Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  "Dad." Giggling, Mo snatched another fry. "I'm just going to look. So, Keeley, is he gorgeous? I respect your opinion more than Lorna Mason's."

  "He's too old for you," Keeley said, a bit more sharply than she intended and had Mo rolling her eyes.

  "Jeez. I don't want to marry him and have his children."

  Travis's laugh prevented Keeley from snapping back with something foolish. "Good thing. Now that I've found someone who comes close to replacing Paddy, I don't intend to lose him to Three Aces."

  "Okay." Mo licked salt from her fingertip. "I'll just ogle him."

  Annoyed, and feeling ridiculous at the reaction, Keeley pushed back her chair. "I think I'll go down and take a look at the field, and check on Lonesome. He's always a little sulky before a race."

  "Cool." Mo sprang up. "I'll go down with you."

  Mo rushed out of the dining room, heading out past the betting windows at a fast clip, so that Keeley was forced to step lively to keep pace. "It's going to be so much fun for you, having your mom work at the school. There's nothing like a family operation, you know. Which is all I want. I mean, come on, I don't have to go to college to be a trainer. If I already know what I want to do, and I'm learning how to do it every day right at home, what's college going to do for me?"

  "Expand your brain?" Keeley suggested.

  Ignoring that, Mo hurried outside where the air had turned crisp. "I know horses, Keeley. You understand what it's like. It's instinct and experience and it's doing." She gestured widely. "Well, I've got time to nag my parents into submission."

  "No one does it better."

  With a laugh, Mo hooked her arm through her cousin's. "I'm so glad to see you. The summer just winged by, you know, with all of us so busy with stuff."

  "I know."

  They made the turn for the shedrow and the world was suddenly horses.

  Some were being prepped for the next race. In the boxes, grooms wrapped long, thin legs that would carry those huge bodies in a blur of speed and power. Trainers with keen eyes and gentle hands moved among the horses to pamper a skittish ride or rev up another.

  The hot walkers cooled down horses who'd already ran. Legs were examined, iced down. Through the sharp air came the hoofbeats that signaled another field was coming back from the race. Steam rose off the horses' backs, turning into a fine and magical mist.

  "Of all the shedrows in all the world." Brendon came out of the stables, grinning.

  "You're back."

  "Just." He strolled over to rub a hand over Mo's hair. "I talked to Ma a couple of hours ago from the road and she said you were all coming here tonight. So we swung by on the way home."

  "We?"

  "Yeah, Bri's taking a look at Lonesome, giving him a pep talk. Moodiest damn horse. Figured we might as well catch the race, then I can hook a ride back with you guys and Brian can trailer Zeus back home."

  "Sounds like a plan." It pleased her to hear the calm of her own voice while her heart was galloping. "Actually I came down to take a look at Lonesome myself."

  "He's all yours-and Bri's. Hey, I've got time to get some dinner. See you up there."

  "Now you can introduce me to the hunk." Mo fell into step beside Keeley.

  "I will if you can behave like you have a brain as well as glands."

  "It has nothing to do with glands, I'm just curious. Don't worry, I'm taking a page out of your book there when it comes to men."

  Keeley stopped at the door to the stables. "Excuse me?"

  "You know, guys are fine to look at, or to hang around with occasionally. But there are lots more important things. I'm not going to get involved with one until I'm thirty, soonest."

  Keeley wasn't certain whether to be amused or appalled. Then she heard Brian's voice, the lilt of it. And she forgot everything else.

  He was in the box with Lonesome, a temperamental roan gelding. The horse moped, as was his habit before a race.

  "They ask too much of you, there's no doubt about it," Brian was saying as he checked the wrappings on Lonesome's legs. "It's a terrible cross you have to bear, and you show great courage and fortitude day after day. Perhaps if you win this one I can put a word in for you. You know, extra carrots and that sort of thing, a bit of molasses in the evening. A bigger brass plaque for your box at home."

  "That's bribery," Keeley murmured.

  Brian turned, his eyes going warm. "That's bargaining," he corrected. "But if I can interest you in a bribe," he began and opened the box door intending to snatch Keeley inside for a much anticipated welcome back kiss.

