Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  "I came to make sure you were resting that foot," Patrick said, stepping into the kitchen and moving on into the sitting room. Mick was before the fire, a glass at his hand with an inch of amber liquid. "I was thinking about that hellion Flint."

  "Ah, Flint. I think about him a lot," Mick said. "I'm getting to be an old man, dwelling in the past. But you could sit that devil like you were hooked to his spine."

  Patrick smiled and took a seat in another cane-bottom chair in front of the fire. "He was a fine animal." He sighed. "Limerick reminds me a great deal of Flint. There's the same heart there, the same willingness to give everything if he's only asked properly. We have to get him back here…whether we want to or not."

  "It broke your father's heart to sell Flint to the Kimballs."

  "It broke mine, as well," Patrick said. He didn't like to think of what had happened to Flint. An overeager owner and a bad trainer had conspired to push him too hard and too fast.

  "If your da' had had the funds to campaign him…"

  "If we'd had a bit more money it would be a different story to tell now." Patrick's voice was laced with bitterness. "If Colin had only decided to get himself killed in a simple fashion instead of making a martyr of himself, then the family wouldn't have come to such a pass."

  Mick picked up a bottle from beside his chair. There was a clean glass beside his own and he poured a measure of whiskey into it and handed it to Patrick.

  "I see you were expecting a guest," Patrick said, forcing himself to beat back the anger and frustration that came whenever he thought of his older brother.

  "I knew you'd be along. There's too much to discuss." They sipped the liquor in companionable silence for a moment.

  "How's the foot?" Patrick asked.

  "No better or no worse. I didn't want to be around the barn today. I have no use for Catherine Nelson, none in the least, but I find it hard to watch her twist in the wind. Did she call the police?"

  "No."

  The two men shared a look as the fire danced in front of them.

  "Why not? The horse is the best asset she has."

  Patrick sighed, staring into the flames as if they would burn the truth out of him. "She's afraid to put pressure on the people who took him. I recalled the story of Speedo to her. She wants Limerick back, alive. She's willing to pay as much as she can without having to go to her father."

  "She said so?" Mick sat forward.

  "In so many words."

  "If she was so damn fond of the horse why wouldn't she give him time to heal his knee? Why pay money for something that you ruin because you don't have another few days?"

  "You'll have to take that question to someone who has two coins to rub together. Since I can't afford to buy anything, I can't speak to the matter of ruining it." Patrick got up and paced before the fire. "I don't think she knows any better. She's got that fool Ridgeway chattering in her ear, telling her how I mollycoddle the horses, and she's too ignorant to understand how delicate a horse can be."

  Mick nodded. "She's green. And a bit spoiled. That's a dangerous combination. How much ransom do you think she'll pay?" Mick looked at the fire as he asked the question.

  Patrick paced faster. "I believe she'd give her last penny." Patrick turned to face the older man. "Damn her! She thinks she can buy his safety. Money isn't the answer to everything, except if you don't have any."

  "It's a quandary, Patrick, my lad. But if she's willing to pay a ransom, then she'll be busy putting it together. That would give the kidnappers a chance to find a really secure hiding place for the horse. How long, do you think, before she takes it to the police?"

  Patrick stopped pacing. He returned to his seat, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A fierce headache was forming between his eyes. "That depends on how much influence that ass Ridgeway has on her. If she believes Limerick's safe, then I believe she'll want time to raise the ransom. I can promise you one thing, Mick, when she gets ready to go after the culprits, she's going to hit with everything she has. I get the feeling she's not the kind of woman who stops in midstream."

  "Aye, she's not a quitter, no matter what else you can say about her." Mick gave Patrick an appraising look. "It's a pity for a woman with her face to have such a temperament. She reminds me of that chestnut filly your father bought at auction."

  "Crimson Flyer." Patrick remembered the horse well. He smiled. "She was a challenge, but when she was finally broken, she was a pleasure to ride."

