IRISH FIRE (7 page)

Brigid, reading glasses perched on her nose, looked up from the order she was filling. They wanted t see the foal. Martin came by t see you and offered t take them. How are you feelin?

Better. Caitlin frowned. Mum, the next time someone wants to take my children somewhere, please ask me. She sounded ungrateful and petulant. Why did her mother always bring out the worst in her?

I would have if it was anyone but Martin, said her mother, but you were asleep and I thought you needed the rest.

I havent seen Martin in fourteen years.

Brigid entered another figure in her ledger. He hasnt changed much.

Hes a priest.

Again Brigid looked up, her blue eyes level and steady. All the more reason t trust him.

Caitlin stared mutinously at her mother. There was no reasonable rejoinder to such a statement. She was being absurd and she knew it. Martin OShea would never hurt anyone, least of all her children. I think Ill join them.

What a good idea. Take the car if youre still feelin weak.

Ill walk.

Brigid nodded. Nothin like fresh air t clear up a headache.

Frowning at her reflection in the mirror, Caitlin rubbed out the worry lines between her brows. What would Martin think of her after all these years? She hadnt exactly come home a wild success story.

Dividing her hair into three sections, she wove the unruly curls into a French braid, twisted a colorful elastic band around the end and pulled out a few strands at her forehead and the sides of her face. She turned her head first to one side and then the other. Her spirits brightened. Three days of rest and a ham and cheese omelet had definitely improved her appearance. Much better, she said to herself.

Walking down the familiar streets of her childhood, it appeared to Caitlin that fourteen years hadnt changed Kilcullen Town much with the exception of the McDonalds and Gyro fast-food restaurants facing each other on Main Street. It was like any other small Irish townno bigger than an American football field, only linear, with houses backed up to the main street. A church, a news agent, an off license, a chemist, a restaurant, a branch of Ulster Bank. A relatively new Superquinn market, the inevitable Irish bookmaker, a hardware store, various clothing and gift shops, and, of course, her mothers pub and convenience store.

Even the faces were the same, a bit older, perhaps, more grizzled, with a few more lines, but basically the same. Mr. Murphy, the butcher, waved at Caitlin through his glass window. She waved back. Paddy Byrnes shoe shop was now a bright lemon yellow instead of white, Brown and McCann Solicitors boasted an engraved sign, and inside Kathleen Finchs cafe, round tables with white cloths had replaced the vinyl-covered booths. Caitlin didnt recognize her patrons but she did recognize the plump young redhead in blue denim slacks and a white apron, pouring tea. She stepped inside the restaurant.

Hello, Lana, she said.

The womans eyes widened. Then she grinned and nearly lost the teapot she was carrying. Caitlin Keneally, is it really you?

In the flesh.

Lana Sullivan laughed delightedly, set down the teapot and opened her arms. Come here, love, and let me fold these around you.

Caitlin moved forward into a welcoming hug. I thought youd gone to Dublin, she said, stepping out of her friends embrace.

I came back. Billy Doyle found someone else, Lana said pragmatically, and I couldnt afford the rent on my own. Kathleen needed the help, so here I am.

Im sorry.

Dont be, said the redhead cheerfully. Its good to be home. Besides, there are a few more interesting faces since we left, Brian Hennessey for one. He took Mr. OSheas place at the stud farm.

Weve met, said Caitlin. I brought a mare home with me.

Lanas eyes clouded. Im sorry for your troubles, Caitie. I heard youve a wee lad and lass.

Caitlin nodded. Annie and Ben. I cant stop to talk now. Martin has the children. Ive got to claim them, and Im a bit nervous about seeing him again.

Nervous? Lanas eyes widened incredulously. Of Father OShea? Whatever for?

Motionless, Caitlin stared at Lana. I dont know really. I suppose its because I havent seen him for such a long time. I never knew Martin the priest.

Martin hasnt changed, said Lana. Hes a dear lad, always thinking of others. His sermons could use a bit of humor but then Im not complaining.

What arent you complainin about, Lana? an amused voice broke in on them.

Lana blushed furiously.

Caitlin turned to see Brian Hennessey, a portfolio under his arm, standing near the signpost. We were having a conversation about an old friend, she said. Why was the man looking at her so intently?

Anyone I know?

