Getting Lucky Page 12

  But soon, the crowd started cheering her on, calling out to her. And really, why wouldn’t they? Shannon had never seen anyone commit to a song the way Apple was doing. That woman was doing it with feeling. Before long, lighters came out, raised in the air, turning the pub into a united front of support for the town librarian. And then they were singing along too, swaying together like branches in the breeze. It was amazing.

  The woman was butchering the song and her town loved her for it.

  Turning her head, Shannon caught sight of Jake and a surprised laugh escaped her. Quickly she turned back to Sean and Aidan. “Hey, you two, look.” She tipped her head in the bar owner’s direction.

  They did and both their faces froze in shock. Because there was Jake, white bar towel flung over his shoulder, lighter fired up and waving in the air. He caught them all staring openly at him and shrugged his broad shoulders.

  Clearly even he couldn’t resist Apple’s awesomeness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THREE DAYS LATER, Sean went to a small celebration. Every year on the anniversary of the gold strike, the day that they’d all gotten so damn lucky, he and the guys got together at Jake’s place to commemorate the event. They’d meet in the afternoon and sit on the back porch of his cabin that overlooked the river. Then they’d share a few of those beers that they’d got pissed on before having their dreams come true.

  Pulling his Ford to a stop in the drive behind Jake’s classic restored ’72 GMC pickup, he noted that Aidan was already there. His Tundra was parked off to the right behind a big woodshed, a huge pile of lumber jutting off the long-bed and held down with bungee ties.

  Not even bothering with the front door, Sean made his way around the side of the old-fashioned log cabin and ducked under the low-hanging branches of a monstrous pine tree. Cones crunched under his work boots as he made his way to the raised back porch. When he spotted Aidan and Jake, they were already kicked back in camp chairs and enjoying the view of the river just past the small stand of trees.

  “Happy anniversary,” Sean said in greeting as he climbed the stairs to join them. “You lucky feckin’ bastards.”

  Both the guys laughed and raised the beer bottles they were already holding. “Damn straight,” Jake said and tossed an unopened bottle to him. “You being the luckiest bastard of us all, what with your obscenely large gold-nugget score.”

  Wasn’t that the bloody truth? He’d pulled the biggest chunk by far out of the river that day. Sean pulled up the third camp chair and took a seat. “I’ll drink to that.” But he hadn’t felt right about his being the most valuable piece, so he’d convinced them to pool together and split the payout equally among them. Still, they liked to tease him about the size of his nugget once in a while. He popped the cap before raising the bottle to meet theirs and said with no little amount of irony, “To the Bachelors of Fortune.”

  They tapped bottles, took long drinks, and then sat in appreciative silence. Though they made light of it the vast majority of the time, that day had changed everything for them all. Coming back to the spot where fortune had tipped her hand to them so generously was moving. That day had given them all something profoundly personal—it had given them hope.

  Jake was the first to break the silence. “Your stable manager is attractive.” His hair was pulled back in its usual stubby ponytail under a navy blue ski cap, and he hadn’t shaved in days, likely since Sean had last seen him. He’d often thought it fitting that his mate lived in a rustic cabin because he couldn’t think of anyone better suited to that lifestyle than Jake.

  Sean smirked. “She is that.”

  Aidan kicked out his long legs covered in utility cargos and crossed his heavy boots, one over the other. Then he raised his arms and laced his fingers together behind his head, grinning. “Come on, man. We know you’re into her. It was obvious by the dumb look on your face when Apple sang the other night at the bar.”

  Jake groaned under his breath irritably. “Don’t remind me.”

  Ignoring him, Sean leaned back more comfortably in his chair and sighed, confessing, “I’d like to, mate, but it’s not going to happen. Too messy.”

  Aidan gave a hmph and grumbled. “It always is. They just won’t let it be any other way.” The way he said it made it sound like he had a whole lot of personal experience.

  “Who got you all tangled up, mate?”

  Aidan’s hazel eyes went dark. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Jake looked over at him, his beer bottle halfway to his lips. “Why, because the thought of her still pisses you off that much?”

  “So what if it does?”

