Getting Lucky Page 8

  The line went dead silent.

  One heartbeat.

  Two.

  Finally a tight, clipped, “He boxed, you say?”

  Not registering the edgy, excited tone because she was too relieved that he hadn’t barked back at her and shut her down, she offered freely, “Yeah, he said it was bare-knuckle, if that means anything.” She was pretty sure it meant fighting without gloves, but she had less than no knowledge about boxing and didn’t really plan to gain any, honestly. It just seemed brutish and unnecessary. But with how he’d explained things, she understood why Sean had and didn’t hold it against him. “And apparently he was pretty good. Right up until he got tangled up in a bet with some bad people and his career ended over it.”

  Her father cleared his throat. “Well, I see. This information is very helpful.”

  And that was the best she was going to get from him, as far as compliments or positive reinforcement went. Because she was still working to control her worries, she accepted it for what it was and decided to put her energies to better use. “I’m glad,” she said, though she wasn’t sure what Sean’s days as a boxer had to do with horseracing.

  “I’m leaving for Belmont in the morning. I have to go,” boomed her father unexpectedly, the sound coming briskly through the receiver, and then Shannon was left with nothing but dead air as the call disconnected. More than a little disconcerted at the abruptness with which the talk had ended, she glanced around to regain her bearings and took long, slow, deep breaths in an attempt to settle her heart rate back to normal.

  It really was a beautiful town, she thought as she took in the looming snow-capped peak above her that was part of the mountain range bending in a U-shape around Fortune. Enormous planters were set up and down the sidewalk and overflowed with healthy, lush, multicolored flowers and decorative grasses. Some of the storefronts had old-fashioned wooden signs hung suspended over their doors from metal poles. Others, like the food co-op, had huge painted signs plastered to the front of them, declaring their names with artistic flair.

  What would it be like to live here?

  The thought captivated her as she spotted the Old West saloon-style Two Moons Brewery and Pub across the street. The rustic building, with the huge, open brick patio, sat on the corner of Main and a side street; she could just make out from the distance that it was named Timberline. It was next to a snazzy retail cycling and repair shop that had a retro-fabulous vintage poster in the front window of legendary road cyclist Eddy Merckx capturing the gold during the 1970 Tour de France. And next to that business was a clapboard-front, old-fashioned donut bakery called Hole in The Wall that sported a scalloped awning over the front-window display of donut delights in varying glazes, shapes, and fillings. It all proved too delicious-looking to resist.

  Nodding pleasantly to a couple of elderly ladies with thin, colored poofs of hair and polyester pants as they passed in front of her, Shannon went to the crosswalk like a good citizen and quickly crossed the street. There was no way she was passing up a chance to have a freshly baked bear claw.

  She was just passing the plain wood bench that sat in front of the brewpub that Sean had mentioned his friend owned when the double saloon doors swung open and a young, blond-haired woman exited, frowning fiercely.

  When she spotted Shannon, she threw up her hands and declared, “That man is such a jerk!” Her enviable cleavage rose as she breathed heavily, clearly unhappy with someone. The way her blue eyes flashed behind her oversized reading glasses made Shannon feel almost sorry for the guy who’d ticked her off.

  “Guys,” Shannon said wryly, immediately sympathetic and feeling the sisterly bond, the one that connected all women around the world through the singular, universal understanding that men were inevitably going to piss them off. They couldn’t help it. Globally, women understood this genetic defect in their counterparts and loved them still in spite of it. Maybe because of it—who knew? Men kept things spicy, that was for sure.

  The instant she thought it, last night’s escapade with Sean flashed through her head like a movie on the big screen—him all hard and manly and unbelievably scrumptious, and her all slutty and low-class like high school’s easy-queen, Sara Merger. One part of her was all, “Dammmn, girl,” and impressed with herself. The other part—the part of her that used to be all of her until she’d met the gorgeous Irishman—was down-to-her-bones embarrassed at her behavior. Acting like a college sorority girl after too many shots wasn’t like her. She had never been physical with a guy that she wasn’t in a relationship with. So this new Girls Gone Wild side of her was jarring and worrisome. More so was the fact that Muldoon had brought it out in her to begin with.