Lana regained her composure. Father OShea was a friend of ours when we were children.

Brian kept his eyes on Caitlin. I believe Father OShea is at the stud farm with your children as we speak, Mrs. Claiborne.

I was on my way there when I saw Lana, replied Caitlin.

Im going there myself. Shall I walk with you?

She would rather have gone alone, but Caitlin was Brigid Keneallys daughter, raised on a diet of good manners. There was no possibility of politely refusing.

Lana picked up the teapot. Bring the children to visit me, Caitlin, and stop by for tea. Mum would love to see you. Youre welcome as well, Brian.

I will, Caitlin promised and fell into step beside the lean, black-haired young man who made her uncomfortable in a way she couldnt quite explain. The silence deepened, became awkward, then embarrassing. Frantically, she searched for something to say. Where are you from, Mr. Hennessey? she said at last.

Inishmore.

She looked puzzled. Where on the Aran Islands did you learn about thoroughbreds?

His hands were deep in his pockets. I thought we were on a first name basis.

Youre the one who called me Mrs. Claiborne. The wind whipped a strand of hair across her cheek. She pulled it away.

Im thirty-four years old, Caitlin, plenty of time to leave Inishmore and learn about thoroughbreds.

My father was from the islands.

Brians head was down, against the wind. She saw the quick lifting of the corner of his mouth. Was he now?

Caitlin nodded. So they say. He died before I was born.

Im sorry, lass, he said gently.

It was a long time ago.

His lips twitched. An eternity.

Startled, she looked up at him. Youre making fun of me.

His eyes twinkled. You asked for it.

How?

They stopped in the street to face each other.

Your melodrama for one thing.

Her cheeks burned. You arent very polite, Brian Hennessey.

His eyes narrowed to thin blue lines. If its polite you want, Caitlin Claiborne, youre on your way to see the right man.

She turned away and continued walking. What have you got against Martin?

Brian looked genuinely astonished. Nothin at all. Did I give you the impression I had?

He had or she wouldnt have noticed. Not really.

Brian caught her arm. Caitlin. Just so theres no misunderstandin. Martin OShea is the best friend I have in the world.

Caitlin stared at him. There was no mistaking his sincerity. Was he warning her? Im not surprised, she said softly. He was mine, too.

H
e was out of his league. Brian knew it as surely as he knew the daily schedule of races on opening day at the Curragh. Caitlin Claiborne not only had the look of a woman used to very dark coffee served in tiny cups on the private terrace of an expensive villa, she obviously had depths he couldnt begin to probe. She was also very skilled at hiding what was on her mind, a lethal combination where women were concerned. He wondered if she saw herself the same way Martin saw her, or if the two of them viewed their mutual past with their own unique set of blinders.

They walked in silence past the ornamental gardens, crossed behind the paddock, and continued down the long road to the Tully Walk where the foaling stable stood apart, protected on all sides by green meadowlands. The door was open. Inside, peering into
Kentucky Gold
s stall with Martin OShea between them, were Caitlins children.

In unison, the three of them turned toward the entrance as Caitlin walked in. Brian stepped back into the shadows without speaking, preferring not to participate in the reunion of two old friends.

Mama. Bens voice was reverent. Hes so pretty. Annie said we could name him.

You said so, Mama, Annie piped up. You said Daddy wouldnt mind.

Caitlin was silent. Brian watched as her gaze met Martins. He didnt know what he was looking for, a connection perhaps, disappointment that the real person didnt live up to Martins memory. He held his breath. Seconds passed. Nothing happened. Slowly, he exhaled.

Welcome home, Caitie, Martin said softly.

Thank you, Martin. Its good to be home.

Martin laughed nervously and spread his hands. Well, what do you think?

She said nothing for a long moment. Finally, You look wonderful in black.

This time they laughed together and the tension lifted.

Can we get past the clothes? Martin pleaded.

Caitlin reached out and hugged him briefly. Ill manage. Lord, Martin. You really did it.

Annies words cut through the tension between them. Mama, look at the colt.

In a minute, Annie.

Brian stepped into the brightness thrown by the skylight. He extended his hand first to Annie and then to Ben. Im Brian Hennessey, he said. Have you decided on a name?

Irish Gold,
Annie said, because he was born in Ireland out of
Kentucky Gold.

