by Laura Moore
Steve felt his own gaze grow colder. “Well, I guess that’s a no to the coffee,” he drawled, letting his mouth curve around the words until his accent flowed rich and slow. “Come inside so we can talk.”
He stepped back to let Ty’s father precede him. The older man passed, a vision of polished money from the top of his combed silver hair to his dark flannel suit accented by a crisp white dress shirt underneath and down to the polished shine of hand-buffed shoes. Stannard smelled of money, too, catching the whiff of the crisp, subtle scent clinging to him. Eau de moola, Steve decided. Stannard surveyed the house’s interior and dismissed it just as quickly. A blink of those cold eyes, and Steve’s home would be razed to the ground should Stannard ever get hold of Southwind. In its place, some architectural atrocity, a cottage boasting five bedrooms (not including servants’ quarters, of course), each with its own Jacuzzi-equipped bathroom and God knows what else as extras. The letter from Stannard, along with the draft of the contract, lay on top of the coffee table. Steve waited while Stannard lowered himself into the slightly worn upholstered wingback chair, then chose the sofa, himself, leaning forward, elbows propped against his knees. A blunt-tipped finger tapped the five-page draft. “I haven’t sent your proposal to my lawyer yet, Mr. Stannard. I preferred to get it clear in my mind exactly what your terms are before showing it to him.” Not that Jeff Wallace would ever be seeing the letter or the proposal.
“The terms are straightforward. As my letter states plainly, within a few short weeks the officers overseeing my daughter’s trust will be forced to acknowledge its misuse. Meaning, Mr. Sheppard, she’ll no longer be able to underwrite Southwind.” He gave Steve a hard smile. “To fight it in court will cost a considerable amount. More than you can afford.”
The bastard. “Yes.” Steve’s tone was dry. “That part of your letter was very clear.”
Stannard ignored him, continuing. “In the proposal, I have outlined two very generous options for your consideration. First, I am willing to offer the sum of ten million dollars to you. According to my calculations, Tyler has spent approximately two and a half million. To abide by the terms of your contract with her, you would need to reimburse her investment to date. That means you would walk away from the partnership owning all of Southwind and having close to seven and a half million dollars.”
“And Ty and I could go our separate ways.”
“Not could,” Stannard corrected. “Will. Agreeing to either proposal entails ending all contact with my daughter. Now,” Stannard continued smoothly, oblivious to the tightening of Steve’s jaw, “shall we move on to the second proposal?”
Something, she didn’t know what, must have alerted her to her father’s presence in the house. The soft, almost droning murmur coming from the living room was pitched too low to carry up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom. She didn’t even hear their voices until she was at the foot of the stairs, her steps gone quiet with dread. No, it must have been something else; perhaps a particle from the scent of her father’s cologne had found its way upstairs. She’d breathed it in and her innards had turned to ice. None of it surprised her. Her father’s presence, the fact that Steve had hidden the visit from her, all the careful planning involved in setting it up. Steve must have been phoning Smythe while she was out of the house; Ty’s father had never done anything spontaneous in his life.
She supposed the dull ache growing inside her was due, in part, to a sense of betrayal. But could she really fault Steve? Ty only wondered how much her father was willing to pay to buy Steve off. Not enough, apparently. As she paused at the threshold of the living room, an uninvited audience, Steve’s words rang quite clear, despite those drawn-out vowels he so loved. “The problem is, Mr. Stannard, neither of your offers really entices me. You see, I want more.”
Although his back was to her, Steve must have sensed her presence. Her father perhaps too stunned by Steve’s words to notice his daughter standing not six feet away.
“Ty, come in, honey. Your father’s honored us with a visit.” Steve had risen to his feet, smiling easily, as if everything she’d ever wanted weren’t being taken away. Once again. She swallowed. “Hello, Father.”
“Tyler.”
No wonder she hated being called Tyler, Steve thought. The guy hadn’t even stood, let alone embraced his only child. Steve wanted to deck him. He resisted the impulse for now.
