She felt Patrick’s hands on her, dragging her back and away. Her finger was on the trigger and the desire to pull it was almost irresistible.
“You can’t kill him.” With a quick motion, he took the rifle and threw it to Colin. “Watch him, will you? Catherine and I need to take care of something.”
She realized what he intended, and she balked. “Patrick, I can’t. I just can’t.” She had no desire to see what her interference had done to Limerick. It was enough that he was dead.
Patrick stepped away from her, watching the play of emotions on her face. “You can, Catherine. Trust me, you can.”
18
Catherine’s breath caught on a sob as she walked beside Patrick. The place where Limerick had fallen was hidden by a dip in the ground and the barn. Patrick took her arm and gently pressed it, moving her forward.
“Catherine, it’s not as bad as—”
“I’ll kill Kent myself. I will.” She choked on a sob.
“Catherine, please.”
They turned the corner, and she stopped. Limerick was on his side, his gray coat covered in blood and mud.
Catherine jerked free of Patrick and started to turn back. His fingers closed over her arm. “Catherine.”
She shook her head and refused to turn around.
He gave a soft, low whistle, then another.
There was the sound of movement, and Catherine turned back. Limerick was rising. Putting both front feet out in front of him, he lumbered up. As he came toward Patrick, he stumbled, giving to his left shoulder. A fresh trickle of blood began to ooze through the mud on his coat.
“He’s not dead!”
“Not by a long shot.” Patrick smiled. “I doubt he’s hurt much, either, but he’s a damn fine actor, isn’t he?”
With a cry, Catherine ran toward the horse. He greeted her with a soft whinny, but his attention was on Patrick. He blew a soft greeting, but held steady while Catherine examined him. Her fingers moved over his shoulder, flaking way the mud. There was a clean furrow where the bullet had grazed him, cutting deep into the flesh but not striking bone or tendon.
“He looked dead.” She spoke aloud, but it was as if she were talking to herself. “He really looked dead.” She turned back to Patrick, still not believing what she was seeing.
“I told you Limerick and I had a few tricks. When Limerick was a foal, I amused my father by teaching the horse movie tricks. Playing dead was one of our specialties. I’m afraid my father didn’t find it so amusing, though. I thought Colin was trying to kill Limerick. Just in case my brother got away from me, I wanted him to believe he’d finished the job on Limerick. I put the mud on him to clot the blood. The round didn’t look bad, but bog mud can cure many a terrible injury.” As he talked, his smile grew wider. “I do believe you’ll have a horse ready to race by Saturday.”
“Are you certain?” Catherine adjusted Timmy’s silks, but her attention was on Patrick.
“The agreement was a forgery. We could always dispute it, but we have to do it now, before the race.”
She put in the final pin and allowed he jockey to leave.
“Have you no faith in a horse that’s been resurrected from the dead?” Patrick, his blue eyes dancing, looked over Limerick’s withers at Catherine.
“To lose him now....” Catherine didn’t finish the sentence.
“I make you a promise, Catherine. Kent Ridgeway will never own Limerick. Never.” The dark promise behind those words didn’t have to be spoken. Ridgeway was free and preparing King’s Quest to run. They could find no evidence to prove beyond a doubt that he’d forged the racing agreement, or that he’d attempted to kill Limerick. He’d lever fired a shot. His claim was that he’d been hunting in the mountains and had stumbled upon Patrick’s party just in time to offer assistance.
Although Catherine had wanted to press harder to bring charges, Patrick had convinced her to hold still. “The race will be punishment enough,” Patrick assured her. “Let him lose. It will only be the beginning of what you can do to him in the future. You can drive him out of business, and that will be worse than anything else.”
Only that promise had kept her from publicly declaring what a crook and coward the man was.
Now her future hung on the fact that Limerick, his shoulder sore but healing, could outrun King’s Quest Limerick had had no preparation. His pastern and elbow were nicked and scraped where he’d run among the stones with Colin, but there seemed to be no permanent damage. Still, with his shoulder wound, it was such a risk. And Patrick hadn’t even had a chance to put him on the Kildare track. Timmy would be riding him cold, not certain how he would break out of the Kildare gate. It was a big gamble. Only Patrick’s calm demeanor, his steady voice and hand as he groomed the stallion, gave her any hopes of success.
