Taking another sip of his drink, he casually said, “So if something should happen to Grantham Acres…”
Curran knew that he’d hit a nerve when Belle immediately paled and set down her wine next to several books on horses and farms that lay spread across the glass coffee table.
“Nothing is going to happen to my home,” she said, sounding more determined than convinced.
“I’m not meaning to be presumptuous, now,” Curran said, “but this place needs some serious upkeep. That requires money, which, begging your pardon, you don’t seem to have. And yet the purchase price on Finn mac Cumhail must have been nearly a million dollars.”
The stallion had impeccable bloodlines as Curran full well knew. While Finn had been sidelined from winning the Irish Derby due to an injury, he had been a favorite. And then, under another trainer, he’d gone on to win several important European Group I races in the past two years.
“Plus, I’ve not been hearing rumors of his being retired from the racing circuit,” Curran continued, “so it’s a bit curious that a breeding farm would be buying him. I suspect that you were counting on entering him in the Thoroughbred Millions Classic.”
Horses from Britain and Ireland and the Emirates and even Japan would be flown in for the annual day of high purse, Grade I races that was to be run at Churchill Downs this year. The four-million-dollar Classic would be the crowning event of the day and would put turf horses alongside those that normally ran on a dirt track.
Silent for a moment, Belle blinked and her eyes grew fluid. Her lips trembled as she admitted, “That was the plan. We had to take a second mortgage on Grantham Acres to buy Finn. Jane’s father left us in so much debt. I loved my son, but I knew his faults. I never should have let Frederick take over the finances. He not only loved breeding horses, he loved betting on them, as well.” She sighed. “Jane was left with too large a burden for such a young woman. When he died three years ago, she was barely twenty-five.”
“And there was no one else to lend a hand?”
“The farm never interested her brother, Andrew, who is too wrapped up in getting his MBA in Chicago to worry about what’s going on here. While Jane’s sister, Susan, loves the horses, she’s only seventeen years old and is still in high school. And their mother, Lydia, remarried last winter and moved to North Carolina. So we’re the farm, Jane and I. Three years of hard work barely chipped away at that debt.”
“And you thought Finn’s winning the Classic would be your solution?”
“He doesn’t even need to win. He merely has to come in the money. Then we would retire him to stud. Between the purse and the stud fees and the colts and fillies we could get from a few of our own top mares, we thought we could have the farm back on its feet in no time.”
Frederick Grantham wasn’t the only gambler in the family, Curran thought. “Then everything rides on whether or not Finn can perform.”
Belle nodded. “And you were our last hope to make that happen.”
“I’m not sure your granddaughter will be sharing that sentiment.”
“Yes, she would if only she weren’t so proud. What’s troubling her, Curran, is that you’re a top trainer and we can’t afford to pay you. My hope was that, since you had a bond with the horse, you wouldn’t want to see him destroyed. I was going to offer you a larger cut of the purse than normal for your services.”
Which would reduce the return on their investment.
If Finn got in the money.
If the stallion were even viable to race.
And if Jane Grantham would put her pride second to Finn’s welfare.
As if his thoughts summoned her, an uneven tread and tap-tap from the foyer alerted Curran to her arrival.
“Nani, you won’t believe what Susan did this time!”
The moment Jane limped into the room, cane in hand, she spotted him. Stopping short, she blinked, her thick, dark lashes flicking over golden-brown eyes gone round.
Her eyes were her best feature, he thought. While the rest of her face was attractive, her eyes could captivate a man across a crowded room. Suddenly the blood rushed through him, thick and hot like a volcano flow.
As if she could sense what he was feeling, she white-knuckled the silver horse’s head topping her cane. A flush crept up from the V neckline of her short-sleeved sweater, a rich gold that brought out the highlights in her hair. That her sun-kissed skin took on a rosy glow—irritation or embarrassment?—both amused and beguiled Curran.
But if she were captivated in return, she hid it well. For the first words out of her full mouth, now painted a tempting soft berry, were “What are you still doing here?”
“Jane!” Belle protested. “Curran is our guest!”
“Yes, of course. Turning him out before feeding him wouldn’t be polite.”
Her snipe broke the tension, and Curran laughed.
Jane moved closer, and he could see she was trying to control her gait as if nothing was wrong. Still, there was that barely perceptible dip each time her left foot shot forward. And she was practically crushing the horse’s head.
Then she was in his space and something bumped at his psyche, startling him as it had in the pasture that morning. Only earlier, he’d put it to Finn.
If only he could touch her to explore the impulse…but how to do so without raising her hackles?
Even without touch, the awareness of connection grew demanding and sharp, but Jane didn’t give him time to explore the perception.
“I thought we had an understanding.”
“You made a demand that I head for home. I merely chose not to argue with you.”
“I am the farm manager,” she reminded him. “What goes on here is up to me.”
“As well it should be. And I am certain that as the farm manager, you will do what is best for Grantham Acres. And especially for Finn.”
He didn’t add rather than for yourself. But from the way her lovely mouth pursed tight, he was certain that she understood exactly what he meant.
