“They’re sitting ducks at the Epsom Downs track,” Colin said. “They have nowhere else to train or to keep the horse until the race. None of the Brady family will trust others to take care of their precious horse, so they’ll be staying close by. Best I can tell, they’re staying at an inn near the track. The inn is easy to access. I’ll put together a crew, and we’ll make another attempt at the boy. He’ll be primed to talk to us now that he knows his sister is at risk.”
“See to it, then,” Seamus said. “I want his cooperation locked in sooner rather than later. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. This could mean millions of pounds in payoff and an ideal way to launder a great deal of cash if we play this right.”
“Right, boss, we’ll get it done,” Colin replied, and he and his men left to fulfill their mission.
Seamus leaned back in his chair and contemplated a gilt framed photo of his late father that graced the right-hand corner of his desk. “Well, Da, I hope you’re proud of what I’ve been able to accomplish in your memory. If we can pull off this race fix, the organization will be flush with cash for years to come.”
His father would indeed be proud of the way he had run the organization that had carried the O’Reilly name for centuries. What had started as a small family-operated smuggling enterprise had evolved over the years into drug and weapons smuggling, prostitution, and occasional race fixing with tentacles reaching all over the world.
Seamus grimaced. It was too bad the Brady family was so damned stubborn. Couldn’t they see that they could profit by cooperating with him? Instead they held on to their principles, refusing to do anything to break the law or compromise their precious morals. Now he would be forced to exert pressure to ensure their cooperation. He shook his head. Principles be damned. It was the money that counted. Principles don’t feed your children or keep you warm at night. It was a fact of life his family had learned long ago.
Chapter 6
Megan sat next to Stephen on a tack trunk in front of Biscuit’s stall and watched as her father paced back and forth. The stallion watched Daniel as well, clearly curious about what he could possibly be doing. After a few minutes, Biscuit started pacing in his stall as well. Megan noticed right away and moved to calm the stallion down. Despite her efforts, Biscuit persisted in mimicking Daniel. It didn’t take long to realize that as long as Daniel paced, Biscuit would too.
“Dad, please stop pacing,” Megan said. “Biscuit is picking up your tension, and it’s making him upset. That’s the last thing we need right now.”
Her father stopped and approached Biscuit, who in turn stopped pacing and met him at the door of his stall with a soft nicker. Daniel absently stroked Biscuit’s forehead and addressed his two children. “I don’t like it,” he said. “We haven’t heard a word from O’Reilly since your meeting with his men at the pub. I’m certain he hasn’t given up on us, so my guess is he’s plotting something. I feel like we’re sitting ducks here. Everyone knows we’re stabled here, preparing for the Derby, and it’s almost impossible to guard Biscuit and our family constantly. We have no idea where or how they’re going to strike.”
“Do we have to stay here the whole time?” Megan asked. “Can’t we train at another facility until the day of the race?”
Her father paused and his mood brightened. “That’s brilliant, Megan,” he said. “We don’t have to be stabled here until the day of the race. Let me think where we might be able to go where O’Reilly and his men won’t find us and where we can train Biscuit on a track similar to Epsom.”
Later that day, Daniel came to Megan and Stephen and revealed that he had a trainer friend who would help them.
“Who is this friend, Dad?” Megan asked.
“His name is Thomas Stafford, and he trains at the Brighton Racecourse. It’s only an hour’s drive from here and an almost perfect match to Epsom Downs. When I contacted him earlier today, he offered to take Biscuit in, so we can train for the race away from Epsom.”
“Does he know about the O’Reillys?” Megan asked.
Her father nodded. “He does, and he still wants to help. I say we should take him up on his offer.”
“I agree,” Megan said.
Stephen nodded in agreement as well.
It didn’t take long for the Brady family to pack up. As midnight approached, Megan covered Biscuit with a dark colored cooler and quietly loaded the stallion in their trailer, taking him away from Epsom and south to Brighton.
To the casual observer, the Bradys had left no trace of their presence at Epsom. However, Daniel had been sure to let the Epsom authorities know that Seabiscuit II was still entered in the Epsom Derby and would be at the track to race on Saturday.
~ ~ ~
It was an hour after midnight, and from her position in the passenger seat of the horse carrier they were driving, Megan saw the man she assumed was Thomas Stafford smile as the Brady family quietly pulled up to the rear of the stabling area at the Brighton Racecourse. Thomas approached the truck as Daniel exited the driver’s seat and extended his hand. Daniel grasped it warmly, returning his good friend’s grin.
Megan knew her father had warned Thomas that Seabiscuit II’s presence at Brighton should be kept under wraps for as long as possible and why, so she understood why Thomas kept his greeting low key. “Daniel, my friend, how the hell have you been? It’s been ages since I’ve heard from you.”
While their father was greeting Thomas, Megan and Stephen exited the truck and walked to the back of the trailer to lower the ramp and slowly back Seabiscuit II out of the trailer. Thomas looked up as they stood with Biscuit and waited for direction.
