Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  Catherine was left standing alone in the aisle, watching his lean hips. He had the perfect body for a horseman. Long, powerful legs. Muscled back. What would it be like to have a man like Patrick Shaw, to lay in his arms and welcome his kisses? The question came unbidden, and she felt again the acceleration of her pulse.

  It was an idle and stupid thought. A dangerous thought. Patrick Shaw was a handsome man. She'd noticed that long ago. He was also a man of great dignity. It crossed her mind that he wasn't the kind of man who would steal so much as a biscuit, much less a racehorse. But she had to remember that he was a man capable of making a terrible enemy. If that's the route he chose.

  Catherine entered the small office that Patrick used and found Kent sitting at the desk, files on each employee open before him and his hand just replacing the telephone receiver.

  "I've put through a call to Dublin. Sam Prescott is one of the chief investigators there. He's a personal friend of mine. I'm sure he'll take a special interest in this case." He stood and walked over to her. He casually touched her hair. "I'm sorry, Catherine. We'll get the horse back. I promise."

  Catherine tried to check her irritation, but she failed. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep. Unless you know where the horse is, how can you promise to keep him safe? Besides, I'll call the Galway police department after lunch. There's no cause to involve Dublin in this."

  "Limerick is insured for half a million pounds, Catherine. Your trainer, Mr. Shaw, has relatives who've been involved in some of the troubles in Northern Ireland." Kent went back to the desk and pulled out the appropriate paper. "I thought I'd simply expedite matters."

  "Between you and Patrick you'd think I didn't have a brain in my head." Catherine took the paper from his hand. "I can read, Kent. I know about Patrick's brother. I can weigh information. And I will."

  Kent leaned back in the chair. "You are rather touchy about this. I can see Shaw challenges your authority at every turn. I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to do the same thing. I only wanted to help."

  "Oh, blast it all to hell!" Catherine dropped the piece of paper on the desk. "I'm sorry, too. I just can't believe that Limerick is gone. Disappeared. Without a trace and without a single person even hearing him go."

  "Catherine," Kent's tone was amused, "surely you don't believe that Shaw and his helpers are innocent? You're not that naive. My advice to you is to dismiss every single one of them. That will break their little conspiracy of silence. Someone had to see that horse go. If you want Limerick back, alive, you're going to have to be as ruthless as they are."

  Chapter Three

  Catherine's hand shook as she held the single page of cheap white paper. Letters, cut from newspapers and magazines, sloped left to right in a schoolchild's imitation of a sentence. As childish as the letter looked, its intent was deadly.

  "Keep your mouth shut or horse dies. Will be in touch." That was it. Two very simple sentences that made the marrow of her bones harden with fear.

  Kent's footsteps echoed on the wooden floor outside her office and she hurriedly tucked the letter into the top drawer of her desk. She was just in time as the door opened.

  "Did the post arrive?" he asked.

  "Yes." Catherine swallowed. Some impulse told her to keep the letter to herself. Kent was only trying to be helpful, but he pushed her too fast. She needed time to think, to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of every action. If the person holding Limerick wanted ransom, she was willing to pay. Realistically, though, there was only so far she could go. That was as far as her own personal savings stretched. Her father would never, ever agree to pay a ransom. Many people viewed him as a hard man. He'd become a successful banker because he never let his emotions rule the bottom line, and his motto was Never Yield To An Unreasonable Demand. No matter how much he valued a horse, he would never pay a ransom demand. For herself, Catherine wanted the stallion home, safe and sound. She'd pay whatever it took, if she had enough money.

  "Well, was there anything in it?" Kent waved his hand in front of her eyes. "Was there a note in the mail?"

  "Kent, what are we going to do about the race Saturday? We need to scratch Limerick, but we don't want to draw any attention to the fact that he's missing." She couldn't bear to lie outright to Kent. He'd agreed to stay at Beltene for another few days, just to help her out. With fifty horses in his own stables, he had more than enough on his plate. Yet he'd put aside his own responsibilities and obligations for her. She owed him honesty at least.

