Irish Meadows (10 page)

She pushed away from him and limped to the fireplace, knowing he'd never stop badgering her until she gave in. “Fine. I'll tell you the ugly truth. I overheard my father informing Sam we had nothing to worry about now that you were going to marry Aurora Hastings. We'd be guaranteed unlimited bank loans since we'd be part of the Hastings family soon.” Helpless anger washed over her. She leaned against the mantel, willing him to leave before she further humiliated herself.

She sensed Gil approaching behind her. “I'm not going to marry Aurora.” His quiet voice sent shivers along her spine. “I only said I'd consider courting her until your father acquires his loan.”

She whirled around so fast, he stepped backward in surprise. “You think it's acceptable to trifle with a girl's affection in order to gain financial favor with her father? How would you feel if someone treated me like that?”

A flush crept up his neck, giving her a brief jolt of satisfaction.

“I thought you were an honorable man, Gil. But it appears even
you
are willing to forgo your principles to win my father's approval.”

“That's not fair.” An angry scowl slashed his forehead. “After everything your father has done for me, how can I deny him the one thing he asks of me?”

She crossed her arms. “Easy. Just say no.”

He stepped closer, his outrage swirling in the air between them. “If it's so easy, why don't you tell your father no? Refuse Henry's suit.”

Her self-righteous anger faded, leaving her limp. The idea of defying her father in such a manner made her break out in a cold sweat.

“Not so easy after all, is it, Brianna?”

Before she could think of a suitable reply, Gil strode out through the open French doors, leaving her more unsettled than ever.

S
LEEP
ELUDED
G
IL
once again. It seemed insomnia had become a way of life since he'd moved back to Irish Meadows. In the stuffy heat of his third-floor bedroom, Gil felt the walls closing in on him, suffocating the air in his lungs. He flung off the bedclothes, pulled on his trousers, shirt, and boots, and let himself into the hall. He'd go for a walk in the cool evening air and check on Georgina. Today the mare had seemed restless in her stall, often a sign of impending labor. Something told Gil tonight might be her time.

He crept down the back staircase and out the side door. The immediate blast of cool air relaxed the tense muscles in his shoulders. He breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of newly blossoming lilacs. In the light of the almost-full moon, Gil ambled along the path beside the racetrack, relishing the stillness of the night as he made his way to the stables.

Inside, the corridor was dark until he turned the first corner and noticed a dim light in the distance. Right about the location of Georgina's stall.

He quickened his steps. A lantern swung from a hook above the mare's enclosure. Gil's heart rate jumped at the sound of Brianna's soft voice crooning to the animal. Steeling himself to see her again for the first time since their fight, Gil peered over the stall door.

Seated in the straw, the mare's head in her lap, Brianna looked up when his shadow crossed her. “Georgina's in labor.” Her anxious eyes shone with concern.

Gil opened the door and entered the stall. He moved past Brianna's skirts, which spread out over the straw, and knelt beside Georgina. Swiftly, he ran his hands over her distended abdomen and nodded as a contraction rippled under his palm.

“How often are the pains coming?”

“About every five minutes.” Brianna continued to stroke the horse's head. Wisps of hair escaped her braid and curved onto her cheek. “Should we call Dr. Phelps?”

“There's no need to disturb him at this hour unless it's an emergency.” He sat back on his haunches as the mare relaxed. “Are things progressing normally?”

“I think so.”

Gil rose and plucked a piece of straw from his pants. “What are you doing out here at this hour, anyway?”

She shrugged. “I couldn't sleep. And since Daddy's banished me from the stables, this is the only time I can come without getting caught.”

Gil chuckled. “I should have known you couldn't stay away.” He leaned a shoulder against the wooden wall. “Could be a long night. You sure you're up for it?”

She flashed him an indignant glare. “Aren't I always?”

“Yes, you are.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Her expression softened. “Do you remember the night Georgina was born? How we stayed up all night to help Sam deliver her?”