  Jake held Aidan’s gaze steady. “Because it was a long time ago, man—and because you gotta move on at some point.”

  “You don’t think I haven’t?” Aidan shot back. “Fuck that, dude. You know I’ve had plenty of girlfriends since my college days.”

  Jake sighed and rolled his eyes skyward like he was suffering silently and praying for patience. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. But whatever, man. If you want to keep wasting your time being heartbroken over a woman who didn’t want you, then by all means. Be an ass.”

  Changing the topic before things got heated, Sean asked a question that had been bothering him. “Why’d you stand Apple up that day a few weeks back, Jake? You know she didn’t deserve that.”

  With a curse, his friend rose from his chair and paced away. The back of his long sleeved T-shirt had a list of cities and dates on them. Looking closer, Sean saw that it was a list of tour dates for Jake’s old band, Redneck Rockstars, and grinned. It was a damn funny name.

  “I had to help my dad out, okay?” Jake finally admitted. “He’d gone on one of his benders again and fallen into the hay shoot out on Mill Road. You know, that rusty old one that some rancher abandoned on the side of the road years ago?”

  Both Sean and Aidan nodded.

  He continued, his mouth drawn in a tight line. “Polly Silts saw him and called me. He was passed out by the time I got to him and had a nasty gash on his head, so I brought him back here and fixed him up, because you know how he is about hospitals. I’ve given up trying to get him to go and just learned how to stitch him up myself.” He pegged them with a stare. “Don’t tell anyone. Especially not Apple. Promise me.”

  It was widely known that Jake’s dad was the town drunk. Verle Stone had gained that title through good old-fashioned binge drinking and public intoxication—and a whole lot of trashy behavior. It was a cross that Jake had to bear.

  Aidan nodded and said quietly, “We won’t say anything, man. I’m sorry about your dad. Is he okay now?”

  Jake gave a weary sigh and leaned against the porch railing, “He’s the same as he ever was.”

  That pretty much summed up everything.

  Knowing it, Aidan hitched his thumb over his shoulder and smirked at Jake. “I meant to say something earlier, but your place is a shit pit, man. When was the last time you cleaned it?”

  Jake grinned lightning fast, unoffended. “You offering, neat freak?”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “Why not, sissy? I’ve seen you in an apron. You’re sexy.”

  “That was Home Ec in eighth grade, idiot.”

  “Still counts.”

  Realizing the guys could be at it for a while, Sean kicked back in his seat and nursed his bottle of ale, his mind wandering. It wasn’t until Aidan kicked him in the shin that he came to. “Hey, where you been? Man, you’re as bad lately as Ben Stiller in that Walter Mitty movie. I asked how Zeke was doing.”

  “Recovering well.” The relief he still felt about that was palpable. Shannon had taken a personal interest and had been doing an amazing job caring for him, for which he was eternally grateful. She definitely had a way. “He won’t be able to run again, but he can still sire with the use of in vitro—which we’ve been using more of lately anyway. The tendon that was severed won’t allow for him to ever stretch out enough to mount a mare again.�
� Whoever had harmed the stallion must not have realized that by making him lame permanently and forcing in vitro, his breeding fee had just skyrocketed. Zeke’s injury had ironically made him more valuable than the multimillion-dollar Triple Crown winner already was.

  It would objectively be a good thing, if it weren’t so worrisome. Now that his fee was going to surge, whoever had attacked him wasn’t going to be happy. Sean was beginning to worry for his horse’s safety, even at home. Was the arsehole willing to go so far on Sean’s home turf? He hoped to hell not, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it.

  Then again, there was no proof that Zeke’s injury was intentional. And his own attack? Well, for all he actually bloody well knew, a clumsy stable hand who’d panicked and run off could have accidentally clanged him in the head with a shovel. Maybe he was just imagining the whole fecking thing.

  The Irish mob hadn’t tracked him down.

  Zeke wasn’t being targeted.

  Nobody had knocked him senseless on purpose.

  There wasn’t a cock-shouldered Irish thug running about trying to put a hit on him.

