Page 64 of Irish Rebel
“You’re right.” She laughed a little as realization dawned, so clear and bright she wondered how she’d missed it before. “Absolutely right.”
She’d canceled classes for the day. It was, Keeley told herself, a kind of holiday. A celebration, she thought, in compassion, understanding and hard work. It wasn’t only Finnegan’s return to the track, but Betty’s first important race. Her parents would be there, and Brendon.
If there was ever a day to close up shop, this was it.
She rode out to the track at dawn, to give herself the pleasure of watching the early workouts, of listening to the track rats, building anticipation.
“You’d think it was the Derby,” Brendon said as he walked with her back to the shedrow. “You’re hyped.”
“I’ve never owned a racehorse before. And I’m pretty sure he’s my first and last. I’m going to enjoy every moment of this, but... It’s not my passion. Not like it’s yours and Dad’s. Even Ma’s.”
“You channeled your passions into the school. I never thought you’d give up competing, Keel.”
“Neither did I. And I never thought I’d find anything that satisfied me as much, challenged me as much.”
They stopped as horses were brought back from the early workouts.
Steam rose off their backs, out of the tubs of hot water set outside the stables. It fogged the air, cushioned the sound, blurred the colors.
Hot walkers hustled to cool off the runners, stablehands and grooms loitered, waiting for their charges. Someone played a mournful little tune on a harmonica, with the ring of the farrier’s anvil setting the beat.
“This is your deal here,” she said, gesturing as Betty was led by. “Me, I’m happy just to watch.”
“Yeah? Then what’re you doing here so early?”
“Just carrying on a fine family tradition. I’m going to act as Finnegan’s groom.”
That was news to Brian, and he wasn’t entirely pleased when she announced her intentions. “Owners don’t groom. They sit in the grandstands, or up in the restaurant. They stay out of the way.”
Keeley continued strapping Finnegan with straw. “How long have you worked at Royal Meadows now?”
His scowl only deepened. “Since midthrough of August.”
“Well, that should be long enough for you to have noticed the Grants don’t stay out of the way.”
“Noticing doesn’t mean approving.” He studied the way she groomed Finnegan’s neck and couldn’t find fault. But that was beside the point. “Grooming a horse for showing or schooling or basic riding is a different matter than grooming before a race.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “Does it look like I know what I’m doing?”
“His legs need to be wrapped.”
Saying nothing, she gestured to the wrapping on the line, and the extra clothespins hooked to her jeans.
Not yet convinced, he studied her grooming kit and the other tools of a groomer’s trade. The cotton batting, the blankets, the tack.
“The irons haven’t been polished.”
She glanced at the saddle. “I know how to polish irons.”
Brian rocked back on his heels. He needed to see to Betty. She was racing in the second. “He needs to be talked to.”
“This is funny, but I know how to talk, too.”
Brian swore under his breath. “He prefers singing.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, he prefers singing.”
