Irish Rebel (14 page)

 "I don't suppose you'd be interested in working part-time at the school?"

 Adelia turned her head, met Keeley's eyes in the mirror over the bureau. "Are you offering me a job?"

 "It sounds awfully strange when you put it that way, but yes. But don't do it because you feel obliged. Only if you think you'd have the time or the inclination."

 Adelia spun around, her face brilliant. "What the devil's taken you so long? I'll start tomorrow."

 "Really? You really want to?"

 "I've beendying to. Oh, it's taken every bit of my willpower not to come down there every day until you just got so used to me being around you didn't realize Iwas working there. This is exciting!" She rushed over to give Keeley a hug. "I can't wait to tell your father."

 Keeping her arms tight around her daughter, Adelia did a quick dance. "I'm a groom again."

 "If I'd known you were available, Dee, and looking for work, I'd've hired you." Burke Logan, settled back in his chair and winked at his wife's cousin.

 "We like to keep the best on at Royal Meadows." Adelia twinkled at him across the table in the track's dining room. He was as handsome and as dangerous to look at as he'd been nearly twenty years before when she'd first met him.

 "Oh, I don't know." Burke trailed a hand over his wife's shoulder. "We have the best bookkeeper around at Three Aces."

 "In that case, I want a raise." Erin picked up her wine and sent Burke a challenging look. "A big one. Trevor?" Her voice was smooth, shimmering with Ireland as she addressed her son. "Do you have in mind to eat that pork chop or just use it for decoration?"

 "I'm reading theRacing Form , Ma."

 "His father's son," Erin muttered and snagged the paper from him. "Eat your dinner."

 He heaved a sigh as only a twelve-year-old boy could. "I think Topeka in the third, with Lonesome in the fifth and Hennessy in the sixth for the trifecta. Dad says Topeka's generous and a cinch tip."

 At his wife's long stare, Burke cleared his throat. "Stuff that pork chop in your mouth, Trev. Where's Jena?"

 "She's fussing with her hair," Mo announced, and snatched a french fry from Travis's plate. "As usual," she added with the worldly air only an older sister could achieve, "the minute she turned fourteen she decided her hair was the bane of her existence. Huh. Like having long, thick, straight-as-a-pin black hair is a problem. This—" she tugged on one of the hundreds of wild red curls that spiraled around her face "—is a problem. If you're going to worry about something as stupid as hair, which I don't. Anyway, you guys have to come over and see this weanling I have my eye on. He's going to be amazing. And if Dad lets me train him…"

 She trailed off, slanting a look at her father across the table.

 "You'll be in college this time next year," Burke reminded her.

 "Not if I can help it," Mo said under her breath.

 Recognizing the mutinous look, Erin changed the subject. "Keeley, Burke tells me your new trainer is a natural with the horses, with Travis and with cards as well."

 "And I hear he's gorgeous, too," Mo added.

 "Where'd you hear that?" Keeley demanded before she could bite her tongue in two.

 "Oh, word gets around in our snug little world," Mo said grandly. "And Shelley Mason—one of your kids? Her sister Lorna's in my World History class, ahuge bore by the way. The class, that is, not Lorna, who's only a small bore. Anyway, she picked Shelley up last week from your place and got a load of the Irish hunk, so I heard all about it. Which is why I'm planning on coming over as soon as I can and getting a load of him myself."

 "Trevor, give your sister your pork chop so she can stuff it in her mouth."

 "Dad." Giggling, Mo snatched another fry. "I'm just going to look. So, Keeley, is he gorgeous? I respect your opinion more than Lorna Mason's."

 "He's too old for you," Keeley said, a bit more sharply than she intended and had Mo rolling her eyes.

 "Jeez. I don't want to marry him and have his children."

 Travis's laugh prevented Keeley from snapping back with something foolish. "Good thing. Now that I've found someone who comes close to replacing Paddy, I don't intend to lose him to Three Aces."

 "Okay." Mo licked salt from her fingertip. "I'll just ogle him."

 Annoyed, and feeling ridiculous at the reaction, Keeley pushed back her chair. "I think I'll go down and take a look at the field, and check on Lonesome. He's always a little sulky before a race."

 "Cool." Mo sprang up. "I'll go down with you."