  He nearly stepped over Mo. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

  "I'm short. That's my cross to bear. I'm Mo Logan." She stuck out a friendly hand. "Keeley's cousin from Three Aces."

  "Pleased to meet you. You've a horse running tonight, Ms. Logan?"

  "Mo. Hennessy. Sixth race. My money says he'll win laughing."

  "I'll keep that in mind if I get up to the betting window."

  "I want to take a look at Hennessy before his race. Come up to the dining room if you have time, Brian, for food or a drink. The family's all there."

  "Thank you for that. Pretty thing," Brian murmured when Mo dashed off.

  "She wanted to take a look at you, too. She heard you were a hunk."

  "Is that so?" Amused, Brian shifted. "Did you tell her that?"

  "I certainly did not. I have more respect for you than to speak of you in such a sexist way."

  "Respect's a good thing." He yanked her into the box, crushing his mouth to hers before she could laugh. "But I'm banking on passion just at the moment. Have you passion for me, Keeley?" he murmured against her mouth.

  "Apparently." Her ears were ringing. "Oh Brian, I want-" She strained against him until they bumped into the horse. "You. Now. Somewhere. Can't we... it's been days."

  "Four." He wanted to tear off the long slim dress she wore and mount her like a stallion, all blinding heat and primitive need.

  He'd thought, convinced himself, that he'd be sensible about her, kept his wants and wishes under control. And all it had taken was seeing her. Just seeing her. It was exactly as it had been that first time he'd laid his eyes on her. A lightning strike in heart and blood.

  "Keeley." He ran kisses over her face, buried his in her hair, then started all over again. "I've such a need for you. It's like burning from the inside out. Come with me, out to the lorry."

  "Yes." At that moment, she'd have gone anywhere. It seemed he would swallow her whole. "Hurry. Let's hurry."

  She took his hand, fumbled with the door herself. Breathless, she would have stumbled if he hadn't caught her. "Teach me to wear heels in the damn stable," she muttered. "My legs are shaking."

  With a nervous laugh she turned back to him. Her legs stopped trembling. At least she couldn't feel them. All she could feel now was the unsteady skipping of her heart.

  He was staring at her, his eyes intense. When she'd turned his hands had reached up to frame her face. "You're so beautiful."

  She'd never believed words like that mattered. They were so easily, and so often carelessly, said. But they didn't seem easy from him. And there was nothing careless about the tone of his voice. Before she could speak, before she could think of what could be said, there was a shout and the sound of running feet.

  "Keeley, hurry, come with me." Oblivious to the intimacy of the scene she'd burst in on, Mo grabbed her hand. "I need back up. The bastard."

  "What? What's happened?"

  "If he thinks he's going to get away with it, he's got another think coming." Dragging Keeley, Mo barreled through the stables, turned and charged toward a stall.

  Keeley could already hear the voices raised in argument. She saw the man first. She recognized him. Peter Tarmack with his oiled hair and cheap pinkie ring made a habit of picking up horses in claiming races, then running them into the ground.

  The jockey was a familiar face as well. He was past his prime and, like Tarmack, was known to enjoy a few too many nips from
the bottle at the track. Still, he picked up rides now and again when a regular jockey was sick or injured.

  "I tell you, Tarmack, I won't ride him. And you won't get anyone else to. He's not fit to run."

  "Don't you tell me what's fit. You'll get up and you'll ride, and you'll damn well place. You've been paid."

  "Not to ride a sick and injured horse. You'll get your money back."

  "What you haven't already put in a bottle."

  Because Mo was quivering and had sucked in a breath to speak, Keeley squeezed her hand hard enough to grind bone. "Is there a problem, Larry?"

  "Miss Keeley." The jockey yanked off his cap and turned his wrinkled, flustered face to hers. "I'm trying to tell Mr. Tarmack here that his horse isn't fit to race tonight. He's not fit."

  "It's not your place to tell me anything. And I don't need one of the almighty Grant's damn whelps interfering in my business."

