Purebred

  He’d never been so determined to break the family curse...

  Horse trainer Aidan McKenna had the sight, the ability to glimpse into the future. He also had a family curse that threatened the life of any woman he loved. So when the dreams began—searing, erotic dreams starring his new partner, Cat Clarke—he resisted his fierce desire with all his strength. Because Aidan knew the dangers of ever falling in love again.

  Aidan and the beautiful horse breeder had staked everything on their racing venture. But when Cat’s missing stable manager turned up dead, it became clear they had more to lose than races. If he couldn’t stop himself from loving her, Aidan knew he had to find a way to defeat destiny to save the woman of his dreams.

  “I’m to blame.”

  Cat started. “You? Why would you say that?”

  “’Tis the McKennas’ lot to lose the people they care about.”

  He cared about her? Her pulse quickened. “I don’t understand.”

  “’Tis a curse.”

  She listened to his story about how the witch, Sheelin O’Keefe, had cursed Donal McKenna’s progeny to put their loved ones in mortal danger.

  “You believe in a psychic connection with your horses,” Cat said. “And now a witch’s curse.”

  “You think I am making all this up?” He sounded upset.

  “It makes a good story.”

  “’Tis all true!” Aidan argued. “My family has lost too many loved ones to think otherwise.”

  “Everyone loses someone they care about.”

  “But not always the person who is their soul mate.”

  Patricia Rosemoor

  Purebred

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patricia Rosemoor has always had a fascination with dangerous love. She loves bringing a mix of thrills and chills and romance to Harlequin Intrigue readers. She’s won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and a Reviewers’ Choice and Career Achievement Awards from RT Book Reviews. She teaches courses on writing popular fiction and suspense-thriller writing in the fiction writing department of Columbia College Chicago. Check out her website, www.PatriciaRosemoor.com. You can contact Patricia either via email at [email protected], or through the publisher at Patricia Rosemoor, c/o Harlequin Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279.

  Books by Patricia Rosemoor

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  707—VIP PROTECTOR‡

  745—BOYS IN BLUE: “Zachary”

  785—VELVET ROPES‡

  791—ON THE LIST‡

  858—GHOST HORSE

  881—RED CARPET CHRISTMAS‡

  924—SLATER HOUSE

  958—TRIGGERED RESPONSE

  1031—WOLF MOON*

  1047—IN NAME ONLY?*

  1101—CHRISTMAS DELIVERY

  1128—RESCUING THE VIRGIN*

  1149—STEALING THUNDER*

  1200—SAVING GRACE*

  1261—BRAZEN*

  1292—DEAL BREAKER*

  1345—PUREBRED*

  ‡Club Undercover

  *The McKenna Legacy

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Aidan McKenna—The Irish horse trainer has already lost one woman to the McKenna curse.

  Cat (Catrina) Clarke—The breeder puts everything she has left at risk to form a partnership with Aidan.

  George Odell—The barn manager mysteriously disappeared while Cat was in Ireland.

  Raul Ayala—What would the barn worker do to make certain Aidan and Cat hired his jockey brother?

  Tim Browne—What is the hotwalker hiding?

  Dean Hill—What would the horse owner do to own another champion?

  Bernie Hansen—The barn worker with an attitude seems to be around every time something bad happens.

  Jack Murray—Cat’s ex-husband betrayed and cheated her, but could he be guilty of worse?

  Martin Bradley—Is the horse owner willing to back Cat’s ex no matter the consequences?

  Dr. Ellen Fox—Does the vet know what’s happening in Cat’s barn at night?

  Thanks to my cousins Carol Morrison and MaryAnn Pusz

  for spending a fun day helping me get the background I needed for this story.

  Contents

  June 22, 1919

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  June 22, 1919

  Donal McKenna,

  Ye might have found happiness with another woman, but yer progeny will pay for this betrayal of me. I call on my faerie blood and my powers as a witch to give yers only sorrow in love, for should they act on their feelings, they will put their loved ones in mortal danger.

  So be it,

  Sheelin O’Keefe

  Prologue

  Lightning split the sky and the man ran as fast as he could, his feet slipping and sliding on the sodden pasture grass.

  Damn! Why did it have to be tonight of all nights? The rain was incessant.

  So much depended on getting this right. Maybe a couple million dollars much.

  He’d parked on a side road and had come the back way so as not to be seen, but each lightning strike hit the area like a giant lamp. By the time he got into the barn, where the horses rumbled their displeasure at the storm, his heart was thundering and his chest squeezed tight. Might think he was having a heart attack if the bundle he carried didn’t weigh a ton.

  “Thought you weren’t coming.”

  Words assailing him from the dark were followed by his partner stepping out of the shadows into the dimly lit aisle.

  “Have you taken a look outside lately?” Though he felt like jumping out of his skin, it wouldn’t do to let the man see him sweat. Still, he gladly gave over the package he’d carried from the car. “You sure you know how to do this?”

