RUNNING
                                         By Kentuckywoman

                          PART THREE

"Where do I put this?," inquired Moira impatiently in Clay's general direction, the heavy bushel basket loaded with apples pulling her forward as she struggled under it's weight.  Clay looked up laconically, certainly not going to mention where she should put it.   He nodded without verbally responding and returned to currying Gauntlet.  Pa really should do something with her, she's always underfoot around here, he groused to himself, applying the curry comb much harder than he should have and getting an indignant whinny for his troubles.

"I said, where should I put this?!!", she asked even louder, knowing full well that bullheaded younger son of Ned Logan could hear her perfectly fine.  When she did not receive a response from Clay, Moira set the basket down just inside the stable door, out of the way next to some piles of straw.

Moira had turned to leave, when Clay bellowed out from Gauntlet's stall, "That's not where those go.  They're in the way." Moira had had quite enough, but knowing that it was this or going to jail, she gritted her teeth and again lugged the bushel up and stared right back at Clay.  Her eyes sought his in question.  He ignored her unspoken inquiry and returned to grooming Gauntlet.  Yeah,
maybe I am being a little childish, but she does deserve a dose of her own medicine, he reasoned to himself.

He did have to admit though, Moira Donnelly had kept up her end of the bargin she had made with Ned.  She was a hard worker and never complained.  Almost a month had passed since the night she had tried to make off with the Andalusian,  and the rest of the family had developed a rapport with the young Irishwoman.  Except for Clay.  He wasn't about to be pulled in by her sweet charm, beautiful appearance or her mesmerizing
laughter.  Had he just thought that she was beautiful??? What was wrong with him?  Angry with himself, he fumed as he finished rubbing the horse down.

Moira stood there for a moment, then set the basket closer to one of the feed troughs.  She straightened up to see Clay staring at her, with a scowl on his face.  "Not there.  Can't you do anything right?"  He turned his back on her to pick up a bucket, when WHACK!!!

Something hard and very painful nailed him right in his backside.  He raise up suddenly, to receive another one right upside the head.  He looked up to see what had assaulted him and saw Moira standing there, primed and ready to launch yet another apple in his direction.
God, she has a wicked aim,  he thought fleetingly while trying to dodge the third apple, which barely missed his head.

Clay took off running toward Moira, who dropped the next intended weapon from her head and scrambled towards the open stable door.  Just as she made it to the entrance of the stable, Moira felt her body being pulled roughly back in the opposite direction.  The force was so strong that she lost her balance and fell backwards against Clay, who was knocked backwards against the pile of hay next to the door.  He landed with a whomph, as his breath left his lungs.  However, even having the wind knock out of him did not loosen his tenacious
grip on her waist.  She fought and struggled against him, but to no avail.

Moira wriggled out of his iron hold for a split second, but Clay changed his grasp and threw her down on her back, still holding one of her arms painfully behind her back.  Everytime she moved to get away from him, he tightened his grip on her arm, causing her to wince.  Clay
knew he wouldn't break it, but he was going to make sure she wasn't going anywhere.  By the time she stopped her futile struggling, both Moira and Clay were panting from the excercion.

His vivid blue eyes met with her sparkling violet ones.  It was as if time had stopped for a moment as they stared each other down. Clay broke the silence in an angry whisper, "What in the hell did you do that for?"

"Because you were being an ass, that's why," she snapped back.  "You could have told me where to put those, but noooo..."

"That doesn't give you the right to throw 'em at me."

"Let me go!," Moira demanded as she wriggled slightly, testing his hold on her arm.  She felt so claustrophobic in his presence, his nearness almost overwhelming her.  Growing up in a family of all boys (except herself), Moira had learned that her brothers had often dallied with the household help, much to the consternation of their mother.  She stiffened in anxiety. What if Clay Logan wanted to take those kinds of liberties with her?  If she fought back, she could very well lose her position or worse?  But she couldn't submit to him?  Could she?

That blastedly annoying, but irresistibly handsome, man made her feel something that she wasn't sure she could control, much less want to.

"I'll let you go when I'm damn good and ready," he growled back, although honestly he wasn't quite sure what to do with her.  Yeah, he had acted like a horse's ass, but she couldn't go around pelting people like that.  He studied her face, trying to see what thoughts were passing through her mind.  Those arresting violet eyes gazed back at him, indecisively.

Lying next to her warm, curvaceous body, Clay was hard put to think beyond the emotions that warred through his being.  He had this most irrepressible desire to kiss those luscious, full lips into submission.  He lowered his head and slid his free hand up to stroke her silky
softness of her cheek.

Moira's eyes fluttered closed, her long dark lashes brushing her high cheekbones. Clay used his tongue to lightly stroke the seam of her lips until she slightly opened her mouth and he slid inside.  That act of penetration was so erotic that both of them shivered from the sensations that his mouth was generating within her.  What started out as a gentle, tentative kiss on his part rapidly proceeded to a strong desire to possess her mouth totally.  He reveled in the honey sweetness of her mouth as he began to teach her tongue to respond in kind.

His callused hands drifted up to her face, cradling her head and sifting his fingers through her long raven tresses.  The cool satin of her hair was heavy as it swirled and foamed over his hands and upper arms. She placed her hands against his chest, intending to push him away, but as he continued his thorough assault of her mouth, Moira relaxed her arms enough to allow them to slid around his neck, urging him closer still.  She had kissed some of the young men at parties and balls back home in Galway, but never like Clay, never as shockingly intimate as this.

As abruptly as it began, Clay ended it, embarrassed that he had lost control like that.  She would prove to be nothing but trouble for his emotions if he kept this up.  Beside, Pa would kill him if he knew that Clay was taking advantage of one of the people in their care.  He pushed her away from him, silently berating himself for his lack of finesse when he saw her flinch.  Moira jumped up and ran out the open door of the barn, her face flushed from embarrassment and chagrin.

Sitting up, he leaned back against the stall's divider and held his head in his hands, trying his damnedest to clear his muddled senses.  She was like a drug, like the laudanum that Jeremy's mother had taken.  He rubbed his eyes with his hands, knowing he wasn't sure what he felt for Moira, but knowing it definitely wouldn't go
anywhere.  He just had to find a distraction.  Grabbing his hat, he saddled Gauntlet and galloped off towards Lexington.  Maybe within the city lay the solution to his dilemma.