Page 28 of Irish Rebel
Brian didn’t wince, but he wanted to. It was definitely inconvenient to have the father of the woman you were fantasizing about interrupt that particular image. Especially inconvenient when the man was also your employer.
“That they do. Betty needs a steady hand, and your daughter has one.”
“Always has.” Travis slapped a hand on Brian’s shoulder and brought on instantaneous guilt. “I ran into Jim, who confessed all. You took a kick.”
“It’s nothing.” He imagined his ribs would be sore for weeks.
“Have it looked at.” The tone was casual, and carried command.
“I will shortly. Jim was spooked. I shouldn’t have pushed him into it.”
“He’s young,” Travis agreed. “But this is part of his job. At the moment, he feels bad enough that you could ask him to let Betty sit on him. I’d take advantage of it.”
“And so I will. He’s a good lad, Travis. Just a bit green yet. I’m thinking of taking him with me to the track more, letting him get some seasoning.”
“That’s a good idea. You have a number of them. Good ideas,” Travis added.
“That’s what you pay me for.” Brian hesitated, then plunged. “Betty’s not just your best shot at your Derby, she’s the one who’ll do it for you. And I’ll wager my full year’s contract pay she’ll wear the Triple Crown.”
“That’s a leap, Brian.”
“Not for her. I say she’ll break records, smash them to bits. And when it comes time to breed her, it should be Zeus. I’ve done the charts,” Brian continued. “I know you and Brendon manage the breeding end of the farm yourselves, but—”
“I’ll look at your charts, Brian.”
Brian nodded, shifted to watch Betty. “It’s not the charts so much, though they’ll bear me out. It’s that I know her. Sometimes...” Despite himself, he found himself staring at Keeley. “You just recognize it all.”
“I know it.” Eyes narrowed in consideration, Travis scanned Betty’s form. “Work out the race schedule you think will work for her—once she’s ready. We’ll talk about it.”
Keeley walked Betty toward them, pulling her up with a tug of the reins and a quiet vocal command. “She’s decided to tolerate me.”
“What do you think?” Travis stroked the filly’s neck, ignoring her first instinctive feint at nipping.
“She’s not common,” Keeley began, “though she has some behavioral problems that would make her so if they aren’t corrected. She’s smart. A fast learner. Which means you have to stay a step ahead of her. It’s early days yet, of course, but I’d say this isn’t a horse that’s going to loaf. She’ll work hard, and she’ll race hard, under the right hand. If I were still competing, I’d want her.”
“She’s not meant for the show ring.” Brian took out another chunk of apple. “She’s for the oval.”
Betty took the reward, then as if to show he was the only one of the three humans who mattered, bumped her head lightly against his shoulder.
“She still has to prove she can run in a crowd,” Keeley pointed out. “You might want to put blinders on her.”
“Not with this one, I’m thinking. The other horses won’t be distractions to her. They’ll be competitors.”
“We’ll see.” Keeley dismounted, started to hand Brian the reins, but her father took them.
“I’ll walk her back.”
And that, Brian thought, absurdly bereft, was the difference between training and owning.
“No need to look so annoyed.” Keeley cocked her head as Brian scowled after Betty. “She did very well. Better than I’d expected.”
“Hmm? Oh, so she did, yes. I was thinking of something else.”
“Ribs hurting?” When he only shrugged, she shook her head. “Let me take a look.”
“She barely caught me.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Impatient, Keeley did what she would have done with one of her brothers: She tugged Brian’s T-shirt out of his jeans.
