IRISH FIRE Read Online Free Page B

watched. Behind her the crowd roared.
Night Journey
was in third position and there was one quarter of the race still to go.
    He sailed past
Baby Rose
while her jockey looked helplessly on. The five-sixteenths pole loomed ahead. Carlson rode in a whirl of motion, instincts alert, every movement practiced and sound. Flashing his stick beside
Night
Journey
s eye spurred the horse to a final flash of speed. Moving to the right and forward he was neck-and-neck with
Silver Flag
. The crowd screamed and rose in the stands as the two horses raced through the top of the straight. Slowly, relentlessly,
Night Journey
pulled ahead. Behind him
Silver
Flag
s jockey rode furiously, chirping, pumping, going for the whip.
    Caitlins breathing altered. Go with him, Tom, she whispered. Its nearly over.
    And it was.
Night Journey
opened one length and then two as the horses drove toward the wire. In the lead now by a full two and a half lengths, he raced through the wire. The board flashed one minute, fifty eight seconds, a Kentucky Derby record.
    In the stands and on the blankets the sea of spectators roared their approval. Carlson slowed
Night Journey
to a trot, circled the track another time, pulled the horse to a stop and lifted his helmet in salute. Reporters, photographers, and television people surged toward the winners circle.
    Sam and Lucy were already there with the children when Caitlin arrived. Lucy threw her braceleted arm around Caitlins shoulders and hugged her tightly. A photographer snapped their picture. Everything looked as it should have, a united family jubilant with excitement.
    Later, after
Night Journey
was led away for the routine urine and saliva tests, after the television crews and reporters disappeared into their favorite sports bars, after the groomers and the pony boys had brushed, watered, and fed the horses, and sunburned tourists had retreated to their fast food restaurants and budget motels, the aristocracy of the thoroughbred community gathered together in the muted light of an antebellum plantation house. The parties would continue for at least a week.
    Ice clinked against fine crystal, and ladies showing cleavage and tanned bare backs flirted outrageously with unavailable men in white jackets, their foreheads slick with perspiration, their voices whiskey-slurred, their words lazy and long on vowels, their intentions clumsy, obvious.
    Caitlin stopped in for only a moment to speak to Sam. Shed planned to tell him earlier, before the drink had jellied his brain. But, as usual, she was Sam Claibornes last priority. He had bypassed his allowed legal limit for alcohol consumption six hours earlier. A man with less tolerance would have passed out long before.
    Im leaving, Sam, Caitlin said calmly when hed followed her out onto the lawn. My lawyer will contact you to settle the details. There isnt anything you can do to stop me. I want nothing from you except whats rightfully mine.
    Reeking of bourbon, his voice thick, his face swollen with alcohol, he sneered at the document shed thrust into his hand. Whats this?
    A petition for divorce.
    Like hell it is. He downed his drink, threw the glass into the nearby hedges, and methodically tore the papers into shreds. Then he grabbed her arm, pulled her toward him, and before she had time to react, deliberately stuffed them down her blouse.
    Caitlins hands clenched. She willed herself to stand still. She would not lose her temper, no matter how he baited her. There was nothing Sam liked better than to see her explode. There are other copies, Sam, she said reasonably.
    Theyll go the way these did.
    Her control broke. With shaking hands she pulled the scraps of paper from inside her blouse and dropped them on the grass. Why are you pretending it even matters? You cant possibly want to continue this charade of a marriage any more than I do.
    I dont give a coon dogs dick about you, Caitie, he croaked drunkenly, but Ill be damned if I allow you to take my kids away from me.
    Im