Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  Curran whispered conspiratorially in her ear. “She would say she can take care of herself, but you and I, we know differently.”

  Belle patted his arm.

  Then Curran braced Jane and led her back to the tent. As they cut through the crowd, murmurs followed. Jane stiffened. Curran gave her arm a reassuring squeeze and kept the momentum going all the way to the car.

  As they drove, she sat quietly in the passenger seat and stared out the side window.

  For once, Curran didn’t sense strong emotions emanating from her. She seemed hollow to him, as if she’d gone blank inside, nothing to read, as if she’d put herself on hold.

  And no wonder.

  An emotionally exhausting evening, one in which she hadn’t wanted to participate, had become one huge embarrassment. Considering the way she felt about appearances, Curran supposed he could hardly blame her.

  If only she didn’t tie herself up in knots over what others thought…

  That fact alone should distance him from her.

  A thought that resonated until the moment he pulled up in her driveway and cut the engine.

  “Thank you for seeing me home,” Jane said as she fled the car.

  “I’ll see you inside.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I want to.”

  “And I would prefer to be alone. I’m certain you can find something to keep you amused in town, perhaps the local pub, if not in your quarters.”

  His quarters rather than guest house.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Both her choice of words and tone of voice put him in his place. Her back was already to him and she leaned more heavily on her cane than she had earlier.

  “See you first thing in the morning,” he called after her, willing her to turn back to him.

  But she slipped inside without answering, without so much as giving him another glance.

  Or another thought, he supposed.

  As Curran headed for his quarters, he wondered how he had let himself get into a situation that didn’t bear repeating. Not that he was enamored of Miss Jane Grantham.

  A kiss was just a kiss, he assured himself.

  Still, uncomfortable memories of Maggie Butler surfaced. A young widow, she had relied on him for more than his horse-training skills. Only not in public. She, too, had been of the ilk that appearances were everything. And how would it look if she arrived at social functions on the arm of her lowly trainer, who had yet to prove himself?

  He’d been a man in love, and so he had told himself that one day she would want him as a companion for more than the bedroom, where they wore each other out every night, and most mornings, to boot.

  But the day that he wasn’t required to sneak back to his own quarters before the housekeeper showed up never arrived.

  And when he had pressed the issue of their being together out in the open, Maggie had simply fired him. It had been that simple to her if not to him. To his everlasting regret, he’d fallen madly in love with the woman.

  And she had him off her property for good barely a day after he had withdrawn Finn mac Cumhail from the Irish Derby because of a pulled tendon.

  The twin disappointments had troubled him ever since.

  Upon entering the guest house, the first thing Curran did was to check the answering machine for messages, but the red eye wasn’t blinking at him this night.

  Wanting to put himself in a more congenial mood, he decided to call his sister Keelin, who had lived in the Americas for the better part of three years now. He meant to visit with her and her family in Chicago a while before heading back for Ireland.

  “Curran, ’tis grand to hear your lovely voice,” was the first thing his beloved sibling said.

  “And yours. What’s that I hear in the background?” A familiar scream, he thought. “It wouldn’t be my niece, Miss Kelly McKenna Leighton, would it now?”

  “That it would,” Keelin said with a laugh. “She and her cousins are up to mischief as usual.”

  “The triplets are there?”

  “Aye. Have you ever heard the expression terrible twos? Well, multiply that by four this evening. Tyler and I are baby-sitting so that Roz and Skelly can have a real night out,” she said of their cousin and his wife. “Not to mention a bit of romance. When I say Tyler and I, by the way, that’s meant to be taken with a pinch of salt. But his daughter Cheryl makes up for my husband’s lackadaisical attitude. He just wants to play with the children and leaves the rest to us. So Cheryl is trying to round them up for bed even as we speak.”

  Taking the cordless phone and starting up for his bedroom, Curran said, “It must be grand.”

  “Rounding up four two-year-olds for bed?” Keelin sounded horrified.

  “Nah, nah, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I meant having them. Having a family. Someone to love and make babies with.”

  A moment of silence was followed by Keelin’s “It is your turn, you know.”

  Understanding that she was referring to The McKenna Legacy, he stopped two steps from the landing. “In case you haven’t noticed, the day has come and gone.”

  “And there is no new woman in your life?”

  “Not of the romantic kind,” he hedged, resuming his route to the bedroom.

  “Now why, boyo, am I not believing that? How old is this Jane Grantham?”

  “Late twenties.”

  “And what is she like?”

  “Afraid.”

  “Of?”

  “Everything. Appearing foolish, mostly. And something dark that she won’t talk about.”

  “What is it, Curran? That strangeness in your tone. Tell me.”

  He sighed. He never could hide anything from Keelin. “I’m able to read her.”

  An intake of breath told him the shorthand was all his sister needed. She understood. This was the real reason he had called her, Curran suddenly realized. Because he could tell her anything and she would understand. Though her gift was different than his—she could see through the eyes of a person in trouble—she, as they said, got it.

  “How?” she asked.

  “Her connection with the stallion.” Kicking off his shoes, he threw himself on the bed and stretched out. “Whatever happened to make him go mad happened to her, as well.”

