O'Brien's Lady - By Marsha Doss Page 0,34

to know, Michael."

"Then go take care of the Lady."

"Of course, you wouldn't think of helping, would you?" Her eyes blazed with anger as she spoke.

"Why should I? You do it so well." Michael's mouth suddenly turned up at the corners and his eyes twinkled.

"Don't you think you're carrying this "training period" a little too far, Michael?"

Michael shifted his weight from one leg to the other and the laugh lines around his eyes moved as he spoke. "Maybe."

Sonny watched him with a growing feeling of disgust that spread through her body. She noticed the indentation in his chin, which was really more pronounced than it should be, and the nose that was certainly less than perfect. Why did this man appeal to her so, she wondered. He's selfish, unyielding and…has the most expressive eyes she had ever seen.

"Then, get busy and help me, Michael. Lady is waiting and I'm not through with Midnight yet." Sonny feigned work as she turned her blue eyes up to Michael. He smiled and tipped his hand to her.

She stood with one hand on her hip and the other on the back of Midnight, and her chin was tilted

in defiance. A move that Michael found alluring.

"Who slept late?" he asked.

"I was tired."

Just because she had slept in once, Michael was determined to make things as miserable for her as possible. Sonny braced herself and tried to calm the anger that was beginning to manifest itself.

"If you'd get in at a decent hour, you wouldn't have to sleep late." Sonny could easily see that Michael was not teasing this time. He was angry with her and nothing she could say would eliminate the fact that she hadn't been here working early.

"Were you checking up on me?" she asked sarcastically.

"No. While you and your Frenchman were out doing the town I was trying to work on the ledgers. Which, I might add, don't balance."

"You leave Pierre out of this. And when I work on the books, everything comes out fine." She tilted her head even higher, challenging him with her eyes that shown with satisfaction that something had finally been difficult for him. She found an unusual comfort in knowing that he too made mistakes and had shortcomings.

"Then you take them over," Michael snapped."I will. And this time they'll balance."

Sonny watched as Michael's eyes looked past her. As she turned around, she saw Katy escorting Pierre down to the stables.

"Well, well if it isn't Mr. Fashion himself," Michael drawled.

Sonny ignored his remark and hurried up to meet Pierre. Michael followed close behind. He wanted to meet the man who had beat him in the final stretch.

"You have a visitor," Katy said as she looked apprehensively at Michael and then turned and hurried back up to the house.

"Sondra," he said with perfectly enunciated words, "what are you doing down here?"

"I've been wondering that myself," she answered as she glowered at Michael.

"We're working," Michael said, smiling broadly.

Too broadly, she thought, as she watched him initiate a hand shake that left Pierre wincing.

"Sondra has told me so much about you. I assume you are Mr. O'Brien?" Pierre said solicitously.

"None other. And you're Pierre, the dressmaker." Michael smiled, ignoring Sonny's sudden poke in his ribs, "I design garments, yes. From there they are prepared in factories." Pierre had not caught Michael's insinuation and for that, Sonny was grateful. She would not have him humiliating her guest.

"Pierre, why don't we go up to the house?"

Sonny broke in, anxious to separate the two men. She was afraid Michael would eventually offend Pierre. If they stayed here a minute longer, that was bound to happen.

"I think your friend would enjoy seeing the horses," Michael said putting an arm around Pierre's shoulder. Sonny rolled her eyes at Michael but realized it was useless to to argue.

"If you insist," Pierre said politely.

"Oh, I do." Michael smiled as he led Pierre into the main barn. As the three of them walked past the enclosed stalls on either side, Michael pointed out the fine Thoroughbreds of Pinebrook.

Pierre looked down at his white loafers, which were already covered with smudge marks. Seeing his expression, Michael made an effort to brush his feet along, stirring up more dust.

"Michael, I'm sure Pierre has seen enough,"Sonny interrupted.

"Yes, I do have to be going." Pierre's long, thin fingers raked nervously through his carefully styled black hair.

"So soon? You haven't even mounted one of these beauties yet. Why, Sonny's father always said, "Any man…"

"Never mind, Michael," Sonny cut in nervously. "I'm sure Pierre wouldn't want