IRISH FIRE (21 page)

Annies face whitened with hurt.

Caitlin felt her nails break through the skin of her palms. It looks like everything is already under control, thanks to Annie. She turned her back on her husband and smiled at her daughter. Come along, love. Its time for the race to begin.

Reluctantly, Annie fell into step beside her mother. But Daddy said we could watch it with him.

Caitlins pace picked up so that the others had to jog to keep up with her. Obviously Daddy had other priorities.

Caitlin, Brigid warned under her breath.

Sighing, Caitlin stopped, rested her hands on her daughters shoulders and concentrated on keeping her words impartial. Annie, today is a work day for your father.

What kind of work?

Hes in the thoroughbred business. You know that. This is a big race. People he needs to see are here. Im sorry that he doesnt have as much time for you as youd like, but he has promised to take you out next Saturday. She smiled bracingly. Youll have to be patient, love. Do you understand?

Annie sniffed. Im not a baby.

I know youre not Caitlin was interrupted by the announcers voice. The horses were at the gate. Grabbing her childrens hands, she ran toward the fence for a better view just in time for the break.

The track was flat, treeless. Every stumble, every gain, every flick of a jockeys whip could be seen by the bystanders. Moving at incredible speeds, the jockeys stood in the saddles, hunched over, their silks streaks of color bleeding against the gray sky.

From the beginning the black was in the lead. Caitlin watched as she moved gracefully, efficiently over the soggy turf, her head stretched, legs reaching out in a glorious, ground-eating stride. Effortlessly she made the turns, increasing her lead by two leagues and then by three as if the sheer joy of being in front was what she lived for. Caitlin held her breath as the riders disappeared behind the stands and came out again. The black was still ahead, crossing the finish line a full four leagues in front of the bay and five in front of the gray.

Caitlin stared at her racing card. Ive won, she said unsteadily. The black to win, the bay to place, and the gray to show. Ive won. She stared at Brigid. You did place the bets.

Brigid held out the ticket. I did and I added a bit for myself as well. Will you bet on the next one?

Caitlin shook her head. John always told me if I was lucky enough to double my winnings on the first race, I shouldnt throw it all away by hoping for the same luck on the others.

John OShea always was a wise man, Brigid observed.

Besides, said Caitlin practically, I havent the money to lose. She smiled at her children. I spread a blanket on the green. Whos hungry?

I am, Ben shouted, his voice drowning out Annies more subdued one.

Brigids thick woolen blanket kept out the chill of grass still wet with morning dew. Caitlin passed out napkins, poured stew from the thermos into paper cups and handed out slices of what looked like a cold cheese pie.

Whats this? Brigid asked, biting into it tentatively.

Tomato-cheese frittata, her daughter answered absently. She was busy wiping Bens mouth after hed found his first ambitious mouthful of stew to be too hot.

Its delicious, Brigid pronounced. Who would have thought cold cheese and tomatoes would do the trick on a day like this?

Caitlin laughed. Its easier to manage than sandwiches, and just as healthy. Hows the stew, Annie?

Annie tilted her head, considering her answer. Too many green things, she said, but still good enough to eat.

Thank you. Caitlins eyes twinkled. The green things are fresh parsley, a rare find this time of year.

Lord, Caitlin, Brigid marveled after tasting several bites of stew. Youre amazin. This is wonderful.

Ben smiled engagingly and once again Caitlin wiped his mouth clean.

How would you like a cookie? she asked. Theyre Annies favorite.

Mine, too, said Ben.

You like everything, Annie scoffed. It wouldnt matter what Mama cooked.

How accommodatin of you, love. Brigid nodded approvingly at her grandson. I wish your mother had been so easy t please.

Annie perked up. Was Mama a picky eater?

Aye. Brigid nodded. The worst kind.

Tell us, tell us, pleaded Ben.

Caitlin stood and brushed off her calf-length skirt. Ive heard this story before. I think Ill collect my winnings while you destroy my character. She smiled. The next race should start soon. Pay attention. Brians filly is running in the third.

With her mothers promise that they would be at their places near the fence, Caitlin set out for the betting windows. Men and women were already queued up in anticipation of the next race. She took her place, keeping an eye out for other windows that might open.

