IRISH FIRE (13 page)

The colt lifted his head, swayed slightly on his too-long legs, recognized the man and stepped forward to bury his nose in the grain. Brian ran his free hand over the satiny neck, under the throat and then back and forth across the nostrils and mouth. He waited until the horse lifted his head and moved away toward the broodmare and other yearlings before walking back to the rail and climbing over it.

He did all right, didnt he, Mr. Hennessey? Ben called out.

Aye, lad, he did well enough. Brian set down the bucket, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands, replacing it immediately. How are you, Annie?

Im fine, thank you, the girl said, glancing thoughtfully at the tip of the handkerchief sticking out of his pocket. She turned to her brother. Come on, Ben, lets put the bucket back inside the tack room. Then well walk to the other side for a closer look.

Caitlin placed a restraining hand on her daughters shoulder. You can see well enough from here, Annie.

Id like to speak with you, Caitlin, Brian said tersely. The children can join us for a bite to eat in the dinin room after theyve looked their fill.

His hands were shaking and there was a taut look around his eyes that she had never seen before. Run along, she said to the children.

Brians anger was the furious white-hot kind that rational discussion would never penetrate. Caitlin, walking beside him, recognized the symptoms and wisely remained silent. Brian Hennessey wasnt a man who lost control of his emotions. Whatever was troubling him would come out as soon as he won the battle with his temper.

They walked in silence over the hill and down through the ridge of trees to his cottage. He opened the door and stepped back allowing her to precede him. Still without speaking he opened the antique wooden sideboard, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, poured liberal measures into two glasses, and handed one to Caitlin. Then he sat down on the couch and stared unseeing at his own.

Dismayed, Caitlin turned the glass in her hands. Please tell me whats wrong.

He raised his head and looked at her, his eyes blazing and blue in a haunted face. Caitlins throat felt parched as if shed stood too long under a blast of scorching desert heat without water. Her hand moved to her forehead. She wanted nothing more than to be away from this place. Then she remembered the whiskey and lifted the glass to her lips.

Your foal is bleedin badly from the nostrils, he said harshly.

Relief made her weak. Is that all? Antibiotics will take care of that in no time.

I dont think so.

She frowned. What are you saying?

I dont believe this is a viral or bacterial problem, Caitlin.

She rejected it immediately. How can you possibly know that?

He was very still, his words forced and deliberate as if explaining something basic to someone with impaired mental faculties.
Irish Gold
has all the symptoms of RLN disease. RLN is recurrent laryngeal neuropathy, palsy of the voice

For Gods sake, Brian, she snapped. I know what RLN is. Get on with it.

All right. Ive seen it in American horses over and over again. The upper airway is obstructed due to a genetic deterioration of the left side of the voice box. If it isnt a severe case, it doesnt show up until the horse is exercised vigorously, usually before a first race.

Thats absurd, she argued.
Irish Gold
comes from a line of champions. He has no genetic diseases.

The muscle along Brians jawline tightened angrily. Ninety percent of American thoroughbreds have RLN. For that very reason some of us have tried to hold out against breedin programs involvin North American horses. In case you dont remember, we were overruled. He downed his drink and poured another. That horse will never win a race, Caitlin. Hell be lucky if he doesnt drop dead in the middle of his trainin.

Her eyes were wide and dark and horrified in the pale oval of her face. I dont believe you.

Believe it, he said bluntly, pulling out his handkerchief and laying it flat on the couch cushion. It was stained an ugly red-brown. Believe this as well. Until I see the autopsy reports on
Narraganset
, I wont allow
Kentucky Gold
to be covered by an Irish stallion. This lethal inbreedin has got to stop or we wont have a healthy animal left in the industry.

Gathering her composure, Caitlin set her glass down on the end table. The man was mad. I have no idea why youre doing this to me, she said carefully. There have been very few cases of RLN disease at Claiborne and we made sure those animals never competed and never reproduced. If
Irish
Gold
is bleeding, then there must be another reason. Ill call the vet right away.

The anger drained out of him immediately. He stood and held out his hand. You do that, he said gently. Im sorry, Caitlin, truly sorry.