“Of course I remember. It was one of the most amazing
experiences of my life.” The memories of that night came flooding back, making him suddenly aware of the intimate space and the lantern shedding a romantic glow over them. He pushed away from the wall and cleared his throat. “I'd better go wake Sam. We might need him if things don't go as planned.”

She lowered her eyes, but not before he caught a flash of disappointment. It would have been nice to share the experience alone, but Gil didn't trust himself. After Georgina's birth, Brianna had thrown herself into his arms in an exuberant hug of celebration. It was the first time his feelings had shifted to something other than friendship, the first time he'd had to fight not to kiss her. A situation he did not intend to repeat.

Gil made his way to the building they called the “working barn,” where the work horses were housed. Sam's quarters lay shrouded in darkness. At Gil's knock, a grunt sounded, followed by the creak of bedsprings. Sam opened the door, took one look at Gil, and reached for his plaid shirt on the hook beside the door. “Georgina?”

Gil nodded. “It's time.”

They walked in comfortable silence back to the stables, where Sam joined Brianna in the stall. Gil waited in the corridor while the older man made a thorough examination.

“Shouldn't be much longer now,” Sam said as he wiped his hand off on a towel. “We'd best get her to the birthing stall, where there's more room.”

But several hours after they'd moved the mare to the larger enclosure, Sam's optimistic prediction proved wrong. Georgina lay bathed in sweat after straining repeatedly with no success.

“What's wrong, Sam?”

The fear in Brianna's voice tore at Gil's composure. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Sam scratched his head. “I'm not sure. This foal should've been born long ago. I'll do another exam, and we might have to call in the doc.”

When he'd finished, the expression on Sam's face told Gil the situation wasn't good.

Sam let out a long sigh. “Brianna, you'd best go up to the house and call Doc Phelps. Tell him to come as quick as he can.”

Tears bloomed in Brianna's eyes as Gil helped her to her feet. “I don't want to leave her.”

Gil brushed some pieces of straw from her skirt. “She'll be fine until you get back. I'd go, but Sam might need me. And you'll be quicker.”

“All right. I'll be back as soon as I can.” With a last whispered word to Georgina, Bree hurried out of the stall.

When her footsteps faded, Gil knelt to rub the mare's head. “What's wrong, Sam?” he asked quietly.

Sam planted his hand on his hips and shook his head. “I don't like to speculate, knowing how set Mr. O'Leary is on this foal being a champion.” His shoulders slumped, and he expelled a long breath. “I can't be sure, but this foal might be lame.”

Gil swallowed the lump of dread in his throat. Not only would James be upset, but Brianna would be devastated. “I hope you're wrong, Sam.”

“You and me both, son.”

The sun had started its morning rise by the time Doc Phelps arrived. A grizzled man of undetermined years, he'd been the vet on call for as long as Gil had lived at Irish Meadows. Both Gil and Sam breathed easier when he took over in the stall, knowing the mare was in capable hands. Doc would do whatever he could to ensure the health of the mother and the foal.

Gil and Brianna stood together in the corridor, watching through the open door. When Brianna shivered in the cool morning air, he saw she wore only a thin blouse. “Where's your wrap?”

She shrugged. “I think I left it at the house.”

He stepped closer and put his arm around her to share his warmth. “Did you wake your father?”

“No.” She lifted weary eyes to his. “He'd only yell at me for being here, and I didn't want him to ruin this moment.” On a sigh, she let her head fall to his shoulder.

A fierce wave of protectiveness rose in Gil's chest, and he tightened his arm around her. He wanted to be the one to shelter her from every worry, every disappointment in life. If only James would agree to let him court Brianna. But that was never going to happen—for many reasons.

A flurry of activity drew his attention back to the stall.

“Easy, girl. Whoa.” Sam soothed the mare, who was trying to rise. “You're not quite finished.”

At the other end of the horse, Doc Phelps had his arm up inside Georgina, his face contorted as he struggled to assist the straining animal. The horse gave a loud whinny followed by the sound of liquid gushing onto the floor.

