Fear Familiar Bundle

by Caroline Burnes

  "Oh, dear." Catherine looked crestfallen. "I should have thought. It's just that I spoke with him yesterday morning and I understood he was coming straight back to Wicklow."

  "You're from Beltene, aren't you? The new owner." The man held out his hand. "Cecil Baxter, the farm manager. Maybe I can help you."

  Catherine took his hand in a firm handshake. "Kent is doing a favor for me, Mr. Baxter. To be honest, I wanted to make sure that I'm not putting him in a bad position. I know how busy Wicklow is, and I don't want to burden him with these extra horses. He's agreed to take them on because…well, as a personal favor."

  "I see." Cecil motioned her toward the office door. "Come in and we'll have some tea. You look tired."

  "It's been a…difficult trip."

  She followed him into the stone office, her footsteps absorbed by plush carpeting. Everything was modern, new, immaculate. A well-groomed secretary sat at a desk with a headphone on, while another girl was ordering files.

  Cecil led her through a solid door and into his private office. "How many horses were you thinking of sending us?" He pulled out a chair for her at a table.

  "Four, maybe six. It all depends." She fluttered her hands. "I'm rather new in this business. Kent has been so helpful to me. I'm just sorry he isn't here."

  "I can call him."

  "No!" Catherine cleared her throat. "I mean, I wouldn't want to distract him from whatever he's doing. I didn't make the proper arrangements. If he'll be back tomorrow, I can wait until then."

  "Perhaps you'd like to see the facilities?" Cecil picked up the telephone on his desk and ordered tea. "Meg will bring it in a few moments. We'll just chat a bit. If I can tell you anything about Wicklow, I'll be glad to do so. You're making a wise decision to send your horses here. As a new farm owner, you need to establish yourself with a winning season. I know the Beltene horses. Excellent stock. They just lack training and exposure." He smiled broadly.

  Gritting her teeth at the insult, Catherine smiled. "I believe you're absolutely correct." She wanted him out of the room long enough for her to search for the racing contract. But she didn't know how to go about removing him. It was obvious he was going to stick to her while she was there. Her apparent affluence had caught his attention— too well. Sudden inspiration struck.

  "I've forgotten my papers in the front seat of the car. Would you excuse me for a moment?" She rose. "I'll be right back."

  Before Cecil could protest, she made a swift exit. As soon as she got to the car she spoke to Familiar. "Make an escape now, and do your best," she whispered as she reached for the cat and put him on the edge of the seat. "I hope you're as smart as I think you are."

  Familiar eyed the area. He took in the trees lining the parking lot, the stone walls perfectly edged and even, the stone building that was the office and the dark shadow of the barn behind. His eyes lingered on the slanted roof of the barn. It was an enormous building, stretching east and west with one wing extending south.

  With perfect grace, he sprang forward and ran toward the open window of a stall in the barn.

  "Mr. Baxter! Mr. Baxter!" Catherine ran back into the office. She fled past the receptionist, who looked up too late to do anything more than make a garbled noise. "My cat has run into your barn. You have to help me catch him."

  "Cat!" Baxter stood. He was perfectly composed, but a small pulse beat at his neck. "What cat?"

  "I had my cat in the car with me and he got out when I opened the front door."

  "You brought a cat here from Ireland?" Baxter was incredulous. "How did you get him through customs?"

  "I, uh, hid him. I didn't mean to stay here and I didn't think it would hurt." Catherine looked suitably miserable. "It was stupid, but I wasn't thinking. You see, he'd hidden in the car before I left Beltene. By the time I discovered him, I was halfway to Kildare. I couldn't turn around then. I simply didn't have the time. I only meant to come here, speak to Kent and go home."

  Baxter said nothing, but his look confirmed the thought that he agreed with her. She didn't think, but probably because she couldn't. She was a bird. A rich bird, but a bird nonetheless.

  "Where did he go?" he asked.

  "The barn."

  He picked up the receiver of his telephone and pressed one button. "Meg, call some of the grooms together. We have to catch a stray cat in the southern wing of the barn." When he looked up at Catherine, his face was composed.

  "I'm terribly sorry." Catherine stood in the center of his office wringing her hands. "What can I do? I— " She broke down into tears.