  “What have you seen?”

  “Not much. Blood. A weapon, perhaps.” And the most startling fact of all. “I felt her pain when her leg was damaged. Literally.”

  Silence at the other end. Curran gave Keelin time to think on it.

  When she spoke, the timbre of her voice had changed. “And you feel no attraction to this Grantham woman whatsoever?”

  His hackles went up. “I’m drawn to her yes, but it’s merely the circumstances!”

  “You needn’t be defensive with me, Curran. I am on your side, remember.”

  “Sorry. It’s just that I get caught up in the moment, and then later, when I think about it…” He left the statement unfinished.

  “Exactly,” Keelin said.

  “Exactly what?”

  “You must be careful, Curran. There are forces at work here more powerful than you can imagine. I know this from experience. Mine. Skelly’s. Kate’s. Donovan’s.”

  “What exactly are you going on about?”

  “Your fate, brother dear. Whether or not you are willing to admit it yet, you have indeed met her.”

  “You’re full of the blarney, Keelin.”

  “Am I? Something special lies between you and this woman, Curran. You know that as well as I. Why else would you have the connection?”

  “I told you, because of the horse.”

  “I know what you said. But what do you feel?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she said, “That’s what I thought. Accept it, then, Curran—not only is Jane Grantham your legacy, but unless you somehow escape it, terrible danger awaits you both!”

  KEELIN’S WARNING echoed through Curran’s dreams and, when he awakened, stayed poised at the back of his
mind. He knew the stories that defined his grandmother’s legacy. Each of the other McKenna cousins who had reached his or her thirty-third birthday had come close to crossing over to the other side and being rejoined with their Grandmother Moira.

  Hadn’t Finn and Jane been involved in a dangerous situation already? One that could pull him in and prove to be the danger that Keelin feared.

  But Jane Grantham—the love of his life?

  He just couldn’t feature it, not after the way she’d dismissed him the night before.

  And so, when he approached the appointed time to meet Jane at the barn, Curran found himself dragging his heels. A bit of fun and flirtation with the woman had been one thing. What Keelin was suggesting was something else altogether. Still, when he saw Jane, he couldn’t deny that she called to him in some primal way.

  Only now, rather than being captivated, he was irked by the knowledge. He wouldn’t soon forget how she had reminded him of Maggie Butler.

  Jane had beaten him to the paddock and was sitting on the chair he’d used the day before. And, just as he had, she was reading a newspaper. He chose to approach her with the briskness and professionalism of their relationship as defined by her.

  “I won’t be needing props this morning,” he announced.

  She lowered the newspaper and folded it. “I was merely trying to prepare since you are late.”

  That she noticed grated on him further. “By five minutes.”

  “Yes.”

  Jane managed to stand by pushing on the seat with one hand, the back of the chair with the other. He waited for her to fetch her cane, but it didn’t seem to be nearby. Instead, she hung on to the back of the chair and took a step, moved the chair toward the fence and took another step.

  “Here,” he said, hopping the fence before she could continue. “I’ll do that.”

  When he grabbed the chair back, their hands met. Jane faltered. As did he. The signals he was reading from her today had nothing to do with anger or fear and everything with the fact that she was a woman and he a man. No class division here.

  Her letting go and pulling back her hand provided a major relief. He swung the chair to the outside of the paddock before realizing that she was still standing where he’d left her. Perhaps she’d needed the chair in lieu of the cane. Suddenly feeling mean-spirited about having removed it, he stepped toward Jane and offered her his hand. She gave him a puzzling look before brushing by him.

  “I’ll get Finn.”

  “Well, you’re welcome, then,” he muttered, watching her go.

  Today must be a good day. Her gait was less pronounced, even after her fall from the bridge the night before. Or perhaps she was trying harder to save face. That seemed to be her greatest worry.

  Other than Finn, Curran amended.

  And it was Finn on whom he needed to focus, he reminded himself. So, by the time the stallion came prancing into the paddock, he had relegated Jane, and his sister’s predictions, to the back of his mind.

  He began by standing still and silent.

  Finn skirted him and kept his distance. Curran waited a few moments, then walked away from the stallion. Finn watched him, his stance one of ready flight. In circling along the fence, Curran eventually came too close for Finn’s comfort. He moved away, straight across the paddock.

  “Come now, Finn, you have no reason to fear me,” Curran wheedled as he made a second approach. “You remember me, now, don’t you, lad?”

  Finn snorted and trotted away from him again. Curran continued to stroll around and to speak to the horse, using his name often. Though he continued to have Finn’s full attention, the stallion was still on guard.

  Twenty minutes with no further success. Curran let it go and had Jane stable him.

  But he proceeded on a regular schedule the way he had the day before, allowing Finn to relax and then having another go at him, miniconfrontations that quickly multiplied, so it was almost as if days rather than hours had passed. He wore the stallion down a bit at a time until, in the third effort, Finn stopped avoiding him.

  When he realized the stallion was following him, if at a safe distance, Curran felt a moment of triumph.

  Now, if only getting close enough to touch the stallion was an easier task than dealing with the woman.