“As you can see, Tyler, your partner has agreed to meet with me privately, so we can discuss certain options.” That little stress on the word privately was a nice touch. Stannard couldn’t exactly shoo Ty away, not in Steve’s house.
“Why doesn’t Ty stay? I’m sure she’d like to hear what’s involved.”
“No. That won’t be necessary.” Stannard’s voice was as cold as metal on a subzero day.
“But I insist.”
Ty couldn’t help glancing at Steve; she’d never heard him sound like this. A voice that cracked like a whip, startling even her father. For a second her eyes held Steve’s, then Ty broke the contact, so he couldn’t read the pain in hers.
It was over.
The only thing she wanted was to hurt herself a little more before she left. She took a seat. Steve pushed the papers along the scarred wood of the coffee table. “Have a look.” Then he leaned back against the sofa. The silence grew thick as Ty read the document. Steve just sat observing Stannard.
Did grown men get in a snit? Stannard’s face was pinched even more, as though offended by his daughter’s presence. If he disliked Ty this intensely, why was he bothering to buy Steve off for close to the equivalent of some developing countries’ national budgets?
Or was it only that his daughter wasn’t doing what he wanted or approved of that made Stannard look as if he was sucking a pound of sliced lemons?
Steve glanced again at Ty. “Well, partner.” Willing to interrupt now that she was near the last page. “You see what I get if I choose option two? Kind of reminds me of that old TV show, the one where you guess what’s behind curtain number one, two, or three? Your father only gave me two options, but won’t I be one rich son of a gun if I go for the second?”
“Indeed you will,” Ty murmured, rising from the chair. Ty now knew all she needed. Steve would be a very rich man, very soon. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you continue with your meeting. Good-bye, Father.”
She was gone.
Stannard opened his mouth to speak, but Steve raised his hand, stopping him. He didn’t have much time to waste. Bubba was on the lookout, but who knew where she might decide to run?
“As I was saying, Mr. Stannard. Either offer, generous as they may be, simply isn’t enough. I want more.”
“Name your price.”
“Your daughter.”
It came out then, the seething, pent-up rage spewing forth. Stannard leapt to his feet, his face ugly and dark. “My daughter, my daughter!” he spat. “You’re not good enough to lick her boots.”
“Probably not.”
“Don’t you dare interrupt me! Look at you.” His gaze raked Steve contemptuously. “Some two-bit, uneducated rider. My daughter with you? Never will I allow it. I gave Tyler everything, I made her what she is.”
“Bullshit. Ty’s a hell of a lot more than anything you could make. She made herself—despite you and every miserable thing you’ve done to her. She’s stronger than you, smarter than you, better than you. And that humiliates the shit out of you, doesn’t it? That’s why you need to drag her down, keep her locked in some dungeon you’ve lined with cash. I may only be a dumb rider, but that’s a real easy one to figure out.”
“How dare you!” Stannard now so angry he was shaking, practically foaming at the mouth. “I can crush you under my heel until you’re so much dust.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your best.” Steve smiled. “But I’ll have Ty. So fuck you, Stannard. And as far as I’m concerned, you can do the same to your money. Oh, and get out of my house.”
Bubba was waiting outside when Stannard sw
ept by, yanking the door of the limousine open before the chauffeur could jump to the task himself. Joining him, Steve stood by Bubba’s side as the limo’s tires gouged ruts into the dirt, the driver throwing the steering wheel violently.
“You want me to go run him off the road, boss? I wouldn’t hurt the van, I promise. So far I don’t have a police record but this, this would be worth one.”
“Great minds do think alike, Bubba. I was considering something along those lines myself. Trouble is, there aren’t any good cliffs for him to go flying off. So thanks, but no. If he comes back, though, we can always reconsider. Where is she?”
“Don’t know. I took all the keys, like you said. She came into the barn, spent a few minutes in Silvermine’s stall, but then she went back out. My guess is she went to the ocean. Must be a soothing place for some.” He grimaced, rubbing a stomach that lurched at the mere thought of an unsteady horizon.
