Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
Tommy
S weat rolled off my brow and I swiped at it with the back of my gloved hand before pushing the heavy wooden rail into place.
It braced perfectly against the uprights, and I huffed out a long breath.
I’d been hard at work all afternoon with Rory and I suspected he was testing me, but I was up to the task.
I might have liked to party, but I learned a solid work ethic from my father and could pound nails and work horses until my hands bled if necessary.
I didn’t mind it.
Hard labor had always been the best way to shut off my brain, keep my hands busy and my thoughts focused.
But today, my thoughts were quite scattered.
No matter how many rails I lifted or how much dirt I kicked up, my mind kept circling back to the same thing.
Or rather, the same girl.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus as I shoved the last rail into its slot.
Across from me, Rory gave a firm nod of approval as he assessed our work.
“Good job,” he said, stepping forward to test the jump’s stability.
“This one was gettin’ a bit loose—last thing we need is a horse takin’ a fall.”
I pulled off my gloves, stuffing them in the back pocket of my jeans.
“Never worked with steeplechase before,” I admitted.
“What’s the difference between this and regular jumping?”
Rory’s green eyes twinkled, clearly enjoying the chance to educate me.
“Difference is, this isn’t for show. It’s a race, lad. Speed and endurance over fences, all at a full gallop.” He gestured toward the rolling course, where several jumps were spaced out over the undulating ground.
“This isn’t a tidy little ring with measured poles. This is real cross-country ridin’—banks, ditches, water jumps. A horse needs heart for this, and the rider needs to be fearless.”
I whistled low, watching as a groom led a young gelding past the training course.
The bustle of activity around the training center was nonstop.
“Hell of a sport.”
Our saddlebreds couldn’t compete in this level of equine activity.
They were bred for elegant high-stepping, fluid motions rather than speed and endurance.
Our horses competed to show off conformation and precision and I loved that breed beyond compare.
I was, however, discovering a newfound appreciation for the thoroughbred and I’d only been here a day.
Rory chuckled.
“Aye, it is a hell of a sport. And it’s not for the faint of heart.” He fixed me with a prideful look.
“Takes a rider with guts. One who trusts their horse more than they trust their own senses. If a horse refuses mid-run, could be disaster.”
I was intrigued, because any type of riding came with its own perils.
Serious injury and sometimes death were always the possibility on a thousand-pound beast.
“So, how do you know if a horse’s got it in ’em?”
“Watch their stride,” Rory said, pointing toward one of the jumps.
“Watch how they read the ground. A good steeplechase horse won’t hesitate—they’ll adjust naturally, find the perfect takeoff spot. If they’re second-guessin’ themselves, they’re not built for it.”
I scanned the course with a new appreciation and tried to imagine myself flying over it.
While I’m an accomplished horseman, I’d never jumped one before.
“And the riders? What makes a good one?”
Rory grinned knowingly.
“Confidence. Good hands. A feel for the horse. And a brain that can shut out fear.”
On my best day, my father would call me reckless, but I think even I’d have enough sense to let this challenge go.
A short laugh escaped me.
“So basically, you gotta be insane.”
“That too,” he admitted with a chuckle, then tilted his head at me.
“But ye did good today, Blackburn. Ye’ve got a steady hand with the horses, and ye’re not afraid of gettin’ dirty. Means ye were raised right.”
“Appreciate that. I don’t mind hard work.”
Rory opened his mouth to say something else but then stopped, his attention shifting toward the far end of the field.
His smile widened with a deep fondness and I twisted to follow his line of sight.
A petite figure walked toward us, leading a tall chestnut horse with a sleek coat that gleamed even under the dull gray sky.
I estimated it to be about seventeen hands upon a brief perusal, but it wasn’t the horse that had my undivided attention.
It was the sprite of a girl with flaming red hair and summer green eyes that had it.
Fiona Conlan.
She’d tamed that wild mane into a long braid and had a riding helmet tucked under one arm.
Gone were her wellies and instead she wore riding boots.
I knew the woman could ride, but the fact she was heading toward us, toward the steeplechase with such determination, made me look at her in a different light.
I could see the proud lift of her chin, the confidence in how she moved, and my stomach tightened in a way I didn’t particularly appreciate.
Pretty girls were a strong interest of mine but only to have fun with.
Fiona Conlan was stirring up feelings unknown to me, most importantly that of genuine interest in what was going on inside that beautiful head of hers.
Rory chuckled under his breath.
“Speaking of fearless riders…”
I pulled my regard from her, clearing my throat.
“She’s ridin’ the course?”
“Aye,” Rory replied, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.
“Her da’s away this afternoon, so we’re sneakin’ her on.”
I arched a brow at the subterfuge because Seamus Conlan didn’t seem like a man you’d want to fuck around with.
“Her father doesn’t approve, I take it.”
Rory grimaced.
“Not in the slightest. Thinks this is not fittin’ for a lady.”
