Chapter 12
CHAPTER 12
Tommy
T he training center was alive with movement—riders adjusting their stirrups, stable hands leading out the young horses, Rory giving instructions with a sharp eye and a steady voice.
It was the same bustle I was used to at Blackburn Farms, but there was something infinitely more exciting about watching the young racehorses thunder around the track.
I stood by the rail, stopwatch in hand, watching as one of the riders urged his horse into a gallop, dirt flying from its hooves.
The gelding stretched out over the track, muscles rippling under a gleaming bay coat, his breath coming in short huffs as he ate up the ground.
“Mark it,” Rory called to me, tracking the horse’s stride like a hawk.
My thumb depressed the button.
“One minute, three seconds.”
Rory nodded, a pleased gleam in his eye.
“He’s improving.” He jerked his chin toward the track.
“See how he settled into the pace right before the second furlong? That’s what we want—smooth, confident.”
This was all like Greek to me, but I was learning a lot and grateful that Rory was involving me.
He could’ve easily set me to cleaning stalls for the entire summer, but instead, he was immersing me in the training world of racehorses.
I watched as the bay crossed the far turn of the track, the rider easing him back down to a steady canter.
I’d been around horses my whole life, and it was easy to see the difference in how they were trained here compared to back home.
I could best summarize it as less polish, more grit.
The riders didn’t just work the horses—they read them, adjusted to them in real time.
It was raw and instinctive, more of a partnership than a strict command.
“Clock starts, clock stops,” I mused, still watching the track.
“I would think that’s the number that matters. But you seem to care more about the way they move than just how fast they are.”
Rory grinned, his green eyes glinting with amusement.
“Because that’s what makes a real runner. Fast is good, but if a horse doesn’t have the mind for it—if he’s just chasin’ the wind instead of workin’ with it—he’ll never win where it counts.”
A stable groom approached, leading a young chestnut filly aptly named Star for the same shape marking on her forehead.
She shifted her weight nervously, ears flicking back and forth.
The boy murmured to her, adjusting the reins to hold on to her head as she tried to shake it.
“She’s got energy to burn,” Rory muttered.
“Tommy, walk her to the starting post, let her settle before they take her off.”
I moved forward, running a soothing hand down the filly’s neck as I took her reins from the groom.
“Easy, girl,” I murmured, leading her onto the track.
She tossed her head, testing me, but I kept my grip steady, my other hand firm on her shoulder.
You couldn’t manhandle horses this size, but you also couldn’t baby them.
They needed a handler they could trust, someone steady, someone who wouldn’t react to their nervousness by getting tense themselves.
Rory watched me as I led her, a considering look on his face.
“Ye’ve got good hands, lad.”
I grinned, patting the filly’s shoulder as she finally exhaled, her body loosening.
“That’s ’cause I was raised right.”
Rory chuckled and turned back to the riders, calling out the next lineup.
I glanced across the track, spotting Fiona’s dad in conversation with another trainer near the fence.
I’d never seen him down here at the training center and I wondered why he was making an appearance.
From what I understood, the brothers kept the two distinct parts of the farm—breeding and training—separated from each other.
I hadn’t quite figured out all the family dynamics, but it didn’t seem to me that Seamus and Rory liked each other very much.
But for all the things I didn’t like about Seamus Conlan, I had to admit—he produced some of the finest young racehorses I’d ever seen.
Of course, I’d also argue it was Rory’s training that really made them so great.
He was a good man and an even finer handler of horses.
I suspect my dad knew exactly what he was doing by sending me here to work for Rory this summer.
It was why I was out here at sunrise, hands caked with dirt, instead of nursing a couple extra hours of sleep.
There was something about this place—about Rory Conlan—that made me want to prove myself.
?
After a very long day, I found Rory in the main barn, standing at a stall with his arms braced over the top rail, quietly observing one of the horses inside.
It was early evening, the sky just starting to shift to deeper shades of blue.
I had debated all day about making this call, but the longer I waited, the more I needed to hear my father’s voice.
“Hey, Rory,” I said as I stepped up beside him.
“Any chance I could use your phone to call my dad?”
He turned his head, raising a brow.
“Of course, lad. No need to ask.”
“I was going to place it collect,” I added, rubbing the back of my neck.
“But if that doesn’t work, I can settle up with you later.”
Rory waved a dismissive hand.
“Don’t worry about it. Go on and use the cottage line. Should be quieter there and the door’s unlocked.”
I thanked him and walked the short distance to Rory and Kathleen’s cottage.
Inside, the house was warm, the scent of whatever Kathleen had cooked earlier lingering in the air.
