Men Made in America Mega-Bundle
Page 180
The bathroom mirror was steamed over and she could barely see her own reflection. The fog reminded her of the mist rising from the Hudson River that fateful night. Then the fog began dissipating, and she saw herself clearly, flushed with warmth, wet hair waving over her shoulders. Not unattractive when the disfiguring reminder was hidden.
Until she stepped back and removed the towel.
She let her gaze drop along the mirror, slowly, until she could see the reflection of the knee. It didn’t even seem like her knee anymore. The joint was swollen and half-mooned by an angry red scar.
No simple arthroscopic surgery for her. No simple solutions. No full recovery.
No going back.
Dr. Daniels had assured her, however, that her scar would fade with time, as if that alone should make her feel better. And more than once when she had despaired, he’d shaken his head. It was, after all, only a knee.
Jane was certain that he had patients who were far worse off. But this was her knee and its near destruction had changed her life forever, and not just physically.
While the scar would fade with time, it would never disappear. She would always be aware of it, aware of the numbness where the nerves had been destroyed. Aware of the numbness inside herself. The scar would forever be a souvenir of her own foolishness and would dig as sharp as any knife.
To see it would remind her of her own culpability.
No one to blame but herself, Jane knew, vowing never again to allow herself to be so deluded.
“YOU’RE BEING UNREASONABLE,” Susan complained over breakfast the next morning when Jane wouldn’t agree to the teenager’s plans for the evening.
“And you’re making me late.”
Added to which, she’d now lost her appetite.
Just what she needed, another fight with her sister when she was trying to get to an early doctor’s appointment. It was as if knowing that, Susan had picked this very time to make her crazy, Jane thought, abandoning her eggs and bacon. And Nani sat there, pretending not to hear. The least her grandmother could do was back her up.
Susan tried again. “You haven’t even met Tim.”
“I don’t need to meet him. You’re a teenager, for heaven’s sake, and he’s an adult.”
“He’s not that much older.”
“Anyone over twenty is too old for you!” she snapped.
“You’re not my mother!”
“You’re right.” Jane lost her temper. “If you want me to, I can arrange for you to join Mother in North Carolina. Then you can be her headache instead of mine.”
Susan pushed away from the table. “I hate you! Just because you had an accident that crippled you, you want everyone around you to be as miserable as you are.”
“Susan!” From the head of the table, Belle finally spoke up. “That was out of line.”
But was it true? Jane wondered, horrified at the accusation. If so, then she was appalled with herself.
Susan ran from the dining room. A moment later, the front door slammed.
Jane set her flatware on her plate as Melisande came in to start clearing.
“Jane, dear, have you really forgotten what it’s like to be young?” her grandmother calmly asked her.
“You think I should let a seventeen-year-old go out with some trainer’s assistant?”
“No, of course not. We’re in agreement about that. She should be seeing boys from her high school, of course. But I think you could have handled the situation differently so that Susan wouldn’t have been so volatile. The old Jane would have known how to do that.”
“The old Jane is gone for good!” Irritated anew, she added, “And maybe the new Jane should go, too.”
“Seeing that one disappear wouldn’t be any loss,” Melisande said with her typical frankness. “You have a problem on the farm, you fix it, no question. Why can’t you try to do the same with yourself?”
Jane struggled up from her chair and glared. But the housekeeper merely stared her down.
“Jane, please, Melisande has a point,” Belle said. “Let’s talk about whatever has been bothering you.”
Her grandmother being the one person she definitely could never confide in—she just couldn’t let her down so horribly—Jane grabbed her cane and hurried out of the room. Neither woman tried to stop her, though she imagined they continued talking about her behind her back.
By the time she reached the barn, however, she was feeling guilty. Susan might be out of line, but not Nani. And not Melisande. Unfortunately, they only wanted to offer help where there was none to be had. And her doctor’s appointment put her on extra edge, as usual.
She checked her watch. Seven twenty-six.
So where was Curran? she wondered, going inside to look for him.
Seemingly asleep on a cot outside Finn’s temporary stall, Jimi sat up the moment the mares warned him of her approach. “Miss Jane. Anything I can do for you?”
“Take a break, Jimi. Eat. Get some real sleep,” she told him. “Or you’ll be too exhausted to be good to anyone, including Finn.”
“Yes, ma’am. But first I’ll get some chow. What time you want me back here?”
“That’ll be up to Curran. Just keep your father informed if you leave the property.”
Alone with Finn, then, Jane wondered if she was imagining it or if there was a subtle difference in the horse. He seemed more relaxed.
She opened the paddock door and then started blocking off any escape route.
“You shouldn’t be doing anything that could get you dirty, dressed up for town as you are,” Curran said as he entered the barn.
“If you would have been here—”
“I’ll not be taking any guff from you on that score this morning. I took you on your word about being here at seven-thirty. If you had wanted seven-twenty or seven-ten, then you should have said so.”
That he was right didn’t put her in a better mood.
Huffily, she stood back and allowed him to finish blocking the aisle, after which he sauntered out into the paddock.