“So…how would you handle him?”
Ignoring the terseness of her question, he played with her. “Trying to pry my secrets out of me?”
“You wouldn’t have much time to work with him. The Thoroughbred Millions is coming up fast.”
Curran was encouraged that she was challenging him at all. No matter her protest, she was interested.
“No one can get near Finn, yet you have plans to race him?” he asked.
“Too much for you to handle?”
“Are you planning to run him without a jockey on his back?”
Again, she flushed. “If you were to train him, getting one on his back would be up to you. Or maybe it’s too much to expect.”
The arrival of Susan Grantham temporarily stopped further debate. The teenager swept into the room wearing a pale apricot dress with full skirts. Curran considered the romantic look at odds with her short, spiked brown hair and multiple ear piercings.
“You see what I mean, Nani,” Jane said, abruptly turning her full attention to her younger sister. “Now she’s taken over my wardrobe.”
“Why not? You never wear your dresses anymore,” Susan said. “You’re too afraid someone will see the scars on your leg.”
Even as Jane paled, Belle said, “Susan, that’s enough. Where are your manners?”
“My sisters had the same problem.” Curran smoothly prevented the teenager from stirring up more hurt in the sister she undoubtedly loved. “Flanna used to drive our older sister Keelin mad by borrowing her clothes without asking permission. More than once, Keelin threatened Flanna’s demise. Better yet, she got even with her. One day Flanna came home from school to find that her closet had been stripped of every item, and Keelin claimed innocence for days.”
“Now there’s an idea,” Jane murmured, her lips softening into an engaging smile.
Susan ignored her sister and zeroed in on him. “Who are you anyway? Are you really from Ireland or is that accent put on? And what on ear
th are you doing here?”
“Susan!”
Belle took over and made brief introductions before the girl could continue with her rapid-fire interrogation that only served to amuse Curran. He suspected the teenager kept life lively in this household of women.
Then they all moved past eleven-foot-high pocket doors into the dining room, where vermilion wallpaper with touches of gold provided a perfect backdrop for the Sheraton-style dining table and heavily carved Hepplewhite chairs. At the far end, the fireplace mantel was a match to the one in the drawing room. The table itself was set with vermilion and gold place mats, fine china, crystal and silver flatware.
The kind of table his mother might have set for a holiday or special occasion, Curran thought, wondering if the Granthams sat down to such finery every day, or if his being there deemed the dinner special. At least to Belle.
His mother had always done her own cooking, however. The Granthams had Melisande Stams.
“We couldn’t do without Melisande,” Belle said, her voice filled with affection as the woman carried in a tureen of soup. “She’s the chatelaine of Grantham Acres now that Lydia has gone on to her new life.”
“Someone’s gotta be looking after this house when you’re out with them horses of yours.”
Melisande’s melodic tones reminded Curran of the islands, Caribbean rather than British. And her dress was a cut and print of the exotic variety, the purple and green more brilliant for the contrast with her dark skin. A half-dozen bracelets jangled against the hand that ladled the soup from the tureen.
“Seafood chowder again?” Susan complained.
“You have a problem with my food, child, you don’t have to eat it,” Melisande said. “You can go hungry.”
Making Curran realize that her standing in the household was more than that of paid help.
“She’s so bossy,” Susan told him. “I don’t know why Udell puts up with it.”
“Because her husband loves her as we all do,” Belle said, explaining, “Udell Stams is the head groom, Curran. You’ll be meeting him tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, but he won’t have time,” Jane announced. “He’ll need to get to the airport early to make a connection for Shannon in New York or Boston.”
Belle frowned. “Can we leave this discussion until later?”
“There’s nothing to discuss!”
As he had in the farm office, Curran kept his own counsel. For the moment.
She switched subjects. “Phyllis Singleton-Volmer called today,” Belle told Jane. “You forgot to confirm that you’ll attend her pre-Millions party tomorrow night.”
“I wasn’t planning on attending.”
“Grantham Acres needs to be represented not just by me but by the farm manager. You are, after all, still hoping to race Finn in the Classic. Mukhtar Saladin and Holt Easterling will certainly be there.”
Curran knew the Saudi owner and his British trainer well. Their Classic Cup entry, Stonehenge, was one of the favorites. He’d also won the Irish Derby the year Curran had to withdraw Finn. But he remembered reading that Finn had beat Stonehenge in the Prix Noailles at Longchamp in early April. Now both horses would be making their dirt debut together—if Finn raced.
The challenge to him personally was becoming interesting.
“Besides,” Belle went on, “local trainers didn’t turn their backs on you when you arrived home from New York with a crazed horse.”
“No one actually was able to help Finn.”
“That doesn’t negate the fact that they tried, Jane.” Belle’s tone brooked no argument when she added, “And you will not make me look foolish by going back on my word. You will attend the party. For me, if not for yourself.”
Curran could tell that Jane wasn’t happy about the order, but she didn’t argue. Belle glanced his way and he gave her a reassuring look to convey that he wouldn’t let her granddaughter dissuade him from his purpose, either.