Brian stroked his chin. It sounds like a fine name. With your mothers permission, provided Weatherbys agrees, it looks like youll have a match.

Annie smiled and Brian found himself staring. Normally, he had little interest in children. But this one was exceptionally attractive. She must be the image of how her mother had looked at the same age. He turned to the boy by her side. Ben had the same dark eyes, hooded instead of round, light hair, a missing front tooth, and features that, except for his freckles, did not look at all Irish.

Are you the boss, Mr. Hennessey? the boy asked.

Startled, Brian looked over at Martin who merely shrugged. The boss? he asked.

Ben nodded. My daddy is the boss at our farm. Are you the boss here?

Brian recalled the Claiborne millions and laughed. No, lad. Im not nearly as important as your da. I work here at the farm. Thats all.

Ben nodded as if he understood the concept of work. I worked at Grans pub, he said. Maybe I can work here.

Brian was enjoying himself. Caitlins children were a step past the ordinary, although he doubted that either of them had an accurate concept of the term
work
. Do you enjoy carin for horses, lad?

Annie broke in. He likes riding better than working, Mr. Hennessey. Im the one who helps with our horses.

Most of us prefer the ride, Annie. Youre a rare one if you enjoy the labor as well as the sport. Perhaps your mother will allow you to help us around here from time to time.

Annies pleasure was so strong he could feel it radiate until even the dust motes around her head seemed electrified. Mama wont mind, she said without once looking at her mother.

Ben thrust his lower lip out. What about me? I can work, too.

Youve the look of a lad who knows his way around muckin out the stalls, doesnt he, Martin? Brian asked, looking back over his shoulder.

I would say he does, the priest agreed.

Brian considered the matter. Shall I put you to it right away, Ben, or do you want a day to think about it?

Ben stepped forward earnestly. Now, please.

Ben, love. His mother laughed, exasperated. Mr. Hennessey hasnt had a chance to think about this. Why dont you wait a bit?

The boys chin tightened obstinately and when his mouth opened, Brian stepped in before he could get the words out. Your mothers right, lad. Ill look over things and see where you might be useful.

Me, too? asked Annie.

You, too, Brian repeated emphatically. Now, move aside so your mum can see her foal.

He watched as the children reached out to tug Caitlin gently into the space between them. Annie held on to her mothers hand, while Ben leaned against her, slipping his arm around her narrow waist, fingering the belt loops. Her hand rested naturally, easily, on the little boys head while she massaged her daughters hand with the tips of her fingers. There was no doubting the affection between this woman and her children. He liked the way she treated their comments as seriously as if they had been adults.

She was a good mother, Brian decided, a bit indulgent but that was to be expected with the Claiborne fortune. With money like theirs it would be difficult to justify refusing children a luxury now and then, unlike his own family where it was understood from the time a lad could crawl out of his crib that there was no point in asking for anything at all.

Ill be leaving you now, announced Martin as he moved toward the door of the foaling barn. Im to say five oclock Mass at the church.

Caitlin turned. Come by and see us, wont you?

Soon, Martin promised. Perhaps youll come to one of my Masses.

She looked embarrassed.

Well come, Father OShea, Annie said. Mama said she would take me.

Good. The relief on Martins face was complete. Ill expect you.

Not today, Caitlin said after Martins retreating figure.

Brian hid a smile. He approached the stall where the colt suckled, and looked over Caitlins shoulder. Shed worn perfume today. He knew nothing about the scents women preferred but this one was very subtle, French, he guessed, and expensive. He wondered what she would do when she ran out of it, most likely order another case from Paris.

He had mixed feelings about Caitlin Claiborne. He couldnt decide whether he liked or disliked her. She was a portrait in contrasts, wide-eyed, knowing, quietly fierce, and when she spoke to her children, utterly feminine.

Hiding his thoughts behind a pleasant expression, he broke the silence. What plans do you have for him?

He sensed her discomfort, as if the innocent question he posed was one shed been waiting for, yet dreading.

I dont know, she said warily. I suppose Ive the same plans that anyone does for a thoroughbred. I hope hell prove fit to race and eventually to stand at the Stud.

