waiting for a fissure in the surface, to spill out scalding everything and everyone in its path.
Brian frowned and turned his empty glass around on the table.
Youre very serious for a man whos downed two glasses of Irelands finest, Martin remarked.
Brians smile flickered briefly. He didnt want to appear too interested and yet he couldnt help himself. Why do you think she left Ireland?
Martin shrugged. I cant say for sure. We didnt keep in touch. She was crazy for horses. In Ireland women werent accepted into the yards the way they are today.
It was a logical explanation, one that Brian had figured out himself. Pushing back his chair, he stood. Ive used up enough of your time. Thanks for the company.
Have you had enough?
For today. My thanks, Martin. Ill see you at Mass on Sunday.
Brian was deep in thought and arrived at the gates of the Stud sooner than he expected. Everything Martin told him made sense. Caitlin was intelligent and she obviously knew a great deal about horses, but there was something missing, something about the woman herself that didnt add up. Perhaps hed read too much into a first meeting. It had been late and she was exhausted.
There was no doubt in Brians mind that he was overly preoccupied with her, more so than he could ever remember being about a woman. That in itself wasnt unusual. She was Caitlin Claiborne come back to Kilcullen with her million-dollar broodmare, her messy divorce, and a custody battle over a
Narraganset
-sired colt that was sure to bring Irish thoroughbred racing and the Curragh Stud some very unpleasant publicity.
There was more to it, of course. Brian was honest enough to admit that Caitlin had the power to disturb any mans hard-won peace of mind without her horse, her angry husband, or her legal suit. She was different from the girl Martin told him aboutsharper, almost bitter, with a tension in her expression that he was sure hadnt been there before. But there had been a moment, a few seconds after the foal was born, when hed seen her eyes go soft and bright, her voice tremble with wonder, and his heart twisted inside his chest.
The truth was that Caitlin was the kind of woman who could tie him up in knots with nothing more than a single glance. If he didnt pull himself together, he would have his own demons to conquer.
5
B rigid sprinkled a pinch of salt over the steaming oats, ladled healthy portions into two bowls and set them on the table.
She watched ten-year-old Annie Claiborne frown, pick up her spoon and stare at the unappetizing mass. Annie wasnt accustomed to oats but the child had to eat something. Yesterday shed left untouched the bacon and eggs Brigid served for breakfast. Most likely Lucy Claiborne would have understood immediately. But this was Ireland and Annies Grandma Lucy was thousands of miles away.
May I have some milk, please? the child asked politely.
Ben, four years younger, wasnt nearly as inhibited. I dont like oats, Gran, he said clearly. I want pancakes with syrup.
Youll like these, said Brigid cheerfully, setting a pitcher of milk on the table. Ive no time for pancakes this mornin. Your mums been out all night. I think we should let her sleep.
What will we do while Mama sleeps? asked Annie.
Brigid looked surprised. Why, youll come t the store with me, lass. Its old enough you are to be givin me a hand.
I can give a hand too, Ben piped up. Im old enough.
Brigid laughed. So you are. The wood needs stackin. She brushed the top of Annies head with her hand, and for an instant her breath caught. The dark flyaway curls settling like a cloud around her granddaughters face were very like Caitlins at the same age. Brigid willed her hands to stop trembling. Black hair could be explained, but those eyes? Seans eyes had been the sea-warmed blue of the Aran islanders, a color so distinctive that few could mistake his heritage.
Thank God no one in Kilcullen who remembered Sean Keneally had anything beyond a basic grasp of genetics, except for
Brian frowned and turned his empty glass around on the table.
Youre very serious for a man whos downed two glasses of Irelands finest, Martin remarked.
Brians smile flickered briefly. He didnt want to appear too interested and yet he couldnt help himself. Why do you think she left Ireland?
Martin shrugged. I cant say for sure. We didnt keep in touch. She was crazy for horses. In Ireland women werent accepted into the yards the way they are today.
It was a logical explanation, one that Brian had figured out himself. Pushing back his chair, he stood. Ive used up enough of your time. Thanks for the company.
Have you had enough?
For today. My thanks, Martin. Ill see you at Mass on Sunday.
Brian was deep in thought and arrived at the gates of the Stud sooner than he expected. Everything Martin told him made sense. Caitlin was intelligent and she obviously knew a great deal about horses, but there was something missing, something about the woman herself that didnt add up. Perhaps hed read too much into a first meeting. It had been late and she was exhausted.
There was no doubt in Brians mind that he was overly preoccupied with her, more so than he could ever remember being about a woman. That in itself wasnt unusual. She was Caitlin Claiborne come back to Kilcullen with her million-dollar broodmare, her messy divorce, and a custody battle over a
Narraganset
-sired colt that was sure to bring Irish thoroughbred racing and the Curragh Stud some very unpleasant publicity.
There was more to it, of course. Brian was honest enough to admit that Caitlin had the power to disturb any mans hard-won peace of mind without her horse, her angry husband, or her legal suit. She was different from the girl Martin told him aboutsharper, almost bitter, with a tension in her expression that he was sure hadnt been there before. But there had been a moment, a few seconds after the foal was born, when hed seen her eyes go soft and bright, her voice tremble with wonder, and his heart twisted inside his chest.
The truth was that Caitlin was the kind of woman who could tie him up in knots with nothing more than a single glance. If he didnt pull himself together, he would have his own demons to conquer.
5
B rigid sprinkled a pinch of salt over the steaming oats, ladled healthy portions into two bowls and set them on the table.
She watched ten-year-old Annie Claiborne frown, pick up her spoon and stare at the unappetizing mass. Annie wasnt accustomed to oats but the child had to eat something. Yesterday shed left untouched the bacon and eggs Brigid served for breakfast. Most likely Lucy Claiborne would have understood immediately. But this was Ireland and Annies Grandma Lucy was thousands of miles away.
May I have some milk, please? the child asked politely.
Ben, four years younger, wasnt nearly as inhibited. I dont like oats, Gran, he said clearly. I want pancakes with syrup.
Youll like these, said Brigid cheerfully, setting a pitcher of milk on the table. Ive no time for pancakes this mornin. Your mums been out all night. I think we should let her sleep.
What will we do while Mama sleeps? asked Annie.
Brigid looked surprised. Why, youll come t the store with me, lass. Its old enough you are to be givin me a hand.
I can give a hand too, Ben piped up. Im old enough.
Brigid laughed. So you are. The wood needs stackin. She brushed the top of Annies head with her hand, and for an instant her breath caught. The dark flyaway curls settling like a cloud around her granddaughters face were very like Caitlins at the same age. Brigid willed her hands to stop trembling. Black hair could be explained, but those eyes? Seans eyes had been the sea-warmed blue of the Aran islanders, a color so distinctive that few could mistake his heritage.
Thank God no one in Kilcullen who remembered Sean Keneally had anything beyond a basic grasp of genetics, except for
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