"Saints preserve us," he said, borrowing Paddy's favorite swear. "You do know how to smile."
She kissed Guaire's cheek and then turned to Tommy, who still perched atop Faithful's back. She patted his knee. "Well done, Tommy."
Tommy touched the brim of his cap and grinned. "Thank you, ma'am."
The head of the racing association came over and drew her to Faithful's head to shake her hand. "Congratulations, Mrs. Hawkes. After all that's happened the last week, I'm pleased your horse came out ahead. Congratulations."
Then it was Sanford, and then McCarran, and others after that, all shaking her gloved hand and drawing her farther away from the horse. Imogen looked back, trying to spot Guaire. He waved her on and started leading Faithful toward the paddock to cool him down.
Imogen felt overwhelmed by the noise and attention. Fortunately, Mother Hawkes appeared at her elbow and began whispering instructions: whom to thank, and what to say, and where to sign. The afternoon blurred into a hazy dream.
***
At least they beat the sunset. Imogen checked the traces as Mother Hawkes paid the boy who'd been guarding the buggy and climbed up. She would have liked to try to find Guaire, but they had promised to get word back to Paddy.
"What were you thinking, girl?" Mother Hawkes asked once Imogen had gotten the buggy onto the road and headed back toward the farm. "You as much as admitted to that man that you're a bastard."
Imogen glanced over at her mother-in-law. "I didn't really think about it. He irritated me, Mother."
"Well, don't think that Hammersly isn't spreading rumors about your mother far and wide already. I'm all for you showing spirit, Imogen, but honestly..." She folded her arms over her chest and smiled tightly, "Although it was precious to see him looking like he'd swallowed a frog."
Imogen lifted her chin and snapped the reins. The horse broke into a trot. "I don't care. I've spent too much time worrying about Hammersly. When the bank opens on Monday, the very first thing I'm going to do is pay down the mortgage and get the Trust out of our collective hair."
Mother Hawkes shook her head. "You didn't get a chance to talk to Billy, did you?"
"Billy?"
"One of your hands. Handsome young fellow, dark hair? You sent him to go find out what happened to Williams."
"Oh." She'd completely forgotten about the missing jockey in the hubbub. "What did Billy say?"
"He found the man in his apartment with a leg broken."
Imogen gasped.
"Williams had been talking at the Blue Dove last night about how good Faithful's times were," Mother Hawkes said, "and this morning, he fell down his stairs. Suspicious, but possibly a coincidence."
Imogen drew the horse to a stop. "That's my fault, isn't it?"
"No. Of course it's not your fault. Just a further indication of how far Hammersly's willing to go, girl. I want you to keep that in mind. This business with Hammersly isn't over."
Imogen nodded. The man would still be her neighbor, even after she paid down the mortgage. "What can we do?"
"Send the young man some flowers, to start," Mother Hawkes said.
Imogen sighed and got the horse moving again. "I meant about Hammersly, Mother."
Mother Hawkes sat back. "There's nothing for you to do, other than to be watchful."
Imogen pressed her lips together. "Perhaps we shouldn't leave Faithful in town overnight."
"Your trainer is there to keep an eye on the horse. Trust him."
Imogen got a mental image of Guaire in his fine new clothes sleeping in the hay at Faithful's feet, and one corner of her mouth tugged upward. Unfortunately, it also meant she would be alone.
***
A rustling noise woke Imogen some time after dark. Light from the full moon streamed through the windows. She sat up in her chair and decided that the sounds were coming from the dressing room. It wouldn't be Guaire, not with him back in town. She hefted the book in her hand, decided it was better than no weapon at all, and headed toward the door of the dressing room, prepared to do battle.
When she yanked open the door, she found Mother Hawkes inside, hopping on one foot to tug on one of Henry's boots. Her mother-in-law cast a guilty glance at her. "Couldn't you have stayed asleep?"
"What are you doing, Mother?"
Mother Hawkes stamped the boot on the floor, probably waking Paddy down on the first floor below. "Well, you didn't expect me to stay here and miss all the excitement, did you?