  THEY’D PICKED UP an audience, Jane suddenly realized halfway through the afternoon. Patiently waiting to speak to Curran on the opposite side of the paddock, Ned closely watched his every move with the stallion. Jimiyu Stams sat on the top board, seemingly entranced by the horse he was to ride. And Phyllis Singleton-Volmer was coming from the house.

  A sick feeling welled up in Jane. She closed her eyes for a moment. Any second now, the woman would be all over her.

  When that didn’t happen, she peered out to find Phyllis at the fence several yards away, staring not at her but at the drama unfolding in the paddock.

  Finn was inching closer and closer to Curran.

  And while Phyllis wore a poker face, her body language told Jane that she was on edge. Why?

  As if the society matron felt Jane’s eyes on her, she turned. One blink and the carefully studied neutral expression welled into one of sympathy.

  Here it comes, Jane thought.

  “Oh, Jane, dear, I was appalled when I heard about what happened to you last night. I just had to drop by to make certain that you were recovered.”

  Exactly as she’d feared.

  “I had nothing to recover from,” Jane assured the woman, wearing her own poker face. “I just needed to climb out of those wet clothes.”

  “Well, I feel so awful,” Phyllis said, placing her hand over her heart. “I must make it up to you.”

  A drama queen as always, Jane noted. “There’s nothing to make up.”

  “Indeed, there is. I’ve been meaning to have the rail on the bridge fixed for months now, and it took someone getting hurt to force me to it.”

  “I promise you that I’m not hurt.”

  “Lydia’s little girl injured because of me,” Phyllis said, sweeping over Jane’s denial. “Your mother would never forgive me.”

  “Mother doesn’t hold grudges.”

  “Yes, you’re probably right. Lydia always was a cut above the rest. But let me make it up to you, anyway. I know!” she said brightly. “You and Curran had to leave the party before you even ate. I shall take you both to dinner tonight at my club. My treat, of course.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Oh, but I insist.” And before Jane could object again, she said, “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Seeing that she wouldn’t, Jane caved rather than make a bigger deal of the situation than it was. “All right. What time?”

  “I shall pick you up promptly at seven.” Phyllis enveloped her in a big hug and kissed the air next to her cheek. “Ciao, darling.”

  Mission accomplished, she strode off.

  Leaving Jane to wonder what the visit really had been about. Phyllis had always been charming to her, but she’d never before sought out her company.

  As if in tune with her thoughts, Curran asked, “What did our society hostess want?”

  Startled, Jane turned to find him standing at the fence. And behind him, Finn was practically sticking his nose over Curran’s shoulder.

  The quick progress stunned her and she had to stop herself from reaching out and trying to touch Finn’s nose lest she reverse the gain. Possibilities once more tantalized her. Curran was turning Finn around so fast that it gave her renewed hope.

  “Phyllis was very solicitous about last night,” she said, a little breathless at the progress. “Whether we like it or not, you and I are being taken out to dinner to make up for the inconvenience.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Exactly. Phyllis has never shown any interest in cultivating me into her circle before, and I doubt that’s the interest now. But indeed, she wants something,” Jane mused. “And my guess would be it has something to do with you.”

 
Chapter Six

  The Lexington Pike Club felt almost like home, perhaps because it once had housed an extended family before the patriarch had decided to sell the horse farm.

  The interior was pleasant, Jane thought. Exposed-brick interior, period furniture, a fireplace that took up half of one wall. Now renovated and added to, the building boasted one of the best restaurants in the area. Phyllis had preordered for them—prime rib and lobster and a wonderful bottle of champagne. Jane couldn’t fault her taste, but again she held the woman’s generosity suspect.

  They were halfway through their meal before Phyllis turned the topic to the Thoroughbred Millions.

  “Less than two weeks before the big race. I only wish that I had an entry.”

  “But you do,” Jane protested. “According to Mr. Saladin, you convinced him to buy Stonehenge.”

  Her statement prompted her to wonder where the Saudi owner might be tonight, after not wanting to let Phyllis out of his sight the day before.

  “Yes, but that’s not the same as having my own horse in the Classic,” Phyllis rationalized. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had the resources to buy known horseflesh of that caliber, and I’ve never had the luck to stumble on an unexpected champion. Or to breed one. I’ve learned to content myself with an occasional Grade I victory.”

  Jane didn’t know Phyllis well enough to be aware of her financial interests. The woman owned a smaller farm than Grantham Acres, yet she both bred and raced horses. She also seemed to lead a wealthier lifestyle in general than the Granthams ever had, epitomized by the elaborate parties she threw during the racing season. Perhaps she went into debt to be the reigning socialite of the year.

  Or perhaps someone else paid for her soirees—Mukhtar Saladin came readily to mind, as in years past did Richard Singleton and Harold Volmer, Phyllis’s late husbands. Phyllis seemed always to hook up with older, well-to-do men with a passion for fine horseflesh.

  “But you’re not in the best of positions, either, Jane, dear, not with a half-mad horse,” Phyllis said before turning her focus to Curran. “I understand the fate of Grantham Acres is resting on Finn mac Cumhail. It’s a pity you can’t get close enough to touch him, no less train him.”