I checked the time—early afternoon back home in Kentucky.
I should be able to reach my father, who would most likely be in his office up at the main house.
Rory’s phone was mounted on the kitchen wall and I picked up the receiver, pressing it to my ear before dialing the operator.
“I’d like to place a collect call to the United States,” I told her, then rattled off my father’s number.
“Please hold while I connect ye.”
As I waited, I pulled out a chair to sit, leaning back and tapping my fingers against the table.
My mind wandered to last night, to Fiona leading me up that hill, the way she had looked under the moonlight, her red hair catching in the breeze.
The way she had leaned into me as we sat under the hawthorns, watching the lights of Clonmel flicker in the distance.
And the way I felt when she told me about her father ordering her to invite Brian to the festival.
The anger that had surged in me was brutally hot.
I’d never been one to insert myself into other people’s business, but this?
This was different.
Fiona was my business.
“Hello?” My father’s deep voice pulled me back.
“Hey, Dad,” I said, clearing my throat and sitting up straight in my chair.
“Well, there’s my boy,” he said, his voice warm with affection.
“I was hoping you’d call soon. You settling in all right over there?”
I grinned.
“Yeah, I am. It’s amazing here. The land’s beautiful. The people are good. And Rory’s got me working hard.”
My dad chuckled.
“That was the plan. What kind of work you been doing?”
I told him about the horses, the training, how Rory had put me through my paces.
I talked about Kathleen, how she ran her own pub and how much I liked her sharp wit.
I described the rolling green pastures, the cool, damp air, and the fact that I still hadn’t gotten used to how damn long the daylight lasted.
And then, without thinking, I said, “I helped Rory’s niece run steeplechase the other day.”
My dad must have caught something in my voice because he hummed thoughtfully.
“Rory’s niece, huh?”
“Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat.
“Fiona.”
“Sounds pretty,” my dad said, and I could hear the amusement across the line, so very far away.
“Very pretty,” I agreed hesitantly.
“Sounds like a special girl.”
I hesitated for half a second before I spilled everything.
“She is,” I admitted.
“And I—I really like her, Dad. A lot. But it’s complicated. Her father’s pushing her to marry some guy she doesn’t want, and she feels trapped. And I don’t know what the hell to do about it.”
There was silence for a beat, and then my dad exhaled, slow and measured.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose the first thing you do is be careful. Sounds like you’ve got yourself wrapped up in something real tricky.”
I ran a hand through my hair.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“And you haven’t been there long, so make sure your feelings are true.”
“They are,” I blurted a little too loud, but he got the point.
“Then if they are,” my dad continued, “that doesn’t mean you walk away if it’s worth it. You do what’s right by her and by yourself. You can’t fix her life for her, but you can sure as hell stand beside her while she figures it out.”
Something in my chest eased at his words.
That was exactly what I wanted to do—be there for her.
Make sure she knew she had a choice.
“Thanks, Dad,” I said.
“Tommy…”
“Yeah?”
“You’re young and—”
“I know, I know,” I drawled with a huff.
“I shouldn’t fall for someone I just met and—”
“No, I wasn’t going to say that,” he said, rolling right over me.
“I was going to tell you you’re young, but when love happens, you’ll know it. Doesn’t matter how long you know someone or if you’re from different countries. Truly… follow your heart.”
I was stunned silent.
I’d never spoken about such things with my dad, not because he wasn’t the type.
He was the one person I would discuss these things with.
I just…
I thought he’d think this was silly.
“Thank you, Dad. That means a lot.”
“Anytime, son. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up just as Rory walked into the kitchen.
I stiffened.
The look on his face told me he had overheard at least part of the conversation.
“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands.
“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I caught the tail end of that.”
I rubbed my palms on my jeans.
“Are you mad?”
Rory pulled out a chair and sat across from me, leaning forward with his forearms braced on the table.
“Sounds like ye care about Fiona a great deal.”
I met his gaze.
“I do.”
Rory tapped his fingers against the wood, considering me carefully before he finally spoke.
“Not to be doubtin’ yer sincerity, lad, but ye’ve known her what? A week?”
I stiffened because I’d expected pushback, but something about the way he said it got under my skin.
“Yeah, a week. But that’s plenty of time to see who she is. To know what she’s up against.”
Rory raised an eyebrow.
“And to know how ye feel about her?”
I exhaled through my nose, frustration curling in my gut.
“We’ve done plenty of talking, Rory. More than I’ve ever done with a girl before. She’s told me things she hasn’t told anyone. She’s got her heart pulled in two directions—loyalty to her family and this ache to be free of it at the same time.” I shook my head.
