Thrice Familiar

by Carolyn Haines

  “He’s not sore, because we’ve been resting the knee and giving him hydrotherapy along with hot rubs.” Patrick’s hands itched to pull her out from under the horse and shake her. Limerick’s injury occurred because of one of Catherine’s ridiculous orders—to keep him stalled. The horse was so anxious to get out of his stall that when he got a chance he had tried to leap over the door and had banged his knee.

  “You’re not resting his knee, Patrick. You’re mollycoddling this animal.” She finally looked up. If the thunder on Patrick’s face intimidated her, she failed to show it.

  “He needs another two days of walking and trotting. If you put him on the track pounding around now, you’ll undo every bit of good I’ve done him. Then he won’t be able to race Saturday or for the next three weeks!”

  “It seems your employer gave you a direct order.” Kent stepped forward. He put his hand on Catherine’s arm. “I suggest you obey it.”

  “I suggest—” Patrick lowered his voice and smiled “—that you go straight to hell.”

  “Enough!” Catherine stepped between the two men. “I can see that this is more about male ego than horses.” She stormed toward the main section of the barn. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “You’re treading on thin ice, Shaw.” Kent walked up to the horse and put a hand on limerick’s shoulder. The stallion shifted away from him and stamped the ground nervously.

  “I’ll take my chances.” Patrick eased up to the horse, speaking softly to him. Limerick shook his head up and down.

  “Catherine keeps you on because she feels sorry for you. She doesn’t want it on her conscience that she sent another Irishman on the dole.” Kent smiled. “She has a big heart for a Brit, doesn’t she?”

  “Why are you so concerned about who Miss Nelson hires or doesn’t hire?” Patrick’s fists were clenched white at his sides. Every few seconds the right one twitched, as if it had a mind of its own.

  “Let’s just say I have an interest.”

  Patrick started. “You don’t mean to say that she’s so stupid she’s involved with the likes of you? She couldn’t be that much of an idiot, not even if she poured half her brains out her ear and scrambled the rest.”

  Kent smiled. “You don’t think much of me, and the feeling is mutual. If you ever had anything worth having here, you’ve ruined it. If you don’t run a racehorse, it isn’t much good.”

  “That shows what you know about horses. I....” Patrick stopped. Catherine was walking rapidly toward them, a reluctant Timmy following behind with his racing saddle over his arm.

  “Saddle up Limerick and let’s get out to the track,” Catherine said to the jockey. “I didn’t come here to watch men argue, strutting their testosterone levels and acting like fools.”

  Timmy cast a silent appeal toward Patrick.

  “Hold, Timmy,” Patrick said softly. “You’ll be putting the saddle away now. Limerick isn’t going anywhere.”

  Timmy turned on his heel and started back down the barn.

  “Timmy Sweeney, you’d better think who signs your paycheck before you take another step.”

  Catherine’s clear voice stopped the jockey in midstride. He turned back to look at Patrick.

  “I won’t put Timmy’s job on the line,” Patrick said. He unclipped Limerick’s halter. “But I don’t believe Timmy can saddle him if he’s moving around.” With that, he started out of the barn with Limerick following obediently.

  “Wait just a minute!” Kent moved to catch Limerick’s halter.

  The stallion’s head whipped around and his bared teeth caught Kent’s jacket. With a jerk, the horse pulled half the sleeve away.

  Patrick kept walking.

  “Damn you, Patrick Shaw. This isn’t the end of this. You can’t behave as if that horse is still your property.”

  Patrick never turned around. “Go back to Dublin, Miss Nelson. I’ve heard you’re quite good over fences on the hunt when you’re not toting up your father’s money at the bank. Go back to what you know and leave the training of these horses to someone who knows what he’s doing. Limerick will race. And when he does, he’ll win. But he won’t race until he’s ready.”

  Catherine watched helplessly as the tall trainer left the barnyard and walked down the tree-shaded lane. The gray was following him like a puppy.