  "We'll make sure he's scratched. There will be talk, of course, but we'll try to minimize it." Kent began to pace the office. "We'll say he has a stone bruise on his hoof. People already think you're slightly mad to allow that fool Shaw to run your horses up and down the rocks here. They'll believe he struck a stone."

  "Patrick feels that the roadwork conditions a horse and at the same time allows them to settle and relax. He says that track work alone doesn't fully develop— "

  "I'm well aware of Shaw's radical approach. But tell me, who produces the winners. Wicklow or Beltene?"

  "That's hardly fair, Kent. Beltene never had the funds to send horses all over the world like you have. The Shaws have produced some fine animals. Leprechaun's Charm, for one. Pot o' Gold for another."

  "Irish national winners. With silly names, I might add."

  "They could have gone further. Patrick's father didn't believe the rest of the world mattered. The Irish Sweepstakes was his goal, and he took it with both horses."

  "And squandered it on a radical son."

  "That's past history. I'm worried now about Saturday."

  "I'll take care of pulling Limerick from the race." He went to her and smoothed the frown from her forehead. "Just leave it to me, Cat."

  He leaned down to kiss her as she looked down at the files open on the desk. His lips brushed her hair. "Thank you for all of your help, Kent. We have to keep this very quiet. If we don't box the people who have him into a corner, maybe they'll keep him safe."

  "I think we should call Inspector Prescott. This biding our time is a stupid waste. It only gives the thieves more of a head start."

  "No. I'm going to give them twenty-four hours to make their demands known." Catherine's mind was in full throttle. "Then we'll call the Irish army, the National Guard and every other agency available."

  "What makes you think twenty-four hours will make a difference?"

  "Intuition." She smiled at him, her most charming smile. "Woman's intuition. And that's something no man can argue against, so you might as well not try."

  "Ah, that's not fair play." He reached out and caught her hand, drawing her to him until she was only inches away. "I'll take care of canceling Limerick from the race for you. But I'm not going to tolerate this intuition business for long."

  Catherine extracted her hand. "Tolerate? That's a rather presumptive word, isn't it?"

  Kent smiled. "You know I have more than a passing interest in you. I don't think it's presumptuous of me to want to take care of you."

  "It's presumptuous that you think I need taking care of," Catherine pointed out, but there was no bark in her tone. "I am quite capable of looking out for myself."

  "I hope so, Cat. You don't know what you're dealing with when you go up against the likes of Shaw. At any rate, I hate to go, but I have to get back to England. I'll stop by Kildare on my way to Dublin."

  Catherine felt her body relax. She'd met Kent at the racetrack, a handsome man who was popular with all of her friends who owned horses. They'd been thrown together socially, and before she knew what was happening, she was seeing him on a regular basis. His passion for racing almost matched her own, and it was a tremendous relief to find a man who could share her interest. But it was clear that he had more designs on her than just as a companion at the track. The trouble was, she didn't feel the same. While Kent was an entertaining companion, he didn't stir the feelings in her that Patrick Shaw did. And that was even more troubling.

  Kent fit so smooth
ly into the contours of her life, and Patrick was like an abrasive edge. He rubbed and jarred and challenged her entire world. He was not an easy man, but the excitement he generated was undeniable. And forbidden. His anger toward her ran too deep.

  "When will you return to Beltene?" she asked softly, forcing her concentration back to Kent.

  "As soon as possible. I'll call you from Wicklow," he said. "If you get a ransom note, are you going to pay it?"

  "It depends." She'd gnawed at that question all morning long. "I resent the idea of ransom, but I'd pay what I could to get him back."

  "Limerick is a valuable animal."

  "More valuable to me than anyone."

  "Except maybe Shaw." Kent tapped the files on the desk. "I know you don't like to think your help could do something like this. But as I told you, it would serve several purposes for Shaw. First, revenge. I don't have to point out how sweet that would taste to him. Second, he'd have the money to leave here and start over. Shaw isn't the kind of man who takes easily to working for others, especially a woman."

  "I think you might be wrong about Patrick." She stepped to the office window and looked out on the lush green pastures. "He might relish revenge and money for a fresh start, but he doesn't strike me as a thief." She turned back to face him.

