Prologue
Lightning split the sky and the man ran as fast as he could, his feet slipping and sliding on the sodden pasture grass.
Damn! Why did it have to be tonight of all nights? The rain was incessant.
So much depended on getting this right. Maybe a couple million dollars much.
He’d parked on a side road and had come the back way so as not to be seen, but each lightning strike hit the area like a giant lamp. By the time he got into the barn, where the horses rumbled their displeasure at the storm, his heart was thundering and his chest squeezed tight. Might think he was having a heart attack if the bundle he carried didn’t weigh a ton.
“Thought you weren’t coming.”
Words assailing him from the dark were followed by his partner stepping out of the shadows into the dimly lit aisle.
“Have you taken a look outside lately?” Though he felt like jumping out of his skin, it wouldn’t do to let the man see him sweat. Still, he gladly gave over the package he’d carried from the car. “You sure you know how to do this?”
The other man nodded. “Not rocket science.”
He didn’t argue that it was close. They had to get this right. It had to work.
Everything looked well-prepared. His partner had even mucked out the stall. The tools and wheelbarrow stood next to the open stall door. But watching the other man prepare for the procedure, he went all jittery inside.
How long was this going to take?
What if someone walked in on them before they finished?
“Hurry up!” he growled.
His partner in crime paused to give him a dark look. “You want this done fast or you want it done right?”
“Okay, okay!”
He would do it himself if he could. Trying to calm down, he paced the length of the aisle, his mere presence setting off more nickering and snorting. Dark eyes turned on him, as if the horses were accusing him before the men even got started.
At least the animals couldn’t talk.
When this night’s work was done, he would be guilty of a serious crime.
No guilt, he told himself, as his partner finally got down to business. Chewing some antacids to calm his boiling stomach, he watched with fascination. It was just what needed to be done. He wouldn’t let it eat at him. Wouldn’t even think about it.
Not until next time.
Suddenly the overhead lights flashed on and the barn glowed from within and a rough voice called out. “Hey, what’re you doing there?”
The barn manager, who wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, had shown up anyway.
Bile rose in his throat.
“Got a sick horse,” he said, sliding his hand along the stall door until he found a tool he could use. Moving forward toward the unexpected intruder, he knew what he had to do, no getting around it.
The older man stopped and from the end of the aisle assessed the situation. He frowned. “Sick? With what?”
“With this!” he said, leaping forward, striking out and hitting the man’s head with a mucking shovel.
The manager went down like a sack of feed.
“What the hell’d you do?” his partner demanded.
“What I had to.” His stomach churned. No guilt, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t even think about it after tonight. “Now finish so we can clean up this mess.”
Chapter One
County Galway, Ireland
“Pegeen would have loved to ride you,” Aidan McKenna said past the lump in his throat as he led Mac Finnian into his stall after his morning workout and cooldown.
Mac snorted and pranced in his stall, ready to run again.
Indeed, Aidan could read him, had been able to do so since the black colt was born. He’d always had a connection with the horses he trained—he was a McKenna, after all—even if that particular ability was less developed than that of his brothers. He, instead, wrestled with dreams and nightmares, trying to decide which were true portents of the future and which were figments of his overwrought imagination. Sadly, he didn’t always get it right. But he didn’t want to think on it now—didn’t want to remember his tragic mistake with Pegeen.
Instead he concentrated on the strong connection he had with Mac, the only McKenna ability welcome in life. ’Twas almost as if they were one.
Aidan removed the lead and then unfastened Mac’s halter and slipped it off his big head. Everything about the colt was big—he stood a bit more than seventeen hands, nearly a full hand larger than the average Thoroughbred. Thankfully, even the smallest jockeys were flexible enough to sit his broad back.
Aidan could almost see Mac running in the Irish Derby, the woman he’d loved with her shocking red hair and bold ways atop the black colt. Pegeen would have been grinning from ear to ear as she eagerly raced him. But now that could never happen.
From her grave, Sheelin O’Keefe had seen to that.
Despite his brother Cashel’s dire warnings, Aidan had taken up with the Irish jockey, and Sheelin’s curse had ended Pegeen Flynn’s life before she’d had a chance to really live.
After the better part of a year without her, still mourning the only woman he’d ever cared for, he was wondering if the pain of losing Pegeen would ever subside when Cashel entered the stable, followed by the dark-haired lass he’d seen watching Mac’s run with his brother. She was a looker—a natural beauty with lush curves. Not wanting his brother to realize where his mind had wandered a moment ago, Aidan immediately tucked away his thoughts for later. For when he was alone.
Giving Mac a peppermint, he shut the stall door behind him and stared at the light in his older brother’s eyes, the same McKenna-green as both his own and their younger brother Tiernan’s. The three McKenna men looked alike, too, all tall, broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair brushing chiseled features. Today, Cashel’s were softened into something that looked like hope.
“Aidan, our problems are solved!” Cashel said. “This is Catrina Clarke from America. We can have the backing we need to race Mac there.”
But Aidan didn’t have reason to trust hope. “And what kind of backing is it you offer from America, Miss Clarke?”
“Call me Cat. I’m a breeder and I came to Ireland on a buying trip, to add new blood to my stock. But when I saw Mac Finnian run…”
Her breath caught in her throat and Aidan’s caught in his. It wasn’t just her natural beauty, but something in her voice—something that told him she was more than a businesswoman when it came to fine horseflesh—that seduced him.
Just for a moment.
Then he shook himself free.
“Out with it, then,” he said.
“I know you don’t have the funds to race him in the U.S., and I’m willing to make a deal so that will be possible.” Her smile widened, lighting up her whole face.
Once again, he was caught by the fire that burned within her.
Until the colt kicked the stall door for attention. Mac had hung his head into the aisle and now snorted at his owners. Aidan reached back and scratched the sweet spot on his long, muscular neck before turning his attention back to his brother.
“We’re not selling anyone half interest in our colt!”
“But that’s not the deal I offered!” the woman protested.