She stared at him without moving. Was he unspeakably cruel or a complete fool?
Sorry
. He was
sorry
. What a pathetic little apology for the horror hed thrust upon her. Did he really have any idea what it would mean to her if his suspicions proved correct?

If the colt must be put down, Ill help you find another, he said. Were a bit late for Tatersalls but the Goffs premier foal sale is coming up soon

She interrupted him. Dont be ridiculous. What makes you think I have eleven thousand guineas to throw away? Do you think Im independently wealthy? I cant last forever without income. Tears burned beneath her eyelids. This foal means everything to us. Hes our future.

He looked bewildered. I dont understand. Claiborne Farms

She waved her hand in a desperate, angry gesture of dismissal, no longer caring that the privacy she preferred and had so carefully cultivated was irrevocably shattered. Sam Claiborne
is
Claiborne Farms, she said bitterly. Even Lucy, my mother-in-law, decent as she is, wont be able to help if he decides to punish me for leaving him.

His face was shuttered, emotions carefully concealed. What does he want?

I dont know. She was close to coming undone. Annie and Ben, maybe. To have things back the way they were.

Was it so bad?

Pressing the backs of her hands against her eyes, she shook with hysterical laughter. Not for Sam. And maybe not for the children. Not yet, anyway. For me, she dropped her hands and shrugged helplessly, wondering if Sams reputation extended outside of Kentucky, I just couldnt do it anymore.

What will you do if the vet confirms what I told you?

She reached into her pocket, pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. He wont. Theres nothing wrong with that colt.

His mouth was hard again, all traces of compassion wiped away with his conviction. If I were you Id have a strategy to fall back on.

She lifted her chin. Youre not me. You dont know the first thing about me.

Through the open door he watched her walk away, the straight line of her back, the obstinate way she held her head, her hands clenched and tight at her sides. A reluctant smile appeared on his lips. If that were true, Caitlin Keneally, he muttered under his breath, I would be an idiot.

B
rian Hennessey slipped the printed message he had copied from his e-mail into his pocket, pulled on his gloves, and stepped out into a dawn still dark enough that remnants of last nights paper-thin moon hung in the sky. There would be no rain today. The wind had bundled the clouds up and hurled them somewhere out to sea, leaving the promise of light, a soft milky light completely different from the luminous quality he remembered as a boy, in the west.

In the western isles of his youth, a strange kind of light rolled in from the Atlantic, played among the clouds, gathered in the rocky shoals, danced among the Blue Stacks and Twelve Pins, coloring the land a dozen shades of green, celery, mint, jade, pine, turquoise, emerald, until the glow of it changed a mangave him a mind that was no longer a tidy one with straight and narrow lines, made him believe in ghosts and curses and the myths of his ancestors long buried now beneath the guano-stained Celtic crosses dotting cemetery churchyards.

His people, the Irish of the Isles of the Blessed, those green stepping stones in a turbulent sea, were descended from pastoral Druids, Celtic warriors, and marauding Norsemen. They grudgingly lived in towns, farmed their land, attended Mass, playing out a charade of civilization in its loosest form but they were by no means a
regular
people. They preferred a different kind of life and theyd found it in the isles of the west. There was no softness to break up the horizon, to pacify and soothe it, no waving fields of grain, no turf bogs, no white-aproned haystacks, just the seamless boundaries of sky and sea, wind-hammered rock and lashing waves pounding a disappearing shore.

Caitlins father had been an island man, another of the banished malefactors forever condemned to make his life away from the light and the land that nourished his soul. What had he done, Brian wondered? What kept an island man expatriated and perpetually numbed with drink in the civilized county of Kildare?

His daughter had escaped the curse. Caitlin was not a woman who turned to alcohol no matter how difficult her problem. But she had her own share of stubbornness as well as a goodly amount of pride, both island traits. He wondered if she would listen to him or if his bluntness had destroyed what had been the beginning of a tenuous friendship.

The truth was she brought out the worst in him. He wanted to impress her but the minute he thought he had, she would look at him with a raised eyebrow, her face still and quiet like an empty canvas, and the words he wanted wouldnt form. Instead, he heard himself saying what she should never have heard, words that were no less honest, but rough and tactless, harsh, outspoken words that a woman courageous enough to survive Samuel Claiborne would not shrink from but should have been spared.