  "Doesn't strike you, eh?" Kent raised his eyebrows. "Is that more woman's intuition?"

  "Don't be snide." Catherine had to laugh at the expression on his face. Sometimes he could be so unrelentingly proper. "My woman's intuition tells me that there's a hint of jealousy in your behavior."

  "I care about you, Catherine. A lot. You know I want to marry you. I'd have to kill that bastard if he did anything to hurt you."

  "Kent!" Catherine was shocked at the vehemence in his voice. "I hardly think it will come to that. I don't believe Patrick is involved in this." She held up her hand so that he would let her finish. "But I promise you I will be extremely guarded. If there is the slightest indication that he's involved, I won't hesitate to turn him over to the authorities. A man who would steal a horse deserves a term in prison. Any man."

  * * *

  PATRICK WAS IN the east pasture checking on a mare and foal when he saw Ridgeway's car pull out of the estate grounds and take the main road toward Dublin. He was glad to see him go. When he'd owned Beltene, the likes of Ridgeway had never been allowed to set foot on the property. A man like Ridgeway wouldn't have been hired as a cool-down boy or a tack cleaner. But the Nelsons were a different matter. They had plenty of money and no sense.

  He spied the foal he wanted to check. One of the grooms had said the bay filly was limping. They'd tried to catch her, but she'd run away. Afraid of causing more injury, they'd stopped and gone to get Patrick.

  "Easy, girl." Patrick spoke low and continuously as he approached the mare. "That's a fine filly you've got there, Penny. She's exceptional. But her foot is sore and I'd like to take a look at it."

  The mare rolled her eyes, showing whites. She was wary of him, but she didn't bolt and run. The filly nervously nuzzled at her side. Whenever she stepped down on her right front leg she gave to the pressure. Patrick felt a surge of worry.

  "Come along, sweetie. Let's have a look at that leg. Whatever is wrong, we've got to get it tended to." His voice continued, soft and reassuring, as he eased closer to the mare and foal. When he could reach out and touch Penny's neck, he stroked her softly. His hand worked its way down her shoulder and onto the filly. Both animals quivered as if they wanted to turn and flee for all they were worth, but they stood. After a second of Patrick's hand on her, the filly calmed. Her delicate nostrils flared as she extended her nose and sniffed his hand. Very carefully, her lips touched his thumb. Limping painfully, she walked toward him.

  Patrick picked up the filly's sore leg. She trembled again, pulling back slightly to signal her fear. He scratched beneath her belly, just behind her front legs, and she relaxed again.

  His fingers probed the hoof, searching for bruises or anything that might have lodged in the tender frog of the foot. When he found nothing, he let his fingers slide along her leg. The tendon was puffy and warm to his touch. When he exerted the smallest amount of pressure, the filly pulled back.

  "Easy, girl, easy." He released her foot and stroked her neck, scratching where the tufts of mane were just beginning to lose the wispy look of a foal. "It's to the barn for you. You're not going to like the idea of a bit of water on that leg, but I think some cold hydromassage and then a splash of liniment should fix you up. It seems you've romped yourself into a pulled tendon."

  From a small beech beside the stone wall of the pasture, Catherine watched the scene between man and filly play out. She'd clearly read the filly's fear and her desire to flee when Patrick began to approach. She'd also seen the way his touch had calmed her, drawn her to him.

  She leaned closer into the tree when Patrick looked her way. It wasn't that she was spying, it was just that he always made her feel like such an intruder. She'd heard of people who had "the touch." Heard and never believed. Now she'd seen it with her own two eyes. Patrick Shaw had a way with horses. Probably with all animals. What would his touch do to a woman?

  Even as the thought passed into her mind, she felt heat flush through her. He didn't even have to touch her— just the thought made her giddy. She was acting like a complete fool.

  The stone fence was solid but low. She hopped over it with little effort and walked toward Patrick.

  "Can I give you a hand?" she asked.

  Patrick didn't look surprised at her appearance. "I left a halter by the gate. Would you get it for me? I need to take this little one in."