“I don’t need years to see that. And besides… sometimes you just know when something’s right, and this is right.”
Rory studied me, then his lips curved slightly, like I’d passed a test.
“Fair enough,” he allowed.
“I don’t want to make things worse for her. But what the hell am I supposed to do? Brian’s still in the picture, her dad’s practically ordering her to be with him, and she thinks she doesn’t have a choice.”
He studied me for a long moment.
“That girl’s had a hard time of it lately. She’s strong, but she’s been carryin’ a weight that’s too heavy for someone her age.”
I clenched my jaw.
“And yet her father keeps piling more on her.”
Rory sighed.
“Seamus has always been a hard man. Stubborn. He believes in duty, in loyalty. He thinks what he’s doin’ is best for her, but it doesn’t mean he’s right.”
“Then why the hell does everyone just let him get away with it?”
Rory gave me a pointed look.
“Because she’s not eighteen yet. And Seamus Conlan is a hard man to fight.”
I sat back, jaw tightening.
“She told me this morning he already tried to push another date with Brian on her. This time for the summer festival. He basically ordered her to call him and invite him.”
Rory’s lips pressed into a hard line.
“Aye, that sounds like Seamus.”
“She doesn’t want to,” I said, shaking my head.
“But she doesn’t know how to say no.”
“She can say no,” Rory said simply.
I scoffed.
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who would get kicked out for disobeying.”
Rory’s expression darkened.
“Is that what she told ye?”
“She’s afraid of it,” I said.
“And I don’t blame her. Where the hell is she supposed to go? How does she support herself? It’s not like she’s got a dozen options.”
Rory sat forward, resting his elbows on the table.
“That’s why ye have to be careful, lad. Don’t go pushin’ her into a choice she’s not ready to make. Let her come to it on her own. If ye care for her, truly, ye won’t force her hand.”
“I don’t want to force her into anything,” I said.
“I want her to realize she’s got options.”
“Then show her that,” Rory said.
“She’s been raised to believe her duty is to this farm, to her family, to her da. And Brian’s part of that duty.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You sound like you’re defending him.”
“I’m not,” Rory said firmly.
“I don’t agree with him, not on this. But I do understand where he’s coming from. He thinks he’s doing what’s best for the family—for Glenhaven. He just doesn’t see that he’s pushin’ his daughter away in the process. But here’s the thing… ye can’t just tell her to walk away from all of it—ye have to help her see that she’s not locked in a cage unless she lets herself be.”
I rubbed a hand over my face.
“And Brian?”
Rory’s mouth twisted in thought.
“Brian’s not a bad lad, but he’s going to do what his da tells him to.”
A dark laugh popped out.
“I half joked to Fiona last night that I could arrange for him to have an untimely accident.”
Rory huffed a laugh.
“That’d be one way to handle it.”
“She told me I couldn’t kill him,” I added dryly.
“Aye, good advice.”
I sighed.
“I just don’t want him sniffing around her anymore.”
“Then ye need to make her feel like she has a real choice. Not just between Brian and ye—but between the life Seamus wants for her and the life she could build for herself.”
I stared at him, a weight settling in my chest.
“And if she tells her dad no, if she stands up for herself and he kicks her out?”
Rory regarded me.
“She won’t be without a home. Not while I’ve got one.”
That took the wind out of my sails.
I had been ready to throw more verbal punches, to argue, to fight for her myself.
But knowing that Rory was willing to fight too?
That meant something.
I sat back, letting that sink in.
“She needs to know that,” I said after a moment.
“She needs to know she’s not alone in this.”
Rory nodded.
“Aye, she does. I’ll have that talk with her.”
The tension in my shoulders loosened slightly, but it wasn’t enough to kill the frustration still burning in my gut.
Rory sighed, reaching for his whiskey.
“Tommy, lad… are ye thinkin’ beyond this summer?”
I hesitated, running my thumb over the grain of the table.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“But I do know I’m not ready to walk away from her.”
Rory took a slow sip, considering me.
Then he nodded.
“Then just be sure she’s not sacrificin’ one cage for another.”
I stiffened at that.
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
He held up a hand.
“I’m just sayin’, don’t make promises ye can’t keep. And don’t let her build her whole world around ye, only for ye to leave in the end.”
That hit harder than I liked.
Because I didn’t have answers yet.
Didn’t know what the hell happened after the summer.
But I knew one thing for damn sure.
I wasn’t done with Fiona Conlan.
And I’d do whatever it took to make sure she knew it.