Catherine ignored the last barb. Her brow furrowed deeper with concentration. "Sit down, Mr. Shaw. We've got to figure out who has Limerick and how to get him back. If it's someone in the barn, acting alone or under your instructions, have them return the horse and all will be forgiven. I'm going to give you that one chance because I believe you could have been motivated by your concern for the animal." She looked at him, her gaze unwavering. "I may not care for you personally, but I don't believe you're a common thief."
Reluctant admiration made Patrick concede to her command. He eased his lanky frame into the chair. Instead of going to pieces as he'd anticipated, Catherine had done the exact opposite. She didn't know beans about horses, but she wasn't a total idiot, either. "There's no need for a general amnesty. There's no one at the barn guilty of any crime."
"Then let's get to some facts. When did you discover he was gone?" She took out a pen and paper and began to make notes.
"Just before I walked over here. I mixed his feed and took it to his stall. That's when I noticed it was empty." He watched the way her pen looped over the page. Elegant handwriting.
She looked at her watch. It was still early morning. Just after seven o'clock. "Maybe one of the grooms has taken him for a workout?"
"No one touches Limerick but me." He spoke coldly to crush the hope in her eyes.
"How convenient." The softness was gone. "I want a list of all the grooms who stayed at the barn last night. I want the entire staff assembled in the barn in fifteen minutes. I'll be over there, as soon as I call the police."
Patrick had been ready to rise from his chair when her final words stopped him. "Do you think it's such a good idea to bring the authorities into it?"
"Of course. A valuable animal has been stolen." Catherine felt her exasperation rising. Patrick was looking at her as if she were completely daft. "Why wouldn't I call the police?"
Patrick's jaw twitched once. "Remember when Speedo was stolen?"
Catherine nodded. Who could forget that horrible case? The horse had been held for ransom and then killed. The very idea made her stomach knot.
"It was said the men who stole the horse wouldn't have killed him if the authorities hadn't been called in. Once they were cornered, they reacted badly. It might be better, for Limerick, if we…if you waited to see if there is some kind of demand made."
Catherine put her pen down. "Should I be expecting a ransom demand?" She held her breath.
"I suggest you wait for a call, or at least until the post arrives, before you rush around making any outlandish accusations or riling the staff." Patrick saw the look in her eyes. "All of the grooms have been with me or my father for at least five years. Some over twenty. You can't accuse a man of being a thief and then expect him to forget it the next day."
"I don't believe I asked you for a lecture on the collective ego of my staff." Catherine stood. "Don't touch anything near Limerick's stall. I'm sure my father will insist that I hire a detective, and the insurance company will also want to send someone to look into this." She brushed her hair back and set her earrings into motion. The gold glittered in her hair.
Patrick stood, hands clasped in front of him as he watched Catherine begin searching the directory for the appropriate telephone numbers. She looked up. "Is there anything else?"
"I just thought it was worth a mention that you've never once inquired about the horse's health. If he's been taken for ransom, he might be well cared for. If he's been taken because someone knows his potential, he might be dead. But then, he's just another investment to people like you."
"No one would kill such a magnificent animal." Catherine's face blanched. "That's a terrible thing to even bring up. Limerick is extremely valuable. He has the potential to sweep the English and French tracks. No one in their right mind would steal him just to hurt him."
"I wish that were true."
Catherine snapped the pencil in her hand. "You're merely trying to scare me, aren't you? You take pleasure in making me think of the worst things possible."
Patrick could not stop the rush of pity he felt for her at last. Her face was white, startling against the red of her hair. "They can't run him. He's too distinctive in his coloring and his conformation. They can't register the foals if they breed him— unless they falsify his records." He stopped. He'd made his point.
Catherine's green eyes glazed with worry. "We have to get him back. Before he's injured."
For a split second Patrick thought Catherine might cry. The woman was hard as volcanic rock baked in the hot sun for ten thousand years. Tears were biologically impossible for her. Yet they glittered dangerously at her lower lids, threatening to slip down her face.
