Chapter Nine
The work week had flown by. Every day the family asked Adam if he’d heard from the young Seamus, and every day the answer was the same—nothing.
At the construction site, the original livery had been stabilized and was in the process of being updated to modern standards. Little things like lights and insulation.
“I can’t believe how quickly y’all put this together.” Nicole stood at Ryan’s side, her gaze scanning from one end of the ceiling to the other.
“Have you had a look out back?” Ryan set the paint roller in the pan and pulling the rag from his back pocket, wiped his hands.
Nicole shook her head. “Not this week. I’ve been so engrossed in getting the last of the corbels done that I haven’t gone much farther than from my truck to the livery and back again.” Her gaze dropped to the paint supplies at Ryan’s feet. “Roller?”
He nodded.
“Not using a sprayer?”
“They didn’t have sprayers a hundred years ago.”
A low chuckle rumbled in her throat and her eyes twinkled with merriment. He’d be happy to say stupid things all day long if he got to hear the laughter and see the amusement in her eyes. “Okay. So you want to roll it. Shouldn’t someone else in the crew be doing this?”
“Why?”
“Why?” Those same sparkling eyes widened with surprise. “Because you’re not a painter? And maybe, because you’re the boss?”
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’m not the boss.
And for what it’s worth, we wear a lot of different hats around here.
The only thing I won’t touch is electrical.
I’m fond of having ten fingers and at the prospect of living a good long life.
No sense cutting any of it short playing with fire…
or in this case, electricity. Rolling on wood sealer… any moron can do that.”
“Fair enough. Need some help?”
The small back door that had previously led to the alley behind all the shops now led to a new and modern stable for keeping the horses and the carriages.
“Okay. I am duly impressed.” Nicole took short measured steps as she walked around the large space, her head bobbing with every step. “The horses are going to be very happy here.”
“That’s the plan.”
“There you are.” Morgan came through the small doorway. “I was just chatting with the sisters outside of the old brothel.”
Hand on her mouth, Nicole did her best to muffle a small laugh. He had to admit, not many people spoke of brothels anymore. Even if this one was now a bed and breakfast.
“We’re getting more tourists coming to see the town and Sissy thought, until we actually have the carriages ready to go, it could be a good idea to park a couple of horses by the hitching post to draw people to the future carriage rides.”
Ryan looked around at the current facilities. “It’s still going to be a bit before we can house horses here.”
His brother nodded his head. “Agreed. But my money’s on next week being able to bring them over. Of course we’ll have to set a few things up for them.”
“I can make sure the old metal trough we put in storage gets returned to the front of the building. That will add a nice touch.” Ryan ran several things through his mind, starting with which horses would be content to stand out front for several hours in the afternoons.
“Good start. When you’re done here, I’ll help you with the trough.”
Ryan bobbed his head and Morgan turned on his heel. “Oh,” Morgan stopped a few steps away, “I almost forgot. Sissy says that a Mrs. Patrick Farraday booked a room at the brothel, er, hotel for five nights.”
“Mom?”
“Do you know any other Mrs. Patrick Farradays?”
“Hey,” Ryan shrugged, “until a week ago I didn’t think there were any other Seamus O’Farradeighs and yet, you know how that turned out. When is she arriving?”
“It’s booked for Quinn’s wedding date.”
Ryan whistled. “I’ll be danged. Do you think Mom is actually going to show up for a son’s wedding?”
“Looks that way.” Morgan tipped his head. “I’ll know more when I talk to Dad. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
As soon as Morgan was out of earshot, Nicole turned to Ryan. “This is none of my business, and you’re welcome to tell me that, but why is everyone so surprised your mother is coming for her son’s wedding?”
“Because she hasn’t come for any of the others.” When confusion crowded Nicole’s expression, he continued. “Apparently my mother had an issue with the Texas Farradays and has kept us apart for decades. Only recently did our generation re-connect. No one has any idea what caused the rift.”
“Your mother hasn’t said anything?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. She even went so far as to say that the Texas Farradays didn’t want to see us anymore.”