  Immersed in her thoughts, she was taken off guard when the gladiator-sandal-wearing blond grabbed her arm, tucked it through hers like they were lifelong best friends, and began walking. Shannon fell into step with her as she said, “You’d think by now that I would know better than to ask him nicely for anything.” She shook her head vigorously enough to loosen her bun. “But nooo,” she drawled. “I just keep on being Little Miss Polite and patient like a fool, making it far too easy for him to not take me seriously and blow me off.”

  “Umm,” Shannon began, not having even the foggiest idea what the gal was talking about. It wasn’t clear whether she really wanted a response anyway.

  Her new acquaintance heaved a great big sigh and laid her head on Shannon’s shoulder before asking softly, “What am I going to do?”

  Sympathy filled her at the weary undertone and inspiration struck. Stopping abruptly, Shannon stated matter-of-factly, “You’re going to stop asking him nicely, that’s what you’re going to do.”

  “I am?” her new friend asked and blinked, her eyes magnified and owllike behind the thick tortoise shell frames. In that moment she looked like a blond Zooey Deschenel from New Girl.

  Convinced for reasons unknown, Shannon nodded. “Yes. If this guy isn’t responding to nice, then try something different. Try assertive or coercive or mean. Oh! Or try naughty.” What guy could ever resist that approach? Especially if it came with a rack like that?

  “That’s genius!” the blond said, perking up and coming to a stop in front of the donut bakery. The aroma was beyond amazing. Lifting her head from Shannon’s shoulder, she introduced herself. “I’m Apple, by the way.”

  Already liking her, she replied, “Shannon.”

  Hitching a thumb over her shoulder back toward the brewpub, Apple said with no small amount of frustration in her tone, “And the jerk I’m currently mad at is Jake Stone, the no-good owner of Two Moons.”

  Looking back at the business, Shannon noticed a male figure in the window and asked, “Is he tall and muscular, with dark blond hair, face stubble, and a pretty intense frown?”

  Apple closed her eyes and groaned. “He’s still doing that? Really? That man has a perma-scowl, I swear.”

  Considering, Shannon sized him up and decided, “He’s still hot.”

  Her friend sighed. “Yeah, he is.”

  Hot or not, he was Sean’s friend and she wanted to talk to him, pick his brain to see what he knew. But before she could, Apple latched onto her arm again and said as she resumed walking, leading Shannon farther off track, “Change of subject. Since I’ve never seen you before and I’ve lived here my whole life, I’m assuming you’re either visiting or have just moved here.”

  Neither, actually, but it wasn’t something she could really share. She was supposed to be incognito. “Just moved. I’m the new stable manager out at Pine Creek Ranch.”

  Apple’s pretty face lit up. “You’re working for Sean Muldoon? Oh, I adore him! He’s a regular at the library and comes in every Saturday to check out exactly two books. And last winter when Mr. Concannon had to cancel on us at the last minute because his gout flared up real bad, Sean pitched in and played his fiddle, saving the kids’ concert with his Irish folk songs. I’ll never forget the way he made those children laugh with some of his G-rated limericks.”
/>
  So the guy was a book lover and helped out the community when he could? Now that was some seriously suspect behavior. Better leap on that one fast before he went and did something really criminal like save a puppy from a burning building.

  Torn between questioning Jake and finding out everything her friend knew, Shannon had the choice taken out of her hands when Apple opened the door to the bright and airy food co-op with handmade quilts decorating the walls and announced loudly, “Hey everyone, we have a new resident in town! She’s just started working out at Pine Creek Ranch. Introduce yourselves and help Shannon feel welcome.”

  Any determination to follow her father’s orders evaporated in a puff of smoke when about a half-dozen people looked up from what they were doing and said hello almost in unison. Half-convinced she’d entered the Twilight Zone, Shannon said hello back, but her feelings must have shown on her face because Apple looked at her with concern and said, “Are you okay?” Then her hand flew to her breast like she had a shocking revelation. “Oh my God, was that weird?”

