Everyone at the table laughed except Jolene. She put her nose back to her own array of delicious sustenance.
More people joined them at the long table chatting with easy laughter. Jolene didn't offer conversation and nobody seemed to mind.
She ate with relish while the conversations flowed around her in the form of introductions and discussions about mutual friends. Jolene soon checked out of the conversations, not interested in hearing absurd things about people she didn't even know…going to spas, getting a divorce, liposuction? Like what was that? Instead of following the chatter, she used the time between bites to find the Irishman named Patrick.
No sooner had she started her search when she fell into his gaze, which was fully occupied with taking in her every move. His brows were drawn over his stormy blue eyes. Her breath hitched in her lungs. He didn't seem to be listening to the conversations around him either.
He was so beautiful, even when furious.
She tore her gaze away from him trying to calm her quaking insides.
She ignored him as best she could for the next few hours. When the horses were running she had such joy in watching them and involving herself in the spirit of the race for those who had bet. Chad and Mel hovered nearby and enjoyed wins and a few losses with a celebratory attitude that Jolene failed to conjure at the notion of such a loss.
Jolene endured kisses to her cheek and squeezes around her waist with a smile stitched on her face like a quilt square and an icky quiver in her stomach. Thank goodness she had eaten or she was certain her stomach would have been giving her terrible fits by now.
At least neither of these men had yellow teeth, bad breath or stinky underarms like Travis.
When their hands started to wander too close to the nasty-girl areas of her body, often at the same time, she would move away with a smile just like she did when Travis or other of Aunt Paula's friends tried a like maneuver with her.
Chad and Mel drank a lot of bourbon and in short order they were pawing her to a point she could no longer endure and brush them off with a smile. In desperation she decided to retreat to the bathroom to plan an escape. Maybe she could somehow get home.
The trouble was nobody had given her money like Aunt Paula said they would. So, she would go to the ladies room and figure out what to do next. Was she supposed to ask for the money? And if so, when? Certainly the men had already done all the things Aunt Paula said they would do.
"Excuse me, I must visit the ladies room."
Jolene wobbled down the hall to the ladies room, shaking and uncertain of what to do next. Inside the bathroom she peered into the mirror as she passed and it reflected someone she didn't recognize.
She went into a stall and just as she started to latch the door someone pushed it open.
It was Chad.
Inside the ladies room!
Jolene backed into the toilet behind her, the cold porcelain spiking her bare calves. "What are you doing? You are not allowed inside a ladies room!"
Chad's lips twisted and something that could have been a laugh echoed in the bathroom. "Come on now Jolene, it is time to do what you came here for. I've got a hundred dollars for you and I can't wait any longer."
He reached down with drunken unsteady hands and unzipped his pants while his light eyes glazed with bourbon held her in a motionless terror-prison.
Rooted to the spot Jolene stared at his peepee that stood out like a thick twitching switch. "What are you doing?" Her voice was small and far away.
"Turn around and get that dress hiked up redneck! I have to finish up before someone comes in here." Chad spat the words out, his mouth twisting ugly and his eyes filled with contempt.
He was not so different from Travis. He just smelled and looked cleaner.
She shoved him as hard as she could. He staggered backwards through the swinging stall door. Jolene pushed past him and started to run on her wobbly heels to the bathroom door. Just as she started opening the door Chad slammed it closed and pulled the lock. Jolene elbowed him as hard as she but met only air.
He grabbed her upper arm and spun her around slamming her against the wall and pinning her hands above her head. Jolene felt stars from the impact with the tiled wall battering in her head while enduring his slobbering hungry mouth around her neck. He plucked at her dress in front and freed one of her boobies and began kneading it hard like dough.
Jolene was consumed with pain, mortification and shock. "Stop!" She panted her panic struggling to free her roughly captured hands. Despite her own compact strength, he was athletic, a lot bigger and much stronger.