  "Have a cup of tea," Baxter said, rising to the occasion. "We'll catch him. Don't worry. We'll get him safely."

  "Oh, thank you." Sinking into a chair, Catherine pulled a tissue from her purse. In a final move, she turned the purse upside down, spilling the contents over the floor. "Oh, damn! Look what I've done. I'm such a fool, such a clumsy fool. My father always said I was fumble-fingered."

  "I'll see to the cat," Baxter said. To his immense relief, Lucy brought in a tea tray. He nodded for her to leave it and get out of the room. As soon as she was gone, he spoke to Catherine. "Have a cup of tea and pull yourself together." He tried not to stare at the tubes of lipstick, the change and pens and paper clips that were all over the floor of his office.

  "I'm such a fool!" Catherine sobbed.

  "A cup of tea will soothe you," Baxter said softly. "I'll find that cat and return shortly." He left before she could say anything more.

  Catherine wasted no time gathering her belongings and stuffing them into her purse. Then she went to the files. Her fingers moved quickly through the alphabetical listings until she came to King's Quest. Inside the file was the stallion's registration papers, photographs, his lineage and the racing agreement. The yellow pages of the document were identical to her own. The original had to be at the track, and she could only pray that Patrick would be successful in his attempt to retrieve it.

  She pulled the papers from the file, stuffed them in the pocket of her skirt and returned to the floor, pretending to search for her lipsticks. There was something else in the file drawer she'd seen, but she was afraid to risk looking at it. She'd gotten what she came for, and she didn't want to push her luck. Still…She reached for the cabinet to pull herself to her feet.

  "Mr. Baxter said you'd spilled your purse." Meg, the young secretary, stood in the doorway. She was obviously miffed by the uproar Catherine had created at Wicklow.

  "I have it now," Catherine told her. She walked forward on her knees, pulled her last lipstick from under a chair and finally got to her feet. All of her things were bulging out of her purse. "This has just been a disaster. Maybe I should go help them with that cat."

  "He seems to be eluding them." Meg frowned. "Shouldn't you keep him on a leash or something?"

  "I shouldn't have brought him with me," Catherine agreed in her most contrite voice. "It was very foolish of me. The truth is, he was in the car and I was halfway here before I noticed. I couldn't just throw him out on the side of the road, you know."

  "I should hope not." Meg was offended by the mere suggestion. "Perhaps in the future you might check your car before you decided on a cross-country trip."

  "Of course." Catherine forced her voice to sound meek and repentant, but her green eyes snapped with displeasure. The secretary was something else, quite a little bossy thing. Catherine took in the tight red dress, the high heels, the rounded hips. Looking up at Meg's face, she saw the perfect skin and big blue eyes, all framed by blond hair. So, that was the way of it. Meg could afford to act arrogant. She was sleeping with the boss.

  "Shall I pour your tea?" Meg asked, implying that Catherine would undoubtedly wreck the china.

  "That would be lovely," Catherine answered. "I'll bet you're quite expert at performing the little services that make the day go by so pleasantly for Kent." She spoke in the most innocent of voices, but the other woman did not misread her intentions.

  She paused, teapot in midair, and reall
y looked at Catherine.

  "Is there anything else I can get you?" The condescending note was gone from her voice. In its place was a calm, pleasant, professional voice.

  "Nothing." Catherine picked up the fine china. "I'll take my cup of tea to the barn and help look for Familiar. I'm certain Kent won't mind. After all, he's dragged enough of my china and crystal about Beltene while inspecting horses there." She refilled her cup, stirred in another sugar and got up. Meg made no peep of protest.

  Catherine wasn't certain, but she saw a door that looked as if it might lead to the barn. Teacup in hand, she opened it and walked into another office. Two men were sitting at desks, bent over papers. She nodded, walked past them to another door. Opening it, she smelled leather and hay, liniment and horse.

  "Familiar!" She walked into the barn, aware that several grooms had paused to look at her. She was ridiculously overdressed and overjeweled. But Wicklow wasn't Beltene, and she realized she didn't really care what Kent's grooms and trainers thought of her. The papers in her pocket told her well enough that she'd have no business with Wicklow in the future.

