by Nora Roberts
that she can’t race again.”
Less than an hour later, Naomi watched grimly as the filly’s injury was treated. Already a stream of cold water had been applied directly to the wound. Now Moses himself was massaging the bruise with a mixture of vinegar and cool water. Her vet stood in the stall and prepared a syringe.
“How long before she can start training again, Matt?”
“A month. Six weeks would be better.” He glanced toward Naomi. Matt Gunner had a long, pleasant face, kind eyes. “The bone’s bruised, Naomi, and there’s some tissue damage, but there’s no fracture. You keep her stabled, keep up the massage, some light exercise, and she’ll do.”
“We were going at a fast pace,” Reno put in. The jockey stood just outside the box, watching the procedure. He’d changed from his morning workout into one of the smart tailored suits he preferred. But he was a racetracker. There was nothing of more concern to him, or the others, than a Thoroughbred’s delicate legs. “I didn’t notice any change of gait.”
“Neither did I,” Naomi added. “Reno says she didn’t stumble. I was watching the run this morning and I would have noticed if she had. This filly has a quiet temperament. She’s not one to kick in her stall.”
“Well, she took a hard knock,” Matt said. “If your groom hadn’t been alert, it would have been a great deal worse. This’ll ease the pain. There you go, girl. Easy now.” He slid the needle under Serenity’s flesh just above the wound. She rolled her eyes, snorted, but didn’t struggle. “She’s strong and she’s healthy,” Matt said. “She’ll run again. Moses, there’s nothing I can tell you about treating that leg that you don’t already know. You give me a call if it heats up. Otherwise . . .” He trailed off, staring over Naomi’s shoulder.
“Excuse me.” Kelsey stood back, clutching her purse and her file. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I was told up at the house I’d find you here.”
“Oh.” Distracted, Naomi dragged a hand through her hair. “I lost track of time. We’ve had a small crisis here. Matt, this is my daughter, Kelsey. Kelsey Byden, Matt Gunner, my vet.”
Matt reached out, the syringe still in his hand. He drew it back, flushed. “Sorry. Hello.”
Nerves aside, she had to smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“And Moses Whitetree,” Naomi continued. “My trainer.”
Moses continued to massage the mare’s leg and merely nodded.
“Reno Sanchez, one of the best jockeys on the circuit.”
“The best,” he said with a wink. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Kelsey said automatically. “You’re busy here. I can wait.”
“No, there’s nothing more I can do. Thanks for coming so quickly, Matt. Sorry I interrupted your day, Reno.”
“Hey, no problem. I’ve got plenty of time before the first post.” He looked at Kelsey again with undisguised admiration. “You’ll have to come to the track, see me ride.”
“I’m sure I’d enjoy it.”
“Moses, I’ll be back to check on her myself again later. Why don’t we go up to the house?” Naomi gestured, careful, very careful not to make contact, then led the way out the rear of the building.
“You have a sick horse?”
“Injured, I’m afraid. We’ll have to scratch her from her races for the next several weeks.”
“That’s a shame.”
Kelsey glanced toward a paddock where a yearling was being put through his paces on a longe line. Another, with a rider up, was being led by a handler toward the walking ring. A groom was giving a glossy chestnut a bath, spraying streams of water over the gelding with a hose. Other horses were simply being walked in wide, repetitive circles.
“Busy place,” Kelsey murmured, aware that eyes had turned her way.
“Oh, most of the work gets done in the morning, but it’ll be busy again when the track closes this afternoon.”
“You’re racing today?”
“There’s always a race,” Naomi said absently. “But right now we’ve still got mares dropping foals, so what doesn’t get done in the morning happens in the middle of the night.” She smiled a little. “They always seem to have them in the middle of the night.”
“I guess I didn’t realize you had such a large operation.”
“In the last ten years we’ve become one of the top Thoroughbred farms in the country. We’ve had a horse do no less than show in the last three Derbies. Won the St. Leger and Belmont. Took the Breeders’ Cup two years running. One of our mares took a gold in the last Olympics.” Naomi cut herself off with a laugh. “Don’t get me started. I’m worse than a grandmother with a wallet full of snapshots.”
“It’s all right. I’m interested.” More, Kelsey mused, than she’d realized. “Actually, I took riding lessons when I was a girl. I guess most of us go through a horse-crazy stage. Dad hated it, but . . .” She trailed off, suddenly understanding why he’d been so unhappy when she’d developed the traditional girlhood obsession with horses.
“Of course he did,” Naomi said with a thin smile. “It’s perfectly understandable. But you had your lessons anyway?”
“Yes, I hounded him for them.” She stopped, and looked straight into her mother’s eyes. She could see the small, subtle signs of aging that she’d been too nervous to notice at their first meeting. Fine lines fanning out from the eyes. Others, either from temper or worry, gently scoring the high, creamy forehead. “It must have hurt him to see me, simply to see me day after day.”
