Showdown

by Tilly Bagshawe

  She was surprised to see both Todd’s cars, the midnight blue Ferrari and the new silver Aston Martin Vanquish he’d had delivered last week, parked out front. He usually hit the gym at around this time, but she guessed he must have taken a rain check. Maybe—miracle of miracles—they would actually get to spend some quality time together.

  Fumbling in her purse, she pulled out her key and let herself in. Downstairs everything sounded eerily quiet.

  “Todd?” she called into the emptiness.

  Nothing. Dropping her purse on the floor, she stuck her head around the study door, but it was empty. Maybe he was upstairs?

  As she climbed, it suddenly hit her how physically tired she was. Her limbs ached like hell. The race must have taken it out of her more than she thought. Boy, would it be nice to turn her phone off, collapse on the bed, and sleep for as long as she wanted.

  “Babe?” she called again. Approaching the bedroom door, her pace slowed.

  Was that voices she heard?

  At first the noise was faint. It could have been anything. But as she got closer it became more and more distinct. It was voices, no doubt about it. A man’s and a woman’s.

  And not just any man and woman.

  She’d have recognized that whiny, Southern twang anywhere.

  “Ahhhhh!” Todd, red in the face and sweating, naked except for a pair of white tennis socks, was on top of the bed, fucking Candy Price with such total abandon that he clearly had no idea they’d been discovered.

  Candy was also oblivious at first, throwing her head back and forth melodramatically so her long blond hair flew everywhere, like a heavy metal rocker. Actually, what she most reminded Milly of was an Afghan hound bitch called Lucy they’d had at Newells when she was little. She was a lovely dog, but she did have a habit of tossing her head around in irritation whenever she had fleas, rather like Candy was doing now.

  In shock, and not knowing what else to do, Milly cleared her throat loudly.

  Candy was the first to look up. As soon as she saw Milly, she screamed and, unplugging herself from Todd’s cock, dived under the sheet like a mouse that’d just seen a snake.

  Todd, typically, was more composed.

  “What are you doing here?” he said, pulling on his boxer shorts and smoothing down his disheveled hair. “I thought you were shooting in the Valley.”

  “It got canceled,” Milly said numbly. It took a few seconds for her to clear her head enough to start to feel angry. “Anyway, what do you mean what am I doing here? I live here. What the fuck is she doing here?”

  She pointed to the white, human-shaped lump whimpering under the covers.

  “I’d have said that was pretty obvious,” Todd said callously. “Wouldn’t you?”

  Milly’s heart was beating so fast, it was hard at first to know what she was feeling. On the one hand, she’d suspected him of cheating for so long, it was hardly a surprise to finally see it. On the other hand, it still hurt.

  She realized now, with searing clarity, that he’d never really loved her. Not properly. And that deep down, beneath all her insecurity and fear of losing him, she’d known it all along. But even in her wildest nightmares, she had never considered that Candy would be the one to replace her. How could she have been so stupid, so blind?

  “How long?” she began. “I mean, how long have you two— Oh for God’s sake, do get out from under there,” she snapped at Candy. “You look completely ridiculous.”

  Like a naughty schoolgirl, Candy emerged, blushing, or at any rate red in the face. It might just have been sexual exertion.

  “You won’t tell Jimmy, or Amy, will you?” she pleaded, her drawl even whinier than usual. “Please, please don’t say anything. It’d break his heart, Milly. He loves me, he truly does.”

  Unbelievable! Did neither of them have a shred of shame?

  “I know he loves you,” Milly said harshly. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you started playing hide the salami in my boyfriend’s bed?”

  Her flippancy was a defense mechanism. It was either that or break down on the floor howling, and she wasn’t about to give either of them that satisfaction.

  “Let’s try to talk about this like rational adults, shall we?” said Todd.

  “Oh, fuck off,” said Milly. Even now, when he’d been caught red-handed, he still wanted to be the one in control. But she was through being patronized. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m leaving.”

  She was halfway downstairs by the time he caught up with her.