A hat caught her eye. She turned to see Sams friend, the many called Fahey, talking to a thin, narrow-faced boy she recognized as one of the exercisers at the Curragh Stud Farm. They were deep in conversation. The older mans thick hand gripped the exercisers shoulder. Casually, oblivious to the milling crowd around them, he slipped an envelope into the boys jacket pocket.

For some reason the encounter struck her as odd. Caitlin knew that transactions were commonly handled at races the size of Punchestown. But something bothered her about this one. Brian and her husband had an adversarial relationship. Money was not an issue for the Curragh Stud nor was it one for its manager. What could Sam and his henchman, Fahey, want with Brians exercise boy?

Smiling at the man in the window, Caitlin watched as he counted out her cash. It wasnt unusual to win fifteen hundred pounds at the races, but for a small fifty pound bet, it was a windfall. Pocketing the money, she walked toward the fence where her mother and children waited. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Fifteen hundred pounds, once a meager fifty, burned a hole in her pocket.

Minutes ticked by. Horses in the second race leaped from the starting gate. She paid no attention. Her pace slowed. A certain bay-colored filly weighed heavily on her mind. Fifteen hundred pounds. The offer of a lifetime. Too tempting to refuse.

Caitlin turned and began to run toward the mounting yard. Her boots, heavy and stiff with mud, were awkward and slow. The barns loomed before her, stall doors opened. Horses were led around the block before being saddled and walked out to the yard where jockeys would be wished luck before mounting. She had to find Brian. Her eyes scanned the crowd once and then once more. Where was he? Where was
Graybeards Lady?
Once the horses were out of the starting gate, it would be too late.

The door to the jockey room opened and he stepped out. Caitlin breathed a sigh of relief. She walked toward him, saw him frown and look around as if something wasnt quite right. Then his gaze settled on her. He straightened, smiled, and waited.

She ran the last few steps and clutched his arm. Ive changed my mind, she said, breathlessly.

His eyes warmed and the grooves that lined his cheeks deepened with his smile. His hand found hers and covered it.

Ive fifteen hundred quid and I want to buy your horse.

His smile faded. I see.

Shes still for sale, isnt she? You havent changed your mind?

He shook his head. I havent changed my mind. Shes yours if you want her.

Caitlin reached into her pocket and handed him the money. I want her. Is it a deal?

Brian held out his hand. It is, he said formally. Congratulations and good luck with her.

C
aitlin Claiborne was the kind of woman a man came back to, a woman with a streak of wildness running through her, a woman of hidden depths and great reserves. Shed come into his life when he least expected it, bringing to him a sharp-edged, clear, finely-honed awarenessthe kind that forced a man with any character at all to stand up, take a good look at himself, and ask the painful, pointed questions hed always managed to avoid.

Checking the last of the feed buckets, he locked down the stall of his newest acquisition, a stallion from a wealthy breeder, a Kuwaiti prince who took a personal interest in his horses. Then he checked on
Graybeards Lady
. She was resting easily, her demeanor as calm as if she hadnt been sired by the infamous
Satans Madboy
. He wasnt at all surprised that shed won her maiden race nor did he regret practically gifting her to Caitlin. Stabling three horses at the stud was quite an expense for a woman on a limited budget, even when she assumed all responsibility for their care.

Brian held no hope of
Irish Gold
s winning a race or of ever being allowed to run in one. Surgery was a bandaid at best. Horses with RLN disease didnt have the stamina for racing. The colt had been blood-typed yesterday, his paper work and samples sent to Weatherbys a good three weeks earlier than was customary. Brian wanted the results back and documented before Sam Claiborne knew the applications had been sent out.

Davy popped his head around the corner of an empty stall. Will you be needin anything else, Brian?

Not tonight. Go home, Davy. Ill finish up.

Without bothering to turn on the lights, Brian closed up the tack room and checked each stall to be sure it was securely locked. Hed grown up with the soft glow of gaslight and the deep purple shadows thrown by its gentle illumination. The glaring, offensive white of electricity was fine for a veterinary clinic or a foaling unit but it had no place in a stable at dusk.

Behind him, he heard the barn door creak. Instinctively he stiffened, waiting for the caller to declare himself. Nothing happened. Tension roiled in the pit of his stomach. His hand closed around the handle of a pitchfork.