“I don’t think so. However Philip came to feel about me, he adored you.” She looked away then because it was easier to stare at the hills. A horse whinnied, high and bright, a sound sweeter to Naomi than any aria. “I haven’t asked you about him. How is he?”
“He’s well. He’s the chairman of the English department at Georgetown now. Has been for seven years.”
“He’s a brilliant man. And a good one.”
“But not good enough for you.”
Naomi lifted a brow. “Darling Kelsey, I was never good enough for him. Ask anyone.” Naomi tossed her hair back and continued to walk. “I’m told he married again.”
“Yes, when I was eighteen. They’re very happy together. I have a stepbrother, Channing.”
“And you’re fond of them, your family.”
“Very.”
Naomi crossed the same patio, used the same terrace doors as she had the first time. “What can I get you? Coffee, tea? Some wine, perhaps?”
“It isn’t necessary.”
“I hope you’ll indulge Gertie. She made cookies when she heard you were coming. I know you don’t remember, but you meant a great deal to her.”
Trapped, Kelsey thought, by manners and compassion. “Tea and cookies then. Thanks.”
“I’ll tell her. Please sit down.”
She didn’t sit. It seemed only fair that she take a closer look at her mother’s things. At first glance the room was quietly elegant, a world apart from the bustle and manure-coated boots of the stable area. The low fire burned sedately, rose-colored drapes were pulled back to welcome the sun. That sun shone on a dozen or so lovely crystal horses in clear and jewel hues. The Oriental rug on the polished chestnut floor picked up the colors of the drapes and the creamy tones of the sofa.
Nothing ostentatious, nothing jarring. Until you looked again. The walls were covered in watered silk, the same cool ivory as the upholstery. But the paintings, large and abstract, were explosions of bold and restless color. Violent works, Kelsey thought, sated with passion and anger. And signed, she saw with a jolt, with a bloodred N C.
Naomi’s work? she wondered. No one had mentioned that her mother painted. No amateurish works these, Kelsey decided, but skilled and capable and disturbing.
They should have unbalanced the steady dignity of the room, she thought as she turned away. Yet they humanized it.
There were other telling touches throughout the room. A statue of a woman, her alabaster face carved in unfathomable grief, a glass heart in pale gr
een with a jagged crack down the center, a small bowl filled with colored stones.
“Those were yours.”
Guiltily, Kelsey dropped a pebble back into the bowl and turned. Gertie had wheeled in the tea tray and stood, beaming at her. “I’m sorry?”
“You always liked pretty rocks. I kept them for you when you . . .” Her smile wobbled. “When you went away.”
“Oh.” How was she supposed to answer that? “You’ve worked here a long time, then.”
“I’ve been at Three Willows since I was a girl. My mother kept house for Mr. Chadwick, then I took over when she retired. Moved to Florida. Chocolate chip was always your favorite.”
The woman looked as though she could devour Kelsey whole. The desperate yearning in her eyes was difficult to face, the desperate joy beneath that, worse. “They still are,” Kelsey managed.
“You come sit and help yourself. Miss Naomi got a phone call, but she’ll be right along.” All but humming with happiness, Gertie poured tea, arranged cookies on a plate. “I always knew you’d come back. Always knew it. Miss Naomi didn’t think so. She fretted about it all the time. But I says to her, ‘She’s your girl, isn’t she? She’ll come back to see her mama all right.’ And here you are.”
“Yes.” Kelsey made herself sit and accept the tea. “Here I am.”
“And all grown up.” Unable to help herself, Gertie stroked a hand over Kelsey’s hair. “A grown-up woman now.” Her lined face crumpled as she let her hand fall. Turning quickly, she hurried from the room.
“I’m sorry,” Naomi said when she came in moments later. “This is an emotional time for Gertie. It must make you uncomfortable.
“It’s all right.” Kelsey sipped her tea. Oolong this time, she noted with a tiny smile. Understanding, Naomi laughed.
“Just my subtle sense of humor.” She poured herself a cup, then sat. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”
“Neither was I. I’m not sure I would have, at least so soon, if Grandmother hadn’t all but forbade me to.”
“Ah, Milicent.” Trying to relax, Naomi stretched out her long legs. “She always detested me. Well,” she said, and shrugged, “it was mutual. Tell me, have you been able to satisfy her high standards?”
“Not quite.” Kelsey’s smile came and went. It felt disloyal to discuss her grandmother.
“Family honor,” Naomi said, nodding. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t goad you into criticizing Milicent. Besides, I’m not the one who should be asking the questions.”
“How can this be so easy for you?” Kelsey set down her cup with a snap of china against china. “How can you sit there so calmly?”
“I learned a great deal about taking what comes when I was in prison. You have the reins here, Kelsey. I’ve had a lot of time to think this through, and I had to promise myself before I contacted you that I would accept whatever happened.”
“Why did you wait so long? You’ve been out of prison for . . .”