  She turned her attention to the man who stood rubbing his arm.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Kent said. “He’s one arrogant bastard, Catherine. I hope you don’t intend to keep him around here much longer.”

  Catherine noticed Timmy still standing near a wall, his saddle over his arm. “That’s all for today. Thank you.” As furious as she was with Patrick, she didn’t want to discuss his future in front of other members of the staff. If she decided to fire him, he’d be the first to know, not the last. And at the moment, she felt like booting him off Beltene Farm—except that he was the best man with a horse she’d ever seen, even if he did pamper the animals too much.

  “Let’s go to the house,” she said, allowing Kent to take her elbow. “I’ll get some ice for your arm.”

  “No wonder these people think they still run things. You’re going to have to do something about that man. I didn’t drive all the way from London to be told by the hired help that I couldn’t watch a horse work.”

  “He’s raised that stallion since it was a foal. It must be difficult.” Catherine cast one last look over her shoulder. Limerick was still following Patrick around like a giant puppy.

  “Difficult!” Kent was outraged. “You’re not feeling sorry for that man, are you?”

  “Not exactly sorry. It’s just that he seems to have a special bond with Limerick. Kent, you should see him ride.” She sighed. “Those horses come alive for him. They want to please him. I’ve never seen anything like it. And Limerick is the best he’s produced.”

  “The horse is ill-mannered and dangerous. It bit my sleeve. If a horse in my stables had behaved in such a fashion, I’d discipline it. Shaw simply allows these animals to do whatever they wish. They run if they want to, they bite if they decide to.” He raised his hands in the air. “What’s next?”

  “A glass of champagne and some cheese.” Catherine put her hand through his arm. “Let’s not let this ruin our day. Limerick will run Saturday. That’s a promise. Patrick Shaw may think he’s won the war, but he’s only fought the first battle. If that horse is sound, he’ll run. And he’ll win.”

  A sliver of moon hung just above the horizon, giving barely enough light to help guide the horse trailer that moved toward Beltene Farm. There were no lights on the trailer, and no one from the barn came out to greet the lone driver. The man got out of the Land Rover and went into the barn. Only a few moments later he returned, leading a large horse wrapped in a green blanket. The horse walked willingly into the trailer.

  From the barn loft, a small black figure watched. The cat’s tail twitched several times, but he was as silent as horse and man.

  Less than five minutes after he’d arrived, the man was driving away. He drove the road blind, without any assistance from headlights, until he was nearing the main intersection. There was no traffic, and he pulled the trailer onto the road and picked up speed.

  Familiar heard the sound of footsteps below him on the barn floor.

  “That should fix the high-and-mighty Catherine Nelson.”

  The voice that spoke was filled with enough anger to make even the brogue sound harsh and ugly.

  “It could very well fix us all,” a second man replied.

  “You’re always looking over your shoulder to pay a price, Old Mick,” the younger man said.

  “That’s because I’m old enough to know that there’s always a price to pay.” Old Mick’s voice was sad. “It’s a bad situation when we come to this. A bad situation.”

  “They had no right to come in here and buy up everything we’ve worked for. They make us out to be nothing more than servants. This is less than what they
deserve.”

  “Not by their standards. And not by the law.”

  “The law, is it? Is that what you’re going to start living by now?”

  Old Mick sighed. “What we’ve done is stolen a horse. That’s the cold and simple cut of it. If we’re caught, we’ll pay the price.”

  “When should we tell Patrick that the horse is gone?”

  Old Mick snorted. “We’ll tell him nothing. Let him find out on his own.”

  “But we should tell him,” the younger man insisted.

  “You’ll keep your mouth shut and that’s the final say. Do you want to start the hue and cry this minute, when the van is hardly gone around the bend? You’ve no stomach for this.”

  The younger man turned back into the barn. “I’ll get my jacket, and we’ll be gone.”

  Old Mick stood for a minute staring into the empty night. The wind had picked up and it was cold, even for late summer. He stuffed his bare hands into the pockets of his jacket and hunched his shoulders. “It’s a bad night’s work, and only the young are foolish enough to think no one will pay.” He spoke to the night and then turned back into the barn.