  And most importantly: He wasn’t falling hard for a woman he couldn’t even confess his real last name to out of fear for her safety.

  Nope. Not at all. Not even bloody fecking close.

  Bollocks.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SHANNON LEFT HER apartment and went downstairs to the main floor of the barn, her father’s voice still ringing in her ears. The phone call they’d just shared had really been a one-sided verbal lashing. Callum Charlemagne was gravely disappointed in his daughter.

  What else was new?

  Struggling against the tension gripping her body like a boa constrictor, Shannon made her way to the storage room with the huge metal cabinet she wanted to search at the base of the stairs. If she didn’t find something today, her father was pulling the rug out from under Colleen. It was all on Shannon’s shoulders to make sure that didn’t happen.

  Talk about feeling the pressure.

  It boggled her mind that he would even consider doing such a thing to his own child, but she supposed she could look at it as a testament to the gravity of the situation. Taking a deep, calming breath, Shannon reminded herself that his world was on the brink of collapse. It wasn’t overly surprising that her father was stressed and lashing out.

  “Doesn’t mean I deserve it, though,” she said to no one in particular. But it helped sometimes to talk out loud and give a direction to her frantically racing thoughts. Being forced to concentrate on forming words was sometimes enough to break the cycle.

  If nothing else, it gave her company.

  Just then, the barn door creaked open and Tim Hopkins, the yearling trainer, entered. He smiled a friendly greeting when he spotted Shannon. “Good morning,” he said. “I’m just swinging by to grab some topical antibiotic for Grey’s hip. He and another yearling got into it out in the paddock and a small chunk got taken out of him.”

  Ouch. That didn’t sound pleasant. But since she was going into the room anyway to try and pick the cabinet lock with a hairpin, Shannon smiled back and offered, “Why don’t I grab it for you? I was just headed in there anyway.”

  The older man nodded, looking thankful. “That’d be great, actually. I’m dying for the bathroom.”

  The rational part of her brain saw the opportunity and took it. Before he could change his mind and decided he could hold it longer, Shannon held out her hand. “Can I borrow your key, please?”

  Tim looked at her with mild surprise. “Sean hasn’t made you one yet?” She shook her head. “Huh. That’s odd.”

  Smiling weakly, Shannon snatched the keys out of his hand and tried for breezy. “Do your thing. I’ve got this.” Now she really wanted to know why she hadn’t gotten a key. Was there something in the cabinet she wasn’t supposed to know about?

  “Don’t be silly,” she mumbled under her breath as she worked the lock. He was simply busy, that’s all. But the vague nagging worry wouldn’t completely go away, no matter how many deep, steadying breaths she took.

  “I’ll be right back!” Tim hollered from the barn entrance.

  She glanced out the window at the bright blue patch of sky. “Sounds good!” she yelled back, the lock finally giving.

  Relieved, but still way jittery, Shannon swung the cabinet doors wide open with a creak and spent a few minutes looking inside. Medical supplies were stacked and lined in neat rows, grouped together according to use. Bandages were together in a basket, unopened vaccines that didn’t need to be refrigerated were clumped together, and various bottles of pills and ointments were arranged neatly on another shelf. Spotting the topical ointment that Tim would need, Shannon’s hand stopped midreach when she noticed something peculiar. Up on the top shelf were a bunch of bottles that had a very fine layer of dust on them. Shannon leaned closer and rose on her tippy-toes for a better peek. And noticed a slight circular ring on the shelf where a bottle had once been—a bottle of something had been sitting there just recently.

  Then something else caught her eye.

  “Hey, Tim, are you there?” she said loudly with her head shoved deep in the cabinet. She thought she’d heard footsteps signaling his return, but it was hard to tell with the metal muffling all noise. “There’s a disposable syringe wrapper sitting here on the shelf opened and empty. Did somebody get a shot recently?” Unease crept up her spine and she went tense again. Why, she wasn’t sure. A wrapper alone wasn’t cause for alarm. But there was that dust ring too.

  Tim stepped into the doorway, his white bushy eyebrows pulled down in confusion. “Not that I know of, no.”