“Ouch.” She hissed. “Seeing how close everyone is now, that must have been a blow.”
“I can’t lie, it hurt. But we carried on.”
“Reminds me of the Sherman brothers.”
“Who?” Now he was the one painted with confusion.
“They were musicians. Worked on the movie Mary Poppins, among other popular movies. One day, even though the brothers continued to work together from time to time, the families never saw each other. The cousins didn’t get to know each other until I forget what happened when they were adults that they all came together and the kids starting talking. ”
“Well, the part about no one knowing certainly fits.”
“Well, it came out in a documentary. Apparently, one brother was haunted by things he saw in WWII, crashed and needed to get away for a few days. He called his brother with a reputation for being fun-loving and said he couldn’t go home so he sent his brother to go to the house and get a few things for him to wear.
The wife of the brother with PTSD kept asking the fun-loving brother what was going on, when was her husband coming back, And a slew of other questions that the nice brother couldn’t answer.
Seems that’s when the big brother’s wife pulled her family away and they never spoke again. ”
“Wow, that does sound like our family. Dad isn’t the type to have pulled away, but I wonder if something happened between the siblings that left Mom feeling betrayed.”
Nicole shrugged. “Is there someone you can ask?”
Good question, considering none of his parents’ generation seemed to have a clue. Perhaps he should simply ask again. This time, a little more pointedly.
“Nicole, dear.” Aunt Eileen pulled a pair of oven mitts from the drawer. “Supper’s about to go on the table. Could you please run over to the barn and tell Ryan and Quinn that playtime is over?”
“Yes, ma’am.” As little as Nicole knew about running a ranch, she found it intriguing that Eileen Farraday called working in a barn playtime.
Not wasting any time, she sprang up from her seat at the kitchen table and hurried out the back door.
Even though it was getting dark earlier and earlier, there was still plenty of daylight left to find her way without worrying about stepping in a rut or tripping on a rock.
At the open barn door she could hear voices coming from deep inside.
Following the sounds, she found Quinn and Ryan in one of the larger stalls with a massive—at least for her—horse.
She still remembered the time her folks took her and her brother to the Texas State Fair to see the Budweiser Clydesdales.
She’d been in high school at the time and she felt like a Lilliputian standing next to those big horses.
This particular horse wasn’t a Clydesdale, but the animal looked almost as big nonetheless. “Excuse me.”
The two men stopped. Ryan stepped aside, his gaze landing on her with such an unexpected intensity that she wondered was it something she’d done, or was it merely a result of the conversation he and his brother had been having?
“Nicole, hey.” Ryan’s expression softened, the intensity easing into something more familiar.
Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she stepped a little closer, stopping just shy of the stall gate.
Up close, the horse’s coat was the color of a midnight storm, and every time it shifted its weight, the wooden floorboards groaned in protest. “Aunt Eileen said to tell you that playtime is officially over.”
Quinn let out a short, dry laugh as he ran a brush down the horse’s flank. “Playtime. I’ll have to remember that next time I’m wrestling a twelve-hundred-pound animal that doesn’t want to cooperate.”
“Is he okay?” Nicole asked, stepping a few inches closer. The horse turned its head, one large, liquid-dark eye focusing on her.
“He’s fine.” Ryan’s voice dropped into that low, resonant register that Nicole was beginning to realize was meant to soothe a savage beast. “Just a bit of a stone bruise on his front left. Quinn was helping me check the hoof to make sure there wasn’t an infection starting.
” He patted the horse’s neck. “This is Duke. He’s a Percheron mix. ”
“He’s beautiful.” Nicole reached out, her fingers hovering just an inch away from Duke’s velvet-soft nose. The horse leaned into her touch, and she felt a sudden, surprising surge of connection to the massive creature. “And enormous.”
“He likes you.” Quinn stepped out of the stall and leaning against the gate. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“How can you tell?” Looking up at the horse, she didn’t see anything that implied the horse liked anyone.
“He’s eyeing you like you’ve got a pocket full of carrots. If he didn’t like you, he’d be looking right past you as if you didn’t exist.”
