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  Remembering his promise to check out Fernando’s Hideaway with Cat this evening, he wondered what she hoped to learn. She wasn’t some trained detective, but she was determined to help get justice for a man who was like family to her. He couldn’t help but admire her for it.

  Admiration was only one of the feelings he had for Catrina Clarke, Aidan thought. His blood stirred every time he was around her. He’d already felt her fire for the Thoroughbred business more than once. That alone made it hard to resist her, and when he simply thought of how much responsibility she shouldered alone without complaint, his heart stirred.

  Something he didn’t want to think too closely on. Something he didn’t want to make real.

  How could it be real in so short a time?

  He simply needed someone in his life. He was tired of being lonely. And Cat just happened to be there, filling his head with what-ifs.

  By the time he groomed the colt, picked and booted his hooves and tacked him up, Nadim had finished with his other ride.

  It was early enough that there was still time to run him on the racetrack rather than the practice track, so after making certain Nadim could handle Mac, Aidan picked up a ride from another trainer driving in that direction. He was going to have to find time to rent some kind of vehicle long-term.

  Aidan got to the track in time to see Nadim walk Mac halfway around to familiarize the colt with the sounds and smells and the feel of the dirt below his hooves. At the halfway mark, Mac was literally chomping at the bit to run, but Nadim kept in control, letting Mac trot, then extending the trot to stretch out Mac’s muscles and get his blood circulating. Once he was properly warmed up, Nadim brought him to the fence to check with Aidan.

  “He’s good to go,” said Nadim.

  Indeed Mac was, and on Aidan’s signal, go he did, finishing a mile and a quarter in two minutes two and a half seconds, about three seconds more than the Breeders’ Cup Classic record. And this was just his first run on a real American track.

  Aidan was pleased. And from the grin on Nadim’s face, the exercise rider knew exactly what he had under him. In his element, Mac pranced and tried to get Nadim to let him run again, but the lad was strong enough to keep him in line.

  “I have to get to the backstretch,” Nadim said. “My next ride is in fifteen minutes.”

  “You can find a hotwalker?” Aidan asked. He would do it himself, but it looked like he was going to have walk back.

  “No problem. There are plenty of guys hanging around, looking for more work.”

  Mac couldn’t contain himself. The colt was making the exercise rider work to keep him in check. Following as best he could on foot, Aidan thought Nadim had possibilities as a jockey in the near future.

  The distance between Aidan and his colt increased, and before he knew it, Mac disappeared behind the shedrow. It took Aidan another several minutes to catch up to them.

  To his surprise, not only had Nadim removed the colt’s tack, but he was handing Mac’s lead to the stranger Aidan had seen watching him so intently the day before. On edge now, he told himself the lad had simply been looking for work. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the young man looked familiar despite the billed cap and sunglasses that half-hid his face.

  Realizing he’d caught up, Nadim said, “I need to get going to my next ride, Mr. McKenna. Tim here will cool Mac down.”

  “Thank you, Nadim. I shall see you tomorrow morning, then.”

  “Bright and early.” Waving goodbye, Nadim jogged off down the shedrow.

  Aidan turned to the hotwalker. “Tim, is it?”

  “Tim Browne.”

  Aidan didn’t miss the light lilt that reminded him of his homeland. So he’d been correct about recognizing him from somewhere. He watched Mac intently, put out his radar to make certain the colt was comfortable with the hotwalker. Everything seemed fine. More than fine.

  Mac was pushing on the hotwalker like he knew him. Browne laughed and stroked the length of his nose.

  Even so, when Browne moved off with Mac, Aidan kept pace with them.

  “I’ll walk with you a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “’Tis your horse.”

  “Nothing personal. I simply like to make sure my horses are comfortable with the people who handle them.”