She tried to kick him but he had her pinned so tight against the wall she could barely breathe. Her heels made it impossible for her to get any traction.
He pressed her down to the floor twisting her arms painfully to move her to the corner.
Jolene screamed but she was certain they were too far down a hallway for anyone to hear. But surely as often as women went to the bathroom one should have shown up by now!
He smacked her hard on the side of her face rendering her helpless for a few seconds. "You stupid hick."
There was a loud crash and the door flung open hitting Chad and incapacitating him just long enough for Jolene to roll away from him. Chad was pulled from the floor and slammed to the wall.
It was the Irishman, Patrick. "What do yer think yur doing Chad?"
Chad recovered from his contact with the wall and glared at Patrick. "She is a whore or didn't you know these girls were hired to come here?"
Patrick clocked Chad on the side of the jaw sending him to the floor. "How she got here is a matter of question, but it woud'na matter anyhow, she obviously didn't want yur attention."
Jolene had been tucking herself back into her dress and stood on shaking legs. Several of the people from the box had filtered into the hallway vying for a better view of the scene. "I say Patrick, no need to get so worked up over a small tryst in the bathroom," someone said.
Patrick adjusted his coat and gave Chad a last warning glare. "Except I think the tryst yur speaking of was all on one side."
"You got them Irish cuffs, maybe you spent some time in the ring?"
Patrick turned to Jolene extending his hand. "Maybe I did at that."
She took his hand with shaking numb fingers.
He took her to the corner and leaned down low to her. "Come home with me miss, I promise I'll not hurt yur. Yer never have to do anything like this again or come over here or anywhere else and play nice with the grown up men at the races. Do yer understand me?"
Jolene chewed her lip, scanning the men peering through the bathroom door at her like she was a full fried chicken box from at the Super Fried Kentucky Chicken. And she didn't think it was because they wanted to eat something for real…unless eating another person was possible.
Or unless she was fried up. And right now she felt like mashed potatoes and gravy on heels.
If she stayed here, at best, she would most likely get pawed again like she did by Chad. At worst, something like what happened with Chad would happen again and eventually there would be nobody there to stop him. She could easily be trapped where nobody could hear her screams. Some man might force her to do that stuff that Aunt Paula did with the men. For certain Jolene didn't want to do that with anyone. She read her mamma's romances and knew there was a knight in shining armor for her out there somewhere. She wanted someone really nice like her daddy.
Unfortunately, at this moment she had to rely on help from the horrible Irishman who stole her family property. "How do I know you won't do the same thing once I come away with you?"
Patrick McCabe laughed softly. "Now that is a smart girl to be thinking o'such things. But I've not a taste for little girls with red hair and fairy-dust-freckles, at least not baby girls at any rate. I only like very grown up women. Not to mention you're a very scrawny girl at that." He paused and smiled kindly. "I swear on the Rosary you dropped on the floor that I'll not do anything to yer."
&nb
sp; Jolene looked in horror in the direction of the stall. Yes, she had taken her Rosary out when she walked into the bathroom. It had been her mother's Rosary.
It gave her comfort. It helped her cope with the loss of her parents and the demons of her dreams that brought back the night her parents were killed. It also gave her comfort at night and made her less afraid of Travis.
The crystal beads winked under the florescent light. Patrick walked over, reached down and picked the Rosary up along with her small handbag and gave it to her. She opened her shaking palm and closed her fingers tight around the beads.
His eyes were smiling into hers. "And yer deny being Irish."
"I am a Scotch-Irish…my daddy said so," she said it proudly then tucked the Rosary back into her purse. "And I'm not so scrawny, if I was, then why do those men look at me like that?"
Several people laughed from the doorway. Patrick glared past her at the gawking crowd. "Get on with you."
The crowd reluctantly disassembled and moved away with murmurs and more laughter.
"Because there is something very wrong with those men." He turned his warm gaze back upon her and smiled gently. "Now come away with me. I promise you, I won't let anything bad happen to yer."
