Thankfully, Oisin had come through unscathed.

The Irishman watched her as she completed her inspection. “I know enough to have kept my distance,” he said as she gave the stallion a last pat on the shoulder.

Ellie shot him a sharp glance. “What does that mean?”

“I understood you were quite intelligent. I’m sure you don’t need me to spell it out,” he said, taking off his hat to drag a hand through thick black hair, pushing the locks back from his brow.

Without the hat he looked different.

Without the hat he looked... familiar.

An uneasy sensation ricocheted through her as their gazes met and held. Oh no. No. It was him. The fireman from the night of her doomed engagement party last December.

She gulped a breath, cheeks hot, a frisson of awareness racing through her. She’d only seen him that one night, briefly, and then not since. She’d wondered where he’d gone and why he hadn’t attended any of the events in Marietta and, yet, here he was, on the side of the road, on the way to Emigrant.

She swallowed hard as she scanned his face. No wonder he’d made such an impression. Even in the afternoon sunlight, his eyes were dark, nearly as black as his hair, and his face was all hard, masculine edges and angles—high cheekbones, strong jaw, straight nose, firm lips.

Just looking at him made her chest grow tight. Her heart did a funny little beat. “We’ve never met,” she murmured, because that was also true. She’d seen him on the fire wagon when all hell was breaking loose, but they hadn’t spoken.

“Never have been introduced, no, but you’re Archibald Burnett’s daughter.”

It was impossible to ignore the coolness in his voice. “Do you not like my father?”

“I don’t know a single man in this valley who doesn’t respect him.”

So this was about her. Interesting. She lifted her chin a fraction, expression challenging. “You’ve formed an opinion about me, then.”

“I have.”

“Unflattering it seems.”

“There’s no point to this. You’re already defensive.”

Her face prickled with heat. She ground her teeth together, forcing a smile, aware her strong personality rubbed some the wrong way, and yet she didn’t try to be offensive, she just wanted to be herself. But people loved having opinions and they loved to judge.

“I’m not allowed to know why you’re so critical?” she asked. “Unless this is about how I handle a horse? Perhaps you’re one of those old-fashioned men who don’t approve of women driving fast.”

“Indeed. I prefer a woman to be a lady.”

Ah. So he was one of those that liked to judge. Good to know. “And how am I not a lady?”

“You’re too obvious.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re husband hunting, Miss Burnett.”

Her face burned but she wouldn’t let him know she was embarrassed. “Most young women hope to marry.”

His big shoulders shifted. “With you being more...