“Patrick?”
She turned to the door of the stall and saw Colin Shaw He was wearing dark glasses and a hat, a disguise made necessary by the fact that he was still a wanted man.
“Colin.” Patrick’s tone was softer than any he’d ever used when speaking of his brother. All through the night, they’d talked, voices rising and falling as Catherine had held Familiar and sat on a bale of hay near Limerick’s door. They were guarding the horse against further mischief, but the two brothers were also working through years of enmity, unwarranted beliefs, and false accusations. By dawn, they had come to terms with each other. She could hear it in the way they spoke to one another. Colin had finally made Patrick believe that his return to Ireland, risking capture, had been to see if he could help his younger brother. The past could never be undone, but Colin had been able to give Patrick an understanding of events.
To give them a moment of privacy, she turned to stroke Familiar as he perched on the saddle. He’d been in the horse van with Limerick when they’d driven straight to the track, and he’d stayed at the stall the entire time.
“After the race, I’m going back to the States,” Colin said.
“This is your country, Colin. If you want to stay, I’ll help you fight the charges.”
Colin shook his head. “As long as you know the truth, Patrick, the rest doesn’t matter. Da’ spent the money because he believed I was innocent. I was. Lucy—” He turned away on a muttered curse. “If I’d known what she was up to, I would have stopped her. But I had nothing to do with that bomb, or any other. It was a setup.”
“I believe you.” Patrick walked to the stall door. “Be careful. Once the race is over, Ridgeway will do anything he can to get even. I’m sure he’ll have the authorities looking or you.”
“If I ever had a desire to blow anyone up, it would be him.” Colin grinned. “I’m sure I can learn the expertise if you need me to.”
“We’ll handle him in our own way,” Patrick said, but he was smiling, too. “You can stay, you know.”
“My life is in America now. I’ve found a home, a woman who loves me.” He looked at Catherine. “She’s as pretty as Catherine, in her own way. And as fiery. It seems we share a passion for scrappy women.”
His next remark was directed solely to Catherine. “Take care of him for me. He’s always been difficult. A hard man, stubborn as a Dublin donkey. But I do think he’s trainable. Just don’t hold back on the bat and spurs.”
Catherine laughed. Still holding the pins she’d been using to secure Timmy’s blouse, she went to the stall door. “Good luck to you, Colin. If you ever decide to come back to Ireland, you have a place at Beltene. I saw you ride the night you were pretending to be Cuchulain. Beltene can always use another horse trainer with that kind of expertise.”
“I didn’t mean to endanger the horse,” Colin said. “I knew the path, and I could see that Limerick had the heart and spirit to tackle it without any difficulty. I would neve have injured him. I only took him to protect Patrick. I hope you believe that.”
“If you hadn’t taken him from the hideout, Ridgeway or Emory would have hurt him,” Catherine said. “You did us a great favor.”
“And tweaked my brother’s leathery hide a bit at the same time.” Colin put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Tell Old Mick goodbye for me.”
“Tell me yourself, you big oaf.” Old Mick stepped up and took Colin by the shoulders, hugging him fiercely. “Watch yourself, man.”
“And you.” Colin grinned widely. “I hear Allan Emory and his friend suffered some bruises on their trip to the authorities. You wouldn’t have beaten men who were already tied up, would you, Old Mick?”
“Nah! On my mother’s grave, I would never do such a thing.”
“What happened to them?”
“Can I help it if they had some difficulty rolling around in the back of Patrick’s Land Rover? I’d make a curve, and they’d thump, thump, thump across the floor. I’d make another curve, and there they’d go to the other side. Was little I could do to help them, me with my hands busy driving.”
“And I’ll bet you had nothing to do with ambushing Eamon McShane in the barn and beating him with a broom handle, did you?” Colin asked.
“Not a bit of it. ’Twas the little people who got after him. Pounded him squarely by the looks of him. But it didn’t stop Kent Ridgeway from hiring him on, so all in all, there was no harm done.”
