Fear Familiar Bundle (60 page)

Good grief. Here comes Billy and Stalker. Those are two lucky dudes. Beaker never knew anything about the grand bomb plot, and no one around here is talking. Maybe they'll take Adam up on his offer to help them get into a good college.

What is going on around here? There's a car in the front yard. More company? They're giving a party, and no one even bothered to tell me.

"F
AMILIAR
? Is that you?"

The cat sauntered through the door into the kitchen and froze. With a wild meow, he ran across the room and threw himself into the arms of the strangely dressed woman. Her head was wrapped in white bandages, and her arms were also bandaged, but she managed to catch the cat to her chest and hold him as she bent to kiss him.

"Familiar! I can't believe it." Eleanor Curry turned to the tall man who stood beside her. "It's really him, Peter. Can you believe it?"

"Where that cat is concerned, I can believe anything," Dr. Peter Curry answered. He went to his wife and kissed her neck as she petted and stroked the purring cat. "It looks like our search is over."

Standing in the doorway, Cassandra held Adam's hand. It was the reunion she'd always hoped for, but it was also tearing a hole in her heart. She'd known from the very beginning that Familiar was somebody's cat. In fact, she'd hoped to find his real owners. Now that she had, she didn't want to give him up.

Adam's arms went around her and pulled her back against him. "There won't ever be another Familiar, but we'll get a cat," he said. "I can't imagine life without one now."

"Thank you both," Eleanor said as she brushed the tears from her eyes. "When my friend Magdalena called and said she'd seen Familiar on television, I didn't believe it could be true. Not in Tennessee."

"Well, I wondered about those Washington phone numbers on my bill. When I found out from directory assistance that they were a vet's office, I suspected it was Familiar's work." Cassandra swallowed her own tears and forced a smile. "I'm so happy for you. He's a wonderful cat."

"He saved my life," Eleanor said.

"He seems to make a habit out of that," Adam added. "Strange how it's only beautiful women that he rescues."

"I told Cassandra he was a very special creature," Running Stream added. She had her hand on her son's arm, and beside her stood the other Indian men.

Amid the laughter, Familiar accepted all the strokes and pets.

A
IN'T LIFE GRAND
? What cat could be luckier? From one beautiful dame to the next, and now home to my own little precious Clotilde. Arnold Evans is still on the loose, but not for long. The cops have a line on him, but even better than that, I'm on the alert. And Cassandra will help me. We're psychically linked now. And if that ain't enough, I have visiting rights whenever I want to come back here. Eleanor promised that I would never have to travel by moving van again, either. I'm thinking private limo, with remote-control TV. I'm afraid I've become a news junkie due to all of this. I've even developed a yen for those talk shows. Reminds me of the days…uh, day…when I was a star.

Yeah, I'm going to miss my mountain home, but the truth is, I'm an urban kind of cat. The feel of pavement beneath my paws. Lovely little kitties in the windows of their homes, preening and sassing. And best of all, my Eleanor. Dr. Doolittle says she'll get the turban off in two weeks, and when her hair grows back, she'll be the same old gorgeous dame. No permanent injuries. Not even a broken heart, now that she has me back— and that's a quote from Dr. D.!

A little sandpaper tongue treatment for Goldilocks. Now, now, no tears. My fur tends to flake when exposed to too much salt water. Even a little purr for Lancelot. I hate to leave a damsel alone, but even though the announcement hasn't been officially made, I think there's going to be a mountaintop union going on here soon.

Well, that's it. Watch out, Clotilde, get that cute little French-accented motor running— I'm headed home.

I cannot believe that my life has come to this. Abandoned by my own Eleanor in the squalor of— dare I utter the word— a barn. Not your small, pleasant red variety of barn. This is an enormous rambling structure with forty stalls and a dozen workers moving about at all times.

And I'm supposed to live here. Outdoors. Eating out of a bowl that hasn't been washed in days. Drinking rainwater, if I'm lucky enough to find some.

How is it possible that I've been subjected to such a demeaning situation?

Barn cat. Think of the image this conjures up. Lean, scruffy cats always alert for the tell-tail movement of a rodent. Oh, that's not a pun, that's a gag. A real gag! They're probably going to expect me to catch rats. And eat them.

It doesn't matter that I've been smuggled into Ireland. There's not enough bracing air in all of Europe to rid my nostrils of the smell of hay and leather and horses. How could Eleanor do this to me? Dr. Doolittle, well, I don't expect any more of him. He's only a man. But Eleanor, she should know better than this.

I have a multitude of complaints about the travel arrangements, too. First of all, I resent being sedated. Second, the cage is too cramped, with poor ventilation. Third, I could have stayed in Washington and minded my own affairs with perfect safety. Ever since the bombing I've been on the lookout for my old nemesis, Arnold Evans. I know he's out and about and still trying to get even with Eleanor and Peter. Believe me, I won't make the mistake of forgetting about him or that bomb blast that nearly killed Eleanor. I won't forget or forgive. The trouble is, Eleanor won't either. She won't give Arnold another chance to hurt me or Peter. That's why I find myself in this degrading situation.

The dame packed me in this case and imported me into Ireland in an effort to keep me safe. In the whole country of Ireland, though, it seems she could have found me better accommodations than in the loft of a horse barn on the west coast of the Emerald Isle. She says it's just a temporary upset of our summer plans. The meeting on human rights scheduled in the peaceful coastal town of Galway has turned into an effort to stop a possible bombing in Northern Ireland. She's in Dublin with a hot ticket for Belfast and danger. That amnesty group she and the good doctor are working with is doing everything they can to prevent another tragedy.

And I'm left here, in a cage, in a barn, in the country, on an island, with no prayer of getting out for a little exercise and a snoop around for some vittles. I'm missing Wheel of Fortune on television and the new Nine Lives' flavor that was due out this month.