"I rather thought you might get some sleep." Imogen noted that the older woman had dressed in a dark habit, and went to grab up her darkest twill skirt. "So, where are we going?"
Mother Hawkes gave an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands. "Oh, very well. I suppose you'll have to come, too. But be quiet. We don't want to wake Patrick. He'll fret."
Imogen thought it was far too late for that. Half an hour later they were in the buggy, headed back toward town. Imogen felt guilty for taking a horse out to risk the roads in the dark, but there was too much at stake. At least the full moon provided some light. "Why did we go back to the farm in the first place?"
"Patrick wouldn't approve of my getting involved," Mother Hawkes said in a prim voice.
Imogen gave her a dry look, hopefully visible in the moonlight.
"And besides, I wanted Hammersly to see us driving home," Mother Hawkes added in a reasonable voice. "We passed that automobile of his near the track entrance. I want him and that little weasel of a driver of his to think we left Guaire back at the stables alone with Faithful. Too easy for him to pass up."
"Easy?"
Mother Hawkes wore a feral smile. "A chance to get a hold of your winning horse, and perhaps get rid of Guaire at the same time."
Imogen nearly dropped the reins. "What?"
"While you were running down to the winner's circle, girl, I was keeping an eye on Hammersly. You didn't even remember he was there once the race started, did you?"
Imogen grasped the reins more tightly as the buggy bounced out of a rut in the road. She searched her memory, but came up with nothing of Hammersly for that time. "Uh, no. What was he doing?"
"Watching you, girl. He expected you to be groveling by the end of that race, and judging by the look on his face, he didn't enjoy discovering that you weren't going to be. He's not the sort who likes losing."
Imogen got the horse back onto firmer ground, the roads better now that they'd reached the edge of town. "So why take it out on Guaire?"
Mother Hawkes sighed gustily and then pointed. "Don't go up to Broadway. Take East."
Imogen tugged on the reins and the buggy swung sharply onto East Avenue, a short-cut to the track. "And?"
"You kissed your trainer in front of a couple of thousand people this afternoon, girl, making it perfectly clear which man you prefer. Hammersly isn't the sort who likes to lose, and he's lost all the way around. All that's left is revenge."
PART 6
Imogen snapped the reins, urging the horse to hurry. She drove the buggy right through the entry to the track and, on Mother Hawkes' instructions, stopped near the end of the stables where the horse vans usually drove in.
In the avenue of stables, the moonlight glowed over the long rows of white stalls, the trees between each row casting occasional spots of shadow. Faithful's stall was near the middle of the second row, so they slipped in that direction, using the trees to escape the notice of those grooms who'd remained behind with their charges. Imogen caught sight of Faithful's stall just as she heard a loud cry.
The stall door burst outward. A horse bolted forth with a rider clinging to his bare back. The dark horse spun, galloped to the other end of the stalls, and disappeared out the main gate.
"Was that...?" Mother Hawkes asked.
"Hammersly's driver? Yes, I believe so."
"No, I meant Mr. O'Donnell," Mother Hawkes said. "I've never seen him like that."
Before Imogen could reply, Billy climbed up on the door of the next stall over and looked down at them
with startled eyes. "What happened?"
Imogen didn't know how to answer that. "What are you doing in there, Billy?"
"Got Faithful in here, ma'am," he said. "Track steward said we could use this empty stall."
Imogen cast a glance down at the stall door from which the other horse had erupted, the "Hawk's Folly Farm" tag clearly visible. "And someone thought Faithful was in this one."
Imogen saw that the stall wasn't completely empty. She peered around the open door and spotted Hammersly lying unmoving in the straw, apparently unconscious. Mother Hawkes joined her, holding up a lamp to illuminate the scene. A silvery length of rope lay next to Hammersly in the straw. Imogen bent down to pick it up, but when she reached out her hand, she felt an odd revulsion, and stepped back.
"What is that?" Imogen asked.
"Charmed to bind its wearer. Anyone would have to obey, animal or man," Mother Hawkes said. "Once they got it over his head, that is. Leave it alone, girl. Wait for the track personnel to get here."
