“She likes you, Culley.” Keegan stepped toward him and Ronan looked up, raising a brow. “You can tell by how still she stands. If she didn’t like you, she would have moved away once you were on the ground.”

“She has good taste.” Ronan gave the horse’s head a pat. Only after he turned to face the horseman did she wander off to the patch of grass where Ahearn and Dermot were grazing. All three bent their heads close as they nibbled at the green.

“Looks like they are talking to one another,” Ronan observed, wondering what Sorcha would say about him. He remembered what Keegan had said about them sensing things about their riders. He imagined they were probably snickering over the aches their riders would have that night.

“Some call it whispering grass when they do that,” Keegan told him, then faced Arien. “How are you doing, boy?”

“I hurt all over,” Arien answered, and then straightened when his gaze darted to Ronan. “But I am young and strong. I adapt well.” As if to prove his words as the truth, he turned and walked toward the woods with no expression.

“He cares what you think of him.” Keegan faced Ronan again. “He is a good apprentice?”

“Yes.” Ronan smiled. “He works hard and does what he is told. His mistakes have been minor and he learns from them quickly.”

“Damn.” Keegan glanced toward the trees where Arien disappeared. “I wish he’d stumbled onto the ranch. I’m always looking for young men who are willing to work.” Ronan stood a little taller, feeling a bit of pride that it had been his stable that Arien had decided to sleep in.

“Next one I come across I’ll send your way.” Ronan saw Keegan’s gaze slant at him. Slowly his lips twisted.

“The boy and woman cannot see. Stretch your legs. It will be a long day’s ride,” the horseman advised and Ronan wanted to hit him.

“What do you mean?”