  The other man nodded. “Not rocket science.”

  He didn’t argue that it was close. They had to get this right. It had to work.

  Everything looked well-prepared. His partner had even mucked out the stall. The tools and wheelbarrow stood next to the open stall door. But watching the other man prepare for the procedure, he went all jittery inside.

  How long was this going to take?

  What if someone walked in on them before they finished?

  “Hurry up!” he growled.

  His partner in crime paused to give him a dark look. “You want this done fast or you want it done right?”

  “Okay, okay!”

  He would do it himself if he could. Trying to calm down, he paced the length of the aisle, his mere presence setting off more nickering and snorting. Dark eyes turned on him, as if the horses were accusing him before the men even got started.

  At least the animals couldn’t talk.

  When this night’s work was done, he would be guilty of a serious crime.

  No guilt, he told himself, as his partner finally got down to business. Chewing some antacids to calm his boiling stomach, he watched with fascination. It was just what needed to be done. He wouldn’t let it eat at him. Wouldn’t even think about it.

  Not until next time.

  Suddenly the overhead lights flashed on and the barn glowed from within and a rough voice called out. “Hey, what’re you doing there?”
<
br />   The barn manager, who wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, had shown up anyway.

  Bile rose in his throat.

  “Got a sick horse,” he said, sliding his hand along the stall door until he found a tool he could use. Moving forward toward the unexpected intruder, he knew what he had to do, no getting around it.

  The older man stopped and from the end of the aisle assessed the situation. He frowned. “Sick? With what?”

  “With this!” he said, leaping forward, striking out and hitting the man’s head with a mucking shovel.

  The manager went down like a sack of feed.

  “What the hell’d you do?” his partner demanded.

  “What I had to.” His stomach churned. No guilt, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t even think about it after tonight. “Now finish so we can clean up this mess.”

  Chapter One

  County Galway, Ireland

  “Pegeen would have loved to ride you,” Aidan McKenna said past the lump in his throat as he led Mac Finnian into his stall after his morning workout and cooldown.

  Mac snorted and pranced in his stall, ready to run again.

  Indeed, Aidan could read him, had been able to do so since the black colt was born. He’d always had a connection with the horses he trained—he was a McKenna, after all—even if that particular ability was less developed than that of his brothers. He, instead, wrestled with dreams and nightmares, trying to decide which were true portents of the future and which were figments of his overwrought imagination. Sadly, he didn’t always get it right. But he didn’t want to think on it now—didn’t want to remember his tragic mistake with Pegeen.

  Instead he concentrated on the strong connection he had with Mac, the only McKenna ability welcome in life. ’Twas almost as if they were one.

  Aidan removed the lead and then unfastened Mac’s halter and slipped it off his big head. Everything about the colt was big—he stood a bit more than seventeen hands, nearly a full hand larger than the average Thoroughbred. Thankfully, even the smallest jockeys were flexible enough to sit his broad back.

  Aidan could almost see Mac running in the Irish Derby, the woman he’d loved with her shocking red hair and bold ways atop the black colt. Pegeen would have been grinning from ear to ear as she eagerly raced him. But of course now that could never happen.

  From her grave, Sheelin O’Keefe had seen to that.

  Despite his brother Cashel’s dire warnings, Aidan had taken up with the Irish jockey, and Sheelin’s curse had ended Pegeen Flynn’s life before she’d had a chance to really live.

  After the better part of a year without her, still mourning the only woman he’d ever cared for, he was wondering if the pain of losing Pegeen would ever subside when Cashel entered the stable, followed by the dark-haired lass he’d seen watching Mac’s run with his brother. She was a looker—a natural beauty with lush curves. Not wanting his brother to realize where his mind had wandered a moment ago, Aidan immediately tucked away his thoughts for later. For when he was alone.

  Giving Mac a peppermint, he shut the stall door behind him and stared at the light in his older brother’s eyes, the same McKenna-green as both his own and their younger brother Tiernan’s. The three McKenna men looked alike, too, all tall, broad-shouldered, with thick dark hair brushing chiseled features. Today, Cashel’s were softened into something that looked like hope.

  “Aidan, our problems are solved!” Cashel said. “This is Catrina Clarke from America. We can have the backing we need to race Mac there.”

  But Aidan didn’t have reason to trust hope. “And what kind of backing is it you offer from America, Miss Clarke?”

  “Call me Cat. I’m a breeder and I came to Ireland on a buying trip, to add new blood to my stock. But when I saw Mac Finnian run…”

  Her breath caught in her throat and Aidan’s caught in his. It wasn’t just her natural beauty, but something in her voice—something that told him she was more than a businesswoman when it came to fine horseflesh—that seduced him.

  Just for a moment.

  Then he shook himself free.

  “Out with it, then,” he said.

  “I know you don’t have the funds to race him in the U.S., and I’m willing to make a deal so that will be possible.” Her smile widened, lighting up her whole face.

  Once again, he was caught by the fire that burned within her.

