Legends Lake

by JoAnn Ross

  “As I assured you, there’s no need. Castlelough only has the single inn, and even if it wasn’t booked to the rafters for the annual step-dancing competition, the cost would be dear and it’s a bit of a drive to be making back and forth each day. No, it makes much more sense for you to stay with the children and me.

  “There’s a small apartment over one of the barns that I’ve been using as an office. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable. And I’ve already prepared a room for Zoe,” she said with a smile toward the teenager.

  “What does your husband think of this arrangement?”

  Alec recalled the bulldozer operator mentioning something about problems between Kate O’Sullivan and her husband. He had enough troubles without landing in the middle of a domestic dispute.

  “I’ve never had any idea what Cadel would be thinking from moment to moment. But your staying at the farm won’t be of any concern to my husband, since he no longer lives here. And hasn’t for several years.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Wouldn’t you be the only one who is?” she responded shortly, effectively cutting off any further conversation about her obviously failed marriage.

  “Our rooms have a connecting bathroom,” she said to Zoe. “I hope you won’t mind sharing it.”

  “I had to share with six girls at school.”

  “Well then, this should be an improvement,” Kate declared easily as she began walking back to the house with the teenager, once again leaving Alec to follow.

  The bedroom was simple, but not without its appeal. In spite of her determination to hate everything about Ireland, Zoe was charmed by the white lace curtains at the window and the dried wildflowers blooming in the earthenware pitcher atop a weathered chest. A green glass dragon perched on the windowsill, while a trio of small winged horses ran across the top of the pine dresser.

  The single, iron-framed bed was draped in a crocheted coverlet that had either been dipped in tea or was really, really old. From the sepia tint to the collection of framed family photographs atop the dresser, Zoe guessed the ivory hue of the coverlet was due to age. The bed was piled high with lacy, feminine pillows that appeared to have been made of scraps of old clothing. One triangle of pink lace stimulated bittersweet memories of the dress she’d worn at her mother’s wedding to Alec. The flower girl dress was one of the few things she’d taken with her when they left for Europe.

  Her mother had insisted that she didn’t want any reminders of her second failed marriage, but that hadn’t stopped Zoe from rolling the fairy-tale princess dress up as tightly as she could, hiding it beneath her nightgowns, and smuggling it away from the mountain. She’d slept with it under her pillow for months.

  More modern photographs of what appeared to be local life—children playing on the beach, horses trotting across meadows, the castle ruins gleaming like burnished metal in the coppery glow of a setting sun—hung on the white plaster walls.

  She sank down onto the mattress and stared out the window toward the pasture, unable to remember the last time she’d felt as carefree as Legends Lake looked. Nor could she remember the last time she’d been happy.

  Yes, on second thought, she could. She’d been nine years old and living in the rolling blue Appalachian mountains with Alec and her mother.

  When they’d first arrived in Europe, Zoe had hoped that her mother would realize what a loser that stupid duke was and take them both back to Kentucky. Later, after realizing that she might actually be stuck in that old-world nunnery, she’d had a brief flirtation with religion.

  Every morning, the first words that sprang into her head when she woke was a fervent prayer that Alec would come and rescue her, like some bold knight in shining armor riding a white steed like in all the fairy tales. The prayer was also the last words she whispered into the lonely darkness before she fell asleep.

  And all day, every day, while she struggled with long division, conversational French and German, the obligatory catechism classes and tried not to fall into a coma during afternoon benediction, she’d recite the words over and over again in her head. But when God hadn’t seen fit to answer that one simple request, she’d come to the conclusion that the only person in this entire world she could count on was herself.

  She’d met Jake three weeks ago, the morning after she’d been caught lifting those stupid earrings she hadn’t even wanted from Wal-Mart. She’d given the school security guard the slip and was hitching her way into town to get a butterfly tattoo on her ankle when he’d offered her a lift on his Harley. He was dark and dangerous and when he kissed her, tasting of beer and pot, Zoe was able to put the obvious disappointment she’d seen on Alec’s face when he’d arrived to pick her up at the sheriff’s office out of her mind.