Brian walked down the packed dirt road, past the sign-posted gate to the street that led to the Curragh race track. Caitlin came early to see
Kentucky Gold
and the colt. Often Davy Flynn recruited her to exercise one or more of the two year olds if they were short on help. If Caitlins night had been anything like Brians, she would be up even earlier than usual today. He wanted to catch her before she set out for the barns.

She wore a red sweater and gray jodhpers, the expensive kind that a woman from Kilcullen would never own. The color blended with the mist, blurring her outline. Standing a decent distance from the track, he waited for her to finish. There were few things Brian enjoyed more than watching Caitlin take a prize-winning two year old through his paces on the Curragh.

He might have missed her if it hadnt been for her red sweater. The color suited her far more than the muted gray of her jacket. Careful not to alarm her, he stood back away from the track watching her move forward instinctively, head low, rump up, legs straight, urging the colt to greater and greater speeds. She passed the one-eighth pole, easing up on the reins for precious seconds before tightening them again, her hands loose, her body perfectly balanced. He heard her soft chirping sounds, saw the turf fly, and finally, at the three-eighths pole saw the colt stretch out, take the bit in his mouth and lunge. Once again, the animal surged across the wire.

Brian hadnt used his watch this time but he was sure the colt had never performed better. Caitlin was a natural. He waited until shed cooled down the colt and handed him back to Davy before calling out her name.

Turning, she waited for him, a still figure with black ringlets curling around her face and a slash of red around her throat where her jacket parted, the same red shed used on her lips. Reaching into his pocket, Brian pulled out the message hed received late last night and handed it to her. She read it quickly, her eyes moving down the page twice before she looked up. What is this about?

Robert Farlow has had tremendous success with RLN disease, Brian explained. Hes agreed to look at your colt if youre willin.

Youve told people that my colt is diseased?

Deliberately, he curbed his impatience. Not people, Caitlin. Robert Farlow is the best veterinarian there is. Hes a friend of mine and very discreet.

Why would he do such a thing?

Because I asked him, as a favor to me.

Why would you do that?

Brians eyes narrowed. Are you deliberately being rude or is this a display of American manners?

Her eyes never left his face but she had traveled somewhere inside herself, away from him, to another place. Im sorry, she said at last, her voice low and soft. Thank you. I accept your offer. She turned and continued down the road. Brian fell into step beside her.

Where does Doctor Farlow practice? she asked.

Outside of Galway City in Spiddal, a small town in the Gaeltacht.

Near your home?

She remembered. He experienced a rush of pleasure. Aye. Just across the water from it.

When can we go?

For a minute he was distracted by her mouth, outlined in lush, vivid red. Dark eyes, red lips, cream-colored skin.
Snow
White
.

Brian?

Ill make the arrangements today, he said hurriedly. Tomorrow will be soon enough.

Caitlin shook her head. Tomorrow is Lanas party. I cant miss it.

Brian groaned. Id forgotten.

The flicker of a smile crossed her lips, lips that were driving him crazy. Its a good thing I reminded you. It wouldnt be much of a party without you.

Again that surging rush of breathless heat. He could barely manage the words. Do you mean that?

She glanced sideways at him. Of course.

He reached for her arm. Caitlin

She hurried on. Lana has made it clear that you are to be her guest of honor.

He felt like a fool. Youre mistaken, he said shortly, dropping her arm.

Oh no. Caitlin shook her head. She was very specific. In fact I was warned away from you.

This time he did stop her. Her gloved hand fit nicely in his. Why would she feel the need to be warnin you away, lass?

Her eyes were huge, laughing, dark as midnight. If he wasnt careful, he could drown in those eyes.

The way I heard it, she said, Im not the only one. Lanas taking no chances and warning all the women away.

He studied her face, definitely out of the common way with a hint of rebellion in the lift of the chin, impossibly dark eyes, a single strand of wavy hair caught in the corner of her red mouth, scooped-out cheeks under high, carved bones, a distinctive nose, lips, parted and waiting forwhat?

Like a man going down for the last time, Brian summoned his courage and leaped into dark waters. I know what love is, Caitlin Keneally, he said softly, and Lana Sullivan has none of it for me.

