The Irish Trilogy by Nora Roberts

by Nora Roberts

  “This is funny, but I know how to talk, too.”

  Brian swore under his breath. “He prefers singing.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said, he prefers singing.”

  “Oh.” Keeley tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Any particular tune? Wait, let me guess. ‘Finnegan’s Wake’?” Brian’s steely-eyed stare had her laughing until she had to lean weakly against the gelding. The horse responded by twisting his head and trying to sniff her pockets for apples.

  “It’s a quick tune,” Brian said coolly, “and he likes hearing his name.”

  “I know the chorus.” Gamely Keeley struggled to swallow another giggle. “But I’m not sure I know all the words. There are several verses as I recall.”

  “Do the best you can,” he muttered and strode off. His lips twitched as he heard her launch into the song about the Dubliner who had a tippling way.

  When he reached Betty’s box, he shook his head. “I should’ve known. If there’s not a Grant one place, there’s a Grant in another until you’re tripping over them.”

  Travis gave Betty a last pat on the shoulder. “Is that Keeley I hear singing?”

  “She’s being sarcastic, but as long as the job’s done. She’s dug in her heels about grooming Finnegan.”

  “She comes by it naturally. The hard head as well as the skill.”

  “Never had so many owners breathing down my neck. We don’t need them, do we, darling?” Brian laid his hands on Betty’s cheek, and she shook her head, then nibbled his hair.

  “Damn horse has a crush on you.”

  “She may be your lady, sir, but she’s my own true love. Aren’t you beautiful, my heart?” He stroked, sliding into the Gaelic that had Betty’s ears pricked and her body shifting restlessly.

  “She likes being excited before a race,” Brian murmured. “What do you call it—pumped-up like your American football players. Which is a sport that eludes me altogether as they’re gathered into circles discussing things most of the time instead of getting on with it.”

  “I heard you won the pool on last Monday night’s game,” Travis commented.

  “Betting’s the only thing about your football I do understand.” Brian gathered her reins. “I’ll walk her around a bit before we take her down. She likes to parade. You and your missus will want to stay close to the winner’s circle.”

  Travis grinned at him. “We’ll be watching from the rail.”

  “Let’s go show off.” Brian led Betty out.

  ***

  Keeley put the final polish on the saddle irons, rolled her now aching shoulders and decided she had enough time to hunt up a soft drink before giving Finnegan a last-minute pep talk.

  She stepped outside and blinked in the sudden whitewash of light. The minute her eyes focused she saw Brian sitting near the stable door on an overturned bucket.

  Alarm sprinted into her throat. He had his head in his hands and was still as stone.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” She leaped forward to drop to the ground beside him. “Betty?” Her breath came short. “I thought Betty was racing.”

  “She was. She did. She won.”

  “God, Brian, I thought something was wrong.”

  He dropped his hands and she could see his eyes were dark, swarming with emotion. “Two and a half lengths,” he said. “She won by two and a half lengths, and I swear I don’t think she was half trying. Nothing could touch her, do you see? Nothing. Never in my life did I think to have a horse like that under my hands. She’s a miracle.”

  Keeley laid her hands on his knees, sat back on her heels. Passion, she thought. She’d spoken to Brendon of it, but now she was looking at it. “You made her.” Before he could speak, she shook her head. “That’s what you said to me once. ‘I don’t break horses. I make them.’”

  “I can’t get my head round it just now. This field was strong. I put her in thinking now and then you need a lesson in humility. Time for her to grow up, you know what I mean. Face real competition.”

  Still staggered, he dragged his hands through his hair and laughed. “Well, she’ll never learn a damn thing about humility.”

  “Why aren’t you down with her?”

  “That’s for your parents. She’s their horse.”

  “You’ve a lot to learn yourself.” She got to her feet, brushed off the knees of her jeans. “Well, Finnegan will be going down shortly. Why don’t you come in and look him over?”

  Brian blew out a breath, sucked in another, then rose. “I think he’ll place for you,” he told Keeley as he followed her in. “It wouldn’t hurt to wager on it.”

  “I intend to wager on him.” While Brian went in to check Finnegan’s leg wrappings, she got papers out of the pocket of the jacket she’d laid aside.

  “The wrappings look all right.” He flicked a finger over the stirrups. “And you polished the irons well enough.”

  “Glad you approve. Next time you can do it.” She held out the papers.

  “What’s this?”

  “Papers giving you half interest in Flight of Fancy, also known as Finnegan.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He was half yours anyway, Brian. This just makes it legal.”

  His palms went cold and damp. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t take that.”

  She’d expected him to refuse initially, but she hadn’t expected him to go pale and snarl. “Why? You helped bring him back. You trained him.”

  “A couple of weeks’ work, on my off time. Now put those away and stop being foolish.”

  When he started to push by her, she simply shifted to block his way. “First, he wouldn’t be racing today if it wasn’t for you. And second, you’re as attached to him as I am. Probably more. If it’s the money—”

  “It’s not the money.” Though a part of him knew it was, to some extent. Because it was hers.

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t own horses. I don’t want to be an owner.”

  “That’s a pity, because you are an owner. Or a half owner anyway.”