  Until the colt kicked the stall door for attention. Mac had hung his head into the aisle and now snorted at his owners. Aidan reached back and scratched the sweet spot on his long, muscular neck before turning his attention back to his brother.

  “We’re not selling anyone half interest in our colt!”

  “But that’s not the deal I offered!” the woman protested.

  Knowing he had to get away from the Clarke woman before he caved, Aidan snorted and headed for the exit. Cashel followed and Aidan realized the lass had chosen to remain where she was. He took a good look back. There she stood, her back stiff, her mouth now in a straight line. And then her cell phone rang and after a glance at her screen, she frowned and wandered off to take the call in private.

  “Of course I wouldn’t agree to sell,” Cashel said, grabbing his arm and stopping him from leaving. “The Clarke woman wanted to buy Mac outright, but I told her that wasn’t possible. What kind of sodding fool do you take me for?”

  “So what are her plans for Mac Finnian?”

  “She simply offered a very fair partnership. She’ll not own any of Mac, simply get a share in the winnings until we retire him from—”

  “How much, then?”

  “A third.”

  Aidan gaped at his brother. “’Tis ridiculous!” he shouted.

  Cashel raised his voice, as well. “You want to give it up, then, just stay here and run him on Irish grass?”

  Looking out through the open door into the misting rain and the emerald green pastures beyond the barn, Aidan wanted to say the colt would do well enough, but he knew “well enough” would be a disappointment to them both. The previous September, Mac had won a couple of Group 2 races by a nose but had only come in second in the Group 1 stakes race at the Curragh and had come in third in another.

  In a country where races were run on grass like that which stretched on forever before him, they’d bred a colt who wanted to run on dirt. A colt who ran like the wind on dirt. A colt who could win big on dirt.

  But it wouldn’t be here or in any country close by.

  The logical thing was to race Mac where he would run best, and that would be in the United States. There Mac Finnian could race on dirt tracks.

  “Think about it, Aidan. He could advance to the Breeders’ Cup Classic with an honest chance of becoming a world champion.”

  And if that happened as they both thought it could, at last McKenna Racing would earn the reputation it needed. Then they would have their pick of top-flight racehorses to train.

  But the only way they could race Mac in America without selling parts of him off was to take the deal. And take the woman with it. He shook his head. Something deep inside was telling him this was a bad idea. A very bad idea.

  “We’re nearly broke and you know it, Aidan,” Cashel continued. “The stud fees to get Mac and the fees to nominate him for the Breeders’ Cup ate up our savings, and the horses we’ve been training haven’t exactly had a grand year.”

  True, those fees had totaled six figures. Plus their share of winnings this year had been slim enough that Aidan feared losing owners who might not keep faith in them to train their Thoroughbreds to be champions.

  When Aidan still didn’t say anything, Cashel went on. “You know the cost of flying Mac Finnian internationally, quarantining him and setting him up in a foreign barn—not to mention the racing entry fees—well, that’s more money than we’ve seen in too long a time.”

  Aidan knew that as well as his brother. Realizing he would have to consider the offer as much as he hated to admit it, he relented. “Mac’ll never be the best he can
be racing here. We do need to consider the partnership.”

  “There are another couple caveats to which we must agree.”

  “And those would be?”

  “The Clarke woman gets a third of his stud fees for the first year. And she gets to use him at stud on her own mares with no fee. One live foal per mare, an even half dozen. That was the price of not selling a share in him outright. Apparently she wants to expand her business. I’m thinking she might want to get into racing in the future, as well.”

  If so, Aidan couldn’t blame her. Thoroughbred racing fueled his blood. And his dreams. Dreams that, under the proper conditions, Mac could make come true.

  “I don’t like her setting the terms, though,” Aidan muttered, thinking she was likely to get under his skin the moment he saw her again. Attraction warred with irritation. He didn’t need either. As if she’d heard him via some mental connection, she was stalking toward them now, her face wreathed in an angry thundercloud. “If only there was another way.”

  “You know there is. We could syndicate the colt, then.”

  “And divide him up into little pieces?” He glared at Cashel. He knew his brother didn’t want that any more than he did. It was simply Cashel’s annoying attempt at getting his way. Cursing under his breath, Aidan said, “All right, then.”

  “Grand! Don’t worry, I’ll see that Mac will be well taken care of.”

  Aidan started. “What does that mean?”

  “Just what it sounds like. I look forward to the American races.”

  As usual, Cashel was trying to take over as if he were Aidan’s boss rather than his partner in the business. The curse of having a sometimes autocratic older brother…

  “You’ll be doing no such thing.” Knowing it was time he made his own mark, Aidan stood his ground. “I’m the one who trained Mac practically from the time he was foaled, not you. I’m the one who will be taking our colt to America.”

  Truth to tell, Aidan would be glad to get away from his overbearing brother for a while. Noting the smirk Cashel quickly hid, he wondered if he’d been tricked into volunteering.