Her smile faded. The world around them slipped away. Surrounded by gray mist, dripping trees, and the reverent, muffled silence of breaking dawn, Brian looked down into the startling purity of a womans face and recognized exactly what it was that he felt for Sam Claibornes wife. He hadnt asked for it, not now, not with this woman, but here it was. There was no going back.

The relief of knowing why she was the first thing on his mind in the morning and the last before he slept at night, and why her image came to him a thousand times a day when he least expected it, nearly shattered him. A less cautious man would have forced the pace. Brian was wiser than that. Repressing the urge to reach out with his work-callused hand and touch her cheek before his mouth found her lips, he simply looked at her and waited.

The stillness of the moment was broken. The darkness lifted and clouds rolled down from the hills. Slowly, in unison, they turned and walked down the road to the stud farm.

The night of Lanas party was clear and cold. Colorful balloons and a poster signed with the words
Happy Birthday,
Lana
lined the walkway and porch of the Sullivan home. Harvest-colored candles around the entrance flickered warm and welcoming in the gathering darkness. Inside the cottage, lamps were lit. Outside, every window appeared to incoming visitors as a cozy rectangle of gold.

Irish Mist, Guinness, and Harp flowed liberally into glasses. A smoke haze from pipes and cigarettes hung in the air and from the kitchen the mouth-watering smells of roasting meat, hot bread, and cinnamon stirred the appetite.

To Brian, who was acquainted with nearly everyone in town, it seemed as if all were there, everyone, that is, except Caitlin. Every corner of the Sullivans small house overflowed with revelers in various states of holiday spirit. Small groups had already segregated themselves by age and sexthe women holding babies, minding children, serving food; the men drinking, playing instruments, singing, carrying on forehead-wrinkling conversations of politics and philosophy.

Lana claimed him the minute he walked through the door. Brian handed over the gift he had purchased and followed her through the crowd to the makeshift bar. There, he accepted a pint from her brother, Tim, a thickset young man with a meaty fist.

He clapped Brian on the shoulder. Half the Guinness spilled out of the glass on to the floor. Hows the horse business, lad? Any tips for us this season?

Weve a good crop this year, Brian replied. Come around and Ill show you a few.

Ill do that. No sense in all that knowledge of yours goin to waste, seein as how youre not a bettin man.

I wouldnt say that.

Lana slipped her hand through Brians arm and gently squeezed it. Dance with me, Brian, she said coaxingly. Weve live music in the other room.

The dance lasted forever. Caitlin had just come in with her mother and children, and it seemed to him, in all that boisterous, milling, celebratory crowd, that she was the only one in the room.

Ben disappeared immediately with a lad his own age and Brigid was claimed by Lanas mother. Annie slipped her hand into her mothers and showed no inclination to leave her side. Caitlin leaned over to whisper into the childs ear. Lana had asked him something but he couldnt remember what it was.

Excuse me, lass, he said when the dance was over. Theres someone I need to see and I dont want to keep you from the rest of your guests.

Crossing the room to where Caitlin and Annie stood, Brian set his empty glass on a small table and rested his hands on the little girls shoulders. Would you care to dance, Annie? Theres a fair group in the other room and the musics quite good.

Annie smiled painfully and shook her head. Ill stay here with Mama.

The thing is, Annie, I was about to ask your mum to dance but then I saw you. If you refuse me, Ill have her instead.

Go along, love, Caitlin said gently. Ill be right here when you come back.

Come with us, Brian urged her. Theres no reason the two of you cant share me.

Caitlin laughed. Are you suggesting that no one else will ask me, Brian Hennessey?

He grinned. Her lips were red again, the same red as her sweater. Once youve danced with me, lass, you wont want anyone else.

I think you should have Annie by herself, Caitlin said, more seriously this time. Otherwise Lana wont be speaking to me tomorrow.

I wouldnt have taken you for a woman so easily intimidated, Caitlin Keneally, Brian chided her before taking Annies hand in his own. What do you say, lass? Will you dance with me?

A reluctant smile crossed Annies lips. Ill go with you, Mr. Hennessey.

Call me Brian. Its less of a mouthful.