old man’s views. On the contrary, he had admired the hell out of him. His opinions were not popular ones, but that did not matter to him. If he thought it was right, hell would freeze over before his father ever would bend on the issue. To Nick’s way of thinking, that was a good quality in a man.
The local gentry had called his father crazy but he had refused to listen. He ran his breeding farm his way, and it had turned out well. Now, they lined up at the doors to buy one of these horses. They were the best stable in all of Missouri territory, and people came from all over the country to buy his horseflesh. Some had even been shipped to England by a Duke that took a fancy to a couple of his pretty, high-stepping mares. The Duke had seen some of Nick’s horses in St. Louis and he had traveled all the way out here just to buy a horse. Nick now had ten full-time employees, plus Tommy and Ned, and there was plenty of work for them all. He was proud of his stables.
“Nick,” someone called. Nick turned, and smiled as Ned limped into view.
“Hello, Ned,” he said warmly, with real affection. He was fond of the old Irishman who babied his horses more than some people babied their children. “What can I do for you?”
Ned looked uncomfortable. His wizened old face twisted up in a grimace that Nick had trouble interpreting. He stared at Nick intently, studying him as if he were a horse he was considering buying. Nick wondered what he thought when he looked at him; he knew what he saw in the mirror every day. He saw a man who used to be young, starting to gray around the edges of his dark hair. He saw lines around brown eyes that used to sparkle with fun and now were dull and somber. He walked slower, he thought long on things that used to be instant decisions. Did his bitterness show on his face? What did Ned see?
Whatever Ned saw, it seemed to reassure him. The frown disappeared from his forehead. “I hear tell you fired your latest cook,” he said abruptly.
“You heard right,” Nick said grimly. “He was the worst one yet, and he was stealing the household money to buy corn likker.”
“I might know someone who would be interested.”
The words were diffident, and Ned dropped his head, scuffing his booted foot in the soft
dirt. It was not like Ned to be so hesitant, and Nick frowned. He could see Ned’s scalp through his thinning white hair. It gave him a shock sometimes to realize how old Ned O’Roarke was getting. He had been here all Nick’s life; he had to be at least sixty. His father had told him once that Ned had just showed up at the horse farm one day and informed him that he had heard tell of his fine stables from a mutual friend in St. Louis and he was a damn fool if he did not hire him right now to run them. His father had always laughed when he told that story, his eyes crinkling up and dimples creasing his handsome face.
“I figured anybody with that much nerve was going to be good to have around, even if it was just for a laugh,” he always said. He had hired him on the spot, and Ned began to advise him how to run his stables from that moment on. They did not know where he came from; his father had never even inquired as to who the mutual friend might be. Obadiah Revelle had never regretted hiring Ned, and he had never felt a need to know anything about Ned’s background that he was not willing to share. Ned had become part of their family, and his family was accepted just as they were. If Ned wanted him to know something, why, he would tell him. Was no use trying to pry anything out of the stubborn Irishman.
“It’s me niece,” said Ned hesitantly. “My brother’s girl. She needs a job, and I talked with her about it.”
“I didn’t know that you had a niece,” said Nick, taken aback.
“Why sure I do,” Ned said somewhat indignantly. “I had a mother and father just like everyone else. I also had a brother, God rest his soul. Maggie is his only child.”
Nick grinned. “Calm down, old man. I wasn’t trying to insult you. You