  "Perhaps Miss Nelson will prove to be a pleasure, but I pity the man who's sent up to break her to the saddle."

  Patrick couldn't help but laugh. That was one thing about Mick— he was bawdy enough to chase away the blues, at least for a limited time.

  "What are you going to do about Limerick?" Mick asked.

  "What can I do?" Patrick answered. "It's a waiting game."

  "And the grooms? How are they taking it?"

  "They all think I took him, and a few are spoiling to see me take the blame."

  "Don't worry about Jack. It's a shame he caught me, but he didn't know for certain it was you, and he won't rat on an old man like me. McShane is another matter. You should have fired him when you had the chance. He's a worthless layabout."

  "You're right on that count, but there's no undoing the past."

  Mick looked out the window. "It's time to feed the foals." He pulled his feet under him and prepared to rise.

  Patrick stood and put a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Take a rest, Mick. I'll feed the little ones for you. I can tell it's going to be a long, long night and I'd just as soon have plenty to do. You'll see to it that Limerick is fed? I can't leave the grounds. I'm sure they'll have me followed."

  "I'll see to Limerick. In a week we can sneak him back to the stables just as easily as we took him. His leg will be healed and he'll be fit to run for the Queen's jewels if that's what Catherine Nelson wants."

  "I couldn't stand by and see him ruined. Like Flint. I just couldn't." Patrick's hands were clenched at his side. "Even if I hang for horse theft, I couldn't allow that to happen."

  "It'll take her at least a week to raise the ransom. We'll send another note and keep her stirred to the point of boiling. When Limerick is back safely, she'll forget soon enough about who took him."

  Patrick arched an eyebrow. "I hope you're right about that, old friend, but I'm not so certain. Especially not if she suspects that I had anything to do with it."

  * * *

  CATHERINE PUSHED the books away from her and flopped back in her chair. Her shoulders were knotted and throbbing from tension. She'd been able to pull together twenty thousand pounds, without her father noticing the drain on her personal and the farm accounts. That was it, though, and she knew it wouldn't be enough to ransom a horse as valuable as Limerick.

  The first time she'd seen the horse, she'd recognized his potential. Not because of his conformation or bloodlines. She'd seen it in his eyes, in the way he carried himself. She'd known he was a winner, even if she didn't know all the ways she'd known. Now he was gone.

  She got up and wandered to the window. She couldn't see the barn, but she could see the pastures where two young colts were rearing and charging each other in a game of tag. This was everything she'd ever wanted, but it wasn't happening the way she'd dreamed.

  The day was ending, and she had no idea where Limerick might be, or what was happening to him. She tried to keep her mind away from gruesome thoughts, but she couldn't help herself. As she watched the colts frolic, her eyes sought Patrick. Even when she realized that she was consciously thinking about the head trainer, she didn't stop herself. It did no good. It was better to admit that the man was constantly in her thoughts. It occurred to her that it was the very fact that he had no use for her that made her want to prove herself to him. She wasn't a born-to-the-saddle horseman, like he was. But she loved the animals and the sport. Why couldn't he give her a chance to show that she was a capable businesswoman and farm manager?

  As she watched th
e light begin to fade from the sky, she felt a pang of regret. She had come to Beltene with the attitude that she was going to show everyone who worked there who was boss. That was how things were done in the business world. When a company was bought out or merged, there was the total assertion of power by the winning side. The vanquished had to understand the power of the conquerors. It was a system as long and brutal as the history of humanity. And the Irish knew it well.

  At that thought she felt a flush of color rush up her neck and into her face. She'd made a mistake. She should have come in with kid gloves instead of brass knuckles. Now she had to figure out a way to rectify it. As she'd sat in her office trying to find ransom money for Limerick, it had occurred to her that the only people who really cared if Limerick was returned safely or not were the men who worked for her. To them, Limerick was more than an investment. He was a horse, a living creature valued above all others. A vision of the future.

  He was also Patrick's horse.