Rory was Seamus’s brother, so I was confused.
“But you help her anyway.”
Rory shrugged, unrepentant.
“I do. Someone has to help the girl pursue her dreams, yeah?”
I turned back to Fiona and watched as she glanced up at the horse, whispering something to him.
His ears flicked back and forth and he shied sideways in what looked to be pent-up energy and excitement.
I was having a hard time fathoming her on that animal, jumping over objects at a flat-out gallop.
“Gonna take her to Kildare tomorrow, let her race against real competition,” Rory said, and my attention went back to him.
“Kildare?”
“They have a steeplechase course and offer free runs with other riders on Sundays. I’ll have ye come along to help out.”
My lips quirked.
“Yeah? You looking for an extra set of hands or just someone to make sure she doesn’t kill herself?”
Rory chuckled.
“A bit of both, maybe.”
Not sure why this caused me a pang of angst, but I found myself pushing back.
“And it’s safe for her to do that?”
“Oh, there’s nothing safe about this sport, lad.”
Jaw sagging a bit, I asked, “Shouldn’t you be protecting her? You’re letting her do something that could lend her a broken neck or her father strangling her.”
Rory glanced at me, amused.
“So, what’s this now? Ye askin’ about Fiona’s ridin’ skills or somethin’ else?”
Not sure what in the hell I was asking.
“Her father just seems a bit… domineering.”
“Aye… that he is.”
“He’s arranging a marriage for her,” I pointed out.
Rory grimaced and I was relieved to see in that one expression he didn’t agree with his brother on that.
“Seamus wants to merge farms, and Brian Kavanagh is the price.”
“And you’re going to stand by while that happens?” I asked incredulously.
He shot me a sharp look.
“Ye got an interest in the matter, Blackburn?”
I lifted a shoulder.
“Just curious.”
Rory smirked, seeing right through me.
“Aye, well, do me a favor and keep yer hands to yerself, yeah?”
I couldn’t tell if he was jesting or if he’d be the type of uncle who would tear me to pieces for looking a little too long at his niece.
Probably the latter, but Fiona might’ve been worth the risk.
I wouldn’t admit that to him though, so I held up my hands in mock innocence.
“These hands are here just to work.”
Rory shook his head, muttering something under his breath before turning back to Fiona who had reached us.
Her expressive green eyes passed over me to take in the jump we just shored up.
“Good day, lads,” she said easily, glancing between us.
“How’s the work goin’?”
“Your uncle is a hard taskmaster,” I replied, and Rory snorted.
“Been learning a lot though.”
She arched a brow.
“Aye? And what’ve ye learned?”
“That steeplechase riders are insane.”
Her head tipped back and there was no tinkling laugh coming from the Irish lass.
It was a full-on bark of gusto.
“Took ye long enough to figure that out.”
Rory chuckled and gestured toward her horse.
“Brannagh ready?”
She nodded, her expression morphing into one of serious determination as she put on her helmet.
“We did a good warm-up in the back field. He’s ready to fly.”
Rory took the reins while Fiona buckled her head protection and I stepped forward, offering my hands.
“Need a leg up?”
She eyed me for a moment, then nodded.
I crouched slightly, interlacing my fingers.
Fiona planted her boot in my grip and one hand went to my shoulder.
Her touch was firm and assured, and I liked that confidence about her.
It was an easy lift of her slight frame and she swung into the saddle with natural grace.
Fiona gathered the reins while simultaneously slipping her boots into the stirrups.
Brannagh was excited and sidestepped away from me and Rory, shaking his head repetitively.
“Easy now,” she murmured, giving him a slight kick to the flanks that sent him into a trot.
It was a respectable move because whenever a horse started acting up, the best thing to do was give him a job he knew well, and it was obvious she’d put great effort into training him to respect her command.
Fiona moved her horse in a few easy, wide circles and I couldn’t look away.
She was a natural in the saddle and I was captivated by the expressive mix of determination and joy on her face as she directed him down the track to the starting point.
She looked over her shoulder at the first jump as she wheeled Brannagh around and then with another sharp kick, he bolted forward like a bullet expelling from a gun.
They shot across the track, racing past us in a blur.
Fiona moved like she was part of the horse—fluid, unshaken, utterly fearless.
Brannagh extended into a full-blown gallop and my heart lodged in my throat as he launched over the first fence, landing lightly on the other side with a spray of dirt.
Fiona urged him forward, pushing the flight faster.
The next jump came fast, but she took it like it was nothing, barely shifting in the saddle.
“Jesus,” I muttered in awe.
Rory watched with a satisfied nod.
“She’s got a good eye for distances. Doesn’t second-guess.”
“She’s incredible,” I said before I could stop myself.
Rory side-eyed me and I met his glance.
“Aye, she is. And don’t be gettin’ any ideas, lad.”
I grinned, unwilling to promise such a thing and lied straight to the man’s face.
“Not a one.”