“Any time,” he told her.
For once, the moment Jane opened his door, Finn ambled out of his stall and straight into the paddock. She noted he immediately looked for Curran, and while he stretched his long legs by trotting around the perimeter, he didn’t let the Irishman out of his sight for a second.
Undoubtedly, she was no longer needed here, Jane thought, leaving in something of a snit. She could be halfway to Lexington by now.
Not that she was anxious to see her surgeon. She didn’t even know why she kept making appointments since, according to him, she was healed. Perhaps the flesh where he had cut her was healed, but that didn’t mean she could walk without pain or that she wasn’t still raw inside.
Indeed, the appointment depressed her further, with him verifying that her left leg would never be straight because the kneecap couldn’t slide up over the joint with so much of the meniscus missing. If she were willing to consider further surgeries, however, they could remove some of the good cartilage, grow it in a laboratory, then implant plugs that could eventually grow together and replace the missing meniscus.
If it worked.
If she could spare the further recovery time to try.
Of course she said she would think about it.
If she couldn’t do her job on the farm, who would take care of Grantham Acres? Nani did her best, but she had slowed down so much the past few years. And they couldn’t afford to hire a farm manager. As it was, they were working short-staffed.
But at least the cartilage replacement was a possibility, she told herself as she finished dressing. Something to think about in the future, once their fates were decided.
She limped back into the reception area where she dutifully made her next appointment as ordered by the doctor. Waiting for the young woman to write the date on a card, Jane caught a voice with a familiar inflection drift toward her.
“So this Dr. Daniels, he’s the best orthopedic man around, t
hen?”
The male voice with the distinctly Irish lilt came from around the corner where several upholstered chairs were set up for patients. Jane’s pulse immediately began to race as she thought she recognized it.
“He fixed my hip up right fine,” an elderly woman said. “You need a new hip at your age?”
“Naw, not a hip. It’s me hand.”
Jane followed the voice around the corner.
“Had a wee accident back a few months, but National Health ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Her eyes widened when she saw the familiar fair-haired young man conversing with an elderly patient.
“Timothy Brady!” she gasped.
He started when he saw her, as well. “Jane Grantham. Imagine meeting you here.”
He didn’t sound all that pleased. She didn’t blame him.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as he rose and moved away from the elderly woman and toward her. “In Kentucky, I mean.”
“Working of course.”
“For whom?”
Now that Gavin Shaw was dead…
“Holt Easterling. I’m his assistant now.”
“Easterling,” she repeated. “Mukhtar Saladin’s trainer.”
“Right.” Expression intense, he asked, “Finn mac Cumhail—how’s he doing?”
“Better,” she hedged.
No need to tell the competition any more. He would repeat whatever she said to Easterling, who would in turn pass it on to Saladin. Better that they be kept in the dark as much as possible about Finn’s progress. The Saladin team certainly wouldn’t share a thing about Stonehenge.
“I would have sworn Finn was ruined after what happened in New York,” he said.
“Well, neither of us did come out of that situation very well.”
His gaze dropped to her cane. “I can see that. Finn won’t be able to race in the Classic, now, will he?”
“That’s what we’re still hoping for.”
“Susie seemed to think differently,” he muttered.
“Susie?”
Jane frowned as the truth dawned on her. Timothy Brady was an assistant trainer…Susan’s Tim! Her suspicions were immediately aroused.
Wondering if he had been instructed to use Susan to get information about Finn, she asked, “You do mean Susan Grantham, my sister, don’t you?”
“Susan, then,” Tim agreed. “I met her the other day at the track during morning workout.”
Which sounded innocent enough on his part.
“At Churchill Downs?” Jane asked. “She was supposed to be in school.”
“I can guarantee you she wasn’t,” Tim said. “She and her friends were there all morning. Ah, who would want to be taking some boring college course in the summer, anyway?”
“College? She told you that she’s in college? She’s only seventeen!” And she figured Tim Brady was twenty-five if he was a day. “What are you thinking of, asking a girl that young on a date? I would appreciate your not encouraging her—”
“Whoa! What call do you have speaking to me in such a manner, and after all I did for you,” he demanded, his expression suddenly angry. “You certainly have a short memory, Jane Grantham.”
Jane took a deep breath. “I apologize if I’ve misread you.”
Though she wasn’t sure she had…
“No offense taken, then.”
An awkward silence hung between them until Jane said, “Your hand, it’s no better?”
“Not so’s you’d know it.”
Tim flexed his fingers and she saw the bones in the hand itself didn’t line up properly. Everything was a bit fuzzy, but she remembered Tim’s hand had been bandaged when he’d brought the authorities to see her at the hospital. He’d said something about his having had an accident with a piece of machinery the day before. Only she hadn’t remembered seeing the bandage earlier, when he’d found her and Finn after Gavin had tried to kill them.
“Tim, about the investigation,” she said, feeling awkward. “Has it progressed any?”
“I wouldn’t know. I left Hudson Valley Farm shortly after you did. No reason for me to stay, after all, considering my employer was dead.”
