Page 7 of Beneath Pearly Irish Skies
“Why not bring calm to chaos?” he asked. “I’ve never liked fighting myself.”
“Neither does Megan, although both her father and her dead husband made it their profession as soldiers. You’re a complete contrast to what she’s known, but she’s opening her heart to you, a great measure of trust. Now that she knows about your feelings for her, you must walk a fine line, my friend.”
“Don’t I know it.” He’d seen Megan’s bones go lax when he’d called herloveyesterday, and again later, when he’d shared his passion for her. “She’s only recently come out of the cocoon she’s been in.”
“You’re both going to have to walk other fine lines shortly. I’ll be here to help with that too.” She stilled, frowning. “Yours is coming now.”
The sunlight vanished with Sorcha, and the quiet ended in the familiar clomp of heavy boots.
Dad.
Since he rarely came to Kade’s shed, the reason must be important—something Kade would have gathered without Sorcha’s warning. He’d also sensed something was brewing in the yard earlier. The wind in his dad’s part of the yard had seemed angry, stirring up dirt and dust as he walked through. He deposited Winston back in his stall and shut the door as Duke gave a loudruffto warn him of the company.
“Morning,” his father called, striding across the cement floor, stamping his powerful energy into the ground with every step. “Fine morning so far after the rain these last days.”
He leaned back against the stall’s door, eyeing his father. They didn’t start conversations about the weather as a rule, although weather was often discussed. It was Ireland, after all, and they were farmers of a sort. “’Tis. Something on your mind, Dad?”
Killian Donovan rarely showed anything but strength, but today he ran a hand through his thick silver hair before nodding. “It gives me no joy to say it, but say it I must. This farm breeds prize horses, and with it comes clients who are looking for a certain buying experience. Not everyone who comes here is easy with some of the people you help.”
Kade locked his jaw and gave a flick of his hand, ordering Duke to leave the stables so he wouldn’t bark at his father. “Keep going.”
“The land you stand on and the house you live in is paid for by the horses I breed and sell.” His dad blew out an aggrieved breath. “I know we’ve had row after row about you not wanting to take your part in our business, but the current way of things isn’t working.”
“I know you don’t understand why I want to run a pony farm and heal horses—”
“Idoknow,” his dad shot back, dark eyes blazing. “I was there the day my friend carried his boy to our farm, tears streaming down his face, with you running at his side, crying as well. It was one of the worst days we’ve ever seen and not one I ever want to repeat.”
The emotion of that terrible sun-drenched summer day had never fully left Kade. He and one of his best childhood friends, Ryan Hughes, were driving with his father in the tractor. The fields had been a vivid green, and the rut they’d hit had jarred his bones. Ryan had fallen out the back of the tractor and cracked his head open. The ten-year-old boy had never been the same. In some ways, neither had Kade.
Since they’d always ridden ponies together, Kade had continued the tradition after Ryan’s injury, not knowing how else to help his friend. His ponies had always calmed his friend and lightened his burdens.
Later, when Kade was older, he’d discovered there was a profession called pony therapy, and he’d felt as if he’d discovered his life’s purpose. His skill at calming and healing horses even when he was young had been well known. Why couldn’t he do the same with people? Only that had never suited his father, who’d always intended for him to breed horses with him and run the farm. Continue everything he’d built—the common custom.
“Then, knowing that, what is the problem?” Kade asked, comforted when Winston rested his head on his shoulder.
“I need you to contribute to the farm. It seems only fair, given that I’ve allowed you to work on the land for nothing.”
His patience was fraying like a dry rope, and he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. “We’ve discussed this, Dad. I’m happy to pay you for the land I use and any taxes.”
“It’s not enough,” Killian said. “I need your help with a mare. She’s a prize, son. As graceful as the curves of the hills around us and as fast as a wind coming in from the sea. She has champion bloodlines. But she hasn’t gotten pregnant in the two years I’ve tried, and I want a foal from her.”
He knew the horse, and in truth, her name was ironic given their discussion. “Legend.”
“I’ve had her scanned by four different vets. Nothing is wrong with her.”
Kade shook his head ruefully. “She hasn’t liked your choice of studs.”
His father threw up his hands. “I’ve never had a problem like this. I promised Joris Christiansen a foal from her. You know what he pays.”
Joris was a Dutch financier who had a keen interest in horses and racing. He’d won a Triple Crown with a horse from their farm. “Joris trusts you. Tell him you’ll give him another foal.”
His dad stalked over to the stall beside him. “He has a sense about Legend. He thinks she could produce a Triple Crown winner with the right stallion. As do I.”
Kade didn’t often grimace, but he could feel his mouth bunching in response. “I understand your situation, Dad, but if I agree, this opens a door I keep telling you I don’t want to go through.”
“You don’t want your birthright, you mean!” He gestured to the stables. “Who’s going to keep everything I’ve built here going if not you? The Donovans are their own legend in horse breeding. Son, you love horses and this land. It’s in your blood just like it is mine.”
“Not like that, Dad.” He strove for patience. “I’ve tried to tell you, but we never seem to reach an understanding. We’re going to change that now. I will help you get a foal from Legend on the following conditions.”