Nicole’s gaze slid up along the powerful shoulder, the thick neck, the intelligent dark eyes watching her back. “And I thought he was deciding if I’m snack-sized.”
“He’s just curious.” Ryan stepped toward the gate, unhooking the latch. “He’s a sweetheart. We’re considering him for carriage duty. Definitely for parking out front of the livery for folks to admire. Want to meet him?”
She hesitated. The memory of those towering Clydesdales at the state fair flashed in her mind. “Does meeting him involve getting trampled?”
“Not if you stay on that side of the hooves.” Quinn gave Duke another stroke and slipped out of the stall. Closing the gate behind him, he held up a bucket with the brush in it. “Give me a minute to put this away.”
Ryan nodded and Quinn gave Nicole a quick grin as he passed. “He’s right. Duke’s a marshmallow. You’ll be fine.”
That, she thought, was a matter of opinion. One she wasn’t sure she agreed with.
Ryan rested a forearm on the stall gate. “Don’t let him scare you. Most horses like people.”
“Scared is a strong word,” she sighed. “Let’s call it…respectfully cautious.”
“Respectfully cautious works.” His gaze held hers, steady and patient. “Come closer.”
She drew in a breath and closed the distance until she stood beside the gate. The horse, up close, felt like a moving wall of muscle and warm breath.
“Hold your hand like this.” Ryan turned his palm up, fingers relaxed, then gently guided her wrist until her hand mirrored his. His touch was light, just a warm brush along her skin, but her pulse kicked anyway. “Let him come to you. Don’t shove your hand at his face.”
“Got it,” she murmured.
Duke lowered his head, nostrils flaring. He gave her fingers a thorough sniff, then nudged her palm, searching for something that smelled like a treat. Probably those carrots Quinn had mentioned.
Now she wished she’d thought to bring some. “Okay. That’s…not so bad.”
“Told you,” Ryan smiled. “He’s a marshmallow.”
As if in agreement, Duke snorted again.
Still not totally comfortable around an animal the size of a small tank, she felt herself smile at the horse. “He really is sweet.”
“Told you,” Ryan repeated.
“Hey,” Quinn called from a doorway up the aisle. “Where’d you put the tack?”
“Right there,” he called to his brother, then turned to her. “Hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Staring at those dark eyes, she didn’t want to be afraid of him. Putting the toe of her boot on the wood brace of the gate, she heaved herself up. “You really are a big boy, aren’t you.”
The horse continued to eye her cautiously.
“If I promise to bring a carrot next time, can I give you a little pet?”
The animal raised one brow and then nodded. At least she thought he nodded.
Stretching her hand forward, she reached up, fingers brushing the horse’s cheek. The coat was softer than she expected, the warmth under her palm grounding. Duke leaned into the contact like an oversized dog. Her shoulders loosened.
A smile tugged at her cheeks—maybe she could get used to this.
Then she heard it, a sickening crack beneath her boot.
In an instant she was falling backward, the barn ceiling tilting at a sickening angle.
Instead of dirt, she hit something solid, warm, and impossibly strong.
Large, calloused hands clamped around her waist, and a broad chest cushioned the back of her head.
The momentum of her fall sent them both backward a step, but the man didn’t buckle.
He held her tight, his arms an iron grip keeping her from hitting the floor.
Heart beating a frantic rhythm, Nicole blinked only to find herself staring straight up into Ryan’s face.
He was breathing hard, his jaw set so tight a muscle was jumping in his cheek.
His eyes were no longer just blue; they were a storm of something raw and protective that made Nicole’s breath hitch.
The silence in the barn was absolute, broken only by the low, concerned whinny from Duke.
“She’s okay, boy.” Still holding her, Ryan reassured the horse.
Quinn’s deep voice cleared his throat and as quickly as Ryan had caught her, he set her back on her feet. “We’d better get to the house before Aunt Eileen sends a posse after us.”
“Right.” Ryan took a short step in retreat. “We should go.”
She stood still for a minute longer than she should have before springing into action and hurrying toward the door. With every step she kept asking herself one thing… what the heck just happened?