  “I said I’m not accepting it.”

  “We’ll argue about it later.”

  “There’s nothing to argue about.”

  She stepped out of the box, smiled sweetly. “You know, Brian, just because you can make a fifteen hundred pound horse do what you want, doesn’t mean you can budge me one inch. I’m going to go bet on our horse. To win.”

  “He’s not our—” He broke off, swore, as she’d already flounced out. “And you don’t bet to win,” he muttered. “It’s nothing personal,” he said to Finnegan who was watching him with soft, sad eyes. “I just can’t be owning things. It’s not that I don’t have great affection and respect for you, for I do. But what happens if in a year or two down the road I move on? Even if I don’t—as it’s feeling more and more that I’d wonder why I would—I can’t have the woman give me a horse. Even a half a horse. Well, not to worry. We’ll straighten it all out later.”

  ***

  He shouldn’t have been nervous. It was pitiful. It was just another horse, just another race. It wasn’t, as Betty was, a shining gift. This was an apple-loving, sweet-natured gelding who’d already broken down once and had lost far more races than he’d won in his short career.

  Brian was fond of him, of course, and wanted him to have his day in the sun. But he had no illusions about this one being a champion.

  He was simply guiding the horse toward doing what he’d been born for. And that was run his best.

  And still, nerves danced in Brian’s belly.

  “The track’s dry and fast,” he told Larry as they walked past the backstretch. “That’s good for him. The field’s crowded, and he likes that, too. Blue Devil’s the number six horse, and odds-on f
avorite. There’s reason for that.”

  “I know Blue Devil.” Larry nodded and gnashed a mouthful of gum. “He can slither through a pack like a snake. He gets in the lead, he sets a fast pace.”

  “I expect that’s what he’ll do today. I need you to feel what Finnegan’s got in him. I don’t want you overracing him, but don’t hold him back past the first turn. Let him test his legs.”

  “I’ll take care of him, Mr. Donnelly. Here’s Miss Grant come to see us off. He looks fine, Miss Grant. You done good with him.”

  “Yes.” A little breathless from the run back from the betting window, she gave Finnegan a brisk rub. “We did.”

  When the call sounded for riders up, she stepped back. “Good luck.”

  “Talk to him.” Brian gave Larry a leg up. “Don’t forget to talk to him all the way. Don’t let him forget what he’s there for.”

  “They look good,” Keeley decided. “Here.”

  “What now?”

  “I put fifty down for you.”

  “You—damn it.”

  “You can pay me back out of your winnings,” she said breezily. “We’d better get to the rail. I don’t want to miss the start. Have you seen my family?”

  “No. They’re around. The lot of you’s everywhere.” Because she was moving through the crowd, he grabbed her hand. He could imagine her being trampled. “I don’t know why you don’t go up into the bar where you can watch in civilized surroundings.”

  “Snob.”

  “It’s not a matter of—” He gave up. “I want you to tear up those papers.”

  “No. Look they’re bringing them to the gate.”

  “I’m not taking a half interest in your horse.”

  “Our horse. Who’s number three? I lost my Racing Form.”

  “Prime Target, eight to five, likes to come from behind. Keeley, it’s a thoughtful gesture, but—”

  “It’s a sensible one. Okay, here we go.” She shot him a brilliant smile. “Our first race.”

  The bell rang.

  They shot out of the gate, ten muscular bodies with men clinging fiercely to their backs. Within seconds they were merged into one speeding form with legs reaching, flying, striking. Silks of red, white, gold, green streamed by in a shock of color. And the sound was huge.

  Blindly Keeley groped for Brian’s hand and clung.

  She lost her breath, and her sense, in the sheer thrill.

  Clouds of dust spewed from the dry track, jockeys slanted forward like dolls, and the pack began to break apart at the second turn.

  “He’s holding on to fourth,” Keeley shouted. “He’s holding on.”

  The lead horse edged forward. A head, a half a length. Finnegan bulled up the line, nipping the distance, vying for third. Keeley heard the crowd around her, the solid roar of it, but her heart pounded to the rhythm of hoofbeats.

  Those legs stretched, reached, lifted.

  “He’s gaining.” She began to laugh, even as her hand clamped on Brian’s, she laughed. From the joy bursting inside her, she might have been riding low on the gelding’s back herself. “He’s gaining. He’s moving up, into second. Would you look at him?”

  He was looking, and the grin on his face was wide. “I didn’t give him enough credit for guts. Not nearly enough credit. He’ll move on the backstretch. If he’s still got it in him, he’ll move.”

  And he moved, a big, unhandsome horse at twenty-to-one odds with a washed-up jockey in the irons. He moved like a bullet, streaking down the dirt, charging the leader, running neck-in-neck with the favorite while the crowd screamed.

  Seconds before the finish line, he pulled ahead by a nose.

  “He won.” Keeley whirled to Brian. She wondered if the shock on his face mirrored her own. “My God, Brian, he won!”

  “Two miracles in one day.” He let out a short, baffled laugh, then another, longer. Riding on the thrill, he plucked Keeley off her feet and spun her in circles.