 Mo rushed out of the dining room, heading out past the betting windows at a fast clip, so that Keeley was forced to step lively to keep pace. "It's going to be so much fun for you, having your mom work at the school. There's nothing like a family operation, you know. Which is all I want. I mean, come on, I don't have to go to college to be a trainer. If I already know what I want to do, and I'm learning how to do it every day right at home, what's college going to do for me?"

 "Expand your brain?" Keeley suggested.

 Ignoring that, Mo hurried outside where the air had turned crisp. "I know horses, Keeley. You understand what it's like. It's instinct and experience and it'sdoing ." She gestured widely. "Well, I've got time to nag my parents into submission."

 "No one does it better."

 With a laugh, Mo hooked her arm through her cousin's. "I'm so glad to see you. The summer just winged by, you know, with all of us so busy with stuff."

 "I know."

 They made the turn for the shedrow and the world was suddenly horses.

 Some were being prepped for the next race. In the boxes, grooms wrapped long, thin legs that would carry those huge bodies in a blur of speed and power. Trainers with keen eyes and gentle hands moved among the horses to pamper a skittish ride or rev up another.

 The hot walkers cooled down horses who'd already ran. Legs were examined, iced down. Through the sharp air came the hoofbeats that signaled another field was coming back from the race. Steam rose off the horses' backs, turning into a fine and magical mist.

 "Of all the shedrows in all the world." Brendon came out of the stables, grinning.

 "You're back."

 "Just." He strolled over to rub a hand over Mo's hair. "I talked to Ma a couple of hours ago from the road and she said you were all coming here tonight. So we swung by on the way home."

 "We?"

 "Yeah, Bri's taking a look at Lonesome, giving him a pep talk. Moodiest damn horse. Figured we might as well catch the race, then I can hook a ride back with you guys and Brian can trailer Zeus back home."

 "Sounds like a plan." It pleased her to hear the calm of her own voice while her heart was galloping. "Actually I came down to take a look at Lonesome myself."

 "He's all yours—and Bri's. Hey, I've got time to get some dinner. See you up there."

 "Now you can introduce me to the hunk." Mo fell into step beside Keeley.

 "I will if you can behave like you have a brain as well as glands."

 "It has nothing to do with glands, I'm just curious. Don't worry, I'm taking a page out of your book there when it comes to men."

 Keeley stopped at the door to the stables. "Excuse me?"

 "You know, guys are fine to look at, or to hang around with occasionally. But there are lots more important things. I'm not going to get involved with one until I'm thirty, soonest."

 Keeley wasn't certain whether to be amused or appalled. Then she heard Brian's voice, the lilt of it. And she forgot everything else.

 He was in the box with Lonesome, a temperamental roan gelding. The horse moped, as was his habit before a race.

 "They ask too much of you, there's no doubt about it," Brian was saying as he checked the wrappings on Lonesome's legs. "It's a terrible cross you have to bear, and you show great courage and fortitude day after day. Perhaps if you win this one I can put a word in for you. You know, extra carrots and that sort of thing, a bit of molasses in the evening. A bigger brass plaque for your box at home."

 "That's bribery," Keeley murmured.

 Brian turned, his eyes going warm. "That's bargaining," he corrected. "But if I can interest you in a bribe," he began and opened the box door intending to snatch Keeley inside for a much anticipated welcome back kiss.

 He nearly stepped over Mo. "Sorry. Didn't see you there."

 "I'm short. That's my cross to bear. I'm Mo Logan." She stuck out a friendly hand. "Keeley's cousin from Three Aces."

 "Pleased to meet you. You've a horse running tonight, Ms. Logan?"

 "Mo. Hennessy. Sixth race. My money says he'll win laughing."

 "I'll keep that in mind if I get up to the betting window."

 "I want to take a look at Hennessy before his race. Come up to the dining room if you have time, Brian, for food or a drink. The family's all there."

 "Thank you for that. Pretty thing," Brian murmured when Mo dashed off.

 "She wanted to take a look at you, too. She heard you were a hunk."

 "Is that so?" Amused, Brian shifted. "Did you tell her that?"

 "I certainly did not. I have more respect for you than to speak of you in such a sexist way."

 "Respect's a good thing." He yanked her into the box, crushing his mouth to hers before she could laugh. "But I'm banking on passion just at the moment. Have you passion for me, Keeley?" he murmured against her mouth.