  "Sure." Catherine walked over and picked up the large red halter. She knew, then, he intended to lead the mare and let the baby follow. Once in a stall they could better manage the foal.

  Catherine slipped the halter over Penny's head and handed the lead rope to Patrick. "Is she seriously hurt?"

  "Just a bit of a sore tendon. It doesn't seem bad. She's a fine filly, too. Out of Charm and the mare we call Penny." Patrick smiled. "I'm afraid we don't often stick to the registered names. Too much for an average mouth."

  "I know the mare," Catherine said, falling into step beside him. She looked over and saw that his eyes were more intensely blue than the sky. The wind rumpled his dark hair. Black Irish, a long-ago mixture of Moorish invaders and Viking conquerors.

  "Have you noticed that none of the farmers around these parts allow their horses to graze by the sea at night?"

  The question seemed completely out of left field. "No."

  "It's because of the enchanted sea horses."

  "Sea horses." Catherine cut a look at him. "You're playing me for a fool."

  "Not on my life. They're as old as Ireland and they come out of the sea, and some lakes and rivers. They'll frolic in the pastures and when they go back to the waves and the foam, they lure the farm horses to follow. Once a horse enters the sea, he's never found again. And that's why no one dares to leave their horses grazing by the sea."

  It was an interesting bit of folklore, and beautifully told. Patrick's voice warmed her as thoroughly as the sun. She found herself caught in his bit of fancy.

  "I'll remember that," she answered, surprised to find she was short of breath.

  "One day, perhaps, you'll be lucky enough to see a sea horse."

  "I'd settle for getting Limerick back."

  They were halfway across the pasture when Catherine spoke again. "Since you're not going to ask me what was in the mail, I'll tell you. There was a note. Two sentences cut out of newspaper letters. It said, 'Keep your mouth shut or horse dies. Will be in touch."'

  Patrick never slowed his stride. "And what have you decided to do?" He wondered suddenly if Ridgeway had been sent to personally talk with the law.

  "I decided to wait twenty-four hours."

  "What does your father say?" Patrick shot one quick glance at her. Her face was troubled, and he knew instantly that she'd consulted no one
about her decision. She'd taken the matter into her own hands, and she'd taken his advice. A gust of wind fanned her hair, pulling some of it loose from the twist at the nape of her neck. The bright curls caught the sun as they tangled in her eyelashes. Patrick raised his hand to brush her hair back, then stopped. What on God's green earth was he doing?

  "I haven't told anyone about the note." She brushed the stray hair from her eyes.

  "Except me," he said. A half smile touched his face. "I'd reassure you if I could without incurring your wrath." The humor left his voice. "It's going to be a long twenty-four hours."

  "Yes, it is." She stepped in front of him and opened the gate. Patrick led the mare through with the filly at her side.

  "Patrick, if they demand money, will you take it to them?" She hadn't intended on asking that question, but watching him in the pasture she'd made a decision. If anyone should go and retrieve Limerick, it should be Patrick. He'd know instantly if the horse had been hurt, and he'd know what to do.

  "We'll take that fence when we come to it," Patrick said. "May I ask you a question?"

  "Turnabout is fair play."

  "Why did you suddenly decide I didn't take Limerick?"

  "Because you're the perfect suspect. It would be insane for you to steal him, because everyone suspects you. That makes me believe you wouldn't take him."

  "I see." The tension had returned to his voice. "It's good to know how your mind works." He clucked to the mare and led her into the barn.

  Catherine stood in the sunshine listening to the sounds in the barn and in the pastures behind her. All of her life she'd wanted nothing more than to work with horses. She'd dreamed horses, read about horses, drawn horses and ridden since she could walk. If she'd had her way, she'd have gone to school to study animal husbandry and agriculture and training. But her father had insisted on a business degree. He'd wanted her in the bank at Dublin. And she'd done that, for him. Even though she felt as if she'd lost nine years of her life. Four years of schooling and five long years of figures and loan applications and business deals. But as a reward, her father had purchased Beltene, and he'd finally given his approval for her to quit the bank and manage the horse farm. She had her dream at last.