Brian, a soft voice called out. Brian, are you in here?

Relief swept through him. His suspicions about Caitlins colt were making his imagination run wild. Replacing the pitchfork, he straightened and looked over the top of the stall. Im here, Annie.

Is something wrong with the lights? Her voice quavered.

Brian flicked the switch and light flooded the barn. He blinked against the brightness and waited for his eyes to adjust. Im sorry, lass. I didnt know you planned to visit. Darkness doesnt affect me as much as most.

Annie came all the way into the barn, pulling the door shut behind her. Why not? she asked when she reached his side.

Brian lifted her to the top of several stacked bales of hay and took the stool across from her. Where I was born there was no electricity until I was older than you. I grew up accustomed to a different kind of light.

What was it like?

He thought a minute. Golden, instead of white, warmer and dim, like candlelight.

Annie nodded. Its like that at Grans when she lights the fire just before dark.

There you have it, exactly the same. He waited for her to explain her reason for seeking him out when it was late enough that she should have been at home.

I came to see
Irish Gold.

Youll have to do better than that, Annie. Youre in the wrong barn.

I wanted to ask you a question first, she said hurriedly.

Whats on your mind?

You know my mother better than anyone here.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. Do I?

Annie chewed on her bottom lip, a gesture so similar to her mothers that Brian winced. You dont know her as well as Gran does, but she doesnt count.

Why not?

Annie shook her head impatiently. None of us count, not Gran or Ben or me. We knew her before.

Ah, I see. And suddenly he did.

Do you think shes happy?

Christ, what next? He knew nothing of children. Why was he chosen to be this particular childs confidante? Sometimes, Annie, he improvised. Shes happy sometimes, like most of us.

Do you think shes as happy as anyone is happy? the child persisted.

Brian frowned. Whats this about, lass?

Gran says Mama wasnt happy living in Kentucky and that shes happier here.

What do you think?

Annie shrugged. I dont know. I cant remember the way she was. I never really thought about it. She looked at him. Thats why Im asking you.

Recognizing that the child needed comforting and that words alone wouldnt do it, he stood and lifted Annie from her perch. Then he pulled down the bales until they were level with each other and sat, pulling her down beside him, keeping hold of her hand. I didnt know your mother when she lived in Kentucky, lass. But I know this. Shes got a lot on her mind. Im goin to tell you somethin and its up to you whether you share it with your mother or not.
Irish Gold
is sick. Hes goin to have an operation but he may never race. Your mother is very worried about that. Shes also in the middle of a divorce. That isnt easy on anyone but its especially hard on her. Shes got quite a bit on her plate but it wont last forever. Do you know what it is Im tellin you, Annie?

I think so.

He reached for her other hand and faced her. Dont look so serious, love, and tell me what you think I just said.

Annie concentrated. Mama is worried over a lot of things but its not as bad as it seems.

Good girl, Brian said approvingly. She wont be worried when things are settled.

How long will that be?

He considered the matter. Three months was forever for a child. He decided on the truth. I cant say exactly, but you can help.

How?

By talkin to her when youre troubled. Talkin is the only way out of worries.

Is Mama worried about me?

It appears so.

Annie gnawed on her thumbnail. Why?

She told me you were homesick, so homesick that you werent sleepin well or makin friends at school.

Annie looked skeptical. Why is Mama worried about that?

Brian laughed. All mothers worry when their children arent happy. Thats their greatest worry of all. Nothin else is right for a mother if a child is unhappy.

What about fathers?

What about them? Brian hedged.

Annie kicked her feet against the bale of hay. Do they feel the same as mothers when their children are unhappy?

He was in over his head. What did he, a childless bachelor, know of mothers and fathers? His own, inhibited isolationists whod lived out their lives on an island with eight hundred inhabitants, were hardly standards by which to gauge the rest of the world.

Annies hand rested easily in his own. She looked up through her lashes and his heart contracted. This Claiborne had nothing at all of her father. She was Caitlins clone, skin as pure and fair as carved ivory, wide dark eyes, the centers bright with emotion, thick lashes, curly hair, fine delicate features, and that bow of an upper lip that in her mother made his knees weak. Seeing it on Annie had an altogether different effect on him. He wanted to protect her, to take the hurt away. She needed the right words from him and she needed them now.