“Why haven’t I heard anything?”
“Could be there’s nothing for you to know.”
She couldn’t imagine the Hudson Valley police not contacting her in more than two months, but Tim might be right. Still…
“There’s been no news of Gavin’s death in the industry, either.”
“Perhaps this is one scandal people are trying to avoid publicizing,” he suggested. “And this isn’t Ireland, after all. Not many people knew him here.”
“But it’s just odd, don’t you think? Almost as if Gavin Shaw never existed, never made an impact on anyone’s life.”
Other than hers.
“If he had any family, it might be different.”
Gavin Shaw had been alone in the world, a product of an Irish-Catholic orphanage, a background that he’d hated. Coming from a close-knit family herself, Jane understood his longing for a different life. He’d had a chance for that, but he’d ruined it. Even so, a man dying with no one to mourn him…no one to hold a memorial service for him…given the circumstances, she was inexplicably saddened.
“Well, Dr. Daniels is the best in this area,” she assured Tim while making no guarantees. “I’m certain that he’ll do his best to help you. Good luck.”
Tim nodded. “To you, as well.”
Jane left the office, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back.
An odd coincidence that of all the assistant trainers in the world, this one should show up on her piece of soil and in the employ of the owner of Finn’s top competitor.
On the other hand, perhaps she shouldn’t be suspicious, for she did remember Tim Brady’s help well enough.
Gavin Shaw’s assistant at that time, he had come back to the farm before daybreak and had found her and Finn in the field, damaged both physically and mentally. Tim had taken care of the horse. He had taken her to the emergency room and had brought the authorities to her. And two days later, after having made the travel arrangements for her and Finn, he’d seen her to her plane.
Seeing him again so unexpectedly had reopened the wounds.
What strange fate had brought them together again? she wondered.
CURRAN HELD the halter in his hands as he danced around the paddock with Finn. Encouraged by the leap in progress, he’d decided to push things along a bit.
Every time Finn came near him, Curran faced him squarely so that the horse would veer off, then be anxious to join him again. After which Curran changed tactics and began turning his back on Finn and ducking in a different direction, repeating the action until Finn was determined to get his attention.
That’s when Curran stopped, his body at an angle to Finn, until the horse came right up to him and hung his nose over Curran’s shoulder.
Curran held out the halter. Finn threw up his head and backed away and the game was renewed.
The second try was equally unsuccessful.
But on the third try, Curran changed tactics. He elevated his empty hand and touched Finn’s nose.
A wave of longing, of suppressed fear…
Until he raised the halter in the other hand so that Finn could see it.
A shock of alarm threw him into the void.
His head restrained, he resisted as terror filled him…as blows rained down on him…unable to move…unable to defend himself…
Curran didn’t move. Instead, he concentrated on peaceful images and actions, his mental whisperings meant to calm the horse through his thoughts.
A big, open meadow, a small band of horses grazing…soft touches and an affectionate pat on the flank…him calmly and slowly tacking up the stallion while leaving him standing free…
Finn’s turmoil quieted. He snorted and shuffled his feet but didn’t move off.
“That’s a lad,” Curran murmured, stroking the horse, first
along the tip of his nose and then up between his eyes. “You know I would never hurt you.”
With that reassurance offered, he once more showed Finn the halter. Finn snuffled the leathers, and before the horse could change his mind, Curran slipped the halter up over his head and secured the buckle.
“See, not so bad.”
He lightly hooked his finger in the cheek strap and moved forward slowly, Finn coming right along with him.
His moment of triumph didn’t go unnoticed. As he rounded the paddock, he saw Jane standing on the lower fence board, staring.
To his own jaded eyes, her open, joyful expression made her the most beautiful woman in the world.
HIS DAYS were numbered unless he stopped making mistakes.
Next time he would take the tranquilizer gun. Checking to make certain no one was around to see him, he unlocked the cabinet and with a leather-clad hand, removed the handgun and several tranquilizer darts.
Of course, this way, he wouldn’t be able to make it look like an accident. The tranquilizer would be in the horse’s bloodstream. But at this point, what did he care what it looked like?
As long as he left no evidence, no one would be able to point a finger at him. And if anyone guessed, well, he would just slip back to his own country where, if anyone made accusations, he would deny everything and blame the crazy Americans.
A good plan, if only partially thought out.
After all, there was still Jane Grantham.
He shouldn’t have waited so long, shouldn’t have been so weak. Now she was rarely alone. McKenna was another matter—he didn’t want a run-in with that one.
He’d seen her calendar. Knew her schedule. Hopefully, she would stick to it.
About to lock the cabinet, he removed a few more darts. They would be even more effective on a human than on a horse.
Effective enough to kill.
Chapter Eight
Throughout the afternoon, Curran continued to make progress with Finn. By the time they quit for the day, he’d taken Jimi inside the paddock to introduce him to the stallion. Finn didn’t seem impressed with the teenage jockey who appeared in miniature when standing next to the Irish horse trainer. Jimi was probably five foot five and a hundred-fifteen when soaking wet.