Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  With a ringing clang the gate sprang open. And the horses plunged.

  Ground fog tore like thin silver ribbon at the powerful cut of legs. Bodies, glistening from the morning damp, surged past in one sleek blur.

  "That's it," Brian murmured. "Keep him centered. That's the way."

  "They're beautiful. All of them."

  "Got to pace him." Brian watched them round the first turn while the clock in his head ticked off the time. "See, he'll match his rhythm to the leader. It's a game to him now. Out gallivanting with mates, that's all he's thinking."

  Keeley laughed, leaned out as her heart began to bump. "How do you know what he's thinking?"

  "He told me. Get ready now. Ready now. Aye, that's it. He's strong. He'll never be a beauty, but he's strong. See, he's moving up." Forgetting himself Brian laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezed. "He's got more heart than brains, and it's his heart that runs."

  Brian clicked the watch when Finnegan came in, half a length behind the leader. "Well done. Yes, well done. I'd say he'll place for you tomorrow, Miss Grant."

  "It doesn't matter."

  Sincerely shocked more than offended, he goggled at her. "That's a hell of a thing to say. And what kind of luck is that going to bring us tomorrow, I'd like to know?"

  "It's enough to watch him run. And better, to watch you watching him run. Brian." Touched, she laid a hand on his heart. "You've gone and fallen in love with him."

  "I love all the horses I train."

  "Yes, I've seen that, and understand that because it's the same with me. But you're in love with this one."

  Embarrassed because it was true, Brian swung over the fence. "That's a woman for you, making sloppy sentiment out of a job."

  She only smiled as Brian walked over to stroke and nuzzle his job.

  "That's a fine thing. My daughter and my trainer grooming a competitor."

  She glanced over her shoulder, held out a hand for her father as he strode toward her. "Did you see him run?"

  "The last few seconds. You've brought him a long way in a short time." Travis pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm proud of you."

  She closed her eyes. How easily he said it, how lovely to know he meant it. It made her only more sad, more angry, that Brian had cause to laugh over the idea of his own father having any pride in him.

  "You taught me to care, you and Ma. When I saw that horse, I cared because of what you put inside me." She tilted her head up, kissed her father's cheek. "So thanks."

  When his arm came around her, she leaned in, warm and comfortable. "Brian was right. The horse needs to race. It's what he is. I wanted to save him. But Brian knew that wasn't enough. For some it's not enough just to get by."

  "You brought this off together."

  "You're right." She laughed a little as realization dawned, so clear and bright she wondered how she'd missed it before. "Absolutely right."

  She'd canceled classes for the day. It was, Keeley told herself, a kind of holiday. A celebration, she thought, in compassion, understanding and hard work. It wasn't only Finnegan's return to the track, but Betty's first important race. Her parents would be there, and Brendon.

  If there was ever a day to close up shop, this was it.

  She rode out to the track at dawn, to give herself the pleasure of watching the early workouts, of listening to the track rats, building anticipation.

  "You'd think it was the Derby," Brendon said as he walked with her back to the shedrow. "You're hyped."

  "I've never owned a racehorse before. And I'm pretty sure he's my first and last. I'm going to enjoy every moment of this, but... It's not my passion. Not like it's yours and Dad's. Even Ma's."

  "You channeled your passions into the school. I never thought you'd give up competing, Keel."

  "Neither did I. And I never thought I'd find anything that satisfied me as much, challenged me as much."

  They stopped as horses were brought back from the early workouts.

  Steam rose off their backs, out of the tubs of hot water set outside the stables. It fogged the air, cushioned the sound, blurred the colors.

  Hot walkers hustled to cool off the runners, stablehands and grooms loitered, waiting for their charges. Someone played a mournful little tune on a harmonica, with the ring of the farrier's anvil setting the beat.

  "This is your deal here," she said, gesturing as Betty was led by. "Me, I'm happy just to watch."

  "Yeah? Then what're you doing here so early?"

  "Just carrying on a fine family tradition. I'm going to act as Finnegan's groom."