Unless he was satisfied that he couldn’t help Finn, he wasn’t going anywhere.
TENSE THROUGHOUT DINNER, Jane picked at her food. That’s all the appetite she had with Curran McKenna at her elbow. A table that sat twelve and he was practically on top of her. And she didn’t even want to be in the same room with him.
Thankfully, Melisande removed their plates with no more than a tch-tch at seeing the leftovers on hers. The housekeeper was opting for subtle in front of company.
Company…
Not so thankfully, she still had to deal with the Irish horse trainer.
He’d stared at her throughout the meal. He was staring at her now. Why? And why was she so susceptible to his regard? Certain he was trying to hit a nerve, she had to admit he was succeeding.
Springing up from the table without warning, Susan announced, “I’m out of here.”
“What about your homework?”
“Done!”
“Be home by ten,” Jane told her, knowing that, without boundaries, her sister tended to run wild.
Susan flashed her an irritated look but didn’t argue. No doubt she feared being grounded again. Instead, she turned her back on Jane, kissed their grandmother’s cheek and rushed out of the house.
Jane waited until coffee was served before asking, “So when will you be leaving for Ireland, Curran?”
“That’s up to you.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Expecting another sharp reproach, she glanced at her grandmother, who seemed intent on stirring the cream in her coffee to death.
“I have a proposition, if you would care to be hearing it,” Curran said.
Suspicious of his placating tone, not to mention the way he seemed to be looking through her, she asked, “What kind of proposition?”
“The usual kind, where we each get what we want or need. I work with Finn on a contingency basis.”
“What contingency?”
“When he wins the Thoroughbred Millions Classic—”
“You can’t guarantee that,” she cut in.
“When he wins,” Curran repeated, “I get one-third of his share of the purse.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“It’s called a gamble,” Belle said, suddenly rising from the table. “I’ll let the two of you work out the details on your own.”
Jane gaped as the older woman headed for the doorway. Curran was her idea. How could her grandmother abandon her like this?
“Oh, I nearly forgot.” She stopped and turned back to them. “About Phyllis’s party—I told her that Curran would be escorting us.”
Stunned, Jane didn’t know what to say. Arguing with her grandmother was a waste of breath. Besides, she’d already left the room.
Turning her focus back on the Irishman, she noted that he was staring at her again, as if he was trying to get inside her. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse surged. That did it! She struggled to her feet.
“I could use some air.”
Fresh air would be just the thing to clear her head and give her some perspective. Not to mention some distance from the man who leaned in a tad too close, reviving memories she’d rather not revisit. She grabbed her cane and used it to get her out of the dining room.
Curran followed her through the foyer and out the front door to the portico. There, she wedged a shoulder against one of the columns and stared through the dusk over the land she’d loved all her life.
Losing Grantham Acres was unthinkable.
“If Finn doesn’t make money,” Curran began again, “it costs you nil. I go back to Ireland with nothing to show for my trouble. But if he does win, I get a bonus.”
“A very large bonus.”
“As it stands, you don’t have a chance in hell of so much as getting Finn to the gate.”
Jane knew he was right. She turned to face him in the waning light. With deepening shadows hiding his eyes, he appeared mysterious. And frightening.
“Why?” she asked softly, now trying to read him. Turnabout was only fair. What did
he really want out of this partnership? “Why would you work for weeks when chances of Finn’s winning and your making money are slim to none?”
“I believe in myself. More than that, I believe in Finn mac Cumhail. He should have won the Irish Derby for me, but he was sidelined due to an injury. And then he was taken out of my hands and given to another trainer. I would like another try at being there with him for a major victory.”
So there it was, she thought cynically: pride.
The Irish horse trainer’s pride bade him try again with the one that got away. Well, his seemingly generous offer now made more sense, anyway. And it made her feel a bit better about seriously considering it.
“And what if he doesn’t win?” she asked, wanting to know all the particulars. “What if he merely places or shows? Same deal?”
“Then you can keep his share of the purse.”
That stopped her again. Curran McKenna certainly had some ego. “You’re that sure you can pull it off?”
“No one can be certain about the outcome of a horse race. There are too many factors to tally in. What I am certain of is that Finn is too special to destroy.”
Her temper flared. “I don’t care what anyone says! I would never destroy him!”
Considering what they’d been through together, it would be like destroying a part of herself.
“Perhaps not, but fate can be cruel. That decision could be taken out of your hands.”
How well she knew that. If they lost Grantham Acres and Finn with it, someone else would have the say. She’d already heard what other trainers recommended. And it would be all her fault.
Finn was their only chance. His own only chance. But he needed help.
He needed Curran McKenna.
And as much as she hated admitting it, that meant she did, as well.
“Tomorrow morning at eight,” she said abruptly. “Meet me at the paddock and we’ll see how it goes.”
No promises. Merely a tryout, she told herself. But she couldn’t help hoping anyway.
“One morning? You have to be realistic, Jane. You can’t expect a miracle.”
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