“I thought I saw McShane over by the Wicklow grooms.” Catherine sighed. “In a way, it doesn’t seem fair. Allan and his business partner, Craig, will spend a long time in jail. Kidnapping is a serious charge.” Catherine spoke softly. Yet Kent is completely free.”
“Free, but not undamaged, if I know my brother,” Colin said. “I’d be waiting to hear what you finally do to him, Patrick.”
“Well, I came by to tell you that it’s time to bring Limerick out,” Old Mick told Patrick. “Timmy’s ready and the rack steward is waiting.”
Patrick opened the stall door and stepped out and into his brother’s embrace. “Take care, Colin, and good fortune.”
“The same to you.”
Colin touched his hat in Catherine’s direction and left.
“After all those years of hating him, it’s a relief to find out I was wrong,” Patrick said softly. “No matter what I’ve lost, I’ve got my brother back.” He went back to tighten girth one more time. “Ready?” He looked at Catherine. “It’s time.”
The sun dazzled off the mahogany coat of King’s Quest as he moved toward the starting gate. Only a few steps behind, Limerick’s steel gray coat seemed to absorb the light, pooling it in the dapples of his skin. King’s Quest danced sideways, eager, ready for the run. Limerick looked at the gate, his ears forward and alert, his step resistant.
Beside her, Catherine felt Patrick tense. “Limerick,” he whispered, and his hands clutched the rail. Looking down at the seats of laughing, gesturing spectators, Catherine saw Kent Ridgeway grin. If Limerick balked at the gate, then King’s Quest stood a chance of winning.
After an initial refusal, Limerick finally walked into the chute. The back gate closed behind him, trapping him inside until the front gate opened to release the horses.
Up on top of Limerick, Timmy looked around. Hitching his bat in his right hand, he settled as close to the saddle as possible. When the gate sprang open, Catherine felt her heart stop.
The bay leapt from the gate, striding out with tremendous force. Catherine felt Patrick grab her hand as Limerick broke out, only a second behind the bay.
The crowd cheered, nearly drowning out the announcer who followed the horses through the first turn and at the backstretch. They were neck and neck.
“He’s limping.” Patrick leaned forward, his grip on Catherine’s fingers nearly crushing the bone. “Pull him up, Timmy! He’s limping!” Patrick’s yell was swallowed by the crowd.
Catherine focused on the gray. She watched him stretch and gather, stretch and gather. There seemed to be no hitch in his movement, no soreness, no hesitation. But if Patrick saw a limp, she knew it was there. She kept looking.
As the horses rounded the final turn and moved into the homestretch, she saw what she’d been missing. It was movement so slight that no one but Patrick would have noticed it. Up top, Timmy would certainly feel it. She saw the moment the jockey realized his mount was sore. Sitting back, Timmy pulled on the reins.
A roar went through the crowd as they realized the jockey was trying to halt the big gray horse.
Timmy pulled with all of his strength, and Limerick stretched his neck longer and continued to run.
The horses were neck and neck, a dark shadow and a silver streak, moving at blazing speed along the homestretch.
“Pull back!” Patrick called to the jockey, but there wasn’t a prayer that Timmy would hear—or could obey. It was obvious that the gray stallion had made up his mind to run, and Timmy didn’t have the strength to pull him down.
With only a hundred yards to go, Timmy gave up bating Limerick. He leaned farther down the horse’s neck. His hands braced the big gray, and Limerick lengthened his stride by another two inches. Hooves digging into the loam of the track, he pulled forward. Stride by stride, he moved ahead of the bay.
All around her Catherine heard the roar of the crowd, her hand was numb in Patrick’s grip. As Limerick flew beneath the finish line, half a length ahead of King’s Quest, she allowed herself one fleeting look of victory at Kent Ridgeway. To her satisfaction, he refused to even meet her glance.
“Patrick!” But she had no time to talk. Still holding her hand, he was dragging her through the crowd to the winner’s circle.