  “Where are you going to go? You’ve nowhere to stay,” he said, laying a restraining hand on her arm.

  “Sweet of you to worry,” she said sarcastically, “but I’ll figure something out.”

  In fact, she realized sadly, he had a point. Other than Amy, she hadn’t a single friend in LA she could turn to, and staying at Palos Verdes clearly wasn’t an option—unless she fancied bumping into Candy over breakfast tomorrow morning. It’d have to be a hotel.

  “Just as long as you’re not planning on shooting your mouth off to Jimmy,” said Todd. His tone left her in no doubt that he meant the remark as a threat.

  “Oh?” Milly smiled defiantly, refusing to be cowed. “And what makes you think I won’t pick up the phone to him the second I drive out of here?”

  “Do, and you’ll regret it,” said Todd menacingly.

  “Not as much as you will,” said Milly. Even in the midst of her pain and humiliation, it felt good to finally stand up to him. “Bobby was right,” she said. “You are a user. You betrayed him, and me, and now Jimmy. What’s he ever done to you?”

  “I wouldn’t waste your tears on Price,” said Todd. “In case you hadn’t picked up on it, rumor is he’s about to drop you like a stone. You know who he’s been lunching with today?”

  Milly glared at him silently.

  “Your good friend Rachel Delaney.”

  “Bullshit,” said Milly. “You’re lying.”

  Todd shrugged. “Ask Candy if you don’t believe me. I can assure you, your loyalty to Jimmy is entirely misplaced. Then again, you never were the most astute judge of character. Were you, my darling?”

  But Milly wasn’t listening. Every word that came out of the man’s mouth was poison. She knew that now.

  Grabbing her purse, she bolted out of the door and into her car, almost pranging Todd’s precious Vanquish in her desperate rush to get away. She was crying, but they were tears of anger and shame more than sadness. She’d wanted to succeed so badly: to get Newells back, yes, but also for her own sake. The fame and the money and the lifestyle Todd gave her—in their own way they were all drugs, drugs that had hurt not only her but so many people she loved.

  Because of them, she’d pushed her darling Demon so hard, she’d killed him. She could never forgive herself for that. Then there was Bobby, and Todd’s betrayal over Highwood, that she’d been too blind to see and too foolish to stop. She’d let Todd cut her off from good friends, like Amy, and made decisions purely out of a fear of losing him, like agreeing to the Playboy shoot. It might have launched her career, but it had also been the final nail in the coffin for her relationship with her family, not to mention a gross betrayal of the cowboy culture of decency and family that Bobby had welcomed her into, only to have it all thrown back in his face.

  Pulling out of the gates, she brushed her tears away with her sleeve and headed down the hill toward Sunset.

  Some words of her dad’s drifted back to her—“It’s always darkest before the dawn,” he used to say.

  Milly hoped he was right. Because from where she was sitting right now, things looked very dark indeed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was the hottest, muggiest June Manhattan had seen in a decade.

  Tired, irritable drivers leaned out of their car windows on Lexington desperate for a little breeze to ease the stifling heat of the traffic jams. Mothers dragged their children into stores, just to enjoy the air-conditioning for a few minutes,
and every lunch break Central Park filled up with businessmen desperate for a chance to shed their jackets, ties, and even socks and shoes before the furnacelike air overwhelmed them.

  Amy Price was one of the very few people actually enjoying the weather. Like everyone else in the racing world, her family spent the week before the Belmont in New York. Most years she dreaded it: being dragged from one dreadful, superficial party to the next, knowing she was bound to be the only heavy woman there and that Jimmy wouldn’t hesitate to hide his embarrassment of her by cracking fat jokes at her expense.

  But this year, everything was different. She was, for the first time in her adult life, thin. Not skinny, as such, but the sort of weight that meant she could wear a short skirt in hot weather without being stared at as a freak. Yesterday, she’d even managed to sneak a couple of hours off from babysitting duty and gone to Victoria’s Secret to buy a new “Very Sexy” bra and some matching, seriously tiny panties—something that six months ago she wouldn’t have believed possible.