  Shannon held up the wrapper, her pulse skittering. Something wasn’t setting right with her about this, but it was probably just because she’d spent an hour getting her ass chewed by her father for being too naïve. He’d accused her of not being able to recognize suspicious activity if she tripped over it, even though she’d spent the past weeks doing nothing else but searching for that very thing. The only place she hadn’t managed to get to again was Sean’s house. But she was avoiding that place.

  Because it was far too tempting, that house. It made her want to do very fun but very wrong things with the man who owned it. And since she didn’t trust that she’d be able keep her hands off him if they were alone again, she’d stayed away, no matter how much her father threatened.

  Well, she hadn’t tripped over it, so to speak, but these missing things qualified as suspicious. And she’d noticed. Take that, Dad.

  Mad now at his mistreatment of her and with her ego still stinging, Shannon grabbed the tube of ointment and squeezed briefly. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be getting something too and snagged a jar of Bag Balm off the shelf.

  “Is everything okay?” Tim said suddenly from behind her, clearly noticing her preoccupation.

  Even though her stomach squeezed painfully with unease, she quickly slammed the cabinet shut, trying not to let her imagination grab hold and make her think all kinds of crazy, silly things. So a bottle and a syringe were missing? Big deal. It didn’t have to mean anything.

  Walking quickly to the trainer, Shannon handed him the tube and his keys. “There you are,” she said with fake cheer, because her insides were spinning, making her slightly nauseated. “I’ll walk you out.” Some fresh air right then sounded heavenly.

  Tim tipped his head down the main aisle to the big double doors that were swung wide open to capture the morning breeze. “I was going to go out that way. It’s closer to the paddock.”

  Though her heart was beating heavily and it was hard to swallow, she forced her shoulders to relax and tried hard to bring her thoughts into focus. “Sounds great,” she said, putting the jar down quickly on a hay bale when his head was turned. And then started walking, Tim falling into step beside her.

  “So how are you liking Pine Creek?” he asked.

  Glancing at the empty stalls they passed, Shannon replied after a steadying breath. “It’s
wonderful.” There was no harm in being truthful about that. Pine Creek was quickly grabbing hold of her heart and claiming a spot, just like its owner.

  Tim puffed his chest out, clearly proud. “Couldn’t agree more. I came to work for Sean right after he bought this place, and I’m amazed at what he’s created in such a short time. His breeding program is top notch, and these horses are some of the fastest I’ve seen.” He smiled like a proud father before continuing. “I’ve wondered about Zeke’s bloodlines because I’ve never seen a stronger, swifter runner, but all that Sean’s told me is that he’s from Irish Thoroughbred stock.”

  Shannon’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You haven’t seen his pedigree?”

  Tim shook his head. “Everything’s been word of mouth. I’m told they go clear back to Shergar.”

  Her mouth dropped open in disbelief and she stopped dead in her tracks. “Are you kidding me?” That horse was a famous Irish Derby winner.

  “Not even slightly,” Tim said, chuckling heartily. He was clearly amused by her shocked response.

  “But wasn’t he kidnapped or something after a record-breaking race back in the early eighties? she asked, suddenly puzzled by the story she thought she remembered from her childhood. If it was correct, he’d been taken for ransom but was never actually seen again.

  Tim looked impressed with her knowledge of horseracing lore, but that incident was legendary in the racing world, even though it had happened clear across the Atlantic. “Yeah, that’s right. He was stolen at gunpoint by masked men.”

  It was one of those stories that was almost too incredible to believe.

  Shannon laughed a little, amazed. “I can’t believe it. Zeke is one of his grandbabies?” No wonder Sean loved that horse so much. Shergar’s coveted bloodline had supposedly died out after he’d been stolen. If it was true, that stallion was beyond priceless.

  Tim nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard. Impressive, isn’t it?”

  Shannon wondered if her dad knew this information about Zeke. And then she decided probably not; otherwise, he wouldn’t be so convinced Sean was doping his horses. If that stallion’s bloodlines were present, then there was no foul play—it was simply in Zeke’s genes to fly. And luckily for Sean, Shergar’d passed that winning trait on to his offspring.