  2

  Patrick stood beside the cold fireplace remembering the room from when he was a boy of twelve. He’d stood waiting in just the same spot to confess to the sin of breaking the O’Keefe’s front window with a ball. Twenty years had passed since he’d been inside the house. Twenty years and a lot of hardship.

  When John Nelson, Catherine’s father, had bought Beltene Farm for her, he’d also purchased the adjoining property. He’d left the stables as a working farm, but he’d renovated the O’Keefe house to serve as his weekend estate in the country—and Catherine’s headquarters. What had once been the library in the old O’Keefe house was now the office of Catherine Nelson.

  Patrick walked to the window as he waited. The stables weren’t visible from the house. The road separated the two properties, but that wasn’t nearly enough distance as far as he was concerned. It was bad enough selling the stables, but now that Catherine had expressed her intentions of moving from Dublin to the farm to take a serious interest in the horse business, Patrick knew that she would be too close in every respect. Too close and too pushy. The fact that she was beautiful didn’t help matters either. He found himself reacting with two diverse and contradictory impulses. It was a condition he’d been warned about often enough by his mother, his friends, and his church.

  The door opened, and the redhead walked into the room. Light from the windows struck her face, and Patrick almost didn’t believe that the woman who stood before him was the same one who’d been in the barn. Hair down well below her shoulders, Catherine wore a short skirt and sweater. Gold earrings dangled from her ears and patterned hose called attention to her long legs. She looked young and adventurous, not the cold and bossy woman he tried to remember. Her first words brought back the chill.

  “I hope you’ve come to apologize for your behavior yesterday.” Catherine walked past him to the desk, where she took a seat and motioned him into a chair. She sat because she did not want Patrick to see that she was uncomfortable. He seemed to fill the room, just as he did the barn. The men at the bank where she’d worked were different. They took up their space and no one else’s. Patrick took it all, with a casual grace that was unnerving. She had to make him understand that she was in charge of Beltene. If she failed to show her strength now, he would never respect her as his employer. “The way you behaved was rude and—”

  Patrick stood. “I did not come to apologize. I came to tell you that Limerick is gone.” He’d meant to deliver the news with a bit more finesse, but he had to remember that Catherine Nelson’s ignorance and power could impact the animals he’d devoted his life to. He could not afford to be tender or kind.

  “Gone where?” Catherine’s furrowed brow was indication that she hadn’t yet grasped the situation.

  “Just gone.” Patrick steeled his voice and his emotions. “I was hoping you’d tell me where he is.”

  She tilted forward in her chair, bracing her arms against the desk. “Are you telling me that my father’s most valuable racehorse is gone? His stall is empty, and there’s no sign of him?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Patrick took a perverse pleasure in his servile response.

  Catherine slowly stood. “Limerick has been stolen?”

  “I did not say that. I said he was gone. If you didn’t take him, though, then apparently he has been stolen.”

  “As simple as that, someone walked into my barn and walked out with a horse?”

  “It does seem hard to believe.”

  She leveled a steady gaze at him—a gaze that had made executives in the bank step back. “You’re taking this awfully calmly, Mr. Shaw. Aren’t you concerned about the horse?”

  “As you pointed out yesterday, Limerick is no longer mine to care about.” Patrick stared at the floor as he spoke, giving nothing away by expression or voice. “I did want you to know as soon as I was told...so there would be no confusion or accusations.”

  Catherine found it difficult to absorb the news. Beltene was a big place, with stable hands constantly about. “No one heard or saw a thing?” Her voice registered disbelief.

  “That’s exactly the way it happened.” Patrick watched the beginning of the quiver at the left comer of her mouth. He wasn’t certain if she was going to cry, curse, or come out swinging. He dismissed the idea of tears. Catherine Nelson wasn’t soft enough to cry. “According to your instructions, I’d spent a great deal of time working with Limerick’s loading and unloading. He was awfully well trained about getting into the horse van. He liked to travel.”