And my protector, if you can call the man such, is a solitary soul with an attitude. The dame can certainly pick the hard cases. Patrick Shaw. He lives up here in the barn above his beloved horses. I've been watching him and the only time he seems alive is when he's working with one of those large, temperamental equines. When he touches them, there's some kind of instant communication. Especially that big gray devil, Limerick. Too bad he hasn't developed the same bond with his human counterparts. He's a little brusque, if you ask me. I keep trying to see why Eleanor thinks he's such a wonderful man. Or at least wonderful enough to be trusted with me for two whole weeks while she's away. I just don't see it, but then again, I'm partial to tall, slinky legs, sexy eyes and the female gender. Patrick definitely doesn't qualify there. He's lean and about as soft and cuddly as a field of rocks.

He's not even a cat person. Maybe if I could whinny I could attract his attention. I want out of this cage. I'm acclimated. If he's so concerned that I won't know where I am why doesn't he put me up on one of those horses and give me a ride around the grounds? Anything to get out. I'll try the whinny.

S
TARTLED BY THE
strange noise coming from the cat, Patrick hurried to the cage. He wasn't overly fond of felines, but he'd given Eleanor and Peter his word that he'd care for the black cat they seemed to regard with such affection. And he honored his word. Always. But especially to the couple who'd helped so many of his friends. Eleanor and Peter Curry had done a lot of work to bring peace to Ireland. For Patrick, that peace was a personal and a political concern.

As he unlatched the cage and lifted the big black cat into his arms, he sighed. In the past year he'd lost his dreams of freedom and peace. The farm that had been in his family for generations now belonged to someone else. Instead of boss, he was a hireling, a "manager." Horses that he had bred no longer belonged to him, and the only reason he remained in County Galway was the big gray stallion that had once been his future. His invitation to stay was based on the magic he worked in getting a horse to run from the heart. If it wasn't for his record as a trainer, he would have been asked to leave as soon as the ink had dried on the deed.

"Can I trust you on your own?" he whispered in the cat's ear. His brogue was as soft as his touch. He held Familiar with one hand and stroked him with the other. There was nothing that could be done to save his horse farm, but maybe Eleanor and Peter could help his country. Two weeks' care of the cat was little enough to ask in return.

"Eleanor says you're a smart lad. She said you'll learn the barn and stay out of trouble. Now don't disappoint her. She's too fine a lady to be troubled by a prowling cat. And I've got the devil's own spawn due here in five minutes to torment me to death." He put Familiar on the ground and walked away.

Tail twitching, the black cat hurried after the man as he disappeared down the center of the barn.

"Miss Nelson will be here any minute," Patrick said as he walked to a cluster of grooms. "Check the tack room once again. If there's a speck of grain on the feed room floor, I'll have someone's head, and that's a promise. Be sure Limerick's blanket is spotless, and that his halter has been oiled."

"That's a fair amount of work for one woman who'll walk in, twitch her nose, give a few orders and leave." The man who spoke had a thicker accent, gray hair and an abundance of wrinkles. He walked with a slight limp, evidence of a bad encounter with a horse. "She's a banker, not a horsewoman. What does she know?"

"I don't like it any better than you do, Mick," Patrick said, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "But if it pleases Catherine Nelson to have spotless blankets and oiled halters, then we shall have them for her."

"Aye, what would please her would be…"

General laughter erupted among the grooms at Mick's bawdy remark. For the first time that day Patrick's mouth played with the idea of a smile. At last the smile won out and his blue eyes danced. "That'll be enough of that. I don't believe Miss Nelson is known for her sense of humor or her fondness for the opposite sex."

"And what exactly is Miss Nelson known for?" The soft female voice carried a load of sarcasm.

Patrick and the grooms stopped laughing. They turned to confront the woman who stood at the open door of the barn in immaculate riding boots, tan breeches and a black hunt jacket. Tall and slender, her shadow stopped right at the toe of Patrick's boot.

He took in the shape of her leg, lean and booted, the curve of her hips and waist. Beneath the expensive material of her jacket he could see her breasts rising and falling softly, dangerously. She was mad and struggling to control it. She had more than a bit of spirit, and that was something he enjoyed in his horses and his women. "She's known for giving ridiculous orders and having a bad temper," Patrick said evenly, knowing that he was deliberately baiting her. The men around him stood very still.

"Just as my barn manager is known for his arrogance and rudeness." She lifted an eyebrow. "Instead of hating us, Mr. Shaw, you should be glad that my father bought your family's business. It would have been auctioned off piece by piece and horse by horse. At least this way the farm was maintained and you have a job. Which won't last long with that attitude no matter what kind of a magician you are with the horses." She walked outside, gave a signal to someone, and turned back to Patrick. "Bring Limerick out of his stall. And do be sure his blanket is clean and his halter is well oiled." Without a backward glance, she walked into the sunshine.

"That's a cold one," Mick said softly. "Many a man would shrivel before that Medusa."

"A smart man would run," agreed Jack, a young groom. He looked at Patrick, but the taller man was staring at the empty door through which Catherine Nelson had disappeared. The look on Patrick's face was anything but that of a man who intended to yield the battlefield. "Don't even be thinking you can best her, Patrick," Jack whispered. "She's a devil and she owns you lock, stock and barrel."

"Get on with your chores," Patrick said. His blue eyes were hard even though his voice was soft. "I'll bring Limerick out myself."

"She's here because you haven't worked him in a week," Mick said. "I told you she'd be on your back. They mean to race that horse next week no matter what condition his knee is in. It doesn't matter to them if they cripple him or not. Why should it matter when they can just buy another toy to race?"