  As if she'd called him up, Patrick came across the field into her line of vision. She couldn't see him clearly, but she knew his walk, the way he carried himself, and she felt a simple surge of pleasure at the thought of him.

  "Enchanted sea horses, indeed," she said aloud, remembering the legend Patrick had told her. "It would seem that Limerick has been spirited away by the fairies. Or that's what some people would have me believe."

  The tire treads troubled her enormously. They seemed incontrovertible proof that Patrick was involved in Limerick's disappearance. Would he be so stupid as to use his own vehicle to steal a horse? Patrick was not a stupid man.

  But he was a daring man. It was possible that he'd enjoy the idea of flaunting his theft in her face. He knew better than anyone else how much Beltene depended on Limerick. He was the heart of the farm, the future of it. Without him, Beltene would fade into oblivion.

  She pushed aside the draperies to get a better view out the window. Patrick had stopped beside one of the two colts that had been playing earlier. He seemed frozen, but Catherine knew there was some communication going on between man and horse. In a few seconds, the colt walked up to him and nuzzled his chest.

  The man had a way with horses. And he also had a very unsettling effect on her.

  Chapter Five

  The large manila envelope was padded, the address typewritten on a plain postal label with local postage from Galway. Thinking of fingerprints, Catherine held it gingerly as she slit it open with a letter opener. It was no surprise to see the videotape. She'd been expecting it all along. She was torn with relief and fury. Relief that Limerick was still alive; fury that someone had taken him and reduced her to a position where she was totally powerless to protect the stallion.

  She could hear Mauve rumbling about the dining room, checking dishes and setting the table for lunch. The rest of the house staff were busy upstairs. The den was free and Catherine took the tape and went there to plug it into the VCR. Until she'd determined a course of action, she wanted to keep the tape a secret.

  In the sixty-second shot of Limerick, she saw three things. The horse was still in Ireland, and somewhere along the western coast. The slope of the land, the stones and fences, the vegetation— it all smacked of the Connemara region. Of course, she wasn't an expert. She noted the old wooden structure in the background. Was Limerick safe? Were there things he could injure himself on? In the video he pranced and shook his head, and there was the brief glimpse of a man's hand reaching out toward him— and the horse extending his nose toward the hand. Then it ended.

  Catherine rewound the tape and played it through three times more before she froze the video on different frames. The camera angle didn't allow for her to see much of the background. The camcorder had been held from high up and aimed toward the horse and ground, as if the cameraman deliberately wanted to limit the horizon view. It would also indicate that the cameraman was standing on top of a vehicle or a rock or steps of some kind to get such a high angle.

  When she got to the shot of the hand, she stopped. It was a large hand, a man's hand. That was no surprise. The tip of a sleeve was evident— nondescript jacket, no jewelry. It was a left hand, and the man did not wear a watch. That was something to think about.

  The hand also looked rough, callused, an outdoor hand. But the nails were clean. She rewound the tape again and clicked off the VCR. So Limerick was alive and in good health. That was the message the horsenappers wanted to send to her. That meant she had more time to put money together in preparation for their demands. Strangely enough, there was no demand attached to the tape.

  At that thought she felt a stab of apprehension. How much would they demand? The letter, the video, that was all preparation. A few days of torment and worry, then the ransom note when she was at the peak of her anxiety. These were very sophisticated horsenappers. They'd studied their subject and knew well how to manipulate her.

  With the tape in hand she returned to her office. She locked the video in her desk drawer and got out the figures she'd compiled. It was slow work, but she'd managed to eke out twenty-three thousand pounds for ransom. It had taken all of her personal savings and the retirement she'd earned. Everything she could cash in or convert had been included. Would it be enough? It all depended on who had Limerick.