Patrick took her arm with a paternal pat and pulled her through the doorway of the bathroom. A few of the men leaned on the wall outside. "She came here to be fair game. She probably needs the bucks Patrick…let me give her some talk and a special drink…Chad just mishandled her."
Another man laughed. "Chad likes a fight."
Patrick turned to them with deadly intent. "She didn't belong here in the first place. Now I'll be taking this young lady home with me then." He pulled out and handed her a wad of bills. "Put that in your purse young lady."
One tall man with an athletic build and thick brown hair pushed away from the wall giving Jolene a longing look. "What about the girls you left behind back in the box Patrick?"
"They are friends of mine, and all grown up. If you want to try to chat them up, you go on then. I am taking this young lady home."
Patrick turned dark blue eyes back to Jolene. "Put the money in your purse." He commanded again softly.
Jolene didn't ask questions. She tucked the big wad into her purse with shaking fingers.
Several curses lit the hallway and the last of the group headed back to the box. No one tried to stop Patrick McCabe. They wouldn't dare. He could buy out just about anyone in Lexington. He also had the damned Irish luck with breeding, training and racing the best horses in Kentucky.
Besides all that he was the Earl of Meath.
A few snickers followed them down the hallway. "So the Irishman has his weakness too."
Low laughter followed them through the elevator door.
The attendant in the elevator, a pretty middle aged woman in a red suit, smiled at them. "You are leaving before the big race Mr. McCabe?"
Patrick smiled politely. "I have something that has come up."
Jolene was terrified. Her heart galloped at race pace. What would he expect her to do for so much money? Those men hadn't given her anything at all and Aunt Paula said they would only be touching her back and arm. They did a lot more than that and gave her nothing.
She didn't want to do anything like that with Angel Gabrielle neither. Even as beautiful as Patrick McCabe was…he was not her knight in shining armor. He just couldn't be.
Jolene could not sort out her scrambled-egg thoughts other than to register her utter panic.
When the elevator hit the ground floor and opened Jolene tripped off her heels and broke into a run. She heard shouts from Patrick. She ducked and zigzagged her way through the throng of people carrying their mint juleps and programs. She bumped her way through the women wearing big hats and fancy bright dresses and men dressed in summer suits, many with bowler hats.
She pushed her way out of the glass door through the teams of laughing throngs of people still streaming into Churchill Downs to see the big race. She ran until she was through the massive parking lot and on the busy street. Then she replaced her red pumps on battered feet. Good thing she went around without shoes a lot and toughened her soles for just such a necessity.
But how to get home now?
It was such a long way back to Paris, Kentucky.
Well, her father once told her he hitch-hiked his way home when his truck broke down. So, that was what she would do too.
Four hours later and well after dark, Jolene arrived home. A church group on their way back from camp had given her a ride and plenty of literature about finding Jesus.
When the van filled with sympathetic new friends pulled up to her house, Aunt Paula was well into her party and Jolene's dogs were waiting on the old porch among the broken wooden chairs and bags of trash and stood out from the scene with the regal presence of collies. When she emerged from the big white van that had the words "First Baptist Church" on the side, the pups flew into her with wagging tails and happy barks. "You are too good for this place aren't you pups?"
A drunk man that Jolene had never seen before staggered out of the house just as the van backed out of the small rock driveway. Humiliated that her new friends, who waived at her with beaming faces had seen the drunken man, Jolene ducked behind the side wall to avoid contact with the staggering man.
She would go around the back, sneak in the kitchen door and try to pluck something from the kitchen for her and the pups to eat. Then she would sleep outside under her favorite tree so she didn't have to see Aunt Paula or worry about any of the groping friends at the party.
Especially Travis.
She would give a little of the money to Aunt Paula later but would hide the rest tonight in the glass mason jar she had buried under the old dog house.