  Jake had assured her that she’d love northern California, where he had some friends who supposedly had a primo patch that brought in big bucks, but since she didn’t do drugs and didn’t expect to be staying with him all that long either, Zoe hadn’t cared where they went. Just so they got the hell out of Kentucky before Alec gave up on her and sent her back to those Nazi nuns.

  But now he’d screwed up her escape plan by bringing her here to Ireland. Short of swimming across the Atlantic Ocean, she couldn’t figure any way to get off this damn island.

  “I hate him.”

  Even as she threw herself onto the pillow, Zoe gave Alec reluctant credit for patience. Ever since he’d shown up at the school to bring her back with him to the only home she’d ever known, the home she once would have given anything to return to, she’d been behaving like the bitch juvenile delinquent of the world, but nothing seemed to faze him.

  Not smoking in her room, even after he’d asked her not to, her dyed hair, makeup, or slut clothes. He hadn’t said a word about the navel ring she flashed at every opportunity and although he’d grounded her after the shoplifting, he hadn’t said a word about wishing he’d never brought her back from Switzerland.

  “He probably just doesn’t give a shit what you do,” she muttered to herself.

  But that wasn’t really true. She’d seen the silent disappointment—and frustration—in his eyes. But amazingly, no matter how far she tested him, he still hadn’t sent her away.

  “It’s only been six fucking months, stupid.”

  Six months that had, though she’d just as soon slash her wrists as admit it, been the best she’d had in a long time. Which only made her feel guilty, since she wouldn’t even be with Alec if her mother hadn’t fallen off that yacht and drowned.

  “Don’t get used to it,” she warned herself.

  If there was one thing she’d learned in fifteen years, it was that nothing ever stayed the same and happy families were only some stupid Nick at Night fantasy. There was no way, in a million—a gazillion—years, she could ever be perky, perfect Marcia Brady with her two perky, perfect parents.

  “Hell, you’re not even pukey whiney Jan.”

  She was swiping at the moisture streaming down her cheeks when a thought occurred to her, like that bolt of lightning Kate O’Sullivan seemed to have pulled out of the clear blue sky. So long as she was stuck with him here in Ireland, Alec was also stuck with her. He couldn’t send her away. At least not until he and Kate—who was actually pretty cool and sure didn’t look like any wicked Grimms’ fairy tale witch—got that stupid horse’s head straightened out.

  As Legends Lake galloped across the pasture, with the crumbling ruins of the castle and a sparkling blue lake in the distance behind him, Zoe did something she hadn’t done since she was nine years old.

  She folded her hands in the shape of a steeple, the way she’d been taught by the nuns in Lucerne. Next she squeezed her eyes—which were swimming with hot tears—so tightly shut that white spots swirled like paper-winged summer moths behind her closed lids.

  Then she sent a small, desperate prayer heaven-ward, this time not asking for her stepfather to ride to her rescue, but instead begging God to freeze time.

  9

>   SINCE IT WAS THE OFF-SEASON for racing, Kate had arranged for the use of a nearby turf track. The morning after the MacKennas’ arrival, they gave a docile Legends Lake his first workout. He breezed beautifully, again and again, exactly like the champion she’d bred him to be, without a single problem.

  The sight of the big Thoroughbred she’d brought into the world running with the soft air whistling through his mane, his long legs stretching, hooves throwing up turf, warmed Kate from the inside out, leaving her oblivious to the drizzle that threatened to turn a soft day into a wet one.

  “We’ll try again tomorrow,” she suggested as they returned the Thoroughbred to the barn.

  “We don’t have that much time to screw around,” Alec countered. “Even if the damn horse does break his habit of leaping fences in races, he’s still going to need intensive training. The Derby’s only a few weeks away.”

  “I’m aware of when your Kentucky Derby is, Mr. MacKenna.”