"I'm sure Limerick will be okay." Patrick was surprised at the tenderness in his own voice. Where had that come from?
"And how are you sure?" Catherine rounded on him with words as sharp as a slap. "Unless you know who has him."
"You're a hard woman to give a bit of comfort." Patrick moved toward the door. He was as mad at himself as at her high-handed tone. "I'll have your staff assembled, Miss Nelson. I hope you have sense enough to take their offers of help, if they dare to give any." He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him with a solid slam. She was the most infuriating woman he'd ever met.
When he got to the barn he called up the workers. There were fifteen in all, with one missing. "Where's Mick?" he asked.
"One of the foals stepped on his bad foot this morning. He took himself home for a hot soak," Jack said. He gave Patrick a knowing look. The grooms, trainers and stable hands looked speculatively at Patrick. They all knew that Limerick was gone. They all believed he'd taken the animal.
"Don't touch anything near Limerick's stall. Miss Nelson is calling the police. There will be an investigation, so I suggest you all try to remember where and with whom you spent the night last night."
"And what about yourself?" a trainer asked, grinning. "I hope you have an alibi, Patrick. You'll be the first they suspect. You went up against her royal highness and you'll pay the price."
"They can suspect me all they want. I don't give a damn for their suspicions. When they can prove something on me, then I'll have a worry."
Patrick shifted his attention to the barn door. Catherine had slipped up on him once, but it wouldn't happen again. He was watching for her. She arrived promptly, already changed into riding breeches and a sweater, her long hair pulled into a severe chignon. Patrick expected Catherine to be on time. What he didn't expect was Kent Ridgeway to still be with her. The British trainer had undoubtedly spent the night at the country house.
That idea made Patrick's temper flare. Ridgeway was a successful trainer, but then no one kept statistics on how many of his horses broke down after a short racing season. No one but him and a few other trainers who abhorred Ridgeway's practices. Ridgeway's horses ran and they won. And then they suffered the consequences of his win-at-any-cost program. With leg injuries and temperaments spoiled by mistreatment, many had to be destroyed. Yet Ridgeway was an honored guest of Catherine Nelson. The fact rankled.
"Miss Nelson, I would appreciate it if we could keep this meeting among the staff." Patrick shot a pointed glance at Ridgeway. "A stranger will only make a bad situation worse."
"Mr. Ridgeway has an interest in this matter." Catherine's tone was glacial. Her fury at Patrick's suggestion was plain for all to see.
"It isn't a good method of doing business," Patrick insisted. "An outsider will only heighten what's sure to be an emotional meeting. We're all very concerned about Limerick."
"Mr. Ridgeway may not be an outsider for long."
Even expecting the worst of Catherine, Patrick was stunned. He looked away from her, dropping his gaze so that she could not see the emotions in his eyes. His vision chanced upon the black cat sitting sphinxlike down the barn. The strangest feeling that Familiar was drinking in the entire scene gave him the distance from his anger that he needed. He struggled for composure and finally won.
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"Is Mr. Ridgeway coming to work here at Beltene?" Casual interest was all he dared express.
"That's really not your concern, but the answer is no. I'm considering sending some of the two-year-olds down to his training facility. He can condition them faster than we're doing here. They'll also be convenient when the English racing season opens. I want Beltene to hit the next racing season with a horse in every major event. But none of this is relevant now. We're here to discuss Limerick."
"Not relevant!" Patrick shouted. He couldn't help himself. He'd rather see them sold for plow horses than crippled by Ridgeway. "You'd give that man my horses to break down. I— "
"They are no longer your horses." Catherine's calm voice cut through his outrage. It stopped Patrick in midsentence.
"A fact I won't forget again." Patrick matched her, glare for icy glare. He could only be thankful his father was not alive to witness this moment. Thomas Shaw would surely be turning over in his grave at such a tragedy. And there wasn't a damn thing Patrick could do. If Catherine decided to put Ridgeway in charge of every horse on Beltene, Patrick could not stop it.
