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enough confidence to turn over the reins of one of the most prestigious thoroughbred stud farms in all of Europe. The man touted as having an uncanny instinct for knowing what an individual horse needed to make him a winner. A man who had the reputation of a magician, who turned horseflesh into gold. You took your time coming back, she said.
    Brian Hennessey knelt in the straw beside her, slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and took hold of the colts left leg. I didnt realize I had a Claiborne thoroughbred waitin to deliver in my stall. You neglected to mention your mare was in foal when we talked on the phone.
    Shes mine, said Caitlin automatically, hearing only the first half of his sentence.
    Without answering, he slipped a practiced hand inside the mare. The shoulders are large, he said, withdrawing his hand. He might have difficulty clearing the opening. Wait for the ribs to come and Ill guide the hips.
    They pulled together for several minutes. When the ribs came through, Brian positioned his hands and eased out the rest of the body. It was a male, large of bone and shoulder, perfectly proportioned.
    Oh, Caitlin breathed, hes beautiful. Look at him. Hes perfect.
    Brian Hennessey sat back on his heels and expertly sized up the foals long straight legs, the dished-in Arabian facea recessive trait from the
Godolphin Arabian,
father of all thoroughbredsthe blaze of white down his forehead, and the strong musculature that bespoke good racing blood. Aye, that he is, he said at last, a fine colt, generations of speed bred into him. If he has the rest of what it takes, hell be a runner.
    You mean if he has heart?
    I mean nothin of the sort, retorted Brian.
Heart
is an old wives tale. If the horse can breathe enough to run, hes got a fightin chance. Gently, he pulled the foal around to the mares head, breaking the umbilical cord in exactly the right place. Tentatively, and then with growing confidence,
Kentucky Gold
began to lick her newborn while Brian wiped her wound with iodine.
    Caitlin rubbed the foal down with a towel to dry him off and jumpstart his circulation. The mare needs penicillin.
    Brian nodded. Well give her a combination of penicillin and streptomycin just to be sure. He looked at Caitlins smeared sweatshirt and cheeks. Where in bloody hell is our vet?
    With Mrs. Clarke, at the Grange, Caitlin replied. There was an emergency.
    Davy spoke up from behind them. Hes on his way.
    Forty-five minutes later the Curragh Studs veterinarian walked through the door in time to see the foal gain his legs and begin to suckle.
    Im sorry, Brian, he apologized. Clarkes mare was in trouble and I thought we had another week here.
    No harm done. Mrs. Claiborne managed on her own. You can check the pair of them out and let us know of any developments. Well be in the kitchen.
    Caitlin waited until they were out of hearing range to voice her objection. I have to go. My children are home asleep.
    Your mother raised six children. I dont imagine another two would phase her.
    My mother is past seventy.
    Come, Mrs. Claiborne, Brian said reasonably. This wont take long and Ill drive you back when were finished.
    She relented. Ten minutes. Thats all I can spare.
    Together they walked down the long, tree-lined lane to the farmhouse kitchen. Brian slowed his pace to match hers. He wasnt particularly tall for an Irishman but the top of her head barely reached his shoulder.
    He opened the door. A single light over the stove lit the kitchen. He would have flipped the main switch but Caitlin stopped him. Leave it, she said. Im exhausted and the light wont help.
    Tea? He picked up the kettle.
    She rubbed her eyes. You wouldnt happen to have any decaffeinated coffee, would you?
    He grinned and for the briefest instant her heart fluttered. Then he spoke and his words made her angry all over again.
    Wake up, lass, this is Ireland.
    Believe me, Mr. Hennessey, Im aware of that. What did you want to talk about?
    I heard about your divorce. Im sorry.
    Thank