  The dark-haired Irish trainer materialized in her mind. If Patrick had the horse…At the thought, she got up and went to the window. In the last day she'd gotten into the bad habit of walking to the window and looking out, hoping to see him in the fields or riding along the road. He used to work Limerick up and down the roadways, over fences and around the county. It was a practice that appalled most racing trainers. But the Shaws had used alternative training to great effect. In fact, Limerick had even been put to the plow, pulling large stones out of the pastures. He'd developed a broad and strong chest because of it, too. As had Patrick.

  Once again Catherine found her mind drifting to the absurd. Patrick Shaw was not a figure to dwell on.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the phone, and she picked it up to hear Kent's voice.

  "Have you determined to take this matter to the police?" he asked.

  There was a tightness in his voice that immediately made Catherine balk. She was tired of people, particularly men, trying to push her around.

  "I'm still considering my options." Her voice was equally tense.

  "You're being pigheaded, and I can't understand why." Kent backed off. There was a degree of amusement in his tone. "Is it Shaw? Are you feeling sorry for the chap, what with the fact you've bought his farm, cleared his debts, left him with a line of credit and given him a cushy job? Is that why you're sympathizing with him?"

  "Your sarcasm goes unappreciated." She didn't want to get into a row with him. Not now. Not when she was feeling so uncertain about her decisions.

  "If you don't report the theft, the insurance isn't valid. I checked it out. You have a reasonable time frame, but you're tampering with a total loss if you don't take the proper steps."

  "Thank you, Kent. I appreciate your efforts." She forced her voice to sound sincere. He had only her best interest at heart. The least she could do was show a little graciousness.

  "I thought I'd drop back on Sunday with the van and pick up those two-year-olds. There were six, correct?"

  Catherine hesitated. Patrick's rage at the thought of Ridgeway touching those horses came back to her. It wasn't necessarily ego with him. He was concerned about the horses.

  "Catherine?"

  "Kent, I'm not certain I can afford your services. If Limerick is gone, that well may be the end of my racing career." She wasn't exaggerating her plight. She'd gambled on Limerick.

  "I'll give you a line of credit, darling." Kent chuckled. "And there are other methods of payment."

  "Kent!"

  "Just teasing. Listen, I know your father's good for the bill. Harold Nelson may not like the decisions you've made, but he won't let his name be ruined for a bad debt."

  Catherine sighed.
"You're right about that. Of course I'd never hear the end of it."

  "What about it? Shall I bring the van?"

  "No." Catherine didn't know why she was refusing such a generous offer. Nine months ago, when she was still negotiating for Beltene, she'd determined to send the six animals to Wicklow for training. Now it didn't seem like a good idea.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Of course not. It's just that I won't be put in a position where I can't pay my bills. It won't hurt to wait a week. By then I should have Limerick back."

  "Catherine— " Kent broke off. "Well, shall I come up Sunday?"

  "That would be delightful." Catherine tried to sound enthusiastic. "It would be good to have you to discuss things with."

  "My advice is don't pay any ransom. Your father would agree with me, but I know you well enough to know you'll pay whatever you have. You haven't come to realize what it's like not to have money, how desperate these people may be. Even if they get the money, they might not let Limerick go."

  "I intend to pay the ransom, if I'm given the chance, and I can only pray that I'm given the chance." Catherine shivered. She only wanted to get Limerick back safely.

  "I'll ring off now and see you Sunday. I know you don't want to fire Shaw, but I think you should. If you'd like, I can tell him for you."

  "Thank you, Kent, but I can manage my employees myself. If and when I decide to fire anyone, I can do it in person."

  "It was just an offer. You hide it well, but I know how tenderhearted you can really be. That's one of the things that attracted me to you."

  "Tenderhearted but not stupid," Catherine said, injecting a note of humor into her voice. "But thanks for your offer. You're a good friend."

  "One day I hope you'll view me as more than a friend."

  A light tap at her office door was a signal Catherine was delighted to hear. "There's someone at the door, Kent. We'll talk Sunday."

  "Yes, we need to talk. Sunday."

  Catherine replaced the receiver. Of all things she didn't need now it was Kent pressuring her to feel something. It was just too much.