Page 62 of Irish Rebel
Watching her, he started to eat again. Her eyes were snapping, her cheeks flushed, her jaw set. Why, the woman was fuming, he realized. “Darling, that’s sweet of you to say, but—”
“It’s not. It’s rude, but I meant it.” Snatching up the wine bottle, she topped off both of their glasses. “You have a real talent, and you’ve earned a strong reputation—or you damn well wouldn’t be here at Royal Meadows. What’s not to be proud of?” she demanded, with even more heat. “Your father, of all people, should understand.”
“Why?”
Her mouth dropped open. “He’s the one who introduced you to horses.”
“To the track. It wasn’t the horses for my father,” Brian told her. He was so fascinated by her reaction it didn’t occur to him that he was having an in-depth conversation about his family. Something he absolutely never did.
“They were a kind of vehicle. He admired them, certainly. But it was the wagering, the rush of gambling that called to him. Likely still does. That and the chance to take a few pulls from the flask in his pocket without my mother’s silent and deadly disapproval. I told you, Keeley, he’s a bank clerk.”
“What difference does that make?”
All, was what Brian thought, but he struggled to find a more tangible explanation for her. “He stopped looking through the bars of his little cage years back. He and my mother, they married young, not quite the full nine months, you understand, before my oldest sister came along.”
“That can be difficult, but still—”
“No, they were content with it. I think they love each other, in their way.” He didn’t think about those areas much, but since he was in it now, he did his best. “They made their home, raised their children. My father brought in the wage. Though he gambled, we never went hungry—and bills were paid sooner or later. My mother always set a decent table, and our clothes were clean. But it seemed to me that the both of them were just tired out at the end of the day, just from doing.”
Keeley remembered an expression of her mother’s.A child could starve with a full plate.She understood that without love, affection, laughter, the spirit hungered.
“Going your own way shouldn’t stop them from being happy for you.”
“My brother and my sisters, they’re clerks and parents and settled sort of people. I’m a puzzle, and sooner or later when you can’t solve a puzzle, you have to think there’s something wrong with it. Else there’s something wrong with you.”
“You ran away,” she murmured.
He wasn’t sure he liked the phrase, but nodded. “In a sense, I suppose, and as fast as I could. What’s the point in looking back?”
But he was looking back, Keeley thought. Looking back over his shoulder, because he was still running away.
Chapter Eleven
Keeley decided some men simply took longer than others to realize they wanted to go where you were leading them. It was hard to complain since she was having such a wonderful time. She was making it a habit to go to the track once a week, a pleasure she’d cut out of her life while she’d been organizing her academy.
There were still dozens of details that she needed to see to personally—the meetings, the reports and follow-ups on each individual child. She wanted to plan a kind of open house during the holidays, where all the parents, grandparents, foster families could come to the academy. Meet and mingle, and most importantly see the progress their children had made.
But now that her school was on course, and she’d expanded to seven days a week, she was more than happy to turn the classes over to her mother for one day.
She was thrilled to watch Betty’s progress, to see for herself that Brian’s instincts had been on target with the filly. Betty was, day after day and week after week, proving herself to be a top competitor and a potential champion.
But even more she was delighted to see Finnegan come to life under Brian’s patient, unwavering hand.
Bundled against the chill of a frosty morning, Keeley stood at the fence of the practice oval and waited while Brian gave Larry his instructions on the workout run.
“He gets nervy in the gate, but he breaks clean. You’ll need to rate him or he’ll lose his wind. He likes a crowd so I want you to keep him in the pack till after the second turn. You let him know then, firm, that you want more. He’ll give it to you. He doesn’t like running in front, he misses the company.”
“I’ll keep his eye on the line, Mr. Donnelly. I appreciate you giving me the chance.”
“It’s Miss Grant’s giving you the chance. I smell whiskey on your breath before post time tomorrow, and you won’t get a second one.”
“Not a drop. We’ll run for you, if for nothing but to show that son of a bitch Tarmack how you treat a Thoroughbred.”
“Fair enough. Let’s see how she goes.”
Brian walked back to the fence where Keeley stood sipping her soft drink. “I don’t know if you made the best choice in jockeys, but he’s sober and he’s hungry, so it’s a good gamble.”
“It’s not the winning this time, Brian.”