  Catherine ignored the last barb. Her brow furrowed deeper with concentration. “Sit down, Mr. Shaw. We’ve got to figure out who has Limerick and how to get him back. If it’s someone in the barn, acting alone or under your instructions, have them return the horse and all will be forgiven. I’m going to give you that one chance, because I believe you could have been motivated by your concern for the animal.” She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. “I may not care for you personally, but I don’t believe you’re a common thief.”

  Reluctant admiration made Patrick concede to her command. He eased his lanky frame into the chair. Instead of going to pieces as he’d anticipated, Catherine had done the exact opposite. She didn’t know beans about horses, but she wasn’t a total idiot, either. “There’s no need for a general amnesty. There’s no one at the barn guilty of any crime.”

  “Then let’s get to some facts. When did you discover he was gone?” She took out a pen and paper and began to make notes.

  “Just before I walked over here. I mixed his feed and took it to his stall. That’s when I noticed it was empty.” He watched the way her pen looped over the page. Elegant handwriting.

  She looked at her watch. It was still early morning. Just after seven o’clock. “Maybe one of the grooms has taken him for a workout?”

  “No one touches Limerick but me.” He spoke coldly to crush the hope in her eyes.

  “How convenient.” The softness was gone. “I want a list of all the grooms who stayed at the barn last night. I want the entire staff assembled in the barn in fifteen minutes. I’ll be over there, as soon as I call the police.”

  Patrick had been ready to rise from his chair when her final words stopped him. “Do you think it’s such a good idea to bring the authorities into it?”

  “Of course. A valuable animal has been stolen.” Catherine felt her exasperation rising. Patrick was looking at her as if she were completely daft. “Why wouldn’t I call the police?”

  Patrick’s jaw twitched once. “Remember when Speedo was stolen?”

  Catherine nodded. Who could forget that horrible case? The horse had been held for ransom and then killed. The very idea made her stomach knot.

  “It was said the men who stole the horse wouldn’t have killed him if the authorities hadn’t been called in. Once they were cornered, they reacted bad
ly. It might be better, for Limerick, if we...if you waited to see if there is some kind of demand made.”

  Catherine put her pen down. “Should I be expecting a ransom demand?” She held her breath.

  “I suggest you wait for a call, or at least until the post arrives, before you rush around making any outlandish accusations or riling the staff.” Patrick saw the look in her eyes. “All of the grooms have been with me or my father for at least five years. Some over twenty. You can’t accuse a man of being a thief and then expect him to forget it the next day.”

  “I don’t believe I asked you for a lecture on the collective ego of my staff.” Catherine stood. “Don’t touch anything near Limerick’s stall. I’m sure my father will insist that I hire a detective, and the insurance company will also want to send someone to look into this.” She brushed her hair back and set her earrings into motion. The gold glittered in her hair.

  Patrick stood, hands clasped in front of him, as he watched Catherine begin searching the directory for the appropriate telephone numbers. She looked up. “Is there anything else?”

  “I just thought it was worth a mention that you’ve never once inquired about the horse’s health. If he’s been taken for ransom, he might be well cared for. If he’s been taken because someone knows his potential, he might be dead. But then, he’s just another investment to people like you.”

  “No one would kill such a magnificent animal.” Catherine’s face blanched. “That’s a terrible thing to even bring up. Limerick is extremely valuable. He has the potential to sweep the English and French tracks. No one in their right mind would steal him just to hurt him.”

  “I wish that were true.”

  Catherine snapped the pencil in her hand. “You’re merely trying to scare me, aren’t you? You take pleasure in making me think of the worst things possible.’ ’

  Patrick could not stop the rush of pity he felt for her at last. Her face was white, startling against the red of her hair. “They can’t run him. He’s too distinctive in his coloring and his conformation. They can’t register the foals if they breed him—unless they falsify his records.” He stopped. He’d made his point.