  Oddly enough, Mac was more than comfortable with someone who was a complete stranger. Browne kept his shoulder even with Mac’s as they circled the shedrow. Just once, Mac tried to get ahead of him, but a sharp tug was enough to get the colt back where he belonged. Though the lad was nearly as small as Nadim, he was in control. It took great strength to handle a twelve-hundred pound horse. Aidan didn’t sense any resistance on Mac’s part—the colt acted like the hotwalker was an old friend.

  For some reason, that made Aidan even more uncomfortable.

  “How long have you been working with the McHenry racehorses?” Aidan asked.

  “I would be new here. Just as you are.”

  “And you are from Ireland. Just as I am.”

  “Aye.”

  “Some coincidence.”

  “Not at all. I sought you out. ’Tis grand to hear someone I can thoroughly understand.”

  Aidan could empathize with that. Though Americans spoke English, they all had different accents, and it took quite a bit of concentration to keep up with a conversation.

  Browne let Mac take a short drink from a bucket attached to the end of the shedrow, checked his body temperature by placing his hand on Mac’s chest, just below his neck. Mac snuffled his arm and looked at him expectantly.

  “I think he wants you to give him a peppermint,” Aidan said, pulling one from his pocket and handing it to the man.

  “Here you go, then.”

  Mac lipped the peppermint from Tim’s hand, then swung his big head into the small man’s shoulder.

  Laughing, Browne reached up to scratch the sweet spot between the colt’s ears and then continued walking him.

  Amazed by the instant connection between horse and hotwalker, Aidan asked, “So what track did you work at in Ireland, Tim?” thinking that perhaps he and the colt had met previously.

  “Ach, here and there. All over, really. I’ve actually been out of country the last few years.”

  Very nonspecific. “And here I was thinking we must have been at the same track at the same time before.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I thought you looked familiar when I saw you yesterday.”

  Browne merely grunted and kept walking and watering the colt and checking his chest. Realizing he wasn’t going to get more from the lad, Aidan simply went along for the walk, relying on his instincts. He simply didn’t sense any reason to be suspicious of the hotwalker, no matter how much of a coincidence it was that they’d ended up at the same American track at the same time.

  Browne repeated the process over and over until Mac was sufficiently cool. After rinsing the shedrow dirt from the colt’s knees down in front, hocks down in back, Browne took Mac to his stall where he turned him loose.

  “Do I qualify to work with your horse?” he asked Aidan.

  “You’ll do.”

  Standing at the stall opening, Aidan slipped another peppermint from his pocket and offered it to Mac. The colt lipped it into his mouth, bobbed his head and butted Aidan for attention. Aidan laughed and slipped his arms around the colt’s neck. He ruffled his mane and in return, Mac snorted, chewed on his hair, then backed off and bobbed his head, as if saying got you last.

  “You two seem to have a deeper connection than most.”

  “McKennas have a way with horses.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Browne saluted him and sauntered off, leaving Aidan to wonder what else the hotwalker had heard. He could understand him being drawn to work for another countryman, but how had he ended up at the same track? And why had Mac acted as if he already knew the man?

  There was more to Tim Browne than met the eye.

  Thinking he should find out
what he could about the hotwalker, Aidan decided to call Cashel. After exchanging pleasantries and not such pleasant information about Cat’s barn manager, Aidan got down to business.

  “Mac ran ten furlongs this morning at the track. Two minutes, two and a half seconds.”

  “Not far from the record.”

  “And that a first attempt with an exercise rider on his back. A bit more training and a skilled jockey could narrow down the difference.”

  “Good lad. Give him a peppermint for me.”

  They spoke a few minutes about their hopes for the future. Then Aidan told Cashel about the hotwalker.

  “Does the name Tim Browne ring a bell for you?”

  “It does, but I can’t place it,” Cashel said. “Did he do something to raise your suspicions?”

  “Not exactly. I think it was the way he was watching me yesterday. That raised my hackles. But he seems to be a skilled lad with the horses. And oddly enough, Mac acts like he already knows the man.”

