.”