  That was news to Brian, and he wasn't entirely pleased when she announced her intentions. "Owners don't groom. They sit in the grandstands, or up in the restaurant. They stay out of the way." .

  Keeley continued strapping Finnegan with straw. "How long have you worked at Royal Meadows now?"

  His scowl only deepened. "Since midthrough of August."

  "Well, that should be long enough for you to have noticed the Grants don't stay out of the way."

  "Noticing doesn't mean approving." He studied the way she groomed Finnegan's neck and couldn't find fault. But that was beside the point. "Grooming a horse for showing or schooling or basic riding is a different matter than grooming before a race."

  She let out a long-suffering sigh. "Does it look like I know what I'm doing?"

  "His legs need to be wrapped."

  Saying nothing, she gestured to the wrapping on the line, and the extra clothespins hooked to her jeans.

  Not yet convinced, he studied her grooming kit and the other tools of a groomer's trade. The cotton batting, the blankets, the tack.

  "The irons haven't been polished."

  She glanced at the saddle. "I know how to polish irons."

  Brian rocked back on his heels. He needed to see to Betty. She was racing in the second. "He needs to be talked to."

  "This is funny, but I know how to talk, too."

  Brian swore under his breath. "He prefers singing."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said, he prefers singing."

  "Oh." Keeley tucked her tongue in her cheek. "Any particular tune? Wait, let me guess. Finnegan's Wake?" Brian's steely-eyed stare had her laughing until she had to lean weakly against the gelding. The horse responded by twisting his head and trying to sniff her pockets for apples.

  "It's a quick tune," Brian said coolly, "and he likes hearing his name."

  "I know the chorus." Gamely Keeley struggled to swallow another giggle. "But I'm not sure I know all the words. There are several verses as I recall."

  "Do the best you can," he muttered and strode off. His lips twitched as he heard her launch into the song about the Dubliner who had a tippling way.

  When he reached Betty's box, he shook his head. "I should've known. If there's not a Grant one place, there's a Grant in another until you're tripping over them."

  Travis gave Betty a last pat on the shoulder. "Is that Keeley I hear singing?"

  "She's being sarcastic, but as long as the job's done. She's dug in her heels about grooming Finnegan."

  "She comes by it naturally. The hard head as well as the skill."

  "Never had so many owners breathing down my neck. We don't need them, do we, darling?" Brian laid his hands on Betty's cheek, and she shook her head, then nibbled his hair.

  "Damn horse has a crush on you."

  "She may be your lady, sir, but she's my own true love. Aren't you beautiful, my heart?" He stroked, sliding into the Gaelic that had Betty's ears pricked and her body shifting restlessly.

  "She likes being excited before a race," Brian murmured. "What do you call it-pumped up like your American football players. Which is a sport that eludes me altogether as they're gathered into circles discussing things most of the time instead of getting on with it."

  "I heard you won the pool on last Monday night's game," Travis commented.

  "Betting's the only thing about your football I do understand." Brian gathered her reins. "I'l
l walk her around a bit before we take her down. She likes to parade. You and your missus will want to stay close to the winner's circle."

  Travis grinned at him. "We'll be watching from the rail."

  "Let's go show off." Brian led Betty out.

  Keeley put the final polish on the saddle irons, rolled her now aching shoulders and decided she had enough time to hunt up a soft drink before giving Finnegan a last-minute pep talk.

  She stepped outside and blinked in the sudden whitewash of light. The minute her eyes focused she saw Brian sitting near the stable door on an overturned bucket.

  Alarm sprinted into her throat. He had his head in his hands and was still as stone.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" She leaped forward to drop to the ground beside him. "Betty?" Her breath came short. "I thought Betty was racing."

  "She was. She did. She won."

  "God, Brian, I thought something was wrong."

  He dropped his hands and she could see his eyes were dark, swarming with emotion. "Two and a half lengths," he said. "She won by two and a half lengths, and I swear I don't think she was half trying. Nothing could touch her, do you see? Nothing. Never in my life did I think to have a horse like that under my hands. She's a miracle."