  “Then I’ll ask around. That makes it sound as if he’s worked tracks here. Someone should know something about him.”

  “He said he’s been out of Ireland. Whatever you learn, get back to me.”

  “That I shall.” Cashel went silent for a moment, then said, “Aidan…I wish I could be there with you.”

  Aidan wouldn’t lie—he was glad to be on his own for once—but he wouldn’t hurt his brother’s feelings. “Someone has to keep the business going. We can’t let down our clients.”

  “If the colt makes it to the Classic, our clients here will have to do without me for a few days. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

  Considering the Breeders’ Cup was nearly six months away, Aidan figured he would be more than missing his autocratic older brother by then. “And I shall look forward to that day.”

  The conversation over, Aidan set off to find a groom and someone to muck Mac’s stall twice a day, and found that Nadim had already set him up with candidates. And he should familiarize himself with the vets available at the track.

  Mac’s welfare only consumed half of him as he made for the midst of the backstretch.

  The other part of his mind once again wandered to Cat and how she was doing, and he wished she could be here to share his good mood with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Here I thought one or more of my client’s broodmares would be in season today,” Cat said, “and not only were they not in season, but Helen is certain Fairy Tail didn’t conceive, so we’ll have to try again.”

  “’Tis a shame,” Aidan said, “but you need to believe that tomorrow will be better.”

  “I hope so. Things couldn’t get worse. I spent most of the day making arrangements for George’s burial. And I had to call my parents and brother and tell them. Mom broke into tears and immediately wanted to come up here for the service. I told her I was going to arrange a small gathering at the gravesite and thought she and Dad should wait until later, when they have plans to visit. We can do something to honor George then. That way, she’d have time to prepare what she wanted to do or say in his memory.”

  “Did she agree?”

  “With Dad’s influence.” Cat swallowed hard. “The police have already released George to the funeral director. I’ll bury him two days after tomorrow. I’ll put the word out for anyone who wants to come, but probably no one will even be there other than farm staff.”

  Aidan couldn’t stand to see Cat so despondent. Perhaps he should be driving. Tension oozed from her. He recognized the connection that happened so seldom between him and another human being.

  They were on their way to Fernando’s Hideaway as they’d agreed the night before. There, they would not only see if anyone knew George but would get a bite to eat, as well. Looking forward to spending the evening in Cat’s company, Aidan hoped to improve her mood.

  He would give anything to see a real smile kiss her lips.

  He would give anything to kiss them himself.

  Shaking the temptation from his mind, he said, “Everything at the track is working out fine, at least. Nadim seems to be the perfect exercise rider. He arranged for a hotwalker, and later he sent over a groom. Good lad. Mac likes Nadim.”

  “And the hotwalker?”

  “No problems there.”

  “There’s something. I hear it in your voice.”

  Interesting that he couldn’t fool her any more than she could fool him. “’Tis just that I thought I somehow should know the man. Tim Browne.”

  “Sorry, I don’t recognize the name. Why did you think you should know him?”

  “He looked familiar. He’s another Irishman, and he’s only been here a few weeks.”

  “So you’re what? Suspicious of him?”

  He echoed her sentiment. “There is something.”

  “So if you don’t like him, hire someone else.”

  “I have no reason to dislike him, not on a feeling, not when Mac seems to really respond to him. He acts like he knows Browne, too. I simply don’t believe in coincidence, so I called my brother and asked him about it. Cashel is familiar with the name but couldn’t place him, either. He said that he would ask around. I’m probably worrying for naught.”

  “We have enough to worry about,” Cat said as they pulled into town.

  Not having seen Woodstock before, Aidan looked around with interest. Shops and restaurants in late nineteenth-century Victorian buildings and the historic Gothic revival–style Woodstock Opera House lined the streets around the square. In the center was a small park with a gazebo. A bunch of teenagers were hanging out there, while parents with small kids walked on an inner pathway.

  Cat drove halfway around the square before taking a side street back out of town. “We’re almost there. It’s just a bit farther up the road.”