  Umm . . . only completely.

  Apple rushed on, “It’s just, I volunteer here and know everyone.” She rapped her head with her knuckles gently. “I didn’t think. I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  “It’s okay,” she assured her new friend, even though she now felt like about a million eyes were on her, watching her every movement. And that was exactly the last thing she needed when she was supposed to be snooping.

  Dear old Dad was not going to be pleased.

  With a sinking feeling in her gut, Shannon was about to call the entire day a bust when the Jamie Lee Curtis lookalike from earlier approached her with a friendly, open smile. “Hi, I’m June.” Then she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “Tell me, what’s it like working for that hunky Irishman?”

  She laughed self-consciously before realizing that the entire store had heard the woman’s question and gone dead quiet waiting for her answer. A quick glance around confirmed at least three pair of female eyes were looking at her expectantly. Apparently she wasn’t the only one in town to think Sean made quite an impression.

  “It’s, umm,” she began, tucking her hands awkwardly into her front pockets and fumbling to say to her mini-audience, “nice?”

  It was like a dam had burst, because half a dozen women rushed her and all began speaking at once. She was bombarded with comments and questions about the Bachelor of Fortune. Apparently they couldn’t wait to gossip about the “available hottie,” as one woman put it.

  As the women swarmed her, Shannon took a deep, bracing breath and realized that this was exactly what she’d been hoping for: townspeople willing to tell her about Sean. Seizing the opportunity, she plastered on a grin, and dove headfirst into the gossip-fest.

  Gushing over Sean with a bunch of women was business. Yeah, business. It had nothing to do with her wanting to know for personal reasons. And butterflies hadn’t launched into flight in the pit of her belly at the mere thought of him.

  Nope. Not at all. She had no feelings about him one way or the other.

  Her heart skipped a beat. Shit. She was in trouble. This had never happened to her before.

  She couldn’t even lie to herself.

  Chapter Nine

  “COME QUICK, MR. MULDOON! Zeke’s been injured!”

  Sean looked up from his Belmont Stakes catalog in alarm. “Come again?” he said to his assistant trainer, Tracy Webb, hoping he hadn’t heard the guy right. His horse had been the picture of health when he’d checked on him an hour ago.

  The young horseman’s face was grave. “I’m sorry, sir, but it just happened. The vet is with him now. I’m not sure the extent of the damage, but it looks bad. You better come real quick.”

  Lunging out of his seat, Sean dropped the catalog and began running across the expansive park in a full-out sprint. He didn’t stop until he’d reached the stall where the Triple Crown champion was being boarded. A small crowd of onlookers was milling around, as well as a local news camera crew that must have already caught wind of his horse’s injury. He flung out his arms like he was shooing away a bunch of hungry pigeons, fear and worry for his horse making him gruff as he none too gently waded his way through to Zeke. “Off with all of you!”

  The crowd parted for him with a grumble, and Sean reached the gate, fear gripping him and making it hard to remain clearheaded.

  One of Belmont’s resident veterinarians was crouched down next to his beloved Zeke, the horse prone and obviously sedated. Sean refused to consider that he wasn’t moving for another reason. “What happened?” he croaked around the hard lump in his throat and wanted to go to his side, but found his foot rooted to the spot. “How is he?”

  The vet replied, her gaze filled with kindness and sympathy, “He’ll live, Mr. Muldoon, but he got a nasty gash that severed an artery and a major tendon. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Pressing his lips together to stem their trembling, Sean looked at the fresh bandage wrapped around the gray’s lower hindquarter. “Thank you, doctor, for the help. Do you have any idea what made the wound?” What the bleedin’ hell could’ve caused that kind of harm?

  His stable hand Joe spoke up. “I found this in the stall when I first discovered him. You’ll want to take a look.”

  The young Texan held up a long, skinny, jagged splinter of wood. The tip was covered in blood. It looked like it was a broken-off piece of something bigger—like possibly the handle of a pitchfork.