  It was the way Garth had looked at her last year when she’d caught him with Candy that started the change. She no longer just wanted to lose weight—she needed to. She needed to prove to all the Garths out there, but more important to herself, that she could do it. And weirdly, having made the decision, it wasn’t even that hard. The first thirty pounds had pretty much melted away as soon as she cut back on the carbs. After that, it was harder work—she had to exercise for one thing, which was a giant pain in the ass. But the results were so tangible and gratifying, it was easy to stay motivated. Indeed, after a while it almost became addictive.

  And it wasn’t just physically that she’d changed. Tapping into her willpower had given her strength in other areas too. She was writing again—it would take more than one cynical New York publisher to crush her hopes—and learning to take her own advice and be her own coach, instead of relying on others to validate her and give her confidence. At first, when Milly had effectively dropped her as a friend to run around town with Todd having her picture taken, it had hurt Amy deeply. But over time, she came to see this as Milly’s problem rather than her own.

  Thankfully, things were now back on track between them. Having finally dumped Todd last month (she still hadn’t told Amy why she left him or what had made her see the light, but who really cared? The main thing was he was gone, and good riddance) Milly had moved into one of the staff apartments over the stables in Palos Verdes. The first thing she did was come to Amy and apologize.

  “You were right,” she said, perching her bony butt on the end of Amy’s bed, like she used to in the old days. “I was being selfish. And blind. He really is an asshole, isn’t he?”

  “The biggest,” said Amy.

  “I know I’ve been a cow and I don’t deserve it. But I could really use a friend right now.” It was so long since Milly had had a sympathetic ear, that once she started pouring out her troubles, she couldn’t seem to stop. “It’s not just Todd, you see,” she gabbled. “My sponsors are on my case day and night about my weight and my race times, I still haven’t saved anywhere near enough to get Newells back, and what I have saved I’m trying to give to Bobby—to fight this case with Todd, about the oil, you know—but anyway, he won’t take it, the stupid, stubborn—”

  “Milly.”

  “And now your father’s even talking about having Rachel ride for him, I mean, Jesus! And there’s no way he’ll want to sponsor both of us, is there? I have to raise my game before Ruidoso Downs, I know I do, but it’s so hard to focus when I’m stressed out all the time. Did I tell you Rachel’s put Newells back on the market?”

  “Milly.” Sliding along the bed next to her, Amy hugged her tight, wincing inside at how horribly thin she’d grown. “For heaven’s sake shut up.”

  But her smile told Milly she was forgiven, and soon both girls were laughing and hugging each other and sharing confidences just like old times.

  Even so, Amy was worried for her friend. It seemed cruel that now that her own life had turned a corner and she could finally look with hope to the future, Milly should be so suddenly, desperately unhappy. She talked a good game about being over Todd. But Amy could tell she was lonely and that, whatever the bastard had done, it had hurt her pretty badly. Not being able to make things up to Bobby Cameron—last week Milly’s face had lit up when a letter arrived for her from Highwood, only for her to open it to find it was her check returned without so much as a note of acknowledgment—plunged her into an even deeper spiral of regret and despair. No wonder her riding was suffering.

  Still, thought Amy, she mustn’t waste her precious week in New York worrying about Milly the whole time. Jimmy had made it clear that as long as she kept Chase and Chance out of their mother’s hair, she was free to do as she liked on the trip—which meant a delicious week of culture, galleries, museums, and poetry readings stretched gloriously ahead of her. She intended to enjoy it.

  Today she was off to the Gagosian, a gallery she’d wanted to check out for years. Stepping into the lobby at last, after a long struggle to get the twins’ double-width stroller through the swinging doors, she felt a luxurious breeze of cold, conditioned air blasting her hot, sweaty face.

  Thankfully, the boys appeared to have sunk into some sort of humidity-induced stupor, too exhausted to do anything other than suck lethargically on their lollipops in between naps. Despite all the battering and clanging as she’d wheeled them inside, both remained sound asleep now. She hoped they’d stay that way long enough for her to take in at least some of the exhibition in peace.