"Exactly so, Mrs. Hawkes." Mr. Brown stood at the end of the stable block, a lantern in his hand. "We'll handle this from here."
"Mr. Hammersly appears to be injured," Imogen said, her conscience getting the better of her.
"We heard," Brown said. "Will that horse of yours return the other miscreant to us?"
Imogen cast a questioning glance at Mother Hawkes. She had no idea if Mr. Brown knew Guaire wasn't a horse. Her mother-in-law just shrugged. "I believe..."
Imogen was saved from answering by the sound of a horse snorting, followed by a cry for help. The steward dashed down the row of stalls, and Imogen followed. Beneath the trees, the horse waited for them. He reared, and his hooves came down only inches from the bedraggled figure of Hammersly's driver. Sodden and mud-covered, the young man had evidently been dragged through the track pond.
The steward carried his lantern over to get a better look, Mother Hawkes following. Imogen stayed under the eaves of the stable, uncertain whether she'd be in the way. Another man emerged from the shadows, carrying a lantern, and then a third. Imogen recognized the track supervisor, and one of the valets--employees of the racing association. They all gathered around the sodden figure slumped on the ground.
She gathered her nerve to go out there to where Guaire stood sentry over his prisoner, and something snapped about her neck.
"Be silent," Hammersly said in her ear--clearly not as incapacitated as he'd appeared. "Be still."
Imogen tried to reach the rope held about her neck. She tried to yell, to get the men's attention, or Mother Hawkes'. Nothing happened. Her hands wouldn't move; her voice didn't come.
"Walk back along the stables."
Imogen's feet followed his whispered instructions, and she divined that he must be taking her out to where his automobile waited. She walked with him past stall after stall, one of his hands on the back of her neck. Her earlier fury with the man swelled through her, but she couldn't seem to do anything.
"So this thing is worth what I paid for it," Hammersly said with a low chuckle. "I'm pleased that one of Sebastian's little nasty tricks actually works on you. I could make you do anything, couldn't I?"
Imogen had no idea how long it would take the others to notice she'd gone missing. The rope about her neck wasn't choking her, but Imogen could feel a binding woven throughout it that would force her compliance. Hoping the stable floor was even, she closed her eyes as she walked. In her mind she could see that rope she'd held in her hands a couple of days before. She pictured it unraveling, letting all its magic seep out as it did so...
She heard hooves behind them, and a horse snorted loudly. Hammersly jerked her around to face the opposite direction. Imogen opened her eyes, losing her concentration. Hammersly dragged her about so she was in front of him and tightened the rope around her neck. "And what is this?"
The dark horse reared up, his hooves flailing in the air.
Hammersly kept Imogen in front of him. "Now, you don't want to hurt her," he said as if he knew he faced something that understood English.
Guaire came down to four feet with a grunt. Imogen prayed that Hammersly didn't have a gun. He would surely put a bullet in Guaire if he had the chance.
"I wonder," Hammersly said, "would you trade yourself for her?"
He had to know it was Guaire. Guaire shook his mane and came a step closer, and then slowly lowered his head.
Imogen wanted to fight, but the rope held her in place as Hammersly said, "I suspect I can sell you for a fortune."
And he could, Imogen knew. Guaire had spent a decade passing from one stable to the next, earning them purses on his abused hooves. She wasn't going to let that happen to him again. She closed her eyes and gathered every scrap of anger that Hammersly had ever inspired in her and focused it on the rope that circled her neck. As if in the distance, she heard voices yelling, a horse snorting, hooves hitting the ground.
The image in her mind slipped and twisted like the rope had a life of its own. She forced it back under her control and pictured herself unraveling the rope. An inch, then two, and then the rope began to unravel faster and faster, magic bleeding away from the strands almost like steam rising off a lake.
Imogen stepped away from Hammersly, the separated strands of rope draped about her neck. His hand brushed her jacket, but she slipped out of his grasp.
She looked about her then. The track supervisor held a gun in his hand, and Mr. Brown now held another at Hammersly's side. "Well done, Mrs. Hawkes. May we have that?"