 "Apparently." Her ears were ringing. "Oh Brian, I want—" She strained against him until they bumped into the horse. "You. Now. Somewhere. Can't we… it's been days."

 "Four." He wanted to tear off the long slim dress she wore and mount her like a stallion, all blinding heat and primitive need.

 He'd thought, convinced himself, that he'd be sensible about her, kept his wants and wishes under control. And all it had taken was seeing her. Just seeing her. It was exactly as it had been that first time he'd laid his eyes on her. A lightning strike in heart and blood.

 "Keeley." He ran kisses over her face, buried his in her hair, then started all over again. "I've such a need for you. It's like burning from the inside out. Come with me, out to the lorry."

 "Yes." At that moment, she'd have gone anywhere. It seemed he would swallow her whole. "Hurry. Let's hurry."

 She took his hand, fumbled with the door herself. Breathless, she would have stumbled if he hadn't caught her. "Teach me to wear heels in the damn stable," she muttered. "My legs are shaking."

 With a nervous laugh she turned back to him. Her legs stopped trembling. At least she couldn't feel them. All she could feel now was the unsteady skipping of her heart.

 He was staring at her, his eyes intense. When she'd turned his hands had reached up to frame her face. "You're so beautiful."

 She'd never believed words like that mattered. They were so easily, and so often carelessly, said. But they didn't seem easy from him. And there was nothing careless about the tone of his voice. Before she could speak, before she could think of what could be said, there was a shout and the sound of running feet.

 "Keeley, hurry, come with me." Oblivious to the intimacy of the scene she'd burst in on, Mo grabbed her hand. "I need back up. The bastard."

 "What? What's happened?"

 "If he thinks he's going to get away with it, he's got another think coming." Dragging Keeley, Mo barreled through the stables, turned and charged toward a stall.

 Keeley could already hear the voices raised in argument. She saw the man first. She recognized him. Peter Tarmack with his oiled hair and cheap pinkie ring made a habit of picking up horses in claiming races, then running them into the ground.

 The jockey was a familiar face as well. He was past his prime and, like Tarmack, was known to enjoy a few too many nips from the bottle at the track. Still, he picked up rides now and again when a regular jockey was sick or injured.

 "I tell you, Tarmack, I won't ride him. And you won't get anyone else to. He's not fit to run."

 "Don't you tell me what's fit. You'll get up and you'll ride, and you'll damn well place. You've been paid."

 "Not to ride a sick and injured horse. You'll get your money back."

 "What you haven't already put in a bottle."

 Because Mo was quivering and had sucked in a breath to speak, Keeley squeezed her hand hard enough to grind bone. "Is there a problem, Larry?"

 "Miss Keeley." The jockey yanked off his cap and turned his wrinkled, flustered face to hers. "I'm trying to tell Mr. Tarmack here that his horse isn't fit to race tonight. He's not fit."

 "It's not your place to tell me anything. And I don't need one of the almighty Grant's damn whelps interfering in my business."

 Before Keeley could respond, Brian had moved in. She blinked and he had hauled Tarmack up to his toes. "That's no way to be speaking to a lady." His voice was quiet, the eye of a storm. And the storm, with all its vengeance, was in his eyes. "You'll want to apologize for that, while you still have teeth to help you form the words."

 "Brian, I can handle this."

 "You'll handle what you like." He kept his eyes on Tarmack's now bulging ones. "But he'll by God apologize with his very next breath."

 "I beg your pardon." Tarmack choked it out, wheezed in air as Brian relaxed his grip a little. "I'm simply trying to deal with a washed-up jockey—and one I've paid in advance."

 "You'll get your money back," the jockey replied, then turned to Keeley. "Miss Keeley, I'm not getting up on this ride. He's half lame from a knee spavin, and anybody with eyes can see he's hidebound. He ain't fit to race."

 "Excuse me." Her voice viciously cold, she pushed past Tarmack and moved into the box to examine the horse for herself. Within moments, her hands were shaking with rage.

 "Mr. Tarmack, if you try to put a jockey on this horse, I'll have you up on charges. In fact, I'm damn well having you up on charges regardless. This gelding's sick, injured and neglected."

 "Don't hang that on me. I've only had him a couple weeks."

 "And in a couple weeks you haven't noticed his condition? You've been working him despite it?"