Brianna jerked as though ready to fly inside the stall, but Gil held her back with firm hands. “Give them a minute.”

Sam moved back as the mare lurched to her feet. Doc Phelps worked to free the foal from the birth sac. An oath escaped him as he straightened, hands on his hips, staring down at the straw.

The smile on Brianna's face slid away. “What's the matter? Is the baby all right?”

Doc Phelps raised his head. The sorrow on his face said it all. “I'm afraid not. He's got a malformed back leg.”

Gil's heart sank to his boots. Sam had been right, after all. He shuddered to think what this would mean to James.

Brianna pushed into the stall. Gil followed, prepared to carry her out if need be. Despite the oddly shaped back leg, the colt struggled valiantly to get to his feet as his mother licked away the fluid from his coat. Brianna knelt on the straw beside him, whispering words of encouragement. Gil knew she longed to touch him but would wait until he'd gotten his footing—if that
were even possible. At last, the colt made it to a standing position, and Brianna clapped her hands.

“Oh, he's a beauty. A chestnut like his mama. And he's got white socks. What will we call you, little one?”

Gil's chest squeezed with pain, knowing what was to come. Gently, he lifted her to her feet, keeping a hand under her arm. “We won't be naming him, Bree.” The unfairness of life rose up to choke his words.

“What do you mean? Of course we'll name him.”

Loud boots thundered in the corridor. Without looking, Gil knew James had arrived. His foul mood was about to get a whole lot worse.

“Brianna O'Leary, what in tarnation are you doing in this barn when I expressly forbid you—”

The dark scowl on his face turned to shock as his gaze landed on the deformed leg of the new colt. “Sweet mother of Job.” All color drained from his cheeks.

Sam, who was standing nearer to the door, reached out a steadying hand. “I'm so sorry, James.”

Doc Phelps had wiped his arms and hands on a large towel and was packing his bag. “There's nothing we could do. A real shame, because he would have been a beauty.”

Brianna's brow puckered. “You act like the foal is dying. He's got a turned leg, but otherwise he's healthy.” She looked from the doctor to Sam, to the grim face of her father, then finally to Gil.

As he stared into her wide, uncertain eyes, the words froze on his tongue. Maybe they hadn't done Brianna any favors, sheltering her from this cruel side of the horse-breeding business. Gil couldn't bear to be the one to inform her of the colt's fate. He shook his head, silently pleading for understanding.

James seemed to rouse himself. “Take him out back, away from the mother. I'll get the gun.”

Gil tightened his grip on Brianna's arm, prepared for her to either bolt or faint.

“What are you talking about?” The words shrieked from her as she strained to get free.

James didn't acknowledge her question but strode away from the stall. Brianna wrenched out of Gil's grasp to race after him.

“Daddy. Wait.”

Dear God, give her the strength to bear this
. The silent prayer formed on Gil's lips as he darted after her.

Brianna threw herself at her father, catching him by the arm. “You are not going to kill that baby!” The hysteria in her voice rang throughout the barn.

As Gil reached them, James twisted to face his daughter. Pain etched in the lines around James's eyes, and Gil realized how much this was costing him.

“Don't argue with me, girl. The colt has to be put down. He's useless with a lame leg.”

“He's not useless,” she shouted. “He may not be a champion racer, but he still has value.”

Red blotches marred the big man's cheeks. “I'm not paying to house an animal that will be nothing more than an overgrown pet. He won't be any good as a work horse. And no one will buy him as a racehorse. We can't afford to keep him.”

James continued down the corridor toward the locked cabinet that housed the hunting rifles.

Gil followed him. “Surely there's another option. I'll put out feelers to see who might be willing to take him. Maybe someone needs a horse for their child.”

James shook his head. “No one will buy him. Trust me.”

Brianna pushed past Gil and ran to her father. “I won't let you do this. You can't murder an innocent animal.” An unholy sob tore out of her. “Daddy, please.” The wail erupted, keening with such grief that it nearly cracked Gil's heart in two.