“I have a stall ready for Biscuit among my current horses in training. There shouldn’t be any hint that he’s anything other than just another three-year-old training for a start at one of the many races run here. I’ve sworn my grooms and exercise riders to secrecy, and I trust them all implicitly. You will be safe here.”
Megan watched Stephen lead Biscuit to his stall and then joined her father. Daniel turned back to Thomas. “You don’t know how grateful I am that you’re willing to help us,” Daniel replied. “I didn’t know where else to go, and the O’Reilly gang has gotten too close for comfort. Just last week, they threatened Stephen, and when Megan tried to intercede, they came very close to hurting her badly. Only the timely intervention of a stranger saved her from a brutal attack.”
“Thank God for that,” Thomas said and then looked at Megan. “Who was it who saved you? Did you get a name?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Megan replied. “I didn’t stay long enough to get any information about the man. He was still fighting the thugs O’Reilly sent when I left the pub. I did call the police after I left, however, so I’m assuming he made it out OK.”
“I’m determined to locate the man and thank him, though,” Daniel said. “I owe him a great debt for saving my only daughter.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help your search, please let me know,” Thomas said. “I’m happy to help. Anyone who is willing to make that kind of sacrifice deserves thanks and recognition.”
“Agreed.”
~ ~ ~
When Michael returned from Germany, he explained to Ian and his barn staff that the German owner of the stallion Tempest, a gentleman named Mendelssohn, was requiring Michael and an American rider, Miss Jessica Warren, to compete for the horse over the next sixty days. With Mendelssohn’s permission, Michael had arranged for the stallion to be transported to Stafford Oaks Farm, so Michael could supervise Ian and still participate in the competition. Miss Warren and her trainer, Elizabeth Randall, would be staying at Michael’s home for the entire sixty days. Since Michael would be home, their mother could return to Brighton and the family restaurant. She reluctantly left the following day, hugging Ian tightly and making him promise to call her every day with updates.
Chapter 7
The activity required to prepare the farm for the arrival of the premium stallion took a great deal of time and effort, keeping Ian’s mind off of his predicament for a short time. In a moment of quiet following the frenzy of activity, Ian leaned on the doorframe of the stable and looked out at the lush green pastures, watching the horses he had just turned out playing and chasing each other around. As he watched, Ian reflected on recent events.
Tempest had arrived yesterday, and along with him had come Jessica Warren and Elizabeth Randall. Michael had introduced Ian to the women, and while doing so tried his best to explain Ian’s situation, emphasizing to them that he firmly believed Ian was innocent of any wrongdoing.
Ian was impressed with the openness and kindness the women demonstrated toward him after meeting him. Their acceptance of him was gratifying and helped him relax and be himself when he was with them. Unfortunately, Liz Randall had just learned today she would have to return to America to deal with a legal situation, and Michael had agreed to step in and help Jessica train with Tempest.
It hadn’t taken long for Ian to notice that Michael and Jessica shared more than an interest in a horse. In fact, he had seen each of them watching the other when the other wasn’t aware of it. That situation would bear some careful observation. His big brother might have found a woman he could fall in love with. It was about time, Ian thought. Michael deserved some happiness after what his ex-fiancée, Emma, had done to him.
Just then, one of the horses dropped down on its knees, rolled over on its back, and groaned with pleasure as it writhed on the ground, massaging its back in the grass. Ian sighed to himself. If only his life could be so carefree.
A few days later, Ian surreptitiously watched Michael ride Tempest from a shady spot just inside the barn. Jessica Warren was sitting in the bleachers next to the arena, watching him raptly. Ian grinned to himself as he recalled surprising the two of them in the hayloft early this morning. He also remembered their reaction when they realized he knew what the two of them had been doing in the loft most of the night. He could still recall Jessica’s flaming red face as she blushed with embarrassment at being caught. Michael, on the other hand, had sported a shit-eating grin Ian hadn’t seen on him in months. Good for you, Mike. I’m so glad you’ve found someone who makes you smile and who clearly appreciates you for who you are.
What had Ian worried, however, was the clear attempt on Tempest’s life that had prompted Michael and Jessica’s presence in the loft, ostensibly to keep watch over Tempest. If Ian hadn’t had a nightmare that night and been walking through the barn as he did on many a night to calm himself, no one would have discovered Tempest had left his stall and was gorging himself on grain in the grain room, which had purposely been left open. Who might have done such a thing, and why? What would happen if Tempest had been permanently injured? If that had happened, it would significantly set back Michael’s quest for a return to the international stage.
For himself, he wasn’t worried so much about how he would fund a criminal defense because he was certain they would find his mystery woman, and he would be exonerated. However, Michael still needed the funds from competing Tempest to pull his farm out of the red and re-establish himself as a viable rider and trainer at the international level.