  Before Keeley could respond, Brian had moved in. She blinked and he had hauled Tarmack up to his toes. "That's no way to be speaking to a lady." His voice was quiet, the eye of a storm. And the storm, with all its vengeance, was in his eyes. "You'll want to apologize for that, while you still have teeth to help you form the words."

  "Brian, I can handle this."

  "You'll handle what you like." He kept his eyes on Tarmack's now bulging ones. "But he'll by God apologize with his very next breath."

  "I beg your pardon." Tarmack choked it out, wheezed in air as Brian relaxed his grip a little. "I'm simply trying to deal with a washed-up jockey-and one I've paid in advance."

  "You'll get your money back," the jockey replied, then turned to Keeley. "Miss Keeley, I'm not getting up on this ride. He's half lame from a knee spavin, and anybody with eyes can see he's hidebound. He ain't fit to race."

  "Excuse me." Her voice viciously cold, she pushed past Tarmack and moved into the box to examine the horse for herself. Within moments, her hands were shaking with rage.

  "Mr. Tarmack, if you try to put a jockey on this horse, I'll have you up on charges. In fact, I'm damn well having you up on charges regardless. This gelding's sick, injured and neglected."

  "Don't hang that on me. I've only had him a couple weeks."

  "And in a couple weeks you haven't noticed his condition? You've been working him despite it?"

  "Now you look." He started to take a step forward and found himself looking eye to eye with Brian again. "Listen," he said, his tone shifting to a whine. "Maybe you can be sentimental when you've got money. Me, I make my living moving horses. They don't run, I go in the red."

  "How much?" Keeley laid a hand on the gelding's cheek. In her heart, he was already hers. "How much did he cost you?"

  "Ah... ten grand."

  Brian merely shoved a finger into Tarmack's breastbone. "Pull the other one. It has bells on it."

  Tarmack shifted his shoulders. "Maybe it was five thousand. I'd have to check my books."

  "You'll have a check for five thousand tomorrow. I'm taking the horse tonight. Brian, would you take a look at him, please?"

  "Wait just a minute."

  This time it was Keeley who turned and she who shoved Tarmack aside. "Be smart. Take the money. Because whether you do or don't I'm taking this horse with me."

  "The knee needs treatment," Brian said after a quick look. It burned his blood to see how the injury had been neglected. "We can deal with that. From the look of him, I'd say he has a good case of bots. He needs tending."

  "He'll get tending."

  Keeley merely glanced over her shoulder at Tarmack. "You can go." Her voice held the regal ring of dismissal-princess to peasant. "Someone will deliver the check to you in the morning."

  The tone burned in Tarmack's gut. She wouldn't be so hoity-toity without her damn bodyguard, he thought. He'd have taught her a little respect if the Irish bastard hadn't been around.

  He bunched a fist impotently in his pocket and tried to save face. "I'm not just letting you take the horse and leave me with nothing but your say-so. I don't give a damn who you are."

  Brian straightened again, blood in his eye, but Keeley merely held up a hand. "Mo, would you please take Mr. Tarmack to the dining room. If you'd ask my father to write him a check for the five thousand, and I'll straighten it out later."

  "Happy to." She grabbed Keeley by the shoulders, kissed her. "I knew you'd do it." Then with a sniff she turned away. "Come with me, Tarmack. You'll get your money."

  "I'm sorry, Miss Keeley." Larry ran his cap through his hands. "I didn't know how bad it was till I saw the ride here. I couldn't get up on him seeing how he was."

  "You did the right thing. Don't worry."

  "He did pay me ahead, like he said."

  She nodded, stepped out of the box again, gesturing to him. "How much do you have left?"

  "'Bout twenty."

  "Come and see me tomorrow. We'll take care of it."

  "'Preciate it, Miss Keeley. That horse there, he ain't worth no five, you know."

  She studied the gelding. His color was muddy, his face too square for elegance and made homelier still by an off-center blaze of dirty white. And his eyes were unbearably sad.

  "Sure he is, Larry. He's worth it to me."

  Chapter Nine

  "You don't have to help with this."

  Brian said nothing, simply continued to clip the gelding's legs. Bots were a common enough problem, especially with horses at grass. But this one had been sadly neglected. He had no doubt the eggs the botfly had laid on the gelding's legs had been transferred to the stomach.