  “Perhaps while we’re in town, you can show me where I can rent a vehicle. ’Tis too much of an inconvenience to you if your workers must play chauffeur for me.”

  “But there’s no need to rent anything. At least not yet. I have a truck you can drive. It’s old, but if you simply need a way to get back and forth to the track or to town, it’ll do.”

  “Very kind of you. Are you certain you can spare a vehicle?”

  “No one’s using it anymore.”

  From her stiff tone, Aidan assumed the barn manager had been the one to use it in the past. He was thinking of how to respond when he saw the neon Fernando’s Hideaway sign in front of a large one-story building with what looked like pale green siding in the fading light.

  “Here we are.” Cat pulled the SUV into the parking lot, which was already filling up.

  A few minutes later, they were inside, being seated at a table halfway between the bar and the wall of windows that looked out on the parking lot. The hostess gave them menus and took their drink order. Aidan asked for a beer and, to his surprise, Cat did the same.

  Opening his menu, he asked, “What is the specialty here?”

  “Burgers are good,” she said distractedly.

  Aidan realized she was looking around the room, he assumed for familiar faces. The tension she’d released in the SUV was back. He sensed her inner turmoil—the sensation was so strong, it was like a blow to him. He didn’t normally read people. His brothers, yes. People he loved. So why Cat? And why was the connection so strong?

  When the woman came back with the beers to take their food order, Cat asked, “Can you tell me if George Odell comes in here often?”

  “Um, sorry, sweetie, don’t know him. I’ve only been here a few weeks.” The girl glanced over her shoulder. “The bartender Rob might know.” And then, “Are you ready to order?”

  They both ordered burgers and fries.

  After the waitress left, Aidan said, “That didn’t go as you wished.”

  “No, but there are plenty of people here to question. Starting with that bartender.”

  As they waited for their food, Aidan talked about Mac’s training schedule, but he was aware that Cat
was only half-listening, simply waiting to do what she’d come for. When they’d finished their burgers and fries, he insisted on paying and squared the check with the waitress. They then moved to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

  “What can I get you?” the bartender named Rob asked.

  Cat said, “Information.”

  “New drink?” he joked, raising a single dark eyebrow at her. “I hope you know what’s in it.”

  “And I was hoping something, as well,” Cat said. “George Odell used to come in here, right?”

  “George Odell.” The bartender’s forehead pulled in a frown.

  “Older man. Stocky. Thinning gray hair. A scar right here—” she pointed to the middle of her forehead “—where he got kicked by a horse.”

  “Sorry, doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “You don’t mind if I ask the other staff, do you?”

  “This isn’t my place, so you don’t need my permission.”

  Rob waved his hand, indicating she should feel free. When Cat slid off her stool, he did the same.

  “Stay here, have another beer,” she said. “It’ll only take me a few minutes.”

  “You heard the lass,” Aidan told Rob, then looked back to Cat, who was approaching another waitress. “Whatever you have on draft will do.”

  The second waitress shook her head, so Cat went on to a busboy.

  “Here you go,” Rob said.

  As Aidan turned to get his beer, the entry door opened, and to his surprise, who should walk in but Placido Ayala. So the jockey frequented this place? Maybe Cat should talk to him. But rather than taking a seat at a table or bar, Placido headed straight for the back and walked through a swinging door to what must be the kitchen.

  Paying for the beer, he asked Rob, “So if you don’t own this place, who does?”

  “Fernando.”

  Wondering if that was a joke, he repeated, “Fernando?”

  “Yeah, Fernando Ayala.”

  That perked up his inquisitive instincts. “Any relation to Placido or Raul?”

  “Yeah, they’re all brothers. There’s another one, too. And a sister. They have a landscaping company down the road a piece.”

  Rob went to take care of another customer, and Aidan reached to the corner of the bar where he picked up a discarded pack of matches like the one found in George’s closet.