Brian drew a deep breath. Fathers are different, Annie. They have a different kind of love for their children than a mother does.

How is it different?

If he ever needed the gift of a silver tongue, he needed it now. A mothers life is her home, her children, he began, while a father thinks more of his job and makin a livin for his family. He doesnt worry about the same things your mother does.

Her head was against his shoulder. She appeared deep in thought. Encouraged, he continued. When you lived in Kentucky, who spent more time with you, your mum or your da?

Mama did.

Brian nodded, satisfied. Thats the natural way of things, Annie. Your mum takes care of you when you need her. She feels sad when you do.

Annie was deep in thought.

You know what I think, Annie?

She leaned against his shoulder and looked up at him with her mothers eyes. What?

I dont think you dislike it here as much as you say you do. If thats so, it would do your mum a great deal of good to hear it.

Annie stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He held his breath wondering if hed done any of it right at all.

When she smiled and he could breathe again he thought his lungs would burst.

Ill be going home now, Brian. But first I want to see
Irish Gold.

Run along then. You know where he is. If you can wait for a bit until I finish closing up, Ill get my coat and a blanket for you and then Ill drive you home. Your mum is probably wondering where you could be now that its already dark.

Annie stood up and stretched. Ill wait for you in the colts stall.

I wont be long. Holler if you cant find the light switch. Brian watched until she disappeared inside the yearling barn and light flooded the open door. Picking up his clipboard, he took a quick inventory of the supplies Davy had ordered. Linseed oil and penicillin were low. He checked both boxes and moved down to the feed section. Alfalfa and oats were higher than hed ever seen before and it wasnt even the dead of winter. Frowning, he put a question mark in the margin, hung the board on its nail, picked up his coat, and made his way to the yearling barn where he found Annie asleep in the hay outside the colts stall. He looked down for a minute at her dark head. Her arm was curled, pillow-like, under her cheek. Brian wondered, not for the first time, how Sam Claiborne could be such a fool to let all that was important get away from him.

The child looked dead to the world. Deciding against waking her until he brought the car around, he left the door open and jogged back to his own driveway. Even at a steady clip, it was a good five minutes before he reached his front door and another five to call Caitlin, reassure her that Annie was safe and that he would bring her around shortly. By the time he found his keys, turned on the ignition and drove back to the barn, fifteen minutes had passed.

He didnt notice the smell until he drove to the top of the rise. At first the orange glow surrounding the barn didnt register but when he saw flames leaping over the roof, his heart stopped and for a single agonizing moment he was sure that nothing on earth would jumpstart it again, that he was permanently paralyzed and doomed to watch as fire spread up the walls and across the roof, beam by beam, until there was nothing left of the barn where ten-year-old Annie Claiborne lay asleep in the hay.

With a painful, lurching thump that threatened his chest cavity, Brian felt his heart resume its beating. With the rush of fresh blood came a surge of adrenalin that activated his instincts, propelling him into action. In seconds the truck was down the knoll to within twenty feet of the burning barn. Willing himself to remain calm, he flung open the door and, exercising every ounce of his discipline, turned away from the flames and raced toward the stallion barn and the telephone.

Sirens broke the peaceful stillness of the night even before he hung up. Offering a silent thank you, he threw two blankets into the sink and turned on the water. Endless seconds passed. When the blankets were saturated, Brian ran to the yearling barn, dragging them behind him. Dropping one of the blankets, he wrapped the other around him and pushed against the door. It was locked. Why in bloody hell was the door locked? Annie, he called out, are you hurt?

There was no answer. Flames danced and crackled, consuming the old wood, plank by plank. Smoke curled up from the floorboards. Brian hurled himself against the door. Annie, he shouted, his voice raw with desperation, answer me. Damn you, Annie, say somethin.

Heat blistered his hands and forehead. Clearing his mind, he thought. The barn doors were solid, built for purposes of security. He couldnt possibly knock them down himself. There was only one other way. Picking up the remaining blanket, Brian ran for the truck. The keys were in the ignition. The engine turned over immediately. Aiming straight for the side of the barn that had already been weakened by fire, Brian buckled himself in, pressed down on the gas, and drove straight through.