  "Is it your cat?" one short man asked irritably.

  "Yes, I'm afraid he is." Catherine had resumed her regular tone. There was no need to sound hysterical or foolish now. She'd gotten what she'd come for, and it had been easier than she'd ever dreamed. If she'd only had a little more time she might have found out many interesting things.

  "If it were mine, I'd sight it down the end of a barrel. That blasted creature's been running right under our feet." He shook his head. "It's like he's playing a game with us."

  "Kitty, kitty." Catherine called innocently. She wondered how much Familiar was enjoying himself. In all likelihood, he was having a blast making fools of all the humans who were chasing him.

  "There he goes!" The cry went up at the end of the barn, and Catherine saw a small back figure dashing her way.

  "Familiar!" She opened her arms wide and he sailed into the safety of them. "What a good kitty!" She kissed his head. "He knows who loves him."

  Sweat was dripping off the tip of Cecil's nose when he ran up to her. His immaculate wool pants bore traces of hay. "He was in the loft, running above the horses' heads. We were afraid he'd drop into a stall."

  "He's quick. The horses would never have stepped on him."

  "It wasn't the cat I was worried about," Cecil said dryly. "He could have spooked one of the horses and caused an accident. We don't allow any animals in our barns. That's one thing you can rest assured about here at Wicklow."

  "Oh, no companion animals?" Catherine looked around. "That's too bad."

  "We simply can't allow it. The men have no time for such."

  "Certainly." Catherine held Familiar lightly in her arms, teacup dangling off one finger. She waggled it at Cecil, releasing it into his care. "The tea was delicious, and thank Meg for all of her help. I guess maybe I'd better not stay around for a tour of the facilities. I'll go to my hotel and call Kent tomorrow. Maybe he'll have time to see me then."

  "I'm certain he will." Cecil was regaining his posture and dignity. He'd wiped his face with a clean linen handkerchief and he brushed the tiny bits of hay from his pants.

  Holding Familiar against her chest, she saw a barn door that would lead to the parking lot. She took it, bending once to kiss Familiar's head. "Quite the little rascal, aren't you?" she whispered. "You did an excellent job."

  Once she'd driven out of Wicklow she stopped and checked the time. It was midmorning. She could make it home by early evening, maybe sooner, depending on the ferry to Dublin. She'd crossed once without any trouble with Familiar. Would she be so lucky twice? The black cat was asleep on the front seat beside her. Reaching out, she stroked under his chin and was rewarded with a rich purr.

  "Ah, Familiar, I wonder if Mauve wasn't right. It would seem you've bewitched the lot of us at Beltene. Especially me and Patrick Shaw."

  Opening one green eye, Familiar gave her a look. "Meow," he said sleepily. He closed his eye and returned to a nap.

  * * *

  "NO ONE'S BEEN there for several days," Timmy said slowly. He raised his voice as he continued talking into the phone. "Patrick, is there something wrong here? It isn't like old Mick to take off for a few days' visit during the middle of the spring training."

  "His foot's been gnawing at him and making him sore to live with," Patrick said, forcing a bit of lightness into his tone. "I told him a few days off it would help. He didn't want to leave but I made him."

  "Well, there's no sign that he's back. Maybe he finally took some good advice and went to visit Michael and Kate."

  "That must be it. Thanks for checking his cottage."

  "How much longer will you be away?" Timmy asked.

  "Another day, possibly two." Patrick heard the nervousness in the jockey's voice. "What's going on at Beltene?"

  "Nothing really."

  "My eye. Spit it out, Timmy. What is it?"

  "McShane. He's trying to say you left him in charge. Miss Nelson is gone and most of the men are doing their jobs, ignoring Eamon. But he's talking about calling the authorities about Limerick. He says now's the time to do it while you're away and there's no one to threaten him."

  Patrick was silent. He felt balanced on a wire, in a position where any little puff of wind could blow him over. Eamon McShane could supply that push. Once the authorities were called in, Patrick would never get Limerick back. It was a gut feeling he had. Not to mention Mick. At the thought of the old man, held against his will, Patrick felt impotent rage begin to build.

  "Tell McShane if he calls anyone, I'll come home and personally break his neck."

