The light cast through the arched windows illuminated a muscular arm and a powerful hand holding the framed photograph from her desk — her with her parents, taken just before Daddy had died.
“Who are you, and what do you think you’re doing?”
The man who whirled around in her chair to meet her angry gaze was black Irish handsome. Dark hair spilled over a high forehead and equally dark eyebrows arched over intense blue eyes. His smile forced a dimple into his right cheek, giving him a roguish air.
“Getting to know all I can about Grantham Acres,” came a soft reply. He set down the framed photograph where it belonged. “Curran McKenna, at your service.”
“Curran McKenna,” she echoed. “The trainer?”
Her mind raced. Finn. He was here because of the Irish Thoroughbred, she was certain. But why? How? Had news of the stallion’s madness spread all the way to Ireland? Had he come to claim the truth?
“I received a letter from you,” he began, the Gaelic lilt to his voice becoming suddenly more pronounced, “asking for my help.”
“I wrote you no letter!”
“But you are needing my help, now, aren’t you?”
Her denial didn’t seem to faze him. Suddenly it all came clear to her. “Nani...my grandmother. She’s the one who invited you to come here.”
“So she told me a while ago.”
“Look, Mr. McKenna—”
“I’m sorry for your trouble, but I can’t use you.” He was an A-list trainer with world-class clients. “I’m sorry you’ve come on a fool’s errand. I’ll reimburse you for your plane tickets and any other expenses—”
He waved a hand. “Not necessary.”
“—but you’ll have to go.”
“Because I say so!”
Exasperated, she wished he would just take his leave. Having to explain that she couldn’t afford his services would humiliate her further. She would have to top off one of her credit cards just to see him home.
She dared not believe in another stranger.