Imogen lifted the ruined rope over her head and handed it over. Brown pocketed his gun and used the separated pieces of rope to bind Hammersly's hands.
Imogen didn't spare them another glance. She crossed to Guaire's side and put her arms around his neck. He was wet, and she could smell mud on him. She felt him shudder. "Calm down," she whispered into his ear. "Please. They'll take care of him."
He snorted, but then set his muzzle against her sternum, much as he had that first day.
"Leave the buttons alone," she reminded him.
The valet and the track supervisor began walking Hammersly back toward the stables. The steward came over to Imogen. "Mrs. Hawkes, one of my men was in the stables and witnessed Mr. Sebastian Wells attempting to remove this horse from a stall rented to you, using this piece of rope. Is this horse one of your horses?"
"Yes," she said. "This horse is mine."
"And his name is?" Another man with a small notebook stood there, pencil poised, like a constable taking a statement.
Imogen wondered in whose records this particular episode would appear. "Whirlwind."
"He isn't a Thoroughbred," Brown noted in a quieter voice. "You are aware that you can't race him here, aren't you?"
A subtle warning, Imogen decided. "I would never dream of doing so, Mr. Brown. I do understand the association's rules."
"Very good," he said. "That will be all then, Mrs. Hawkes."
More men with lanterns had emerged from the stables, some faces Imogen recognized and others not. They followed the steward and his prisoners back into the stable.
Imogen cast a glance at Mother Hawkes. "What will they do to him?"
"He can't claim ignorance of that bit with the rope about your neck," Mother Hawkes said, "so they'll make sure he doesn't pose a threat to anyone from now on."
"Will they send him to prison?"
"The gentlemen have other methods, girl. Now, get yourself home." Mother Hawkes folded her arms over her chest. "I'm going to stay for a bit. One of them can take me to the house in town. I'll see if someone can drive you back safely."
"The buggy," Imogen reminded her. "We can't just leave the horse there."
"Oh, I'll get Billy to take care of him." Mother Hawkes waved her hand. "I'll go get one of the gentlemen to escort you home, girl."
Guaire snorted, turned so that his side was to Imogen, and moved his nose in the direction of his back.
"I think I have an escort home, Mother," Imogen said sof
tly.
"Hmm," Mother Hawkes said. "Stay out of the water, girl."
"I think that's kelpies anyway." Imogen climbed up on a mounting block and, after a moment of wrangling with her skirt, settled astride his back. Her legs dangled down, showing more black stocking that she was comfortable with, but in the moonlight she doubted anyone would notice. She wrapped her fingers into his mane and leaned forward to press her cheek against his coat. "I haven't done this since I was a child," she whispered.
He stepped slowly toward the main gate, and then took off. Imogen clung to his neck, but by the time he'd gained the road, she knew she didn't need to. His gait was smoother than any horse she'd ridden before. She felt almost like they were flying.
They sped down the road, past the edge of town, and out along Lake Road. Imogen's hair came loose from its pins and streamed out behind her, and she laughed in the moonlight.
Too soon they came to the turn in the road and Hawk's Folly lay below them. The horse took the fence smoothly and cut through the pasture to the stable yard. When he came to a halt, Imogen slid her leg over his back and dropped to the ground beside him.
She followed him to his stall, her hair still hanging loose, and stepped back from the blast of heat that came with his change. When he'd taken human form again, she threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you." His fingers toyed with her hair. "I do like to see you smile, Ginny."
She drew back. "And where are your new clothes?"
"Back at the stable in town," he said with a grin.
"You'll need to come upstairs to get some others."
He yawned dramatically. "Oh, I was thinking I might sleep in the stall tonight. It's well past midnight already, and I've had a long day."
Imogen pressed her lips together.
"Then again 'tis a bit chilly," he said with a grin, "so if you'd not mind..."
She took his hand. "I wouldn't mind at all."
***
Imogen woke late Sunday morning, well past noon. Guaire had headed back into town to escort Faithful home so, after eating a light lunch, Imogen passed a couple of hours in her dressing room, separating out the clothing she hated.
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