  Unease crept down Sean’s spine and he whipped up his head, surveying the small crowd that still lingered in the corridor. There was no reason for anything like that splinter to have been in the stall in the first place because all of his team was studious in picking up after themselves. And that meant that if something had been left in the stall big enough to seriously injure Zeke, it certainly hadn’t been left there by his men.

  Someone else had to have been in the stall. Recently too—within the past hour, when his team had been on break and the stallion was left unattended. And that meant that this was no accident.

  It was bloody fecking upsetting.

  Finally uprooted, Sean moved to crouch down next to the Thoroughbred, anger beginning to brew in his gut. He stroked the stallion’s silky coat, struggling not to see red when someone said from behind him, “Well, now, isn’t this a sad sight?”

  Sean whipped his head around and scowled when he saw the arsehole. “Mr. Charlemagne.” It didn’t matter one bit to him that his visitor was from the oldest founding family in the racing business and was considered by most to be an industry legend, or that the horses his farm produced were a nearly constant stream of stakes winners. The guy was still an arsehole.

  Callum Charlemagne smiled at him tightly, although with the way his lip curled it looked a lot more like a snarl. “Muldoon,” he begrudgingly said, rude as always. He’d never much liked Sean as far as he could tell, not since he’d come out of nowhere with Something Unexpected and started giving Charlemagne some real competition.

  They eyed each other in tense silence while the vet packed up her things. When she left with a promise to check back on Zeke in an hour, Sean was stuck alone with the pompous, egocentric man.

  Sean gave his horse one last pat and rose to his feet. “Is there something I can do for you?” He wanted the bastard gone so he could get on with finding out who did this to Zeke.

  “Not at all. You’ve already done more than enough.”

  The way the weasel said it had Sean clenching a fist, the urge to punch him in the nose almost overwhelming. But since he hadn’t thrown even a single blow since he’d left Ireland, he wasn’t going to lose control and backslide now. He’d left that part of himself there as surely as he’d left his God-given surname.

  Charlemagne leaned his elbows on the stall gate and added, “That injury is a real shame. Your horse will be lucky to walk again without a limp. His racing days are most definitely over.” He finished with a tsk-tsk and a shake of his head lik
e he actually cared.

  Anger bubbled up hard and fast inside, and Sean rounded, his hands clenched into fists. The pisser wasn’t even trying to hide his glee. “Have a care with what you say, Mr. Charlemagne. You wouldn’t be wanting it taken out of context and discover yourself a suspect with the police if this proves not to be an accident, now would you?”

  It wasn’t even worth the effort to disguise the threat. Someone was after Sean, and though deep down he was worried that Mickey O’Banion and his men had finally uncovered him, he wanted it well-known and widespread that he wasn’t hesitating to share this information with the local authorities on the chance that this was a simple straightforward case of jealousy and sabotage, and the perpetrator was someone from the racing circuit.

  “Is that a threat, son?” Charlemagne narrowed his beady eyes and slowly straightened.

  Unfazed, Sean met his hard stare with one of his own. “Only if there’s a reason for it to be.”

  “Oh, you’ve plenty of reasons,” he scoffed.

  “So, you did this to me horse then?” If that bastard were responsible for the attack on Zeke, then he would live to regret it. Sean would make sure of it.

  The industry heavyweight must have realized his position and held up his hands in a display of innocence, his furrowed brow melting into a practiced smile. “Not me, Muldoon.” He took a step in retreat and added, “You let me know if I can be of help though, you hear? I’d be happy to provide a statement to the police, if need be.” He made that tsk-tsk sound again and shook his head. “Really is a shame.”

  My, how a tune can change in an instant, Sean thought cynically. “That’s kind of you to say.”

  Clearly not well acquainted with the concept of sarcasm, Charlemagne nodded regally as if Sean had paid him an actual compliment. “I do what I can.”

  Just then a blur of movement caught his eye and Sean jerked. What the bloody hell? He dashed out of the stall, his heart suddenly pounding furiously.

  “Excuse me,” he said belatedly to Charlemagne, already making his way down the long corridor, his gaze scanning the crowd for another glimpse of the person he’d thought he’d seen—the same person whose reflection had been in the window at Jake’s brewery.