  "Patrick…" Timmy didn't finish. He could hear the fury in the other man's voice. He'd seen Patrick mad only once before, long ago. Patrick had caught one of the grooms flogging a young horse who wouldn't obey him. The groom had managed to survive with only a broken arm, but no one at Beltene had since forgotten the Shaw rules about mistreatment of the horses. Patrick's voice was as angry now as it had been back then.

  "Tell him, Timmy. He's been telling everyone I beat him up once. I didn't. If I decide to put a hand on him, he won't be walking around to tell about it."

  "It might be best not to speak of it," Timmy said hesitantly. "Talk like that can get a man in trouble."

  "If it's trouble McShane wants, I'm the man to give it to him. Tell him. And tell him this time Peg won't stop me. I'm sorry for her, true enough, married to the likes of him. But pity won't hold me back this time. Tell him all of that."

  "I will." Timmy had no desire to argue with Patrick. Not in the black mood he was in. "Take care, Patrick," Timmy cautioned.

  "And you." Patrick returned the telephone to its cradle with a short curse as he paced the small room he'd taken near the track in Kildare. He'd asked Timmy to check Mick's cottage on the hopes Mick had somehow magically returned. The lie Patrick had given Timmy was that old Mick had gone to visit his son in Belfast to rest his injured foot.

  Even though Patrick knew it wasn't plausible that Mick had returned, he couldn't stop himself from checking to see if the old man was home. But Mick's cottage had remained vacant. There was no sign that anyone had been around, Timmy said. Mick had vanished.

  Patrick paced the floor and tried to imagine what Catherine was doing. With any luck on her side, she'd be on her way back to Kildare. Back to him. Joy at the prospect surged through him, only adding to his sense of restriction. All he could do was pace and wait.

  He could only hope that Catherine's search would prove more useful than his. There was no document at the Kildare track reflecting a claim race between Limerick and King's Quest. There was a racing agreement signed by Catherine and David Trussell, the two owners, for a match race. But it was only a brief form. The contract was missing, a fact that Patrick wasn't sure was favorable or not.

  It had taken every bit of his considerable charm to get one of the young secretaries to call up the files on her computer. When she couldn
't find it electronically, he'd begged her to look manually. Zip. That was the end result. That and the fact that he'd felt like a heel for using the girl. Had there been another way, he would have taken it. Unfortunately, the security in the office at Kildare was a bit more professional than he'd anticipated. It was a good thing he'd stopped Catherine from her harebrained scheme of trying to break into the office and steal the document. She would have been caught for sure.

  Something else that disturbed him was the gossip floating around the track about Catherine. There were some harsh rumors being spread regarding the race with King's Quest and the bad position David Trussell had been pushed into. Track sympathies were running hard against Catherine Nelson, new owner of Beltene Farm.

  Patrick sat down on the narrow bed and tried to put the chaos of his life in order. Limerick. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw the stallion arching his neck eagerly toward him. Who had taken the horse? And why?

  The worst of it was that no ransom note had arrived. Deep in his heart, Patrick knew that whoever had taken Limerick was up to something other than money. If it was a simple case of horsenapping, then Catherine would have heard the ransom demands by now. The very fact that kidnappers were still holding Mick spoke of other motives.

  He got up and paced the small room. Eight strides in either direction in the cramped space. He'd been cast into limbo, unable to do anything to help. The only two facts he had were that Mick was taken and Limerick had been ridden into the treacherous bogs.

  And ridden was the key word. Someone had ridden the horse away.

  That was perplexing. Patrick could ride him easily. Timmy managed him on the track. Other than that, no one else had ever been on his back. Limerick loved a good run, but would he willingly accept a strange rider?

  Even more troubling was old Mick. Someone had known that the old man would be able to tell where Limerick was hidden. So it had to be someone who knew Patrick and Mick had taken the stallion in the first place. At the barn, only Jack had discovered their plan, and he would never do anything to injure Mick. No, it had to be someone else.

  The finger of guilt pointed toward Beltene Farm and some of the hands there. All of them were men and boys Patrick had known for years or handpicked himself. The exception was McShane. He was the bad apple in the barrel, but McShane knew nothing. He suspected a great deal, but he had no facts.