"If Mr. Shaw will allow us, we'll get on with this. As you all know by now, the most valuable horse at Beltene has been…taken."
Mumblings swept among the men. Several looked at Patrick, some with glee and others with worry.
"I want the grooms on duty last night to come with me. Everyone else will remain here. Use the time to try and remember anything that might be of help in locating Limerick. If he's still alive— " Catherine's voice trembled slightly "— we want him back." She turned abruptly and walked toward the barn office where Patrick kept the records on each horse. Ridgeway followed.
Five men in the group shifted uneasily and started forward. "I knew there was going to be hell to pay for this," one of them said. He swung his gaze around the cluster. "If one of you has taken that horse, I hope you bring him back before we all lose our jobs. I've got a family. My children need shoes and books. In case you haven't noticed, jobs are scarce."
"Keep your mouth shut and stand together," Jack warned him. He led the others to the office door where Catherine waited.
"Sean is upset." Timmy came up to Patrick. "He's afraid we'll all be fired."
"Sean stays upset. If the sun shines, he wants rain. If rain is soaking the earth, he wants dry weather."
"Will we all be fired?" Timmy touched Patrick's arm. "I can still get on at one of the stables in Kildare. If I'm accused of horse theft, no one will ever hire me again."
Patrick stared at Timmy. "You're the best jockey I have. It would hurt me to see you go, but I can't make predictions on the future. The mind of Catherine Nelson is a dark and twisted thing. You'll have to make your own decisions about what to do."
"Did you take Limerick?" Timmy rubbed his forehead with his fist. "If you did, bring him back. I know you're worried about his knee, but is one horse worth all of the men who work here?"
"I don't attempt to give you advice, Timmy. I'd appreciate the same consideration." Patrick's look left no room for further conversation.
* * *
I'D SWEAR that it was Patrick I saw leading that horse out of here last night. But it was dark, and I didn't get a clear look. The million dollar question is, who else would that horse follow around like a big dog? It's a puzzle, that's for sure.
With two resolved mysteries under my belt, I've given myself the official title of T.O. That's Trained Observer, to the uninformed. T.O.s notice the fine detail, the telling nuance. For example, everyone was so busy watching the Ice Queen and the Lone Ranger at each other's throats, no one paid any attention to that British fellow. Except me. He's about the same size as Patrick. He's a horse trainer. He was looking at the Ice Queen as if he intended to melt her bones. Hmm. Is that the reason I sense the old chap despises Patrick? Could be a simple case of jealousy. Or it could be more.
Looks like my confinement in the country is going to be more interesting than I thought.
Catherine deserves some serious contemplation, too. Now that's an easy task. For all of that frost she generates, there's something in her eyes that tells me she's not as cold as she likes to portray. Cat's eyes. I'll bet, given the right set of circumstances, that one could make the fur fly. I've always heard that no water boils so fast as that from a freezing spring.
Well, okay, maybe I did make that up, but it sounds right. Especially where Miss Catherine is concerned. If only Eleanor were here. I can see that things are going to come to a head very quickly. And it is my moral obligation to look out for Patrick, even though he isn't the best host I've ever visited. He just needs a bit of refining, I suppose. As interesting as all of this may be, it doesn't help resolve who took that big gray horse.
Speculation never made a solid case, so the T.O. must begin to gather evidence. Lucky no one around here seems to take any notice of me. Anonymity is great, except I'm ready for breakfast. I refuse to eat that horrible crispy stuff he put out for me. I can't believe my Eleanor wasn't stricter with him about my dietary needs. At any rate, the main house is across the road. I wonder if I trotted over and chatted up the cook if I might get a few luscious tidbits. I can smell the ocean from here so I know there's bound to be some tasty seafood in that kitchen. Patrick spent twenty minutes last night mixing up oats and corn and barley for that horse. And he pours a bowl of dry food for me. That man has a lot to learn about cats. Cats and women. And I do believe that Catherine and I might just be the team to clue him in.