She tried not to feel too bad about taking Patrick's money, but it nagged her to the core the whole time she dug out the jar, put the money in and buried it again.
Jolene patted the dirt down and pushed the doghouse back into place with a firm resolve to not worry overmuch about the Irishman.
Even if he had been nice and helped her, he did steal her family farm for almost nothing after all.
Anyway, there was no more space in her life for guilt.
Besides, she would never see him again.
Hopefully.
Chapter 3
Paris is a city in and the county seat of Bourbon County, Kentucky, United States. It is part of the Lexington-Fayette, KY Metropolitan Statistical Area. Settled in 1775, it lies 113 miles (182 km) east of Louisville, on the Stoner Fork of the Licking River. The town was originally known as Hopewell, Virginia when it was chartered in 1789. The name was changed in 1790 to reflect appreciation for French assistance during the Revolutionary War. Its tourism motto is "Horses, history and hospitality". Wikipedia - July 23, 2012.
"I have waited for weeks for her ta show up and feed da' horse….but no sign of her."
Patrick's head groom Bernie stopped brushing the chestnut mare and turned his dark eyes to the horse out on the meadow. There was something mighty wrong with that horse. He was angry as a hornet and even more restless and difficult than most stallions, so why did the girl come to see the crazy horse to begin with? "Maybe she moved away."
Patrick laughed. "She dinna move and I don't know where she lives. But I think I know a way to get her to me."
Bernie started working the mare's side again with patterned, experienced brush strokes. "How is that?"
"I'll take the horse to the Paris Stockyards for the Thursday sale."
Bernie dropped the brush and turned round eyes to Patrick. "You are going to take a fine horse like that and sell him at the stockyards? You are a crazy Irishman!"
Patrick chuckled. "Oh, he'll never show up in the pen to be sold, because that little miss will show up long before then if I put out the postings ahead of time."
Bernie came out of the stall his eyes rolling with his disbelief. "And what if she doesn't show up? Then what are you going to do?"
> Patrick shrugged. "I'll take him off the sale before he ever gets up."
Bernie shook his head. "Listen Patrick, I know you feel sorry for this girl, but honestly, you don't even know anything about her other than her feeding the horse and selling herself as a prostitute at the Derby. There are plenty of those girls that want to hang with men with money. It is a ploy most likely and you are taking her far too seriously."
"I dunno' what it is…maybe it is her bright red hair. Reminds me of the girls at home. Or something in those big green eyes reminds me of the emerald island. Her eyes say she suffered… like that horse she comes to see that we cannot tame enough to train. Something about her moves me right here." He jabbed his chest. "Just so."
Bernie shook his head and clipped Patrick on the shoulder. "You better watch out man, or you will end up falling in love with some girl."
Patrick chuckled. "No chance o'that. Though you are a fine one to be speaking such a way when you have your girl Isha hanging on your every word."
Bernie turned and went back to the stall grinning. "Yah right, she's hanging on my every word. Just wait until she gets me down the aisle and then we will see how much she is hanging on my every word. At least she wrote to me while I was in Iraq, so she's a keeper."
Patrick laughed. "She's got you good." He started back to his house thinking that if Bernie had seen the skinny kid shaking on top of those tall red shoes he would laugh at his own notion. Even if she was a full grown woman and not a skinny little stick, he knew he would never love another. Not since he lost Marta. Nobody was going to replace her. She had been his childhood sweetheart that lived at a neighboring estate in Ireland. The memories of the time they spent together those years at Kilruddery still chased him when he was there, even so many years later. She had been able to ride so well…no one would ever imagine she would take a fall and die.
She had been too young and too beautiful to die.
Patrick was just 30 this year. He had plenty of time to marry and carry on the Earl of Meath line.
As if reading his mind Bernie yelled to his retreating back. "You better be careful man, Marta had red hair too Patrick, so that you don't let that turn your head."
Once Upon a Misty Bluegrass Hill Page 3