Hands slapped her back as congratulations were tossed at her. She had no time to listen or respond. Patrick pulled her forward like a train. When they broke free of the crowd, she had to run to stay with him. “Patrick!”
“His shoulder, Catherine. I thought I’d arranged the saddle, so that it wouldn’t rub.” At those words, he moved even faster.
Instead of a grin of victory, Timmy’s face reflected worry, as he sat on Limerick while Old Mick walked the big horse round to cool him. Well-wishers and other trainers were watching, talking, laughing, offering congratulations, and asking for information on the big gray.
“Timmy!” Patrick’s voice was sharp with worry.
“I tried to pull him down,” Timmy said. “All along the homestretch, I was doing everything I could to stop him. I could feel him—” Aware of the curious onlookers, he stopped. “Limerick was determined to win, Patrick. There was nothing I could do at the last but stay with him.”
Patrick reached up, as if to assist Timmy off the horse. Old Mick stepped forward, maneuvering between them.
“Leave him be, Patrick, the horse isn’t damaged!” He put his hand n Patrick’s chest. “It’s done, and no harm, I’d say. Limerick’s a bit sore on his shoulder where the saddle was rubbing, but don’t call attention to it. Turn around and smile at Miss Catherine. Stand up here beside her horse for the photos.”
He motioned her forward. “A big smile now. Beltene is a winner today. Limerick has the good sense to recognize it.”
Instead of stepping forward, Catherine withdrew something from the pocket of her jacket.
“Catherine.” Old Mick held the reins out to her as the photographer stepped forward to snap the picture. “Come on up here. They want a picture of you and your horse.” The track attendant stood by with a garland of roses.
“No.” She handed the paper to Patrick. “I might own Beltene, but I’ll never own Limerick. I made a vow to myself when we were on the mountain. Limerick is Patrick horse. Perhaps we can work something out together about breeding services.”
Before Patrick could protest, Catherine put the papers in his left hand, and Old Mick gave him the reins in his right. The flash exploded, and Limerick turned to blow hot air in Patrick’s ear.
“Good luck, Patrick.” Catherine stepped forward and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll help you any way I can. You know that. If there’s any way possible, I want you to consider staying at Beltene as head trainer.”
Patrick signaled Old Mick over. He took a
moment to rub Limerick’s head, whispering a few words into the stallion’s ear before giving him over to Old Mick. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Once again, he took Catherine’s hand, but this time he led her carefully through the people and back to the stables.
“I can’t accept the horse,” he said. “He’s yours. You bought him fairly, and without him, Beltene will fail.”
“I’ll have King’s Quest, or at least the use of him. I intend to return him to David Trussell with an agreement for some breedings.”
Patrick grinned. “So, you’re giving it all away, everything you’ve fought so hard to hold.”
“I think I’m doing what’s fair. If you’ll agree to race Limerick and allow me to buy some breedings from you then perhaps it won’t be as terrible as you think.”
“There is a way you could have me as trainer and the stallion.” Patrick’s voice was thoughtful. “It would require more than a little sacrifice on your part, though.”
“What?” Catherine waited.
“You could marry me.”
Catherine stopped dead still. The noise of the crowd faded slowly away. She stared into Patrick’s blue eyes and saw the future. Together they could make Beltene a great horse breeding and racing farm. She might do it alone, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t imagine Beltene without Patrick. No matter where she went, she’d see him in the pastures, in the barn.
“Catherine?” Patrick held out his hand.
Ignoring it, she ran the two steps into his arms. “Yes,” she agreed. “Yes.”
“I always knew Limerick was a valuable animal. Little did I know he’d get me the woman I wanted from the first day I saw her.”
Catherine pulled back. “You acted as if you hated me,” she said.
“I wanted you, and I knew I’d never stand a chance of having you.”
“Dreams can sometimes come true,” she whispered.
“Ah,” Patrick said, “indeed. But we have someone else to thank for all of this.”
Catherine looked down. The sleek black cat stood at her feet. With a quick slap of his front paw, he sent a rose scuttling against her left foot. It had fallen from the garland that was now draped around Limerick’s neck.
Thrice Familiar (Fear Familiar Book 3) Page 24