But Steve didn’t hear, already running, following the line of fence that ended a few hundred yards away from the Atlantic Ocean.
No tears. Not now, not later. The spreading ache of emptiness persisted, though, causing Ty to curl into herself, her arms hugging knees folded tight, while the wind whipped about her. Her ears were ringing from the wind and cold, one more hollow ache.
She stayed immobile, watching the waves come roaring, one after the other, crashing close, the spume racing toward her. The damp cold of the sand was seeping through her jeans, chilling her skin, ready to penetrate her very marrow.
She hugged herself tighter. Had he said he loved her? Not really, not in so many words. And if he had, so what? He’d loved horses and Southwind for far longer. Could she blame him for succumbing to so powerful a lure? His farm and his horses were his life. She’d seen that, understood it even better during their visit to the Sheppards’ home in Kentucky, a family where horses were the beginning and the end. And no one knew better than she how hard it was to escape the influence of one’s family, Ty thought, her lips pressed in a bitter smile.
Well, now he’d be free, able to run Southwind precisely as he wished, no longer needing to accommodate finicky owners or demanding partners. Her usefulness had been her money. It was gone. Why should he have to put up with the rest?
Her throat clenched in a sudden tight spasm. Dropping her head down upon her upraised knees, Ty forced her muscles to her will, swallowing, pushing back the infinite sadness that threatened to overcome her.
He kneeled beside her, his approach too quiet to be heard over the windy battle roaring in her ears. Feeling his body brushing hers, she made to rise, but his arm detained her.
“Don’t.” Her voice sounded harsh, foreign even to her. But his hand remained, only gentling its grip. She ignored it, it meant nothing. “Has my father left?” To be heard over the crash of waves and the howl of the wind, she had to speak more loudly than she wanted. Already her throat felt strained and raw.
“Yes.”
“I’ll go pack my things.”
He was looking at her; she could feel the weight of his eyes.
“Really? Before you’ve seen it through, Ty? Before we’ve even held the clinic? Before you know whether we can make it, you’ll go, leaving it all?”
“Don’t,” she repeated, as her head whipped around, the strands of her hair lashing her face. Her eyes were glittering dangerously. “Don’t pretend to me that what I do matters. I’d sign over my half of the partnership right now, and it wouldn’t matter. So don’t lie to me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Everything about you matters.” His hand reached out, carefully raking the tangled hair from her face. “By all rights, I should be angry as hell with you for doubting me, for not trusting me. After meeting your father, though, I can see why it might be hard for you to trust.” Something in the tone of his voice had her eyes searching his. “Ty, I told him to go fuck his money.”
She stared, too shocked for words.
“I know; he was a little surprised, too. This is probably only the second time in his life anyone’s had the nerve to tell him to take a flying—-hike.” His hand reached for hers, the beginnings of a smile playing over his lips. “You were my shining example, Ty.”
“But the money . . .”
“Christ Almighty, what is it with money?” he asked, exasperated. “We’re doing fine. We’ll get clients. I’m damned good at what I do, and you’re an eagle-eyed businesswoman. To tell you the truth, I hope to hell your father does block your trust, ’cause then he’ll have shot his last round. We’re going to make it, Ty. That is, once we renegotiate.”
“I’ll sign the contract over to you as soon as we get back. Bubba can witness it,” Ty said quietly. “I should have done it long ago.”
But Steve was shaking his head. His laughter drifted on the wind. “No, Ty, that’s not what I meant. I’m talking a whole new contract. A big one, package deal. You and me, fifty-fifty.”
“I don’t understand.” Confusion was plain on her face.
“Anew partnership, Ty.” His hand lifted hers, bringing it to his lips, warming her cold skin. “You get me, and I get you. Forever.” Feeling the band of metal sliding up her finger, Ty looked down. Adiamond twinkled back at her.
“Mom gave this to me last week. I wanted this showdown with your father over before asking you. Marry me, Ty. I love you. Let me give you babies. Let me give you a family, a real family. Let me give you love.”
Steve’s lips found hers, drinking in her tremulous smile, her whispered “Yes.”