  "Brian, really." Keeley continued to mix the blister for the knee spavin. "You've had a really long day. I can handle this."

  "Sure you can. You can handle this, morons like Tarmack, washed-up jockeys and everything else that comes along before breakfast. Nobody's saying different."

  Since the statement wasn't delivered in what could be mistaken for a complimentary tone, Keeley turned to frown at him. "What's wrong with you?"

  "There's not a bloody thing wrong with me. But you could use some work. Do you have to do everything yourself, every flaming step and stage of it? Can't you just take help when help's offered and shut the hell up?"

  She did shut the hell up, for ten shocked seconds. "I simply assumed that you'd be tired after your trip."

  "I'll let you know when I'm tired."

  "The gelding here doesn't seem to be the only one with something nasty in his system."

  "Well, it's you in my system, princess, and it feels a bit nasty at the moment."

  Hurt came first, a quick short-armed jab. Pride sprang in to defend. "I'll be happy to purge you, just like I'll purge this horse tomorrow."

  "If I thought it would work," he muttered, "I'd purge myself. You'll want to wait until at least midday," Brian told her. "You can't be sure the last time he was fed."

  "I know how to treat stomach-bots, thank you." Gently she began to apply the blister to the injured knee.

  "Here, you'll get that all over your clothes."

  Keeley jerked away bad-temperedly when Brian reached for the pot of blister. "They're my clothes."

  "So you should have more respect for them. You've no business treating a horse in clothes like that. Silk dresses for God's sake."

  "I've got a closetful. We princesses tend to."

  "Nevertheless." He curled his fingers around the lip of the pot, and under the sick gelding they began a vicious little tug-of-war. He would have laughed, was on the point of it, when he looked at her face and saw that her eyes were wet.

  He let go of the pot so abruptly, Keeley fell back on her butt. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

  "I'm applying a non-irritating blister to a knee spavin. Now go away and let me get on with it."

  "There's no reason to start that up. None at all." Panic jingled straight to his head, nearly made him dizzy. "This is no place for crying."

  "I'm upset. It's my stable. I can cry when and where I choose."

  "All right, all right, a
ll right." Desperately he dug into his pocket for a bandanna. "Here, just blow your nose or something."

  "Just go to hell or something." Rather grandly, she turned her shoulder on him and continued to apply the blister.

  "Keeley, I'm sorry." He wasn't sure for exactly what, but that wasn't here nor there. "Dry your eyes now, a grha, and we'll make this lad comfortable for the night."

  "Don't take that placating tone with me. I'm not a child or a sick horse."

  Brian dragged his hands through his hair, gave it one good yank. "Which tone would you prefer?"

  "An honest one." Satisfied the blister was properly applied, she rose. "But I'm afraid the derisive one you've used since we got here fits that category.

  In your opinion, I'm spoiled, stubborn and too proud to accept help."

  Though the tears appeared to have passed, he thought it wise to be cautious. "That's pretty close to the truth," he agreed, getting to his feet. "But it's an interesting mixture, and I've grown fond of it."

  "I'm not spoiled."

  Brian raised his eyebrows, cocked his head. "Perhaps the word means something different to you Yanks. Seems to me it's not everyone who could casually ask their father to write a check for five thousand dollars for a sick horse."

  "I'll pay him back in the morning."

  "I've no doubt of it."

  Baffled now, she threw up her hands. "Should I have just left him there, walked away so that idiot Tarmack could find a jockey who would go up on him?"

  "No, you did exactly right. But the fact's the same that you could toss around that kind of money without blinking an eye."

  Brian walked to the gelding's head to examine his eyes and teeth. It grated on him. He wished it didn't, as it said little for him that her easy dismissal of money scored his pride.

  But it had, at that heated moment at the track, slammed the distance between them right in his face.

  "You're a generous woman, Keeley."

  "But I can afford to be," she finished.

  "True enough." He ran his hands down the horse's neck, soothing. "But that doesn't take away from the fact that you are." Slowly he continued to work his way over the horse. "You'll have to forgive me-Irish of my class are generally a bit resentful of the gentry. It's in the blood."