After I solve the mystery of Limerick.
And that's after breakfast.
Oh, saunter, saunter. I haven't had to warm up a cook in quite some time. It'll be good practice for me. The kitchen is always the place to pick up the local gossip. Right at this minute I'm curious to find out how Kent Ridgeway fits into the scheme of things.
* * *
"WHERE DID THAT CAT come from?" Catherine's voice stopped Familiar and every stable hand within hearing.
"Patrick's keeping him for a friend." Timmy spoke up.
"Has it had all of its vaccinations?" Catherine took a step backward as the black cat turned to look at her. She could swear his green eyes went from curious to furious. One minute he'd been simply looking at her, and the minute she'd said "vaccination," he glared. His green eyes were slits of displeasure.
"I'm sure this cat is fine. He's from America. His owners are here on business and they were called away suddenly. Patrick's only keeping him a few days." Timmy was almost pleading.
"America?" The cat seemed intent on her, as if he'd excluded everyone and everything else from his attention. "He is a handsome animal." The barn lights were reflected in his sleek black coat. When no one answered her question, she snapped, "Tell Patrick to take him 'round to the clinic and be sure he's had all his shots."
"He's a special case," Timmy supplied. "A rare exception he is, to get into Ireland like he did."
"I still want to make certain that he's vaccinated. For his sake as well as— "
"Yours? Afraid he might bite you?" Patrick's voice held a clear challenge. He'd quietly followed Catherine. "I think if they let Ridgeway into Ireland they should certainly let a well-behaved cat."
"I spoke with the men who were on duty," Catherine said, ignoring his remark. "They deny hearing anything. They were all industriously working in some other area of the barn. Sean pointed out, in fact, that since you're living over the area where Limerick's stall is, that you'd be the logical one to hear any disturbance."
"That is logical." Patrick bent over and scooped Familiar into his arms. "I heard nothing."
"So you've said." Catherine forgot about the cat and approached the trainer. There was a dangerous glint in Patrick's eyes. For a split second, while he was standing in the library, she thought she'd seen something more. A flash of interest, a hint of sympathy. But that was impossible. Patrick Shaw hated her and her family. He hated everything she stood for as a successful member of one of the British families that had decided t
o make Ireland their home.
Intruder. Interloper. Outsider. Those were some of the prettier names she'd heard behind her back. Some of the others were far worse. True, she'd never heard Patrick utter any of those phrases. He didn't have to open his mouth. She read contempt in every line of his body whenever she asked him the simplest question or offered the tiniest suggestion. Were he not the best trainer in the British Isles, she'd find it more than a simple matter to dismiss him. That and the fact that she felt some degree of sympathy for what had happened to him through his family's decisions.
Beltene, named for beltane, the pagan spring holiday on the first day of May, had been in his family for five generations. They'd created a name and a breeding line that was limited but legendary. But they'd lost it. No one had taken it from them. Poor management and bad decisions had put them in the red. Her father had paid a fair and reasonable price for it. More than he would have had to if the banks had had their way. Instead of being grateful that his family heritage had been left intact, he resented her father— and even more so, her.
"Have you notified the police?"
Patrick's question went right by her. She was studying him, the way he held the cat so gently and glared at her so fiercely. Something in his eyes accelerated her pulse.
"Have you notified the police?" Patrick repeated. Not only was the woman insufferable, she apparently went into dazes. She was staring at him and the cat as if she'd never seen either man or feline.
"I'm sorry." She blinked her eyes. "No. I decided to wait for the post, as you suggested."
Patrick let his back relax slightly. "If you receive anything, will you let me know?"
Catherine caught the worry in his voice. For the first time she considered that he might actually be innocent. "Yes, I will."
"Thank you." Patrick walked past her without another word.
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