~ ~ ~
After several days of silence from Morton, Ian was starting to worry that they would never be able to find the mystery woman from the pub. He had been wracking his brain for another way to search when Morton appeared at Michael’s front door with a copy of the sports section of the Times. On the front page was a photo of the woman from the bar, standing with an older man whom the caption described as her father. He was smiling broadly with a horse in the winner’s circle at the 2000 Guineas Stakes run three weeks ago. Apparently, his mystery woman was Miss Megan Brady, and her father was Daniel Brady, who had a racing stable in South Yorkshire. Although now, they were currently in Epsom for the Derby.
In addition to identifying Megan and her father as being the owners of the horse, the story also revealed that the horse’s jockey was Megan’s brother, Stephen. Finally, the article mentioned that Megan’s mother, Anne Brady, was American and had recently passed away.
“I’ll be going out to see her tomorrow,” Morton said. “Hopefully, she’ll be grateful you saved her and be willing to accompany me back to the constabulary to provide a witness statement to the police to help exonerate you.”
“I wish I could go with you because I know she’d recognize me, but this damned ankle monitor prevents me from moving freely anywhere away from Michael’s property.”
“I can call you once I find her, Morton offered, “and you can verify live via video that I am who I say I am.”
“That’s a great idea,” Ian said, “I hope it works.”
Chapter 8
As Michael drove Ian home from his regular therapy appointment the next morning, they shared a companionable silence. Ian was grateful for the silence because it sometimes took him a while to process everything that had come up in a therapy session. He was particularly troubled by today’s session. As soon as he had walked into the therapist’s office, he was put on the defensive. The therapist had, of course, heard about his arrest and the charges of manslaughter and wanted to explore the events of that day ad nauseum.
“Ian, please tell me what happened at the pub that led to your arrest.”
Ian took a few minutes and described for the psychologist what had happened at the Rusty Nail. He concluded by saying, “Thankfully, we were able to identify the woman I rescued and are in the process of contacting her. I’m confident she will testify on my behalf to the police.”
The psychologist expressed her relief that Ian was close to being exonerated and continued, “When you confronted those men, did you experience any of the anxiety or flashbacks you’ve had in the past?”
Ian thought back to that day, “No, I didn’t.” He thought about the incident again and tried to examine his mental state at the time he decided to intervene. “Actually, all I was thinking about was protecting the woman from harm. I didn’t consider that I might be hurt, or if I did, I decided it was worth the risk to ensure her safety.”
“Why do you think that is?” the psychologist asked.
Ian thought for a bit. “I think it’s because with Neil, it was my responsibility to ensure his safety as well as the other members of my team on that mission. In contrast, I didn’t know this woman and felt nothing toward her except that she was vulnerable and needed to be protected against harm from those men. I did what needed to be done to protect her.”
Nodding with understanding, the therapist changed the subject. “Have you had a chance to look at the information I provided you on Cognitive Processing Therapy?”
Ian nodded. “I have taken a look, and I don’t think it will work for me.”
She looked puzzled. “Why is that?”
“Because the goal of CPT is to get the patient to change their perception of what their involvement was in the traumatic event. In my case, that would mean I would have to absolve myself of responsibility for Neil’s survival on that mission. I can’t do that. I was responsible for his well-being, and I failed. Nothing will change my position on that.”
The psychologist had frowned at that conclusion, but she apparently decided to back away from the subject for the time being.
“Ian, I do want to tell you I think that although you still have nightmares, and they have been getting more vivid since your experience at the pub, I believe it’s a normal reaction to a similarly traumatic event and your symptoms will calm down once some time has gone by.”
“I hope you’re right,” Ian replied. “I’m tired of apologizing to my brother and his guests for waking them at all hours of the night.”
“Do you still have the sleeping pills I prescribed f
or you?”
“Yes, but I hate how they make me feel, and they prevent me from being awakened by unusual happenings at my brother’s training yard. Just a couple of days ago, a horse got loose and almost ate himself into a colic due to someone’s negligence. If I had been on the pills, I would not have been awake to save him.”
She sighed. “Understood, but please don’t hesitate to take them if you’re not getting enough sleep. You won’t be much help to anyone if you’re exhausted.”
“You’re right, of course.”
She had closed by getting Ian to promise not to abandon the CPT without further consideration, but Ian remained convinced it wouldn’t help him, not if he had to absolve himself of responsibility for Neil’s death. That he could not do.
~ ~ ~
When Michael and Ian arrived back at the yard, Michael went into the house to seek out Jessica, and Ian walked into the stable to see if Michael’s barn manager, Tiffany, had any work for him to do. Thankfully, she did have some hay bales for him to move, and when he finished with that, he sat on the stack of the bales and took in the sound of the horses eating their evening hay.
Normally, Ian looked forward to this part of his day. His chores were done, and he could enjoy listening to the sound of the horses as they relaxed at the end of the day. It was in these quiet moments he was finally able to unwind and allow himself to remember how it felt to be the Ian Stafford who existed before that fateful day in Afghanistan when everything changed. Just then, Ian’s cell phone rang. It was Morton. Ian’s spirits lifted because this was probably good news.
“Hello, Harold. Did you find her?”
Racing Toward Love (Horses Heal Hearts Book 2) Page 4