  “I never expected it.” She threw her arms in the air, then wrapped them around his neck and kissed him. “I never expected him to win.”

  “You bet on him.”

  “That was for love, not for reality. I never thought he’d win.”

  “He did.” Brian gave her a last spin before setting her on her feet. “That’s what counts.”

  “We’re going to celebrate. Big-time.”

  While Betty’s win had left him shaken to the soul by that heady taste of destiny, this was sheer, stupefied delight. He snatched Keeley again and spun her into a quick waltz through the crowd.

  “I’ll buy you a bottle of champagne.”

  “Two,” she corrected. “One for each of us. We have to get down to the winner’s circle.”

  “You have to. I don’t go to winner’s circles.”

  He might behave like a mule, she mused, but he was a man. And she knew which button to push. “You don’t have to go for me, or even for yourself. But you have to go for him.” She held out a hand.

  He wanted to swear but figured it a waste of breath. “I’ll go, as his trainer. He’s your horse. I don’t own any part of him.”

  “Half,” she corrected, trotting to keep up as Brian tugged her along. “But we can discuss which half.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Of course I’m seeing to him.” Keeley bent to unwrap Finnegan’s right foreleg.

  “You should be up celebrating.”

  “This is part of it.” She ran her hands carefully up the gelding’s leg before pinning the wrapping to the line. “Finnegan and I are going to congratulate each other while I clean him up. But you could do me a favor.” She pulled her ticket out of her pocket. “Cash in my winnings.”

  Brian shook his head. “At the moment I’m too pleased to be annoyed with you for betting my money.” With one hand on the horse he leaned over to kiss her. “But I’m not taking half the horse.”

  Keeley hooked an arm around Finnegan’s neck. “You hear that? He doesn’t want you.”

  “Don’t say things like that to him.”

  She laid her cheek against the gelding’s. “You’re the one hurting his feelings.”

  As two pairs of eyes studied him, Brian hissed out a breath. “We’ll discuss this privately at some other time.”

  “He needs you. We both do.”

  The muscles in his belly twisted. “That’s unfair.”

  “That’s fact.”

  He looked so uncomfortable, she sighed. She wanted to throw up her hands, give the man a good thump. But it wasn’t the time to rage or demand he take a good look at a woman who loved him.

  “We will talk about it.” They were going to talk about a great many things, she decided. Very soon. “But for now, we’ll just be happy.”

  He hesitated while she went back to unwrapping Finnegan’s legs. “I’ve been happier in the last few months than I’ve ever been.”

  “That doesn’t have to change.” She finished hanging the wrappings, picked up a dandy brush. “We’re a good team, Brian. There’s a lot we could do together.”

  Brian ran a hand down Finnegan’s throat. “We’ve made quite a start here. Would you want to go out after a bit and have some fancy dinner and wine?”

  Keeley slanted him a look. “Are you finally asking me for a date?”

  “It seems appropriate under the circumstances.” Grinning he fingered the betting ticket. “And it seems I’ve come in to some extra cash.”

  “Then I’d love to.”

  “I’ve got to go check on Betty, make sure she’s transported back to the farm.”

  “If you run into any of my family, tell them where I am, will you?”

  “I will. He’s had his moment in the sun, hasn’t he?” Brian murmured.

  Keeley set the
brush down, crossing over as Brian opened the stall door. “You’ve had quite a day, Donnelly.”

  “I have. I don’t know when there’s been another like it.”

  She put her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. “There’ll be more.” For all of us. She tipped back her head. “We’ll make more,” she promised as she raised her mouth to his.

  He could have lost himself in her. It was so easy when he was holding her to slip away from the moment and into the dream.

  “You’re neglecting your horse.” He rested his cheek against hers, closed his eyes. “I’ll come back for you.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  But he didn’t move, only stood with her gathered close while the love inside him pulsed like light. Then he drew back, taking both of her hands and bringing them to his lips. “Don’t forget to give him apples. He’s fond of them.”

  “Yes, I know.” It felt as though her heart were shaking. “Brian—”

  “I’ll be back,” he said and strode away before the words rising into his throat could be spoken.

  “Something’s changed,” Keeley whispered. “I felt it.” She pressed her hands, still warm from his, to her heart. “Oh, it’s been a hell of a day. And it’s not over yet.” She swung back into the stall where Finnegan stood, watching her patiently. “He loves me. He just can’t get his tongue around the words yet, but he loves me. I know it.”

  She picked up the dandy brush again. “We’re going to cross another finish line before the day’s over. I’ve got to make myself beautiful. We’ll have candlelight and wine, and . . .”

  She trailed off as she heard the stall door open again. Thinking it was Brian come back, she turned. Her brilliant smile faded into ice when she saw Tarmack.

  “You think you pulled a fast one, don’t you?”

  “You’re not welcome here.”

  “Snatched this horse out from under me. No better than a horse thief. Figure you can get away with it ’cause you’re a Grant.”

  “You were paid your asking price.” She spoke coolly. She caught the stink of too much whiskey on his breath. And so, she thought, did Finnegan. The horse was beginning to quiver. Calmly, she hooked her hand in his bridle. “If you have a complaint, take it up with the Racing Commission.”