“Twelve years, eight months, ten days. Ex-cons are more obsessive than ex-smokers, and I’m both.” She smiled again. “But that doesn’t answer your question. I considered contacting you the day I got out. I even went to your school. Every day for a week I sat in my car across the street and watched you in the little playground. Watched you and the other girls watching the boys and pretending not to. Once I even got out of my car and started across the street. And I wondered if you’d smell prison on me. I could still smell it on myself.”
Naomi moved her shoulders, chose a cookie. “So, I got back in my car and drove away. You were happy, you were secure, you didn’t know I existed. Then my father became ill. The years passed, Kelsey. Every time I thought about picking up the phone or writing a letter or just walking back into your life, it seemed wrong.”
“Why now?”
“Because it seemed right. You’re not so happy, not so secure, and I thought it was time you knew I existed. Your marriage is over, you’re at a crossroads. Perhaps you don’t think I can understand how you feel, but I do.”
“You know about Wade.”
“Yes. And your job, your academic career. You’re fortunate you inherited your father’s brain. I was always a lousy student. If you don’t want the cookies, stick a few in your purse, will you? Gertie will never know the difference.”
With a sigh, Kelsey picked one up and took a bite. “I don’t know how to feel about all of this. I don’t know how to feel about you.”
“Reality is rarely like those big, emotional reunions on Oprah,” Naomi commented. “Long-lost mother reunited with daughter. All is forgiven. I’m not asking for all to be forgiven, Kelsey. I’m hoping you’ll give me a chance.”
Kelsey reached for the file she’d set beside her on the sofa. “I’ve done some research.”
The hell, Naomi decided, and reached for another cookie. “I thought you might. Newspaper articles on the trial?”
“Among other things.”
“I can arrange for you to have a transcript.”
Kelsey’s fingers faltered on the file. “A transcript?”
“I’d want one if I were in your place. It’s public record, Kelsey. If I had something to hide, I couldn’t.”
“When I came here before, I asked if you were guilty and you said yes.”
“You asked if I’d killed Alec, and I said yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d claimed self-defense?”
“What difference does it make? I was convicted. I paid my debt to society, and I am, according to the system, rehabilitated.”
“Was it a lie, then? Was it a legal maneuver when you said you’d shot him to protect yourself from rape?”
“The jury thought so.”
“I’m asking you,” Kelsey shot back, firing up. “A simple yes or no.”
“Taking a life isn’t simple, whatever the circumstances.”
“And what were they? You let him into your house, into your bedroom.”
“I let him into my house,” Naomi said evenly. “He came into my bedroom.”
“He was your lover.”
“No, he was not.” Hands icily calm, Naomi poured more tea. “He might have been eventually. But I hadn’t slept with him.” Her gaze met her daughter’s. “The jury didn’t believe that, either. I was attracted to him. I thought he was a charming fool, harmless and amusing.”
“You fought with him over another woman.”
“I’m territorial,” Naomi said blithely. “He was supposed to be madly in love with me—which meant I was allowed to flirt and he wasn’t. And because he was beginning to bore and annoy me, I decided to break off the relationship. Alec didn’t want it to be broken. So we had a scene, in public. Then another one later, in private. He was furious, called me a few names, tried to make his case with some rough handling. I didn’t care for it and ordered him to leave.”
Though she fought to keep it calm, her voice shook as the night flooded back. “Instead, he followed me upstairs and called me several more names, and got quite a bit rougher. Apparently he decided he would show me what I’d been missing by forcing me into bed. I was angry, and I was afraid. We struggled, and I realized he would do exactly what he’d threatened to do. I broke away, got my gun. And I shot him.”
Without a word, Kelsey flipped open the file and took out the copy of the newspaper photo. When Naomi took it only a quick spasm at the side of her mouth betrayed any emotion.
“Not terribly flattering to either of us, is it? But then, we didn’t know we had an audience.”
“He isn’t touching you. He has his hands up.”
“Yes. I guess you had to be there.” She handed the photo back. “I’m not asking you to believe me, Kelsey. Why should you? Whatever the circumstances, I’m not blameless. But I’ve paid. Society has given me another chance. That’s all I’m asking you to do.”
“Why did you let me think you were dead? Why did you allow that?”
“Because I felt I was. Part of me was. And whatever my c
rimes, I loved you. I didn’t want you to grow up knowing I was in a cage. I couldn’t have survived those ten years thinking of that. And I needed to survive.”
There were other questions, dozens of them swirling around in Kelsey’s head like bees. But she didn’t think she could bear to hear the answers. “I don’t know you,” she said at last. “I don’t know if I’ll ever feel anything for you.”
“Your father would have instilled a sense of duty in you. Certainly Milicent would have. I’m going to use it and ask you to come here, to stay here for a few weeks. A month.”
Kelsey was completely taken aback for a few moments. “You want me to live here?” she finally managed to say.
“An extended visit. A few weeks of your life, Kelsey, for the lifetime I lost.” She didn’t want to beg. God, she didn’t want to