  “There’s a new show starting today,” the receptionist informed her cheerfully. “Young Western Artists. It’s free,” she added, handing Amy a leaflet with a list of the painters featured. “But if you want to make a contribution to the gallery there’s a box by the elevator.”

  “Thanks.”

  More out of politeness than anything else Amy started idly scanning the list. To her amazement she immediately recognized one name: Dylan McDonald.

  It might not be the same Dylan, of course: the dark, handsome cowboy with a passion for portraiture that Milly had told her about. Bobby’s best friend, the one who’d taught her to drive cattle. But the leaflet said he was from Santa Ynez, so there had to be a good chance it was him.

  Wheeling the twins across the hall, Amy thrust a five-dollar bill into the donation box and stepped into the waiting elevator. A small group of people were already inside and sighed ungraciously as they were forced to make room for the stroller, one woman muttering “Kids that age, totally inappropriate,” as the doors closed.

  Emerging a few seconds later on the second floor, Amy headed for the bench at the far side of the room and sat down. Once she’d taken the weight off her feet for a minute she would search the various canvases for Dylan’s work.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Startled, she looked up into the smiling face of a divine being. Well, he was either that or a hallucination—real men didn’t come that sexy. He was well built—not tall, but with the sort of chest and shoulders that made Desperate Dan look puny. And he had the most gorgeous hair, thick and curly, and playful blue eyes that somehow managed to twinkle even though they were practically closed into slits when he smiled, something he obviously did a lot if the fans of lines at his temples were anything to go by. She felt her throat go dry.

  “No,” she stammered. “Please. Go ahead. I was just . . .” He was so mesmerizing, she found herself unable to finish the sentence.

  “Takin’ a load off?” he offered.

  “Ha-ha-ha!” she laughed nervously. Then, realizing this was not a joke, or even mildly funny, blushed and mumbled, “Exactly, yes. Exactly right.”

  Fuuuuck.

  She hadn’t expected to meet anyone today, so she’d made a point of running all the way from the hotel, convinced that all the sweat pouring off her would translate into at least two more pounds lost when she jumped on the scales tonight. But now—Murphy’s law, of course—she
’d bumped into, without question, the single most lovely man in the world—smelling like a trucker’s armpit. Why? Why did these things always have to happen to her?

  Luckily, unlike 90 percent of the good-looking guys Amy knew, this one appeared to be kind as well as handsome. He’d gallantly pretended not to notice when she’d gazed at him like an openmouthed retard, which was really awfully sweet of him.

  “You an artist yourself or just an art lover?” he asked.

  Help! He was making conversation with her. If only he’d stop smiling, she might be able to breathe.

  Come on, Amy, get a grip. Say something. Anything.

  “Er, no. No, no, not an artist. I’m a poet, actually. Sort of,” she blurted, blushing bubble-gum pink as she heard the words tumbling out of her mouth.

  “Really?”

  He sounded genuinely interested, impressed even.

  No, not really, she felt like screaming. What on earth had she said that for? She’d never even had anything published, for God’s sake, and here she was claiming to be a poet!

  She’d better change the subject before he had a chance to probe her any further.

  “I’m interested in one of the artists here,” she said. “Dylan McDonald. Do you know his work?”

  “I should.” The beauty laughed, tossing back his dark curls and revealing two rows of straight, even white teeth. Amy felt the panic rising within her. Had she unwittingly said something even more foolish? “That’s me.”

  “You’re Dylan McDonald?” She gasped.

  “Last time I checked,” he said. “But, you know, I think you must have me mixed up with someone else. This is my first exhibition. I’m not really a professional artist, you see, at least not yet. So I seriously doubt whether you’ve heard of me or my work.”

  “No, no, I have,” said Amy excitedly. “I have, absolutely. Milly . . . You’re the . . . cattle drives. I met Bobby. . . . Palos Verdes.”

  He nodded slowly. Her fragmented word association was difficult to follow, but he was starting to get the gist.