  “Then you know that time’s running out on us. We obviously are going to have to try him in a racing situation.”

  She sighed, knowing that he was right. “Tomorrow morning, then.”

  “Fine.” He looked at the horse with something that appeared a great deal like disgust and picked up a towel.

  “I’ll tend to that,” Kate said.

  “He’s my responsibility.”

  “Your responsibility is to train him to win races. Mine is to get him to trust me enough to tell me what’s wrong with him. I’ll be better able to bond with him if we have some time alone.”

  He gave her a long look. “All right,” he said finally. “Since you’re the one with the supposed magic touch, we’ll play it your way. For now.” He walked out of the barn without looking back.

  Rude, impossible man. Shaking her head with frustration, Kate took a towel and curry comb and began drying and grooming the remarkably placid colt. Five minutes later, she heard the engine of the car she’d loaned Alec start up, then watched as he roared past the barn, down the dirt lane to the roadway, headed toward Castlelough.

  She stroked Legends Lake’s long neck. “He doesn’t begin to deserve you, darling boy.”

  The Thoroughbred whinnied what Kate took for agreement.

  Much, much later, Kate was in the kitchen, preparing supper, when the all too familiar harsh sound of heavy boots striking the wooden front stairs caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms.

  She’d heard of post-traumatic stress syndrome. But until Erin O’Halloran, who’d spent years as war zone physician, had come to Castlelough and married Michael, Kate had believed such things only happened to soldiers who’d fought in wars or people who’d survived catastrophes such as earthquakes or plane crashes. When Erin diagnosed her with PTSD, Kate began slipping away twice a month to visit a therapist in Galway, where she’d learned that many battered wives suffered with this syndrome.

  He’s not Cadel, she reminded herself as she overheard him knocking on his stepdaughter’s door, the murmur of what appeared to be a one-way conversation, followed by a short, pungent curse. She heard the front door open again, then close on something close to a slam. Watching him stalk back to the apartment over the barn, Kate continued to remind herself that this gruff, uncommunicative man was not her abusive husband. Still, she was immensely relieved when both Americans chose to spend the evening in their separate rooms.

  He declined supper, brusquely informing her that he’d eaten in the village. Zoe refused to come out of her room, but Kate noticed with satisfaction that the pan-fried chop, fresh vegetables and roast potatoes she’d left outside the bedroom door disappeared. Kate’s mother had always professed that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach; hopefully the theory would prove true for sulky teenage girls.

  The second night of the MacKennas’ stay at the stud, Kate tossed and turned, unsuccessfully chasing sleep. Despite the night air outside the house being chilly enough to sketch frost pictures in the corner of the windowpanes, she was uncomfortably hot. She threw off the quilt and was in the bathroom, getting a drink of cool water from the tap, when she heard the muffled sound of weeping coming from the other side of the door.

  She lifted her hand to knock, then paused, suspecting that the teenager wouldn’t welcome a witness to her unhappiness. Still, unable to ignore a child in distress, she turned the brass knob and discovered the door unlocked.

  Her heart turned over at the sight of Alec MacKenna’s daughter, curled up into a tight little ball of misery. Sighing, Kate sat down on the edge of the narrow bed and silently stroked her hunched back.

  “Go away,” Zoe sniffled.

  “I will. As soon as you assure me that you’re not ill.”

  “I’m not.” The words were muffled by the down pillow her face was buried in.

  “I’d be more relieved if you’d be telling me that to my face,” Kate suggested reasonably.

  Zoe mumbled something she couldn’t quite catch. Kate stayed where she was, her hands stroking, soothing, as she might a distressed filly.

  Finally, the child flopped over onto her back. Her eyes, in the moonlight streaming through the lace curtains, were red-rimmed and swollen in her puffy face. “I hate it here.”

  “I can understand how you’d be missing America.”

  “It’s not that. I miss Jake.”

  “Would Jake be your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah.” Kate thought she detected a wee bit of doubt in that declaration but decided it was no time to address it.

