Dark Witch by Nora Roberts Page A

brought her closer to what and who she was than any of the ones before.
    “I’m not leaving.”
    “You’ve had little time to think or understand,” Branna began, but Iona only shook her head.
    “I
know
I’ve never belonged anywhere before. And I think I understand this is why. Because I belong here. I come from her, from Teagan. I understand, too, she wanted me to see she hurt him that night, and he was afraid. Doesn’t that— Couldn’t that mean I can hurt him?”
    “If it’s here you belong, and I believe it is, then here you are. But don’t rush your fences,” Connor warned her, and patted her hand. “You’ve only begun.”
    “I’m an excellent rider with a damn good seat. And I’ll learn. Teach me.” She leaned closer as the urgency rose in her. “Show me.”
    Branna sat back. “You haven’t much patience.”
    “It depends. No,” Iona admitted. “Not a lot.”
    “You’ll need to find some, but we’ll take some steps. Small ones.”
    “Tell me about the cabin. They lived there, Sorcha died there. Is it still there? There’s a big tree, uprooted, and these thick vines, and—”
    “Don’t go there,” Branna said quickly. “Not yet and not alone.”
    “She’s right. You have to wait for that. You have to promise not to go through on your own.” Connor gripped her hand, and she felt the heat pump against her palm. “Your word on it, and I’ll know if you mean to keep it.”
    “All right. I promise. But you’ll take me.”
    “Not today,” Branna told her. “I have things I have to do, and Connor needs to go to work. And you need to go see Boyle.”
    “Now?”
    “After breakfast’s soon enough, and after you’ve washed up as payment for getting me out of my bed at this ungodly hour. Come back later. I should be done and ready by about three.”
    “I’ll be here.” Settled, confident again, Iona helped herself to another piece of toast.

5

    A S SHE FOLLOWED THE PATH, IONA TRIED WORKING ON HER INTERVIEW SKILLS . What to say, how to say it. She hoped she’d dressed appropriately, as she hadn’t expected an immediate job interview when she’d left her hotel room that morning in jeans and her favorite red sweater. Still, she was aiming for a stable job, so she’d hardly need a business suit and a briefcase.
    Neither of which she had anyway, she mused, or had ever wanted.
    What she did have was the resume she’d put together, the recommendation by her previous employers, all the references from her students or their parents.
    She didn’t care what they paid her, not to start. She just needed a riding boot in the door. Then she could, and would, prove herself. And while she proved herself she’d not only have work, she’d have the work she loved.
    Her stomach knotted, as it did when she wanted something too much, so she ordered herself not to babble when she met the man who could hire her or just send her on her way.
    The minute she turned into the clearing, saw the building, the nerves dropped away. Here was the familiar, a kind of home. The shape of the stables and its weather-faded red paint, the two horses with their heads poking out of the half doors, the trucks, the trailers scattered around the graveled lot.
    The scents of hay, horses, manure, leather, oil, grain caught at her heart. It all flooded over her as her boots crunched on the gravel.
    She couldn’t help herself. She went straight to the horses.
    The chestnut held her gaze steadily, watching her approach. He snorted at her, shifted his weight. He bent his head when she stroked his cheek, then gave her an easy push with his nose.
    “It’s nice to meet you, too. Look how handsome you are.”
    Clear eyes, clean, glossy coat, well-brushed mane, and a look of the easygoer about him, she noted. Healthy, well-tended horses boosted the as-yet-unmet Boyle McGrath and Finbar Burke in her estimation.
    “I’m hoping we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. And who’s your friend?” She turned to the second horse, a