  Keeley laid her hands on his knees, sat back on her heels. Passion, she thought. She'd spoken to Brendon of it, but now she was looking at it. "You made her." Before he could speak, she shook her head. "That's what you said to me once. 'I don't break horses. I make them.'"

  "I can't get my head round it just now. This field was strong. I put her in thinking now and then you need a lesson in humility. Time for her to grow up, you know what I mean. Face real competition."

  Still staggered, he dragged his hands through his hair and laughed. "Well, she'll never learn a damn thing about humility."

  "Why aren't you down with her?"

  "That's for your parents. She's their horse."

  "You've a lot to learn yourself." She got to her feet, brushed off the knees of her jeans. "Well, Finnegan will be going down shortly. Why don't you come in and look him over?"

  Brian blew out a breath, sucked in another, then rose. "I think he'll place for you," he told Keeley as he followed her in. "It wouldn't hurt to wager on it."

  "I intend to wager on him." While Brian went in to check Finnegan's leg wrappings, she got papers out of the pocket of the jacket she'd laid aside.

  "The wrappings look all right." He flicked a finger over the stirrups. "And you polished the irons well enough."

  "Glad you approve. Next time you can do it." She held out the papers.

  "What's this?"

  "Papers giving you half interest in Flight of Fancy, also known as Finnegan."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "He was half yours anyway, Brian. This just makes it legal."

  His palms went cold and damp. "Don't be ridiculous. I can't take that."

  She'd expected him to refuse initially, but she hadn't expected him to go pale and snarl. "Why? You helped bring him back. You trained him."

  "A couple of weeks work, on my off time. Now put those away and stop being foolish."

  When he started to push by her, she simply shifted to block his way. "First, he wouldn't be racing today if it wasn't for you. And second, you're as attached to him as I am. Probably more. If it's the money-"

  "It's not the money." Though a part of him knew it was, to some extent. Because it was hers.

  "Then what?"

  "I don't own horses. I don't want to be an owner."

  "That's a pity, because you are an owner. Or a half owner anyway."

  "I said I'm not accepting it."

  "We'll argue about it later."

  "There's nothing to argue about."

  She stepped out of the box, smiled sweetly. "You know, Brian, just because you can make a fifteen hundred pound horse do what you want, doesn't mean you can budge me one inch. I'm going to go bet on our horse. To win."

  "He's not our-" He broke off, swore, as she'd already flounced out. "And you don't bet to win," he muttered. "It's nothing personal," he said to Finnegan who was watching him with soft, sad eyes. "I just can't be owning things. It's not that I don't have great affection and respect for you, for I do. But what happens if in a year or two down the road I move on? Even if I don't-as it's feeling more and more that I'd wonder why I would-I can't have the woman give me a horse. Even a half a horse. Well, not to worry. We'll straighten it all out later."

  He shouldn't have been nervous. It was pitiful. It was just another horse, just another race. It wasn't, as Betty was, a shining gift. This was an apple-loving, sweet-natured gelding who'd already broken down once and had lost far more races than he'd won in his short career.

  Brian was fond of him, of course, and wanted him to have his day in the sun. But he had no illusions about this one being a champion.

  He was simply guiding the horse toward doing what he'd been born for. And that was run his best.

  And still nerves danced in Brian's belly.

  "The track's dry and fast," he told Larry as they walked past the backstretch. "That's good for him. The field's crowded, and he likes that, too. Blue Devil's the number six horse, and odds-on favorite. There's reason for that."

  "I know Blue Devil." Larry nodded and gnashed a mouthful of gum. "He can slither through a pack like a snake. He gets in the lead, he sets a fast pace."

  "I expect that's what he'll do today. I need you to feel what Finnegan's got in him. I don't want you overracing him, but don't hold him back past the first turn. Let him test his legs."

  "I'll take care of him, Mr. Donnelly. Here's Miss Grant come to see us off. He looks fine, Miss Grant. You done good with him."