  “As I’m certain he’d be missing you,” she said, even as a vision of a long-haired young man—his body adorned with blue and red tattoos—playing billiards with a blonde in an impossibly short skirt flashed through her mind.

  “Alec brought me to Ireland to break us up.”

  “Perhaps he thought he was doing what was best for you.”

  “He never cared all those years I was stuck in Europe. Why should he now?”

  “It’s difficult for parents and children to know what’s in each other’s heart. But I have the sense that your stepfather loves you a great deal.”

  “Then why did he let my mother take me away?”

  “I wouldn’t be knowing that.” Another tear trailed down the thin, sad face. “Have you asked him?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps you should. Sometimes, even when a parent loves a child, family strife can cause a rift.”

  Zoe swiped at the tears with the backs of her hands, looking more Jamie or Brigid’s age than the fifteen years Kate knew her to be. “Is that how it was with your parents?”

  She sounded as if she was hoping for a sad tale. But Kate wasn’t prepared to lie, not even if it could soothe this poor miserable girl’s troubled heart.

  “I was close to both my parents. I suppose that’s because we shared so many of the same dreams and desires. We were, the three of us, comfortable and happy with our lives here in the west. Yet my older brother, Connor, ah, wasn’t he another story altogether? From the time he was a young boy, he and my father were at odds.

  “While the stud’s always been successful enough, there’s no denying that there were years when the money was tight and even during the good times, we never had enough for luxuries. Which was fine enough with me, because I’ve always been happy enough so long as I had a few horses in the barn and grain to feed them. But from Connor’s earliest days, he was determined to leave this place.” Kate frowned at the memory of her golden, star-crossed brother. “To outrun and outride our rural poverty and become rich and famous.”

  “Is he rich?”

  “He was, for a time. He was a famous steeplechase rider—the best Ireland’s ever produced, some say. He was well-known on the European circuit, but unfortunately lost his life when his horse failed to clear a wall in Brittany.”

  “That’s just like my father dying in his car wreck.”

  “It’s much the same,” Kate agreed. “He came to see me that last day. I was cleaning out the stalls when I felt someone behi
nd me, and there he was, standing in the door of the barn, as close to me as you are now, with the sun shining behind him, making it look as if he was wearing a halo.

  “His hair was hanging down in his lively eyes as it always did, and the wicked, teasing smile on his handsome face was the one I knew well.” Kate felt her heart clench just a bit at the memory. “Connor always reminded me of a pirate. Bold and dashing and restless as the wind, he was. At first I thought that he must have lost in an early round and returned home early. But of course, that wasn’t the case at all.”

  “It wasn’t?”

  “It was not. I realized what had happened when I went to give him a hug, don’t you see, and he held up a hand to keep me in my place. My feet could have been nailed to the barn floor, it was that impossible for me to move.”

  “Wow,” Zoe breathed, seeming to momentarily forget her earlier distress, which had been Kate’s intention in telling the tale. “Weren’t you scared?”

  “Of me own brother? No. But I was so very sad. You see, I’d witnessed his accident in a vision, but had no idea of how or when it might take place.”

  “Did you warn him ahead of time?”

  “I did. But Connor was a brash, stubborn man, overbrimming with self-confidence and would be hearing none of it. When he stopped me from touching him, I knew the worst had happened, just as I’d seen it, and now he was coming to bid me farewell.”

  “That’s really sad.” Zoe’s eyes, surrounded by black smudged mascara, glistened. Kate worried that she’d inadvertently caused more tears.

  “Aye. But in its own way, it was special, too, since Connor had come to tell me in death what he said he wished he’d told me in life, that he loved me dearly and a lad couldn’t have wanted for a better sister.”

  Her voice cracked, just a bit. Kate struggled for composure and won. “He asked me to watch out for his wife and baby, which, of course, he knew I would without him asking, Nora having been my dearest friend for all of my life. Then he leaned forward and kissed me, just a brush of his lips against my forehead, as light as butterfly wings, it was.”