Brian took a long measuring look at the colt, at his promise of deep shoulders, the good strong bones, the barrel chest and extra layer of muscle beside the tail and down to the hocks that meant unusual strength and speed. His heart beat more quickly. Here in Ireland? he asked casually.

Only in Ireland, Caitlin answered in that fierce quiet way hed noticed earlier. Are you interested, Mr. Hennessey?

Possibly, if everything turns out the way you expect.

She looked sideways at him. You might ask the good father to offer up a little prayer.

Brian shook his head. Prayer isnt to be wasted on the likes of this.

Really? She was on the verge of a smile. On what do you consider important enough to waste your prayers, Mr. Hennessey?

Was she laughing at him or did the lights always dance in the darkest part of her eyes? Why life and death matters, of course, Caitlin.

Her eyes lost their laughter and her voice, when she spoke, was clear and serious and filled with purpose. Then I suggest you start praying immediately because thats exactly what youll be praying for.

Brian turned off his alarm and rolled out of bed. Today Caitlins colt would be turned out into the pasture with the other mares and their foals. For thirty-five days he would survive on mothers milk and then the weaning process would begin, milk supplemented with sweet feed and crushed oats. Six months later he would be separated from his mother entirely. Shortly before that, samples of his blood and six suggested names would be submitted to Weatherbys.

After a shower and a quick cup of tea, Brian walked into his office and looked at the basket under his fax machine. It was filled with papers where it had been empty the night before. The light on his computer flickered announcing four unread e-mail messages. He decided to put them aside until later. The training of the farms most promising colt,
Indigo
Blue
, was more important. The rare colt that Brian still accepted for training was always chosen carefully. Managing the Curragh Stud required more hours in a day than he had, but occasionally a colt was too promising to pass on.
Indigo
Blue
was such a colt.

Brian had already worked with him for days, picking up his feet again and again, playing with his ears, talking and soothing, caressing and patting to accustom him to the idea of a man in his stall. Three days ago the colt had accepted the bit and tolerated Brians arm lying across his back. It was time for the next step.

Deciding against the fiberglass helmet and indoor ring, Brian led
Indigo Blue
outside and climbed up on his back, straddling him with both legs. The horse sat quietly, ears forward. Crooning softly, Brian walked, stopped, and started him again, over and over, until the colt was comfortable. Then he urged him into a slow trot. The animal felt strong and promising under his legs. Today he would begin to canter and then gallop. For the next week Brian would canter him first in one direction and then the other, teaching him to use both the left and right leads. Irish racecourses ran both counter and clockwise.
Indigo Blue
would learn to lead with his right foreleg going around a turn then switching to the left lead on the straights.

Davy Flynn walked with him, leading another yearling to the training track, past fences, hurdles, and grass so green and rich and dripping with dew that it looked painted on the dark turf with a wet brush. At the track, Brian flattened his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make a clucking sound. Immediately,
Indigo Blue
s ears pricked and the horse broke into a jog.

Brian coached him through his figure eights, to respond to the reins and the sound of a human voice, to the slightest touch on the lines. Three hours passed. By the time he handed the reins over to the exercise boy, he knew he had a potential winner.
Indigo Blue
was a good, solid coltlarge, responsive, well-mannered, winning-purse material.

He stopped at the inside pasture and leaned on the fence to watch the Claiborne colt frolic beside his mother. Caitlin was in the paddock with both children, too intent on her task to notice him. Brian couldnt hear her words but he could tell she was speaking by the way Annie nodded occasionally. Ben wasnt as attentive. Every few minutes, he would spread his arms, flight fashion, look up at the sky, and turn in circles until he fell into the loamy grass.

Caitlin walked to where
Kentucky Gold
grazed and ran her hand down the mares nose, her mouth close to the twitching ear, while Annie approached the colt.
Kentucky Gold
took a nervous step forward but Caitlin twisted her fingers into her glossy mane and held on. Meanwhile, Annie handled the colt, touching his silky ears, the velvet spots in his nostrils, smoothing her hand over his withers, down his legs, across his back.

Ben stood watching from his spot in the middle of the paddock. Only once did he start forward only to stop immediately when his mother shook her head.

Brians first impression of the Claiborne children and of their mother completely reversed itself. Caitlin wasnt an indulgent mother, not where it mattered. Annie and Ben understood when it was important to behave themselves.