  "Yes." A little breathless from the run back from the betting window, she gave Finnegan a brisk rub. "We did."

  When the call sounded for riders up, she stepped back. "Good luck."

  "Talk to him." Brian gave Larry a leg up. "Don't forget to talk to him all the way. Don't let him forget what he's there for."

  "They look good," Keeley decided. "Here."

  "What now?"

  "I put fifty down for you."

  "You-damn it."

  "You can pay me back out of your winnings," she said breezily. "We'd better get to the rail. I don't want to miss the start. Have you seen my family?"

  "No. They're around. The lot of you's everywhere." Because she was moving through the crowd, he grabbed her hand. He could imagine her being trampled. "I don't know why you don't go up into the bar where you can watch in civilized surroundings."

  "Snob."

  "It's not a matter of-" He gave up. "I want you to tear up those papers."

  "No. Look they're bringing them to the gate."

  "I'm not taking a half interest in your horse."

  "Our horse. Who's number three? I lost my Racing Form."

  "Prime Target, eight to five, likes to come from behind. Keeley, it's a thoughtful gesture, but-"

  "It's a sensible one. Okay, here we go." She shot him a brilliant smile. "Our first race."

  The bell rang.

  They shot out of the gate, ten muscular bodies with men clinging fiercely to their backs. Within seconds they were merged into one speeding form with legs reaching, flying, striking. Silks of red, white, gold, green streamed by in a shock of color. And the sound was huge.

  Blindly Keeley groped for Brian's hand and clung.

  She lost her breath, and her sense, in the sheer thrill.

  Clouds of dust spewed from the dry track, jockeys slanted forward like dolls, and the pack began to break apart at the second turn.

  "He's holding onto fourth," Keeley shouted. "He's holding on."

  The lead horse edged forward. A head, a half a length. Finnegan bulled up the line, nipping the distance, vying for third. Keeley heard the crowd around her, the solid roar of it, but her heart pounded to the rhythm of hoofbeats.

  Those legs stretched, reached, lifted.

  "He's gaining
." She began to laugh, even as her hand clamped on Brian's, she laughed. From the joy bursting inside her, she might have been riding low on the gelding's back herself. "He's gaining. He's moving up, into second. Would you look at him?''

  He was looking, and the grin on his face was wide. "I didn't give him enough credit for guts. Not nearly enough credit. He'll move on the backstretch. If he's still got it in him, he'll move."

  And he moved, a big, unhandsome horse at twenty to one odds with a washed-up jockey in the irons. He moved like a bullet, streaking down the dirt, charging the leader, running neck-in-neck with the favorite while the crowd screamed.

  Seconds before the finish line, he pulled ahead by a nose.

  "He won." Keeley whirled to Brian. She wondered if the shock on his face mirrored her own. "My God, Brian, he won!"

  "Two miracles in one day." He let out a short, baffled laugh, then another, longer. Riding on the thrill, he plucked Keeley off her feet and spun her in circles.

  "I never expected it." She threw her arms in the air, then wrapped them around his neck and kissed him. "I never expected him to win."

  "You bet on him."

  "That was for love, not for reality. I never thought he'd win."

  "He did." Brian gave her a last spin before setting her on her feet. "That's what counts."

  "We're going to celebrate. Big time."

  While Betty's win had left him shaken to the soul by that heady taste of destiny, this was sheer, stupefied delight. He snatched Keeley again and spun her into a quick waltz through the crowd.

  "I'll buy you a bottle of champagne."

  "Two," she corrected. "One for each of us. We have to get down to the winner's circle."

  "You have to. I don't go to winner's circles."

  He might behave like a mule, she mused, but he was a man. And she knew which button to push. "You don't have to go for me, or even for yourself. But you have to go for him." She held out a hand.

  He wanted to swear but figured it a waste of breath. "I'll go, as his trainer. He's your horse. I don't own any part of him."

  "Half," she corrected, trotting to keep up as Brian tugged her along. "But we can discuss which half."